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The yelling from Alias Investigations is not quite crisp enough to make out the words, but the voices are clearly unhappy with one another. The man's voice, in particular, carries with a hint of anger. The woman's, however, murmurs — nearly calm as she utters replies to whatever the man objects about.
CRASH!
The man who is thrown through the Alias Investigations window leaves a mess of shattered glass in the hallway as the large man in the black suit groans on the floor.
Through the now-opened window (that is going to need to be repaired again), Jessica Jones stares at the man now on the ground. "I'm calling the police," she mutters as she turns on her heel.
But as Jessica turns around, the guy in the suit twists upwards and sprints down the hall. A hasty retreat seems apt. "You crazy bitch!" he yells over his shoulder, but doesn't dare stop.
*
The front door to the tenement as a whole opens, a pair of heels freshly bought from the stock houses of Macy's click against the floor, a gloved hand reaches out to press against the railing, the diamond upon her right hand seemingly too big for such a delicate finger to carry. Slim cut legs put in their work as they traverse up the stairs. One flight. Winded. Second flight taken without a breath missed even though the slightly maroon dress staunches their efforts. A plume of smoke wafts through the air, held onto by an enlongated apparatus that attached itself to pearly whites and lips most ruby red. Blonde hair curled tight and into a fashion that possibly only Elizabeth Taylor could pull off.
The lizard coils tightly to hold the garment in place, threatened by the near fleeing man as she reaches the top.
'You crazy bitch!'
The woman gives a slight roll of her eyes and a helping hand down the stairs with an exposed ankle that dares to remain bare in this day and age. The tumble and fall was met with a partial smirk as she cuts her way down the hall, gloved fingers pinching off the edge of the apparatus to blow the smoke, allowing it to mix with the fragrance of 21 Bonaparte. Glass was crunched with a heavy foot, and with an adjustment of her velvet clutch, the cigarette was soon ashed with a flick of a finger and a.. hesitant knock upon the wood that was left undamaged.
*
As the woman enters earshot, she can hear Jessica on the phone. Evidently the call tot he police was real. "…yeah… what are you, deaf? Jones. Jessica fucking Jones…. no that's not … Christ, are you kidding me? Jessica Jones… right… Alias…" there's a long pause. "…he threatened me… no, he didn't know… I…" the frown can be heard in her tone, "Look buddy, a man came into my apartment which doubles as my place of business, uttered threats, and dared lay a hand on me. A spike in adrenaline meant I sent him through the window. I'm filing a complaint because I don't need insurance telling me I'm breaking windows for no reason."
The knock, however, draws Jessica's attention. "I gotta go. Call me back later." Her eyebrows lift warily and she slams the phone back on the receiver. She straightens and leans against the front of the desk. "Hey." Awkwardly, she combs her fingers through her hair. "Been a day already. Uh. Alias Investigations," and it's only then that she realizes that the door is technically closed, even if she can see the visitor. With a smalls hake of her head she trails to the door and pulls it open. "Normally the sign is on the window," which she's destroyed.
*
Deadpan stare. A lean of her head in to look left and right at the slight ruins of.. well, there wasn't much. A bit of glass upon the floor on the inside, a little shard of wood that fell to the floor. The rest of it seemed, up and up according to the Woman's own tastes. But there was a slight grimace as she listens to the conversation. She just sent that poor man tumbling down the stairs! Perhaps he misstepped! Yes, she's sure the police would go with that.
This is Hell's Kitchen, after all.
Though as the attention is now finally upon the woman, she swallows what little bit of pride that she has, her chin lifting ever so slightly as the door was opened for her, the gloved hand reaching out to take the door by the edges to ensure that it won't hit her on the way in. "I'm aware.." She says cooly, her accent a near hidden shade of Brooklyn. Though the attempt was there to speak clean and clever, near high society.
"Miss Jones.." She states, pausing just to close the door behind her, her hand lifting to lock the door as if it would do more than to stop someone else from invading their privacy. Or perhaps that little click was but a small comfort for such a deal she was attempting to purchase. "..I would lie and say that you've come highly regarded and that I understand you handle your cases with a certain finesse, but the truth is, I'm desperate."
*
The comment actually earns the woman a smirk, not quite a smile, but not a frown either. There's appreciation at the remark, but it's not exactly merry. It's possible Jessica likes that she doesn't head the most reputable business. She tugs her black jacket, and issues the woman a shrug as she retreats back to the desk. She leans against it again, crossing her arms over her chest as she does so.
"Well, you know who I am, probably worth knowing who you are." There's a pause that follows. "And what the desperation is. Then I'll decide," if the agency will take the case.
*
As Jessica retreats back to her perch upon the desk, the Woman actually takes a moment to examine the living quarters and office with a critical gaze. It wasn't so much critical than a quick once over with cleanliness, but the lines were blurring every second that she was there. A lone couch. A small kitchen with necessities, much befitting the woman who stands before her.
"Amanda Severide." She states, turning with a bit of a flourish, one that was half-hearted and shown wear upon her body. "By name only. I married into the clan Severide only several months ago." There was a little smile, a very quick, ghosted one. "I'm sure that the Severide's themselves aren't too prominent in New York. But in Massachusetts, my husbands father is a senator there. And with more than enough money than anyone could shake a stick at. Old money. But I suppose that's not the point.
"Either way, it was a move that I needed to make in order to find my sister without.. interference. And I've been lead to this city. Yet before I could even arrive.. that.. thing happened with.. those monsters." She nearly looks disgusted at saying this, but she continues, even wearing a groove into the floor as she walks. Or.. percieves to. "I was unable to reach the city in time. Though, once I've called my dear sister to let her know that I was waiting, she was meant to board a ferry. She.. never arrived."
*
The mention of a sister causes something to cross Jessica's eyes, but the rest of her body yields no tells. She reaches into her jacket pocket and extracts a cigarette — Remy's brand, she's been recently converted — which is pressed between her lips. She reaches into another pocket and sets it alight. A simple puff on the cigarette and she's back to the present, with her arms now resting at her sides. "Unfortunately Missus Severide, I'll need you to be more specific. Monsters run rampant in New York." Her eyebrows lift to punctuate the point.
"What's your sister's name?" she asks quietly as she shifts her weight slightly. "Your story implies that you and her were…" she takes another puff on the cigarette "…somewhat estranged. You needed the Severide money to find her, and evidently you managed. Why do you think she didn't show? Any chance she just didn't want to?"
*
Of course the Woman had a flair for the dramatics. Look at how she was dressed! Though it is a wonder how she got this far, sight unseen in Hell's Kitchen, after all. Though Jessica was gauged by her movements alone, down to the very brand of cigarettes that she smokes. Those were stared at for a moment, a ghost of an expression passes her features which were recognition but nothing more. "Ice giants." She murmurs.
While the questions were quick and clipped, Amanda answers those easily. "Rebecca. And yes we were estranged for a very good damn reason." The stop in place has her turning to face Jessica directly, walking forward with a purpose to reach out and ash the cigarette into the tray presented there upon the desk. The apparatus was then hung unceremoniously upon her lip as she brings her clutch forward, fingers digging through the contents, retrieving a folded up news article (6/98) to offer towards the woman to take.
It wasn't a flourish, no. But the real skill is shown as her tongue slides the apparatus to the side to allow her to speak as if nothing was there at all. "She's a mutant. Dear old Daddy didn't approve. I would like to say that she was given over to the State as a ward at the age of sixteen but I'm afraid he was less.. is less than kind. You see, my sister and I are twins. We very much did not want to be apart. We made a pact that day that Daddy put her out, and promised that when we were able, we would find each other."
Surely, it's a fucked up sob story, but Raven (read: Amanda) would put on the water works to pull this off.
*
Jessica scans the article and takes another puff on her cigarette. Her expression remains painfully neutral, a nearly cool estimation of her thoughts. She nods slightly. "Alright. So." She lifts one of her fingers to summarize the situation. "Your sister and you were estranged because she's a mutant. She went missing when you were coming to pick her up, but the frost giants stopped your planned meet."
Her lips purse lightly and she blows a long puff of smoke into the air. "So what can your twin do? She's a mutant, can't she just keep herself safe?" There's a pause. "And what's Rebecca's last name? And any information you have about her last whereabouts would be helpful."
*
"Yes." The woman answers, finally snuffing out the rest of her cigarette as if it hadn't existed at all. "From where she lived, I assumed that she would have to use the lincoln tunnel to travel. And from there, to the docks for the ferry to get to the other side. Yes."
It was the smell of the cigarette that has her turning, her eyes shifting yellow, the creeping crawling of iris as it changes causes her to immediately close. Gloved fingers lift to press against her lids, rubbing.
"Her mutation isn't exactly hidden." Amanda murmurs quietly, her eyes blinking back to their normal blue hue, her throat clearing completely. She turns once more, shifting through her clutch again, then minding herself to reach for her apparatus to drop it inside. She was fishing, working her brain for one of the mutants who were taken that day upon the docks.
"Her skin looked like cut diamonds, but green. I'm unsure what that meant, but her mutation came upon her slow. Started with the forearms then spread. At the end, she looked as if she could be one with the fishes." There was a little smirk that plays there, but it was a sad, sad one. "Armitage. Rebecca Armitage. Last I heard she lived in Mutant Town, said she was in the tallest building and she could almost see across the way. Whatever that means." Her hand waves just a touch, as if she were pushing away an old memory. "I'm unsure if she could keep herself safe, and if she didn't want to be with me again, be safe with her sister, her other half.. she would have told me." Her bottom lip trembles faintly, but with an inhale of her breath, she regains her composure. "I'm willing to put down a down payment if you need. I just want her found and brought home.."
*
Jessica inhales a slow breath. Consideration pulls her lips to one side. "Mutant Town then. I'll follow up." Her jaw tightens considerably. "And I will require a downpayment and incidentals if they're needed. Typically we request 50% upon assignment and 50% later. Finding someone especially someone presumably taken is complicated." It's an understatement if Jessica ever did use one.
Even with Charlotte Ferguson's death and body washed ashore, Jones still hasn't successfully found the perpetrator. Although it's well in progress. She emits a long sigh. "We'll put in inquiries and start the process of finding this woman. Any other information you come into is helpful. And I'll need to look through her home. And an information we can find."
*
Amanda nods her head almost immediately, though no look of relief weighs upon her cut features. Her fingers both take the clutch within her grasp, snapping it open once more, index fingers dipping within to shift her fingers quickly as if she were counting pages. But she wasn't. She was counting money.
Of all that robbing that the Brotherhood has done, who would have thought that she'd spend it here?
Two stacks, banded and bundled were offered with a limped wrist, fingers tightly upon them at first as if she didn't want to let it go, then relaxing as she lets out a breath. "Whatever you need, I'll provide. Her phone number is written upon the news paper article, near the bottom. I did not know where she lived, I only had that as a means to contact her."
*
"Alright," Jessica accepts the cash. Interestingly, or perhaps, oddly, she doesn't count it, instead choosing to set it on the desk beside her. "My people will follow up wherever I can. But if anything comes to you, call. More information will make this easier. And will make us more likely to find her."
She shifts from her spot and then lowers her cigarette butt to an ashtray. "We'll get on it right away." Her eyebrows lift and she shrugs slightly. "If your sister wants to be found, we'll find her."
*
Thank goodness she didn't count it. Jessica probably would have peed herself. Amanda (read: Raven) paid a little bit too much in an assumption that the case itself would cost more than ten fine cars put together. It was a good thing that she had gold bars hidden somewhere in the states to keep herself a float for a while..
"Thank you, Miss Jones. Anything good or bad, I'd like to know."
-Now- there is a flourish, clutch still tucked beneath her arm as the other hangs out as if she were dangling keys, the little switch switch with her step stops as she moves to unlock the door. There was a deliberate way in which she opens it, one would think that she'd twirl and turn to close it but she doesn't. As much as she'd like to consider herself the likes of Bitch Puddin', she had to keep her guise cool and straight.
She steps out and closes the door behind her, the soft crunch crunch of her walk is met with a slight little stumble and a shift of her gait. One foot lifts to hop as if she were cleaning the glass free from the bottom of the heel, soon touched down upon the ground as she rounds the corner to head downstairs without looking back.
And thank god that she didn't. Her hand immediately smacks against her face as her eyes widen, her body leaning against the stairs as the heels collapse beneath her feet in form of a viewing of blue and scales, her skin shifting blood red.. her hair soon blue, her hair soon red and skin blue as well! The continual shift draws her form to grow large, a General with all of his stars, stumbling down the stairs with a twist and a turn as her back smacks against a wall to bring out the child with curly brown hair and big blue eyes.
"Shit shit shit." The little girl states, her eyes squeezing shut as she tries with all of her might to force a change.
But nothing comes forth.
So instead, the little winter-clad brown haired beauty of a kid completely legs it. Right out the door and past some unsuspecting elderly woman, who just had an apple snatched from the top of her grocery bag with a leap and a shriek of a warcry born from hell.