1964-04-26 - Bourbon, Boxing, and Bullshit
Summary: Garbage can be a good place to make friends.
Related: N/A
Theme Song: None
oliver jessica 

It's been an ugly twenty-four hours for Jessica Jones. After months of sobriety, it had all come crashing down. Hard. Which is why she sits on a bar stool in a seedy bar along the West side of town. The bottle of whiskey and glass in front of her are nearly empty and her eyes have that glazed over appearance — empty and bloodshot. Her teeth clench and her fingers curl around the glass.

She's been here all day.

And closing time was over an hour ago. Irritably, the bartender behind the bar eyes her. He treads towards her and quite literally grabs her by the scruff of her shirt to throw her out of the bar.

Which is how she lands amid the many bags of garbage out back. She calls back over her shoulder far too loud to be remotely lady-like, "I left because I wanted to!!!" And then for good measure she adds, "ASSHOLE!!!"

Her fingers trail to her hair that she combs and then, she rather sadly attempts to rise to her feet, constantly falling back amid the bags of garbage with every ounce of effort.


As always, Oliver appears from nowhere and with a distinct lack of ceremony. One moment he's not there, the next he's standing over Jessica and offering her a hand up.

Today he looks… normal, which is abnormal for him. Faded, comfortable jeans, a pair of green Chucks, and a long-sleeved tee with the sleeves pushed back almost to his elbows. He has the look of a man who hasn't tangled with a razor for a least a couple of days and there's a crooked smile on his face as he looks down at Jess. "C'mon, up you get," he says. He's remarkably casual, as if strangers help each other out of trash piles in alleys every Wednesday and twice on Saturdays.


The instructions actually have Jess just slumping back in the garbage with an air of defeat. Just a vague air of defeat. "I'll just stay here forever," she mutters as her arms cross over her chest. The alcohol has made her petulant. That can't be a good thing.

She regards his hand skeptically and then with a scoff from the back of her throat, filled with the irritation of the situation and her trap in the garbage bag pile. "Thanks," she accepts the hand and rises to her feet. Her eyes roll as she finds her feet.


"You're welcome." Never shy, Ollie doesn't hesitate when it comes to plucking a stray bit of trash from Jessica's hair. He tosses it aside and looks her over from head to toe. "You seem none the worse for wear," he observes. "Better than I normally look when I get tossed out with the trash."

Rather than teasing or judging, his tone is light and companionable. If anyone knows what it's like to get thrown out on their ear, it's the prodigal Queen. Once he has Jessica steadied, he reaches into his back pocket and produces a metal flask with a brushed finish. He uncaps it and takes a healthy swig, then raises an eyebrow and offers it up. "Bourbon," is the only description or explanation he gives.


Jessica sniffs loudly as the piece of trash is picked from her hair. Her expression steels, but then softens at the procurement of the flask. "Always," she answers wryly with a vague lift of her eyebrows. "For the record, I left," her eyes turn towards the door of the bar at her brash declaration.

"If I wanted to stay, I could've stayed," she mumbles as she accepts the flask and takes a long drink from the metallic flask. She downs the liquor and the familiar burn soothes as it trails down her throat, granting some semblance of reassurance to her. There's little question that liquor is its own crutch for her.


Ollie takes another draw from the flask before capping it and tucking it away. There's a chuckle, but it's a warm, unmocking laugh that's coupled with a nod. "I have no doubt," he agrees. "You strike me as someone who can handle herself."

For his part, he handles his liquor as if he drinks it every day. Which he probably does, to be fair. "Need a ride somewhere? I'm parked pretty close to here."


The notion of needing a ride somewhere earns Ollie a very slow, very crooked, smile. Jessica shifts her weight from one foot tot he other and she inspects him slowly. "You don't look that criminal," ever the cynic. "Also don't look too clean." Her nose wrinkles at that because being too spit and polished is its own crime. She smirks and then shrugs.

"Live in the Kitchen. On your way…" she eyes him "wherever you're going?" Her eyes narrow and she can feel that dizzying sense that happens when footing isn't quite stable. In fact, the stability is in question. She's been drinking all day after months of sobriety.


"Looks can be deceiving." It's not clear if Ollie is referring to his cleanliness or criminality, but he's not likely to elaborate if his sidelong grin is any indication. "And no, it's not on my way. Come on."

Going out of his way doesn't seem to bother him. He leads them out of the alley and around the corner until they come across a sleek motorcycle that's all chrome and green paint. There's a helmet strapped behind the seat; it's quickly loosened and handed over to Jessica.


Jessica's eyes turn up towards Oliver. Her lips quirk up on one side at the motorcycle. "Garbage guy," probably not the moniker he wants, "You have style. Kind of." Her head cants tot he's side and she allows her fingertips to trail down the span of the vehicle. "Seriously." She turns back to stare at Oliver a few beats and her eyebrows draw together, "I wouldn't have guess motorcycle. I'd have guessed… medium sized sedan." She smirks at him again before putting the helmet on.

She clips it at the chin and slowly moves towards the vehicle. "Alright, GG, you get to guide the way."


There's another laugh, this time coupled with an understanding nod. "I get that a lot, Garbage Girl. Come on."

He slings a leg over the bike, stands it up, and starts it. It's not a chopper, but the engine is more than beefy enough to get the job done. The seat isn't a double, but he scoots forward far enough to give Jess some room. No names, no questions, no explanations. Just a glance over his shoulder and a quick jerk of his head to indicate she should mount up.


Getting on the back of a COMPLETE stranger's motorcycle isn't smart. Without any semblance of safety, Jessica hops behind Oliver and shakes her head. "The Garbage Guy part or the sedan? Both seem completely plausible." She manages a small smirk, and if anything a hint of that same attitude.

"So where are you going anyways, GG?"


"Both parts." Ollie's answer comes with another chuckle, then he guns the motorcycle's engine and they tear away from the curb. He drives just on the right side of reckless, but barely. Like a man who's looked death in the face enough times that something as mundane as a collision isn't of much concern.

He knows the speed limits and the speed traps. He also seems to know exactly what his bike is capable of, which is why he revs and brakes without batting an eye, even in situations some might think of as dangerous. "I'm not headed anywhere in particular," he admits. "Just out to clear my head and pick up girls I meet next to dumpsters."


"Meet a lot of girls in dumpsters then," Jess replies lazily. While she should probably be holding onto Ollie, her placement on the bike remains tenuous, so it's probably good she was so complicit with the helmet. Her cheeks puff out with a long emission of breath. "Having success with the head clearing, GG?" Her nose wrinkles. "They say talking about stuff helps. But I don't know who the hell they are. And talking never feels like it helps."


"Garbage Girls usually aren't this good-looking," Oliver admits ruefully. "Today's a lucky day."

It's hard to hear over the rush of wind and the roar of a V-twin engine, but he's definitely laughing.

"As for my head, it's never really clear. My night job is… unique. So I generally don't talk about it." He spares a quick glance over his shoulder when Jessica wobbles a bit. "You?"


"Pffffft," Jessica replies eloquently. "That's fucking bullshit and we both know it." Her eyes roll unceremoniously — there's no pretence behind it. She groans at the notion of his head never being clear.

"Look GG, every-fucking-body has problems. Clear 'em. Don't clear 'em, but don't let the bullshit reign either." He earns a wrinkle of her nose and another roll of her eyes.

"Whiskey is my besssssst friend," she declares. "It's always there. Always delicious. Always the bessssst. It helps. Liquor helps. I thought helping people would help," she offers a one shouldered shrug.


"Helping people only helps if it involves a really, really good fight. Then it's very cathartic." Oliver gives his head another shake, but he's still smiling. "You're direct. I like that. Too many people in my life mince words and tiptoe and try not to offend or be presumptuous. It's boring."

There's a pause for a few seconds as he's cut off by an inattentive driver behind the wheel of a minivan. Rather than irritated, he's happy to have a chance for some creative maneuvering. "Liquor, though. Liquor always helps."


The notion of liquor helping wins Ollie a half smile. "GG, you and I could be friends," Jessica murmurs quietly. "The liquor always helps. At least to forget." Her lips press into a thin line. "And cheers to a good brawl. Throw someone across the room. Help someone. Make it work."

Her lips purse and she hums quietly. "Liquor is fucking mind bleach though. And a drink and a fight? Mmmm." That is extremely delicious.


"I'd offer to get drunk and box with you once we get to where we're going, but a gentleman never invites himself into a lady's place." Against all odds, Oliver actually manages to make that statement sound gentlemanly. He even bobs a quick, respectful nod. "Now if you want to invite me in, I bet we could blow the doors off the hinges. I could use a little exercise."


The statement warrants a smirk in turn. "GG, there's no fucking way you last one fucking round," Jessica smirks. "And you're wrong, I'm no lady. So come on up. Alias Investigations has been dead lately anyways." She lives where she works. "Deal. More liquor. Then boxing. And then MORE liquor. I have a bottle of whiskey I picked up this morning before the bar opened."

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