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Breaking into jail is easy.
Carlton Jane leaves work at exactly 5pm. Carlton Jane usually stops at the coffee shop for a cup of joe and a nice sandwich to take home to eat while he's alone.
Too bad Carlton Jane does not meet his habitual stop. Carlton Jane hadn't been heard from in over twelve hours until his next shift to work.
The man arrives as scheduled, a clear whistle upon his lips, police officer, designated guard of the station with a billy club between his fingers. He seems a little bit more jovial, not war torn as he usually is. He had a fresh shave, a shower, shirt and pants were crisp and his shoes were shined. One could equate this to a new lady friend in his life. Or a stroke of good luck. Which ever.
The prison pen is his watch for today, in fact, he happily volunteered for it. Promising to cover for his buddies while the drunks sleep it off, while the others cry in the corners waiting for their single, solitary phone call, while Jessica Jones, who may be or may not be awake, awaits for her time to be released. Granted, Carlton didn't really give a shit why she was there, he just only knew exactly where she was and wanted that single, solitary moment to get her within his sights.
That eerily whistle could be heard, along with the clip-clop of boots. That could be the first thing seen; the twisting of the billy club that swings upright only to be caught with manly fingers, the other hand smoothing out his hair as he leans against the bars, a clear grin upon his face as if he were meeting an old friend for the -very- first time.
Only not.
He was handsome, that was for certain, especially when he cleans right up and decides to shave. (He looks like Thomas Jane! Love that guy) So the smile, enimatic as it was, lingered upon his features for a time as the billy club rap-pa-tat-tat-tats upon the door.
"Jessica Jones. Yes? It has -surely- been a while. Care for a little chat?"
*
Jones, for her part, has been surly, angry, and altogether glum since being brought in. Hours in interrogation without the presence of her lawyer (who has been strangely MIA) have become wearing. The questions all the same, and the answers undeniably consistent. She stands from her sullen spot on the bench, rising at the sound of her name.
Her eyebrows lift as she treads to the bars, and her eyes squint, not wholly convinced this fellow should recognize her. Her arms fold over her chest, delightedly without their restraints for once, as she eyes the man. "Do I get a fucking choice in the matter? Is my lawyer here?" Because that would be cause to have this chat. Finally. "And are you going to fucking charge me with something?"
*
"Tough." The man regards her, taking a step away from the bars to lean towards the side to peruse the other inmates within that lonely row. If it was a row, after all. But with a lean forward again, the baton was stuffed within his belt, his shoulders lifting in a faint shrug. "Of course not. Though, if you prefer not to talk, you -could- just listen."
With that said, a toothy grin appears upon his face. It would start there first. The rapid peel of skin that draws blue to the foreground, the reptilian nature in which the shift takes place, the popping and slight snapping of bone and the sprout of red hair from the sandy brown that he used to sport.
She.
Even her height shortens just a touch, as fingers.. large as they were, curl around the bar to bear focus to the woman in front of her.
"I'd be kind enough to charge you with a death that you so happily evaded in the Hellmouth, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it is /too/ good for you. Bitch."
*
The toothy grin causes Jessica to visibly recoil. She's more than capable of stopping terrible things from happening to her, and could've easily blown this pop stand some time ago, yet she's been incredibly good and law-abiding; wholly convinced that Murdock would appreciate her restraint when it comes to whatever case the state comes against her with. Her jaw tightens, however, as the blue skin begins to form, and she can feel the nausea creeping up at the woman's appearance.
Eloquence has never been Jessica's strong suit, so as her eyes widen and her lips part, the splay of fingers that cover her lips are probably telling when paired with the words she does manage to find: "Oh, fuck."
*
-That- was the reaction she was hoping for. That, was the reaction that made her crack up into a little bit of laughter. No, she wasn't going to harm Jessica Jones. That extended vacation within the Hellmouth and a truce between her and Murdock promised that. Leave mine alone, leave yours alone. But no matter what sacred bond those two cooked up during their time missing; falls by the wayside of opportunity.
The way Raven sees it? They're doing a very, very shit job at protecting Hell's Kitchen.
"I -would- say that you'd assume that I died there, in the Hell Mouth. In -hell-. But it turns out, our mutual friend is quite the brutal tactician. My only question is.. how could -you- leave your friend behind to die?" She tch's quietly, beginning that slow stroll. "Even -I- wouldn't be that goddamned cruel. Jessica Jones."
*
Jones could've seen that coming. Her jaw tightens and her eyes turn to the cement. "Just another shit human being, I guess," she snarks back. It's a habit, and one that she won't dare break; doing so would only damage her further. Whatever explanation she has lingers in the back of her mind, but she doesn't offer it, instead craning her neck to spy the woman a bit longer.
Her lips curve into an irritable not-quite-smile. And then her lips purse. "What the hell do you want?" She can feel the familiar tremble in her hands. She needs a drink.
She bites back the urge and steels herself.
*
"Eh." Raven lets out, this time leaning upon the bars again. At least she was filling out her guard outfit pretty decently. Another knack, another snap, allows a hat to be formed upon her head which she takes off and begins to twist and tumble with her one hand. "I've seen worse." It was true.
"Now you're getting to the question of the hour. I could at least say that I am here to gloat. That you're here, in the face of many predators who feed off the wicked and the weak, how you've counted yourself among those who attempt to do good by attempting to stop me and my goals for Hell's Kitchen." Her brows, red as they were, wriggle. "Yes. I know the tale. I know that I was heard that fateful night. But I'm here to offer up a truce. And a way out of this shithole that you've found yourself in."
She takes a step back, the hat sliding on again as her skin changes once again; t'was a rippling effect. Her would-be natural visage showing. Blonde hair a slight flourish as she spreads her arms wide.
"I've got the keys to get you out. I have the people. The means. The money. The -backing-. All you've gotta do is ask." Her hands flop down to rest upon her hips then. "Or, you can rot. I have the means for that too. I'm looking for allies. Allies in this shit city to help me with the mutant agenda. Lord knows I refuse to rely on Matthew for this cause. But you? You fuck things up so well that I couldn't -help- but to be intrigued."
*
Jessica's weight shifts from one foot to the other as she assesses whether Raven is serious. Her eyes squint and her hands trail to her sides, seeking pockets that don't exist. Which means that when her hands reach that spot on her hips her pockets would've been, her hands just slide down further to her sides before interlocking behind her back. Good. Yes.
"No one fucking owns me," she replies. "I was already helping your fucking cause. Nine students missing from Hell's Kitchen High. All suspected mutants. All labelled by these fucking assholes," she peeks about the cell, "as runaways. Fucking runaways. Being a mutant in high school may be shit, but that doesn't describe nine missing kids to me." Her eyebrows lift. Her head cants tot he side, "And you're right. I fuck things up. Let fucking Murdock deal with these kids. I'm fucking out. Whoever is responsible sent a girl to my doorstep to die and get me stuck in here. Without charges."
*
"Honey, I don't have ears to the ground in every place." Raven points out. But hearing that she -was- helping, it was good to know. There was something to be considered there, her fingers tapping lightly against her chin, her now blue eyes canted downward as she considers this. Should she back down on the offer? Or go with something else instead..
"Alright Ms. Jones. You got me there." Raven concedes defeat, momentarily.
"However, I'm going to own you. You want Murdock to handle it, fine. I'll make sure you're clear and out of the way. For good." She glances to the left, and then to the right. And then smiles. "When I leave here, Carlton Jane will report to his betters, wounded and battered. Jessica Jones reached through the bars and injured him to the point his eye swelled, his nose bled. But what he did not know, was that his skull was cracked. Carlton Jane will go home. And he will fall asleep. And he will never wake up. It's an open and shut case. Murder."
She draws in a sigh, then exhales happily. "Or you give me every, inch of details that you have on your case. Your missing children. Tell me where to find the one that fell upon your doorstep. Continue to assist Murdock, in.. whatever fuckery it is you do. And you'll have more backing and possibly money you could suck down your goddamned throat." She grins faintly. "Hard to mask the smell of alcohol right now. It's leaking from your pores."
She shrugs though. "Granted, it doesn't seem like a win-win situation since you'll be under the thumb of the Brotherhood. But trust me, the benefits?" She clicks her teeth. "Worth it. What say you, Jessica Jones? Murder of man? Or savior of mutants. Your call."
*
Daredevil has arrived.
*
The conversation causes Jessica to pause. Dejection colours her expression as every inch of her face creases downward. There's an obvious element of defeat there as she slowly trails to the bars. Of course, after spending months under the thumb of one mutant, Jones has no intention of living under another. Which is probably why she reaches through the bars to grab the other woman by the throat. While the bars wouldn't normally give enough space, Jones is strong and they easily move to her will.
"Or," she asserts, "I could actually kill you. Fuck you. I'm no fucking hero. I'm a fucking nightmare."
*
"Right down this way, Mister Murdock."
The officer is guiding Matt, who holds to the officer's elbow for direction, when a sound gives him pause. Not only a sound, but two very distinct scents.
Which holding room is it?" he asks, tugging for a moment on the police officer's elbow to draw him up. "Forgive me. I've found that my clients have a hard time when their lawyer is led into holding by law enforcement. Considering she hasn't yet been charged, I would appreciate a level of discretion with my client."
"Fair enough," the cop allows after a moment's hesitation. "Straight ahead, third door on the left."
"Thank you." Matt releases the officer's arm. "I will call for you when we're finished." He tucks the cane beneath his right arm, and reaches out to follow the wall and count the doors with his left hand.
"
*
ROLL: Raven +rolls 1d50 for a result of: 26
*
Perhaps Raven suspected that she'd be faced with some feedback. She didn't move, she stayed remarkably still as she becomes prey to Jessica. The snapping out of her hand catches Raven by the throat, and with a silent grin, she follows through. Follows through to the point she's moving against the hand that captures her, her head drawing back just enough to slam her OWN face hard into the bars.
"Owah..ha..ha..owww!" The woman cries out, her hand touching along the tops of her forehead, nevermind the fact that Jessica still has her by the throat. (If she hadn't let go by now.)
"Oh my gosh, Jessica Jones charged with -two- murders!" The sound of the bars from afar catches her attention, her fingers.. slender as they were, slowly begin to fatten as she slowly begins to resume Carlton Jane's visage. "You should let go. By the way. How much do you weigh?"
*
Jess hasn't let go, and in fact, as Raven speaks, Jones' grip tightens. She's snapped a neck before. And this feels incredibly familiar. The voice. British. The suit. Purple.
Her eyes stare at Raven with the kind of hatred reserved for one man and one man only: Zebediah Kilgrave had been at her mercy like this. He'd ordered her to let go, and for once she'd rejected that. Her hand tightens further. "Stop talking," she commands before she issues the other woman a cant of her head. And then, in her PTSD state, she repeats the sage words she'd spoken then, "Smile."
*
The sound prompts Matt to move a lot faster. The police officer, who was going to hang back, decidedly follows. Well, that's just great.
Matt opens the door and quickly rushes in. "What the hell is this?" he demands. "Jones!"
The cop comes in just behind, and already has his billy club out. "Freeze!" he demands.
Matt's voice develops a growl. "Jessica Jones, let her go." He holds out a hand toward the police officer, in the hopes that this all doesn't escalate.
The officer instead comes over toward Carlton Jane, and he doesn't look happy. If Jones doesn't let go, he'll likely try to pry her hands off Raven's neck.
*
Daredevil has partially disconnected.
*
Raven could feel the tightening of the hand upon her throat. Her eyes.. well, -HIS- eyes now watering, blistering with a hint of red as one hand goes to the bar to brace himself for the fight that was to ensue. He was asked to smile, Carlton Jane was, his teeth grit to resist the urge to give her what she asked, but he does have a mind to focus in on that little blip of a word. "F..f..ffor ..who.." He manages to squeeze out.
It was a strain, there was even a faint hint of a muscle that sounds as if it were being ripped. There was no way for Raven/Carlton to realign his spine to stop the snapping of his/her neck. And yet, as Matthew approaches with the officer, Raven tries to ward them both away with a wave of his hand, and yet.. once the officer does approach? Raven snaps out with his/her own to slam his head right into the bars to knock him out cold. "S..smile for -who?!"
Raven wouldn't feel like herself if she wasn't getting choked out on a monthly or bi-weekly basis. After all.
*
Raven has partially disconnected.
*
He owned her.
Jessicaaaaah.
Raven can feel Jessica's grasp tremble. Her eyes are distant; distinctly not-there as she lives through those moments forever-imprinted on her psyche: what she did in those moments, and the utter emptiness that had filled her entire self following. Her breath releases, and something changes as she hears her name again, this time without Kilgrave's irritation.
Her nostrils flare and her eyes alight with renewed fire as she remembers herself. "This isn't an officer. It's blue. From the Hellmouth," she deadpans as her fingers remain on the officer's throat. "I hate fucking assholes. She counts as one," even if Jessica admitted to being a 'shit' human being only minutes before.
*
"I know who it is," Matt answers harshly. The irony is not lost on him; two people among so many, and yet these two actually know who he is. Who he really is. He doesn't flinch when the officer is assaulted, but there is a disgruntled feeling as he realizes that now, he's going to have even more dirt to clean up. "And I owe my life to this 'asshole'," he adds. "Now let her go before this gets more ugly than it already is."
Matthew doesn't know what is going on, beyond the fact that Raven is being strangled by Jessica. He doesn't know why, but he knows at least how to start fixing this mess.
He's really hoping he doesn't have to do anything brash.
*
Raven has partially disconnected.
*
Well, there was something. As soon as Jessica ratted her out, Raven takes the liberty of reaching for the hand upon her neck to press at the pressure point that connects thumb to pointer finger. It was a gentle press, not one to harm, there was no need to start a fight within the jail. And even as her cover is blown, her skin shifts.. drawing out that blue, red and yellow colors that make up who she was. But she wasn't going to get rid of that uniform, she actually like the way it fits.
Still, Raven being Raven, Queen Asshole of Gamorrah, she rolls against the bars, finally letting out a coughed breathe and a slight wheeze. "You have some -really- bitchy friends, Matthew." Tch. "I thought -I- was bad."
*
"Fuck you, Murdock," Jessica replies. Her mind works around the events of the last few weeks — ever since she was given the Ferguson case, and something becomes ever-clearer. "Leave me in this hole." And then with all the vitriol she can manage, she virtually spits, "I don't take orders from fucking anyone, Blue. You can't own me. You don't own Alias Investigations. My people do what they do." Pause. "For the money," a lie considering Jess had conveniently forgotten to charge the last case a retainer.
"That goes double for you, Murdock." Which is precisely why Jessica doesn't let go. That would null the objective. "Have them throw me in Supermax. It'd be better than the hell of being under someone else's thumb," a telling observation. Her eyes lid and she inhales a slow breath. "Christ, why did I take that fucking case?" she mutters to herself as she finally lets go on her own accord.
A hand presses to her forehead as she trails back to the bench she'd been seated at earlier.
*
One thing is for certain; Matt Murdock had nerves of steel, and that was before the Hellmouth. They're something else now, and a bit of verbal abuse doesn't even leave a mark. Instead, he reaches into his overcoat and produces a piece of paper. "Someone named, ah, 'Heather', I believe? Left word at Nelson and Murdock that you had requested my services." He folds the letter up, then walks over toward the now bent bars, pushing it through and holding it there. "If you are seeking to retain me, then I would need to insist on some level of discretion and privacy."
That's his cue to turn toward Raven. "Raven… it would make my life much easier if you were to find a way to fix that." He nods his head toward the snoozing police officer. "And, by fixing, I mean… come up with a story, disrespect amongst precincts, not… cement shoes in the Hudson." He cocks his head. "Consider it repayment for that whole incident with the giant worm?" Surely she'll remember what he went through to keep that beast from devouring her last year…
*
Alias Investigations. There was a reason as to why Raven asked Jessica her weight. She had gotten what she had needed from this entire encounter, not having expected Matthew to show up promptly when she did changes things just a little. But this little fiery bird was something else. Something that caught her eye and attention. And far be it from Raven to allow personal alliances to stop her from achieving her goal.
So this one was a little -too- personal. Lets see how this one blows up, shall we?
As Matthew goes onto his business with Jessica, she narrows her eyes towards the woman. Fingers curl around the bars as she opens her mouth to speak, yet she shuts up immediately as she glances towards the man upon the ground. "Shit." With a lift of her hat to turn it backwards, she steps around the Lawyer to bend down, fingers pressing against his throat. "Let's just blame it on her." Even though it wasn't an option, she gives a slight sigh. "One debt paid, fifty more to go." The wrist of the officer was gripped, the man tugged upright and slung over her shoulder with ease. It took a moment, but he was clearly secured.
"Think about my offer, Jessica. We don't need heroes. We need fucking nightmares." With that said.. she ambles along. Chances are she was going to dump the poor sod into the bathroom with another dude complete with pictures for blackmail.
It happens!
*
Raven receives a scowl as she retreats; the last vestige of a figure stuck behind bars. With the shapeshifter gone, Jessica's eyes turn upwards. "I told Heather to call you," she offers back to Matt, "I haven't been charged with anything and I've been here for more than twenty-four hours by my count." Her eyes roll emphatically. "Look Murdock. Trish will pay you, even if I tell her not to," Because Jones knows her sister. "In fact, she's probably trying to throw money at a fancier, more expensive lawyer. But that's not the point. Yeah, I had Heather call Nelson Murdock, but not — " she frowns and her head shakes.
She presses herself up to a stand. "I don't need the lawyer. I need a fucking investigative team. I've tripped onto something I have no business being in the middle of." She pinches the bridge of her nose as she begins to pace the cell. "A kid went missing from Hell's Kitchen High. Her father was roaming the Kitchen looking for her with fucking pictures. My associated and I took the case." Her pacing increases. "Turns out she's one of four kids missing. Police call them all runaways. Classmates think she's a mutant; father denies it. No evidence of running away. But the case is close." Her eyebrows lift. "We start poking around. Seeing where she was. Looking into her older boyfriend." Jessica frowns. "Five more kids go missing," her eyebrows lift again to punctuate the point. "All called runaways without opening files with the police. All seemed to be mutants."
*
Raven has left.
*
Just because Raven knows Matthew well enough to know that blaming it on his client is not an option, it doesn't mean that she isn't going to get a disappointed look. Strangely, he does trust Raven to stick by her word, even if such a word wasn't so directly given. He isn't nearly as concerned with how Raven fixes it, as long as the cop doesn't end up dead. That's a problem that he and Jessica simply do not need right now. He won't thank her, not yet. Instead, these are his departing words for Raven.
"Forty-nine."
Dry, and yet somehow witty, in spite of the heavy mood that's settled upon this room.
Matt retrieves the letter, seeing as how Jessica doesn't need it after all, and tucks it back away into his overcoat. He listens patiently, cane still held under his arm, briefcase in hand. When she's done, he asks, "On what grounds were you arrested?"
If she knows him well enough, she'll know that Matthew is not just ignoring Jessica's plea. He thinks better of it, and offers up an explanation. "You're behind bars at this moment. That is our number one agenda right now."
*
"That's the thing," Jessica offers in return, "Ferguson, the missing girl, the case I took showed up at my office yesterday. Bleeding. Missing fingernails. Wounded. One of my people did CPR and got her stabilized. And I've been told charges are pending. They've spent the better part of the day interrogating me to piss me off and trip me up."
Jessica returns to the bench and sits back. "I think someone is giving me the middle finger to tell me to fuck off the case. Someone has already bought off the police. There's no reason why there shouldn't be a slew of stories about nine missing kids from the local high school — but there's no story there if they're all runaways." Jessica looks up at Matt.
"I don't care about being behind bars. I belong here. Not for…" her eyebrows draw sharply together. "…not for Charlotte." For something else that she's not discussing. "But whatever is happening to those kids, yeah, that's serious. And if they felt the need to put me here, wherever Charlotte Ferguson wound up, I'm guessing they've already sent someone to keep her from talking." Her gaze lands heavily on Matt, even if he can't see it.
*
"I'm going to need access to your case files," answers Murdock. "All of them. And whatever you don't have on paper in your office? I'm gonna need you to rattle it all off. You've got sixty seconds." His tone hasn't changed much, but there's an influx of determination that might not have been there before. He'll give her that sixty seconds, if she takes it, to tell him how to access her case files and fill in any gaps that might be in Jessica's mind only. Once that sixty seconds are up? He's got another question for her, one he'll voice even if she doesn't have to take the whole minute.
"Now you've got sixty seconds to explain what the hell is going on with Blue."
*
The assertion has Jessica pacing again. "David North knows where most of the files are. The system is scattered in boxes throughout the office," her apartment. "There's a wall with photos and string near the door. It shows where we've been and where we're going. Ava, Remy, and Alexander have all been following different threads. The boyfriend was trouble. I need to find him." While behind bars. The irony isn't lost on Jessica. "We think she met him at the local soup kitchen at St. Mary's Church. Irish Catholic name. Irish Catholic father. Older boyfriend? No idea where else she'd have met him."
Her lips twist to the side at the question about Blue. "She tried to own me. I don't fucking do that. No amount of money is worth that shit. She blackmailed me saying she would have me either pegged for the officer she was impersonating," which she still isn't convinced won't happen, "or I'd be in her pocket. I am not stepping back into anyone's fucking pocket. Not hers. Not anyone's. I've already lived in someone's control, Matthew," not Murdock for once, "and I won't fucking do it again," her voice cracks and her eyes clamp shut. With a shake of her head, she steels herself again, bottling the emotion that had so threatened to come out.
*
Matt Murdock is an attentive listener. He also knows when there's nothing more to be said. He can be a man of few words, for there's more power in listening than there often is in speaking.
"The NYPD cannot hold you for this long without pressing charges," he advises her, and turns away to collect his things. "Word of advise?" He nods his head toward the bent bars. "Get those damn things in order, real fast."
Without another word, he turns to make his departure.
TWO HOURS LATER…
Two NYPD cops and a Detective enter Jessica's cell. One of the cops moves to unlock the cell door, while the others hang back. The Detective has a proper scowl upon his face, and once the door is open, he steps forward. "They always told me, 'be careful around Nelson and Murdock'." He gestures toward the open door, where beyond and in the hallway, one Foggy Nelson stands with a grin on his face and his arms crossed. "We'll be watching you," the Detective warns.
"Hey, hey, hey, don't you harass my client, Detective!" Foggy steps in, projecting mock anger. "Don't make me remind you just how many of Miss Jones' rights you're close to trampling on!"
"Hey." The Detective steps back, hands in the air. "She's all yours, Nelson."
Foggy turns to Jessica, winking. "Hi," he tells her, somewhat awkwardly, before turning his stink eye back upon the Detective. "That's 'Mister Nelson', Detective. The 'Esquire' is optional."