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For the last three days, Jessica has noticed something. The people who have been following her may have fooled normal people, but not Miss Jones. There was the person who sat outside her class, or the obvious mutant who was sitting in a car across the street from her apartment for the entire day, or at least the three times she'd come and gone.
Tonight is remarkable because it's the first time she hasn't noticed someone following her.
*
Slow moving steps take Jessica to her apartment as she shuffles down the block. A glance is cast over her shoulder, and she ponders the eerie feeling that accompanies not being followed. A strange chill runs over her — the night itself isn't cold exactly, but bears with it an odd feeling.
With a heavy sigh, her hands stuff into her jacket pockets, incredibly thankful that she'd bothered to wear a light belted coat into her internship this morning.
She coughs, and with a distinct jingle, draws her keys from her pocket to unlock the first door into her apartment.
*
The door opens with a low creak and the smell of cigarette smoke is likely to be no surprise to the young woman. It's just that this is so fresh and current. As the door is opened fully, Remy LeBeau, codename Gambit, is seated in a comfy chair, smoking a cigarette, with one leg slung over the arm.
"Help'd mehself to one of yo' ashtrays, m'love. Decided hittin' de whiskey wouldna been the best move considerin' what I came to ask ya." He tilts his head in a nod towards the rest of the apartment. "Nice place."
*
Amusement colours Jessica's expression as a single eyebrow lifts and she treads into her kitchen. She seems oddly unfazed by the presence of a near-stranger in her home. When she returns to the sitting area — as sparsely decorated as it is — she has a bottle of whiskey and two mismatched glasses. She sets them on the table and pours both.
It's then, and only then, that she responds, "It's a dump." Lifting a single hand, she notes, "But it's home." She casts Remy a charming smile, and then sniffs, "What's up, Casanova?"
*
"Well, ole Remy got himself a problem. And t'say that is t'say that someone's in trouble." An envelope is plopped down with some pictures spilling out of it and some hand written notes. "Blonde dere is my wife." Pause. "Ex."
"De letters say dat she ain't been heard of for one whole week. Dat's concernin'."
"Be comin' to you because you be good enough to find me when I was hidin'. Not many can do dat."
*
Jessica's jaw tightens as she plucks one of the pictures from the table along with one of the glasses. She nurses the glass and studies the photo for a few beats before sucking on the inside of her cheek.
Her lips purse contemplatively, considering the request with some weight before taking another long languid gulp of her whiskey, leaving it in her cheeks longer to really engage with the whiskey's flavour. Finally she swallows.
With a twist of her lips, she occupies an easy chair across from Remy and hmms. "Where was she last seen, and by whom?" If Jessica isn't on the case, she's oddly curious.
*
"N'awlins. Where she's from," Gambit leans forward, yanking his leg up and over the chair, and sits forward with his elbows on his knees and cigarette in his lips until he finds the picture. "Spendin' a lot of time wit dis guy here. Friends and family, mine and hers ain't ever seen him. Spent a lot of time wit dis guy den she gone."
"Now look, Remy know what you tinkin, but you must understand cherie. I love dat woman, but I aint some jilted ex husband. Ole Remy just wanna know she's safe and den we out."
The photograph has a picture of a beautiful blonde woman, albeit with an odd haircut that looks long in parts and has braids in other parts, who sits with a dapper looking gentleman at what seems like a nice restaurant.
*
Jessica's head cants to the side and she stares openly at the gentleman. Her lips purse and her eyebrows draw together. With a sharp breath, her fingers drum against the glass absently.
"And what happens when I find her?" the question merits a response. "I head to New Orleans, I follow her and," she points towards the picture, "him," her lips purse, "and then I just confirm she's fine?" Her eyes narrow. With a small sigh she notes, "Alright, I'll look into it." Her lips twist to the side, "But when I figure out what's going on — " she raises a hand " — if all is well, it's done, right?" Because the notion of jilted ex-husband seems all too real.
Her lips press together. "I'm not a professional, but I need expenses covered. I'm not exactly living int he Ritz Carleton here…"
*
"Expenses paid, cherie. Whatever your fee is, I'll be payin' it. Dere's just one thing; Remy gonna come with you in case you need a hand. Bella Donna and me come from some rough folks. Don't know what dere reaction gun' be but backup might be a good idea."
"Soon as we confirm she's okay, we done."
*
There's a flicker of a smile at the last, causing Jessica's lips to part and then press back together. "Believe it or not, I can hold my own." Her eyes lid lightly and she replies, "But having you there could act as an 'in' with the New Orleans' crowd."
She nods once. "Alright. We leave tomorrow morning. We aim to be there one week, and no longer. We'll see where the trail leads, and will go from there." She downs the rest of her whiskey and swallows hard. "Eight o'clock. We get an early start." She sucks in a sharp breath and then adds, "Don't worry too much. We'll find her. I'm pretty good at it."
*
"Leavin' in de mornin' work for me. Lot of hours til 8 am. Ain't had nothin' t'eat yet. Maybe the lady knows some place round dis awful part of town to point a guy. Maybe dis gal aint had nothin' t'eat neither." Gambit shrugs his shoulders and puts the cigarette out in the ashtray.
*
There's a curious slant of Jessica's eyes as she hrms quietly. A glance is given towards her kitchen and then back to Remy. She finally settles on, "I could eat," and with a tick of her head, she motions towards the door. "There's an awful pub down the road." Her eyebrows lift expectantly, "The place smells awful, and the drinks are watered down, but they make good stew and soup. And they get rolls from the bakery next door."
The pair start on their way, and Jessica easily falls into step with Remy. "So, you had a rough life in New Orleans?" The question merits asking.
*
Remy walks along casually and stops for a moment to light up a cigarette as they walk. He passes the smoke towards her, should she want it. "Not so bad. As y'know, I'm a mutant." He's put his glasses back on his face, but there ain't no denying it when they're off. "Got picked up by a new family. One dat din't care bout dat sorta thing. It was a life. Dey taught me quite a few ways to make it." Remy leaves out the part about the Thieves Guild wanting him dead. And the Assassins Guild wanting him dead. "What 'bout you?"
*
The smoke is taken and she puffs on the cigarette before slowly releasing a very smoky, hazy breath. "She one of them too? Your ex-wife?" Her eyebrows lift higher on her forehead. Her lips press together tightly. "Family is important," she observes quietly. "I get that." She sucks on the inside of her cheek. "Lost mine in a car accident many years ago. Got adopted." That warrants a tight smile, "That didn't go so well." He sighs hard. "But I have an adopted sister. A real sister."
*
"Mutant or part of the family? Either way, Bella Donna is neither, so dats always been part of the de problem. De family, I mean. She never cared 'bout dat mutant stuff. Our issues always stemmed from our families being at war." Remy looks over as Jessica talks about her family. "Dats a tough break, kid. Sorry t'hear it, but least you got one member of yo' family out of it. Gotta hold dat tight."
*
The note about her having a tough break earns a noncommittal shrug. It's fine."Yeah, Trish is like my conscience," Jessica replies with a half-smile. "Not sure," she doesn't finish the thought, instead noting, "So Bella Donna isn't a mutant. But she's in with a rough crowd as well?" There's a pause. "Sounds like you had a whole star-crossed thing going on." She opens the door to the dive bar and holds it for Gambit.
Inside it's as Jones advertised. The wooden floor creaks beneath feet, and it wreaks of spilled liquor that has been absorbed by the flooring. A thick haze of smoke fills every inch of the room and Jessica leads Remy to a table in the back; her regular for the bar. "Know anything about the dapper fellow in the photo? Anything at all?"
*
"Ever read Romeo and Juliet?" Remy says with a grin. "You'll be gettin' some idea. Remy looks around and the grin grows into a full fledged smile. "Darlin' you always take me to the nicest places." The smile turns lopsided as he adds in, "I love it." The sunglasses stay on as he passes the cig back to Jess and exhales slowly.
"Never seen 'em. Dere's someone, someone from Bella Donna's neck of deh woods who called me and told me dat some of dem have a name from him: Le Fluage Pourpre."
*
"Well, seems like your relationship turned out better than Juliet and her Romeo. They both ended up dead, if I recall." Jessica slides into her seat and leans forward. "And yeah, I sure can pick a nice place." She shoots Remy a sly smile. "Glad that you enjoy such decadence."
The last causes Jones to frown slightly. "Sorry, my French isn't," she rocks her hand to indicate her weakness.
*
"Dat's what I'm worried 'bout, cherie. Day ain't over yet. Lot of people lookin' for ole Remy's head. But Bella Donna done a good job of laying low and out of the fray, so to speak. Dis guy? I dun tink he up to no good."
"Means purple creep."
*
Jessica hrms quietly. "We'll find him. Hopefully we can get another name for him. Something he goes by generically. I assume that's a behind-his-back-name." Her lips purse and she suggests, "We'll work our way backwards. I think we can start by going where the photo was taken. See if anyone can give us a real name on your purple creep or an approximate timeline of when the pair were together and where."
*
"Bettin' dat he'd have less luck with de ladies if that's how he announced himself," Gambit says with a shrug. He holds up his hand to the bartender. "Beer or whiskey?" he asides to Jessica.
"Dats as good a plan as any. I leave dat sort of ting to you, chere."
*
"Always whiskey," Jessica replies with a smirk. "Can you imagine if he went by Purple Creep? Bet everyone would steer clear." Her arms cross over her chest. "I'm by no means a professional, but I can work my way backwards. Bit of questioning and a bit of intuition and I think we'll have some success."
*
"Y'found me. And lot of people been tryin' dat for a long time," Remy says. "Two whiskeys, two beers," he says to the barkeep. "And a couple of menus."
Remy saunters over to a place far away from the bar and other patrons. If this is her pad, he doesn't want to start something and get her kicked out of one of her spots. Bullshit it has to be that way, but this is 1963 and that's the world. No self respectin' gal would roll with a mutant dirtbag like Remy LeBeau.
*
Jones follows Remy in turn. Anyone who assumed Jessica Jones was self-respecting was out to lunch. "Only out of necessity. I take what I take on seriously. Again, not a professional, not even a very good reporter, but the investigation part? Bit of a knack."
Her fingers knit together as she contemplates. She doesn't need the menu, but instead reaches into her jacket pocket for a pack of smokes. She offers one to Remy before plucking one for herself from the box.
*
Almost as soon as the cigarette hits her lips, Remy's got his lighter out to light it. "Old habit."
"Investigation part? Maybe you fixin' to be a cop. After dis is all over you can nab Remy Le Beau and write your ticket with any force in dis nation." He looks over the menu, which is rather dark with the lighting and his sunglasses, but it works okay. "What does the lady recommend?"
*
"Ha!" the thought of being a cop actually makes Jessica laugh. "No one would ever take me seriously." Her eyes flit towards the bar. "I can't even take myself seriously. Nah, reporter at least has the whole validity of being some kind of plucky doe-eyed waif." She rolls her eyes. "Detective Jessica? That woman would never be taken seriously. She'd wear all the skirts and high heels and her male colleagues would get all of the credit. No. No thank you."
Back towards the menu, she glances briefly, "I like the baked potato stew. They make a good mushroom cheddar soup — complete with stout if that's what you're into. Both come with the rolls from down the street. Perfect rolls that they are."
*
Remy orders the stew and the rolls, and a couple of more beers and more shots of whiskey. "Oh come now, don't be takin' de jobs from de waifs out dere. Dey need work as well." He looks to her, earnestly, perhaps for the first time since he discussed Bella Donna's disappearance. "When dis is all over, and we've won. When de mutants get dere equality, you know women will be right dere with us. De blacks, de women, de gays and de mutants. All of em."
*
"Equality is a weird thing," Jessica states as she nurses her first drink, "even when achieved it isn't quite there." Her eyes lid lightly. "People tell me I should be thankful I can work at all; that my primary function is to look pretty and have babies." This is followed by a smirk. "Meanwhile, I'm not sure all of us should procreate."
She takes a long puff on the cigarette. "There will always be another battle for justice. Everyone gets rights, but it seems that some will always be better off than others." Ever the cynic, Jessica shrugs. "Sorry. I'd like to be optimistic, but it doesn't come naturally. It's why I need that external conscience," she winks.
*
"Pretty you got down, but I don't know about de babies, cherie. You got some pretty t'in hips. Child birth is likely to kill ya," Remy says as he throws back a shot of whiskey. "Battle for others, not for me. After dis one Imma head back to the homeground and retire in peace. Sippin' daiquiris."
*
"Optimistic, pessimistic, make no difference to Remy. Natural is de only way to be." And naturally, Remy looks around seeing who he plans to rip off.
*
"Pretty is only genetic," Jessica notes. Her own eyes linger on a few of the other patrons; regulars she's familiar with, but never actually talked to. The weird familiarity also bears with it a sense of family and belonging, even with utter strangers.
"Natural isn't always helpful. A person has to learn. And sometimes we just learn too well or not well enough. Just a matter of what lessons the world saw fit to teach."
*
"Near everyting's genetic, cherie. Tho' all dat is above Remy's pay grade. Ladies start talkin' philosophical and Remy start lookin' at de dictionary and t'saurus." Remy sighs, exhaling again slowly as the food arrives. "Naturally is how I survived. It's a good code t'live by." Already, Remy isn't sure that he's even being consistent in one sentence to another. That stuff is hard.
*
A smirk edges Jessica's lips and she nods. "Alright. So natural is the name of the game? Then the question is, is natural a state of being the same from birth through life? Or is natural letting things learned guide, shape, and change you? Is that natural?" Her lips twist to the side. "And it's fine. I don't have to follow this bunny trail any further." At least not now. Probably some time.
The stew is brought for each of the patrons — brought in by a heavy set woman with an angry countenance. The presence of food immediately has Jessica putting out her cigarette in the nearest ashtray; evidently food and smoke don't go together — who'd have thought.
"So I know you've got your own…" she spoons a bit of stew into her mouth, "..endeavours. Tell me, you got anything else you do with your time?"
*
"I have no 'dea, love. Remy was in and out of schools and dat sort of talk makes a man soft. Should be spendin' your time with Professors and preachers rather dan thiefs and mutants," Remy replies with a smile.
He takes his spoon and holds it up, not about to try the food without her going first. "Cards, I spose. Always did love me some card playin and gamblin'. Cookin." His lower lip juts up as he considers, almost giving him a frown of consideration. "Gamblin', cookin', women chasin, and drinkin. Dats about all I got time for, m'afraid."
*
The notion of becoming soft prompts Jessica to arch a single wry eyebrow, but she doesn't push the philosophical questions further, instead opting to think about it later. At the notion of spending times with Professors and preachers, she offers a mirthless chuckle, "I gave up on any faith I might've had a long time ago. And…" she shrugs, "…education is a bit overrated." She might attend classes for journalism, but attitudes about her capacity as a potential reporter haven't exactly encouraged her in that line for some time.
Remy's poised spoon warrants a small furrow of Jones' eyebrows followed but a small nod. She dips her spoon in her stew and enjoy that first bite. "Oh man. This place. It's cheap, and sort of," a glance is given around, prompting her nose to wrinkle. "But man. The food is good."
Her lips twist to the side thoughtfully, "So you're good with cards then? I saw a bit of your sleight of hand — "
*
"Agree wholeheartedly ma'am," Remy says about the note Jessica makes on education. "Never really one for school, trut' be told." A smile comes across his face as he follows her lead and digs in, "Dats my favorite kind of place, chere." A couple of spoonfuls go in and he nods his approval. "Dis be pretty darn good, for sure. Man could get used to eatin' at a place like dis. Hopefully you know a few places on de way from New York to Leesiana. Gun be a long trip."
*
Jessica hmmms quietly. "A couple, maybe. Can't say I'm the best travelled. And those I travelled with had different tastes." She manages a tight lipped smile. "Find the wrong side of the tracks in almost any city and you normally find the best food." Again she issues a shrug.
*
Gambit nods, "Fair 'nuff. I'm sure de places we be stayin' at on de way will have plenty of food, or recommendations fo sho. Deeper in de south we go, better de food of course." At the lull in conversation, Remy goes back to what she talked about earlier. "So you went to stay wit Tricia's parents, oui? Sounds as if you did not care for dat too much. Aside from de sister you got."
*
The mention of Trish's parents turns Jessica's expression sour, almost like she just sucked on a lemon. Her nostrils flare, her lips pucker, and her cheeks narrow. "You ever hear about Patsy Walker?" her lips hitch up on one side. "That's Trish. Teen idol Patsy Walker." Her eyebrows arch as if to punctuate the point. "Let's just say her parents aren't the warm sort that your friends want to spend time with." And then as an afterthought, she tacks on, "I turned eighteen and never looked back. Haven't seen either of them since."
*
Gambit laughs in an uncomfortable way, as if someone just told a joke that only he heard. And the laugh makes for a somewhat awkward situation, "Oh heavens, chere. You're sisters with Patsy Walker? Dat girl be one mega-babe. Lucky you look as good as you do or yer upbringin' would have been worse."
*
Jessica laughs — a hollow sound nearly emotion-free. "I'm just lucky I wasn't on the fame brigade. That's one for the history books. Parents considered themselves supportive, but that's one kind of support I don't want." Having revisited that segment of her childhood, Jessica downs the remainder of the whiskey in her glass.
"Trish is good. Far as I'm concerned, the rest of the Walkers can die in a fire." Her jaw tightens, maybe that was too harsh, but it was honest.
*
"Well, don' hold back, girl. Tell ole Remy how you really feel." Gambit nods towards the glass and eyebrows go up, "You want another or you good?" From there, he resets: "So, family aint a good topic. What else is dere to Miss Jessica Jones? Sorry, I found out de last name when I had my people followin' ya."
*
*
There's a cluck of Jessica's tongue and she smirks at her empty glass. "Better not," she suggests with ironic smirk. "Trish tells me moderation is a virtue." This is punctuated by a more genuine smile. "Jessica Jones is little more than a puzzler and wannabe journalist." Her lips purse. "Investigative journalist wannabe. But again, chances of getting something other than a secretary?" her eyes roll. "Just not likely. Been thinking about options."
She chuckles again, "Glad they were your people and not someone else's. Never know who I've upset most recently." She sucks on the inside of her cheek, "Oh — you know some rougher folks, right? Not sure if anyone in your crowd has heard of a drug… street name Joy?" Her teeth play at her bottom lip and she pushes forward, "Not looking for a hookup, just info."
*
"For de best, chere. Don' want you to go and do somethin' foolish dat you'll regret in de morn," Gambit says as he reaches a hand up to order another shot for himself. "I'm sure you'll find yo'self sometin to pass the time. I wouldn't let it bother you too much," he adds.
"Joy? Remy aint ever heard of dat one, no. I can check wit some of my old crew down when we get to Nawlins, see if dey ever heard of dat."
*
"No regrets," Jessica offers sardonically. "Isn't that what this whole equality love thing is about?" the thought is punctuated by another smirk. "And I'm sure you're right. I'll find some negotiation of my unique skills."
There's a small nod at the acknowledgment about Joy, "Thanks. I don't know anything about it besides its apparently very desirable and does all the things to make life happy-go-lucky."
A glance is given towards the door. "So. What did your people learn about Jessica Jones from following me? Anything interesting?"
*
"Dats what dey always say, but dat sort of thing always comes wit consequences for everyone, fer certain." He tries to think, looking away at the wall as he goes over any of those types of conversations he's had recently. "Got a few people I can ask bout it roun' here, too. I'll yap around and see what I can't drag up."
"My people? Dey say you like whiskey. Cheaper de better. Dey say you go to a school here in de city. And dey say you like to go to bars. Not de best at investigatin' I'm afraid, but I didn't want dem to spook you too much."
*
"Sorry I'm not more interesting for them," Jessica offers simply. "Some people are more interesting to follow than others. This one time, when I was trying to get info about an insurance scam, I followed a guy for three weeks. The fraud was big, but he was a loner. Much like present company. Made for some pretty long and boring near-stalking."
She drums her fingers on the table. "Glad they were your people though and not leftovers from some story I'd followed. Not that I was concerned. I knew they were following me, but it's relieving it's not for something really awful."
*
"Sokay, I tink dey like it when it's less boring. Loner? Ole Remy have plenty of friends. Well, some of de time. And for usually a short amount of time. But I would not say loner, no. Depending on circumstance, 'course." He chuckles softly before taking the other shot and reaching his hand up for the another. "Tink you driving in de morning, chere," he says. "Sometin' awful. You thought I was pretty awful back when you first came to me, for sure."
*
"I meant me as a loner. Not you," Jessica clarifies as she shrugs. The las comment warrants another chuckle, "Truth is fluid. The lady seemed in a great deal of distress, so I did my best for her. Not sure she knew the whole scam about the folks she worked for," Jones begins tapping her jacket in search of her smokes, "but she definitely saw the truth in a very particular way. And while you did do what she said you did… corporate America continues to hurt damage the little guy."
She hmms quietly, "Guess she just mistook me for something I'm not. Wouldn't be the first time. Course," she points a single finger, "she did one good thing and didn't push the story to the media. All the world needs is to paint another mutant as a criminal. Like people who are different need more attention."
*
"Lot of tings Remy is and a criminal is one of em. Generally like keepin' out of de press, though, much as I can anyways." Le Beau grins a bit, "Dey said you kept mostly to yourself, which may be the cause for all dis business about you bein' worried 'bout what you might be someday. Just do de easy ting, chere. Marry up."
*
After a brief pause, he adds, "Well if dat aint you, what are you, Jessica Jones?"
*
Jessica's eyes narrow and her eyes remain on Remy when she finally finds the pack of smokes in her jacket pocket and extracts one with easy dexterity. She places it between her lips. "Not a hero," Jones explains bluntly. "Not really." A lighter follows the cigarette and in moments she's puffing away once again. "Despite what Trish would want for me." There's a faint glint of something untold in her eye.
The question though, merits more of an answer; something complete. The gears in her mind turn as she gives it more consideration. "I think," she starts almost distantly, "it'd be," there's a small curve of her lips as she can't bring herself to use a value laden word, instead opting for, "something to leave the world a little better than when I came to it." Again she shrugs. "Might be a tall order." She rubs her nose. "Seems like everyone and their dog is a hero these days, but no one does anything really heroic. Not really. Even heroes leave destruction and chaos in their paths. Begs questions."
*
"Sounds like a bit of a hero to me. Don't tink any of de guys and gals on de teevee are half as sparkly as de news would like us to tink. The real world filled with choices that make yo hands dirty. Forces you to decide somewhere in de shades of grey." Gambit can sympathize with her comments. After all, he's spent his whole life with the soft spot in his heart deemed as the major weakness for him with his family. To him Jessica and he have hit the same spot, coming from opposite directions. "Not sure what good is anymore anyways."
*
"They couldn't be, right?" Jessica asks as her eyes narrow. She takes a long drag on her cigarette and blows out smoke languidly. "No one is that sparkly. No one is that clean." Her lips press together into a tight thin line. "And that's exactly it, everything is grey. A person can hope to be on the right side of anything, and still fail. They do the best they can and nothing gets better. Not really. Not long term."
"Trish would have me be sparkly. Like everyone else." With a stitch of self-masochism, she adds, "I should aspire to be the person she thinks I already am. Honestly."
*
"True happiness dey say is bein' happy wit who you already are," Remy says with a shrug and downs the next shot. "And not takin' yoself so seriously dat you worry about everyting someone else tink's you're not."
*
Jessica pinches the bridge of her nose. "Maybe. Maybe not. Might be impossible to like pieces of yourself. Who knows?" She lifts her chin, and turns her head to eye the room. "Just look around. The barflies are what they are. But that doesn't mean they're happy about it. Even if they acknowledge that. Not sure whether a person is born who they, or made that way by other people. Probably some combination." Her eyes blink. "And if that's the case, then that would mean I'd have to like the bits made by the Walkers. No thanks. I'll leave those bits alone."
*
"Infinite possibilities no? Maybe you meet de Walkers, maybe you don't. Maybe dey have a hand in bringing you up in ways dat you liked, maybe dey didn't. Maybe if you'd have had a totally different life you'd be a lot like you are right now. No clue. Often, Remy tink about what it'd have been like to know his real family. Maybe if maman not so afraid of me bein' a mutant, maybe I'd have turned out a lot differently."
"Den I remember how much fun I tend to have, and I get bored wit wonderin' about tings I had no control over."
*
Another puff of her cigarette has Jessica chuckling quietly and leaning further back in her seat. "I should leave philosophy to the teachers and preachers like you said." Her eyes blink hard. "So your family were afraid of the whole mutant thing?" She shakes her head lightly. "People really are shits, aren't they? So how did you end up with the people you consider family? They mutants too?"
*
"Yeah, most mutants don't show till we teenagers, but I got lucky mahself with de eyes. 'Parently dey got rid of me den and dere. Picked up by de Le Beaus and, well, how to say dis in a nuanced way…" Remy takes another shot and downs it. "Well, we a band of t'iefs. S'what we do."
*
"Damn," Jessica offers in response before waving at the bartender to bring her another whiskey. The glass is brought to her and she takes a long swig of the dark amber fluid. She smacks her lips after and shakes her head once. "So you were destined to steal things. Do you opt to steal from people like those that brought me to your doorstep? Or just whoever?"
She pauses a moment and then asks, "Were the Le Beaus mutants too?"
*
"Oh, sorry. No, dey were not. I tink dey felt bad for me and dat papa thought maybe he could mold me." Remy looks at her for a moment from behind his sunglasses. "Tink you'd like me more if I lied."
*
"Unlikely," Jessica counters quietly. Her eyes blinks hard several times over and she emits a soft sigh. "It's got to be hard being so obviously different," she observes before polishing off the glass of whiskey. "Ever hear about that superhero Jewel? Now she's a phoney." If ever there was one. Her jaw tightens. "Just another wannabe sparkly hero."
*
"Mmmm," Remy says with a nod. "Read about her in de papers. T'be honest dere are so many of dem I don't know how t'distinguish. What you mean a phoney?"
*
"Just is. Tries to be heroic. Knows life isn't like that. I see through her. Believe me. Life is grey, and she wants to pretend it's black and white. She wants to pretend that the people she catches and fights are honest 'bad guys,' but she really questions what that even means." Jessica's eyebrows furrow and she chuckles, "Besides, Jewel sounds more like a stripper name than a hero, am I right?"
*
"What you got against some poor gal just tryin' do to sometin' right? I aint gonna say I understand it. Folks been trying to get me t'do some right with my powers too, but I aint gonna begrudge a lady just tryin to make her way. Dere a lot of dem folks out dere, and while I aint doin' what dey doin, I aint gonna piss in dere cornflakes either. She probably like us, just one step away over on d'other side, non?"
*
"Because she knows better. Because even the name Jewel insinuates some measure of sparkliness that she knows she doesn't have," Jessica side-eyes the rest of the bar and emits another sigh. "Never mind. I just drank too much. Should sleep or something."A glance is cast towards the door. "Want to sleep on my couch? Early day tomorrow and I'm guessing if I don't wake you up, you're not getting up?" Pause. "It's incredibly uncomfortable, but almost adequate."
*
Remy can't help but giggle. Almost like a school boy as he stands, "You're Jewel." He says it in a whisper, because heroes get all pissy about that sort of thing. "And you're havin' an existential crisis. Glad you ran into me. And yeah, yo couch be fine, chere."
*
"No, I'm Jessica Jones. Jewel isn't anybody. Maybe a dream. She could be a dream," Jessica's lips twist to the side. "Some dream made real only in theory." Her cheeks puff out as she exhales a semi-exasperated breath. She reaches into her wallet and leaves some bill son the table. "Shall we? As I said, the couch is perfectly adequate." She gives a small nod to the door.
*
"Keep your money, chere. All travel and expenses, remember?" Remy puts his own money on the table and crumples hers, reaching for her pocket. "Perfectly adequate," he says. As they make their way out the door he can't help it. Even though he shouldn't. "You got a costume? Can I see it?"
*
The money is tucked back into her jacket pocket, prompting a smirk from Jones. But as the pair walk out and Remy expresses interest in seeing her costume, all he receives in reply is a snort.