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It's been far too many days since Jessica has returned her phone calls to her adopted sister, Trish. The former failed to tell the latter she was headed to New Orleans and hasn't responded to any calls since. Finally, enough was enough, and a visit was in order. Who knows what Jones has gotten herself into now?
It's night in Hell's Kitchen (why did she pick such an awful place to live?). The street is quiet and a look up to her apartment from the street shows the light to be off.
*
Worry. Concern. Apprehension. Whichever word is used, that's what Trish is feeling. Having not heard from Jessica, and with her calls not being answered, she has taken it upon herself to find out why, exactly, her adopted sister has been out of reach. Sure, it means she has to make her way down to the rather unpleasant Hell's Kitchen, but that's a small price to pay to ensure that Jessica's safe.
"Jessica?" She knocks on the door. "Jess? Are you home?" She may have been able to tell from outside that the light was off, but that could just mean that Jessica was trying to avoid attention, for whatever reason. She pounds on the door for another moment more before she starts digging through her purse. "Where's that key?" She murmurs. "Aha!" She pulls it out and starts unlocking the door.
*
There's a shuffling as the door begins to open, but once Trish gets it wide, all is still. There is, however, a light on in the back room, back where the bed is. The rest of the apartment is dark, but the young woman may get the overwhelming feeling that there is another presence in the apartment. And there is an intense smell of smoke. Jessica's apartment always smells like smoke, but this is recent. But there is no answer to Trisha's calls.
*
Key back in her purse, door closed, Trish peers toward the bedroom. "Jess? I've come to check on you. I've been worried." She sniffs gently. "Is that your usual brand?" Well, she knows somebody is here, but why would it be anybody but Jessica? She turns on a light and squints, eyes adjusting to the light in the rest of the apartment.
"What's going on, Jess?" Her fingers grasp her purse tightly, her eyebrows furrowing and her forehead creasing ever more deeply in concern. "This isn't funny anymore. Just come out and talk." She says in a firm tone as she takes a few steps toward the bedroom.
*
"Sh'aint comin', chere." Off in the corner, there's a scruffy looking rogue with hair that is far too long for 1963. As the lights come on, his black and red eyes turn to look at Trish before he takes a deep drag from his cigarette. "Hey," he says with a smile and exhales a puff of smoke. A finger reaches out to point at Trish before Remy Le Beau exclaims, "It's Patsy!"
*
Spinning about to find the voice, Trish's eyes land on Remy. Her first reaction is, understandably, surprise. Her second, suspicion. Thoughts go racing through her mind. Good, bad, and ugly scenarios all make their way to the forefront of her mind. "Oh yes, it's Patsy, and Patsy would very much like to know what you've done with Jessica. Now." Despite her words, she knows that anyone with the ability to harm Jessica would have to be pretty strong as well.
*
The drag of the cigarette takes way too long and the cherry glows bright red as Gambit still remains at least partially in shadow. As the smoke spills from his lips he shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. "Ole Remy din do nothin' wit Jessica Jones. Cross ma coeur, hope to die."
"Came callin' t'dis place to find out what happened not only to Jessica Jones, but to see what happen to Bella Donna. M'ex wife. She be stayin' here wit Jessica since we got back from Nawlins."
*
"Cross your…what? Nawl…Nawlins?" Trish raises an eyebrow. "You mean New Orleans? What would Jessica be doing in New Orleans?" She shakes her head. "No. This is all wrong." She takes in a deep breath of smokey air, letting it out slowly. "Why would your ex-wife be staying with Jessica? Huh?"
*
"Trish," Remy puts the cigarette out and lets go of one more exhale of smoke. "If ole Remy can call you Trish. Jessica tole me all 'bout you and her. She a big fan and I get why you fixin' for a fight. Tell you de truth, I'm worried too. Jessica came down to Nawlins with me to search for mah'old wife, Bella Donna. She went missin' and Jones seemed like a good bet as someone who could help me find her. She did. We came back up here." Remy reaches for another cigarette on the inside of his coat.
*
"Tell me then, 'ole Remy', since you know about Jessica and I, and you apparently understand my willingness to fight for her, tell me why I should believe you? Why should I believe that you've got absolutely no clue as to her whereabouts?" Trish's voice is full of suspicion, her gaze never leaving this unusual man. "I find you in her apartment, practically all in darkness, and you're telling me that you don't know where she is?" She lets out a hollow laugh. "I'd think you were a comedian, if the situation weren't so serious." She takes a deep breath in. "Why did your ex-wife have to stay with Jessica, anyway? Why not with you?"
*
Remy lets out a short laugh and shakes his head as he lights the smoke. He keeps the cig between his teeth as he can't help but smile. "Y'aint ever met my ex, love. Let's just say I'm lucky to be still alive. Her and I, we need our space."
Remy makes a face and looks up at the ceiling. "I dun give much care weder you believe me or not, mademoiselle. Bit more worried on weder or not we can find dem. Why dey would have left witout lettin' me know…" His voice trails before he comes back. "Beats me. Even left my car outside. Spose deres no way to prove dat neither."
*
"Let's just say, for a moment, that it's not suspicious to find you here." Trish may not be comfortable with it, but he may be the best lead she has to finding Jessica. "What do you know that could lead us to them? Maybe we should call the police or…" Now, that bring a curious question to her mind. She knows someone who can help, but that will have to help. "Jessica's been out of contact with me for quite some time, which is very unlike her. All I want is to have her back safely."
*
"Got no clue, love. Been sittin' here for de last hour tryin' to tink it out. After a few days of callin' I stopped by to case the joint. Bella Donna been here for days, but aint got no toothbrush in de bathroom or in her stuff. Eder she lost all hygiene skills since here and I were toe'in ankles, or sometin else be happenin. What, I jus can't figure."
*
Sighing and rubbing her eyes tiredly, Trish rolls her necks gently. "They were both fine on the trip back here, too? Nothing unusual happened on the way back? How about in New Orleans? Did anything strange happen before you left to come back here?" She may be grasping at straws, but she'll do anything to bring her a step closer to finding her sister. "Did they say anything to you that could give you a clue to where they may have wanted to go?"
*
"Well, Jessica is pretty sure dat de guy who took Bella Donna was some kind of mind control mutant. Dats de reason we brought Bella Donna up to de north rather than take her home. De original plan was to meet back up the next day after we all got some sleep. But Jessica never did call. Far as where dey might have wanted to go, dey didn't really know each other all dat well. Mean, really, for about 20 hours is all."
*
"Mind control?" Trish definitely doesn't like the sound of someone who can do that. Tapping her foot impatiently, she chews her bottom lip as she thinks. "Did she ever give you a name for this gentleman with the mind control? Do you think he'd want to get Bella Donna back?" She asks cautiously, as if she doesn't really want to know the answers.
*
"Dunno. We din' stop to compare notes. We talked to him for a few minutes, and 'boom!' Jessica lifted up Bella Donna and got us out of dere. Far as a name, she called him Michael."
Remy sighs and puts his hands behind his head and leans against the chair and his head against the wall.
*
Stepping closer to the stranger, to Remy, Trish eyes the man. She's stil rather guarded, skeptical. "Michael? Fairly common name. Well, I suppose he probably didn't even know where to find Jessica, or you, or Bella Donna, anyway." She crosses her arms. "Now, because of my near inordinate worry for Jessica, I'm not my usual happy, cheery, trusting self. So I apologize that I'm having a difficult time trusting a random man I've just found lurking in her apartment. If she'd told you about me, why didn't you come in search for me when you were having difficulty reaching her? Hmm? It really would've gone a long way toward me wanting us to get along."
She chuckles softly, though it's still without much humour. "Granted, the only reason I want us to get along now is to help her. But that's, of course, assuming you're telling the truth. And I really do want to believe you're telling the truth." She sighs. "You can understand why I'd have trouble with that, wouldn't you? Nothing against you, personally, I just don't know you! But I'm trying. I really am!" In that, at least, she seems sincere. She does want to trust him. If anything, so they can get back the people they care about.
*
"Y'aint got nuthin' to apologize for," Remy says as he waves his hand. "I was ready to punch your lights out before I noticed your hair. S'why I'm over here. Been over dis whole apartment, dough, and haven't found any trace of dem. I feel just as worried as you do, mon ami." Remy pulls himself up out of de chair, "Maybe you work wit de police, and I'll talk to some of my people and see if we can start gettin' eyes on de street tryin' to find dese ladies."
*
"Well, lucky thing you didn't try to punch me." A coy smile crosses Trish's lips. "Lucky for you, that is." Looking around the apartment, worry crosses her face, much more so than it has during their entire interaction. Her free hand reaches up and gently twirls the heart-shaped pendant that hangs around her kneck. "I'm worried sick about her. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to her."
Looking back to Remy, she says, "How can I reach you, if I need to? It's only…" She shrugs slightly. "It would be good if there were a way to reach each other, if one of us finds them before the other does."
*
"Oh, I'm sure you'd have given me an awful fright," Remy says, as if to say that he doesn't actually believe she could have taken him. After all, this riverboat gambler always has an ace up his sleeve. "Dats probably a good idea." He reaches for a pen on Jessica's table and is up lightning quick and pulls the cap of the pen off with his teeth. He reaches for Trish's arm, should she let him, and begins to write his phone number.
*
"I bet I could've made a scaredy cat out of you." Trish grins, with an eyebrow raised, though this time it's raised in amusement. "Oh, I've got pa…" But he's already writing the number on her arm. "…per. Well, I suppose I'll just take note of it at home and wash my arm off there." There's an undertone of indignance to her voice. "Would you care for my number as well?" She reaches for the inside of her purse and pulls out a little notepad. She holds out her hand for the pen that Gambit used on her arm.
*
"Coulda made me all sorts of tings, m'lady, but unfortunately both of us aint got time for such things while dese two gals are missin." Remy hands the pen over, with the cap still in his teeth.
*
Writing down a number, Trish rips off the piece of paper and passes it to Remy. "Well, with the two of them missing, we've got no time to waste. The sooner we find them, the better."
*
Remy carefully folds the paper and puts it in the pocket of his trenchcoat. He holds his hand out for the pen and, should she give it, he slowly places it into the cap in his teeth and flips it over onto the chair. "Guess we'll be in touch."
*
Trish nods. "Yes, I suppose we shall be. Good luck." They'll both need it, for better or for worse, to find the ones they care about. "Call me immediately if you discover anything. I'll do the same. I'm going to stick around her for a little while, see if I can see anything out of place." She tells him, as she starts to look around the apartment.
*
"Sounds like a plan, mademoiselle." Remy goes for the door but stops. "For de record, I thought that one movie dat got negative reviews wasn't yer fault. Dat was bad writin'." And with that, he closes the door.