1963-10-05 - AKA Acquaintances
Summary: David and Jessica Chat
Related: None
Theme Song: None
maverick jessica 

After several days cooped up playing caretaker, David needed some fresh air. No, he is not entirely sure why 'fresh air' has translated to a trip to Farrell's, it's just where his feet carried him, and he's long since learned not to question these things. He ducks inside with a slightly wary glance back over his shoulder, lips drawn into a thin line before he turns to head for the bar.

"Surprised you're open with the way it looks out there," David says lowly.

A glass and bottle of bourbon are on their way to the counter before David's even sat down. "Man. That's why we're open."

David hums thoughtfully. "Fair enough."


Does Jessica Jones live here? That is the question of the hour as the dark haired woman slides out from a booth in the back, whiskey bottle and glass in hand, and slumps next to David. "North," she murmurs while holding a cigarette between her lips. "You look like hell," although it could just be the fact that she's day drinking. Who knows?

Her chin lifts and she inspects him carefully, only to note, "And I should know. Just got back from that place…"


"Jones. Is that where you've been?" Normally, the question would be lighthearted, but given the way the city's been lately… no, David is entirely serious, watching Jessica with a worried frown. "I hadn't seen you in here for a while. I was starting to worry."


Jessica slams the glass on the counter, and seems mildly disappointed it hasn't shattered under the force. Of course, she couldn't make that happen, but chooses not to. She's too good for that. "Yeah," she answers. "I blame the Devil of Hell's Kitchen." Her head cants to the side. "If you meet him, you can tell him I said so." Because Murdock deserves that much. "There's trouble around here, and it sucked us into that thing in Central Park."

Her eyebrows lift expectantly. "No reason to worry. Every time I disappear, I get dragged back to whatever shithole this reality is."


"They do say that hell is other people," David muses thoughtfully, drumming his fingers against his glass. "So it stands to reason that the Devil'd be held accountable for your trip there. Still. Glad you're back relatively unscathed." He offers his glass for a clink.

Whether he gets one or not, David then takes a quick drink. Ah, better. "That thing in the Park is… mmh. I don't know where it came from, but it needs to go away. Things were bad enough before."



Jessica's jaw tightens. "Real hell was before that," she states blandly. "Defeating demons is nothing compared to having an asshole in your brain." Her eyebrows tick upwards and she finally uses the bottle to fill her glass. She rubs her nose. "I just want my home back. After all the bullshit that's gone down — " she cringes.

Despite having made a trip to hell, Jess is more sober than the last time she'd met David. "So. What's your story?" A glance is given to the bourbon. "Only experts day drink."


"I actually hadn't intended to," David admits, looking down into his glass with a small frown. It's true, he really hadn't. But here he is, and the realization is not about to make him shy away from his bourbon. He looks back to Jessica again, thinking for a moment, before he draws in a breath. Well. They are bar friends, after all.

"More trouble with…" David reaches up to tap his temple, lips twisting into an unhappy smile. "Apparently, I may have been programmed with triggers during my time away, which is just super. And I don't know anyone who is capable of checking for me and cleaning them out if I do." He pauses. "…well. Noone I'd trust to do it. So." He raises his glass. "Day drinking."


Jessica's eyes narrow. She shifts in her seat and polishes off the glass of whiskey she'd just finished. "You're fucked," she observes helpfully. Her head turns and she studies him carefully. "I don't know anyone," she states bluntly. And she does know a lot of people. "But," of course there's a but, "I might be able to keep an eye on you." Her eyes turn upwards as her jaw tightens. "Believe it or not, I'm kind of strong," she shrugs. "And hard to hurt. I could — " she shrugs. It's the closest thing to help that she can offer.


David just nods once and raises his glass at Jessica's observation, clearly agreeing with that assessment. The offer of help, though, does seem to take him by genuine surprise. "Oh, no, I believe you. If… yeah. Yeah, that might be a good idea," he says slowly, frowning down at his glass. "I have friends who are trying to help, but if a switch did get flipped..? I don't know if they could stop me from going through them. And I'd really rather not."


Quietly, Jessica's fingers drum on the counter. "I could stop you." Her lips twitch. While she says nothing about David's friends, the notion of having friends unsettles her. She might have people in her life, but she's used to pushing them away. "What kind of triggers?" she finally asks.

Her lips purse and she frowns slightly. "Kilgrave told me what to do. And I wanted to do it. Like," her eyes sweep towards David, "actually. He'd say something and I followed through like Barbie." She reaches into her pocket and draws out a new cigarette which is immediately lit. "But. It broke when my will took over. Like, it went too far."


"I'm glad Kilgrave got what he deserved. I hate mind-fuckery, it's… you never know if you're over it." The booze helps. David empties his glass and nudges it towards the bartender's side of the counter in a silent request for a refill. "Insidious."

He rakes a hand back over his hair, eyes narrowed slightly in thought. "These would be… well. The one I was warned of would be triggered by a song," David says slowly, with a roll of his eyes. "I'd hear it, and feel compelled to return to the nearest facility that I know of. If it works for me like it worked for someone else, I'd have no control. I'd see what was happening, but…" He gestures awkward with one hand. "It would be like watching a movie. I'd see it, have opinions, but couldn't actually change anything."


"That's worse," Jessica commiserates. "If you were complicit or like… empty, at least you don't have to see that bullshit. Ugh." She can empathize, apparently. At least she wanted to do the things Kilgrave wanted her to at the time. But then the guilt grew after the fact.

"I snapped his neck," Jessica has no regrets about that. "But only after," she frowns. "My hand when through her head." Her shoulders sink. "But it broke it." Her eyebrows lift. "You know who did this to you?" she sucks on the inside of her cheek. "I know you don't really know me, but I'm incredibly good at finding things. People. Things."


David can't help the very genuine wince that crosses his features as Jessica explains. It isn't a lot of detail but it is, apparently, enough for him. "I'm sorry." Nothing more to say, really. What do you say?

"…I do know," David replies, and a little bit of light returns to his face. "And I've been having a hell of a time tracking him down. I'll take all the help I can get." Immediately, he goes digging in his jacket for a pen, his other hand reaching for a napkin. "I even have copies of the files from two facilities, if you'd like to see how much he deserves to get what's coming to him. Or if it would be at all helpful."


Jessica lifts her hand. There's a strange irony in a woman denying evidence that the fellow gets what's coming to him. "No. Anything related to where they might be… pass along. I'm not a cop. And I'm not some kind of white hat. The fucker put something in your brain. He deserves whatever hell you see fit."

Welcome to Jessica Jones' mind.

"I'm a private investigator," sort of. "Well. I'm trying to be." She reaches into her jacket pocket and produces a card ALIAS Services.

"If I can find him, I will."

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