1964-06-12 - The Hercules Special
Summary: Hercules comes across a hungover Jessica and makes it his mission to help her. With a knockout.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
hercules jessica-jones 

Jessica Drew has arrived.

Jessica Drew heads to Harlem <HA>.

Jessica Drew has left.

Hercules has been talking to one of the hot dog vendors in the park, having unlimited hot dogs now because he paid with an antique gold coin. The vendor was skeptical at first, but a close inspection made it pretty clear it was the real deal - especially when the guy just casually moved his cart with one hand to get it out of foot traffic.

Finally, properly sausaged, he takes a seat on the bench and kicks his feet out and stretched, shirtless and at loose ends. He spent last night fighting giant crystal spiders and drinking wine with strange men. This modern world is very strange.

The night was long. Long and.. Jessica forgot what had happened. But she pulls herself out of the bar at the morning hour, the suns rays striking her eyes to make them water. One would think that she was crying, but the stinging burn of a life realized is what causes the tears. Not due to sorrow.

AKA: Waking up fucking sucks.

She coughs loudly as she wraps her jacket about herself, stumbling across the street, her fingers shifting within her pockets for a slice of luck and a light. Which she finds, takes a drag of.. and continues on. With a hacking cough. She look like death had warmed over, pale even though the suns rays beat down upon her skin.

Hercules glances at the woman making her way along the park, cocking his bearded head at her. He stands, dark hair grown long enough to spill over his shoulder as he reaches out to offer her his arm, "Poor lady! Have you been attacked by brigands? Has your lifeforce been drained by sirens in the great pools?" he says and then gets closer and gets a better smell of her.

"Ah, no, me thinks you're best by a very different kind of spirits, eh? Care for a sausage?"

Great. Jessica could spot the big dude a mile yonder, even as he rises and makes his way to her. In fact, his manner of speech and everything else about his demeanor was so off putting, that she nearly had the means and way to dry heave upon his feet. "….Fuck off."

In Jessica Jones speak, that means: 'No thank you. I don't feel so well, but I appreciate the offer.'

"And when I mean fuck off, fuck right the fuck off that bench you fucked off."

True Meaning: "Just have a seat and enjoy your meal, I'll be alright."

Hercules laughs heartily, "By Olympus! You are a saucy wench, as saucy as…well, that fellow's rather fine sausages. Although your buns seem not to be near so fluffy as his," he says with a rather obvious amusement.

"Still, I do sympathize indeed. I myself overimbibed, or would have if I were a mere mortal. Have you considered a strong coffee?"

If she wasn't so tired, Jessica would have put up a bit of a fight with Hercules, by way of throwing him.. or attempting to.. right back onto his park bench. But truth is, she was kind of hungry, and needed just the right amount of grease just to slightly sober up until she gets home. Slightly. "I don't drink coffee." She states grumbily, then turns to look towards the behemoth of a man with a slight scowl. "You won't stop, will you?" And then, a fingerless gloved hand extends towards the cart to give him permissions to procure her some fine sausage. Why not. It's going to be free.

Hercules grins, "I once moved a river to get a job done. You have no idea how stubborn I can be, miss," he says. He makes his way over to the seller, "Sal, this is…I do not know her name. But she is my new friend and she is in dire need of refreshing meat! I have told her of your wares and I know you shall not disappoint me."

The vendor quickly puts together a couple of hot dogs, more than happy to provide any toppings Jessica might request, while Hercules watches with his arms crossed over his big, naked chest, beaming like a proud papa, "Now eat up!"

Jessica blinks, but she does not give him much more than that. His happiness was actually working for the both of them. But as he leads her to the vendor and makes his intentions known, Jessica tosses the cigarette with a quick little flick, her shoulders shrugging as she gestures to whatever toppings that were on hand. Hell, the sloppier, the better.

Once the hotdogs were in hand, she wastes no time in eating, already munching and eating whilst walking towards the bench where he sat at, the food immediately hurting her stomach due to how empty it is.. but she could care less.

Hercules plants a booted foot on the bench, leaning against his knee and watching the girl eat. It did his massive heart good to see her get a little more color in her cheeks, even if she kept glaring resentfully at him. He had been disdained by Hera herself - the disgust of Jessica Jones only barely scraped the surface of his ego.

"I hope that your drinking wasn't precipitated by some form of heartbreak or sorrow. Drinking to forget can serve a purpose, but, in the end, the waters of memory always seep back in, no matter how much you dilute them with wine."

"I drink because I'm thirsty." Jessica gripes through bites. Sure, there was a lot of heartbreak, a lot of damaging things in her past, but the recent upset sent her spiraling. "What's it to you anyways." Her body language was all wrong; for she was already curling into herself, tucking her body inward and shifting off to the side as she begins to devour her second hotdog.

She had gotten four.

Hercules shrugs, "It is nothing to me, of course. No more than the sorrows of anyone belong to a heart besides theire own," he says. "But I find little more disheartening than a sad, sad woman, especially one as lovely as yourself. Well, I presume you would be with a bit of sunshine and perhaps a new wardrobe. Maybe a bath," he says with a smirk.

"Not that I couldn't use one myself!" he says, turning his head and inhaling the fragrance of his own hairy armpit, "I'm a bit brisk!"

Jessica screws her face up towards Hercules, the last hotdog that remained uneaten soon thrown upon the surface of his chest as she gives a slight stand. "How I look and how I feel is my business, and I do NOT need you to make fucking remarks, alright?" She fishes out another lucky strike from her pocket, then pops it into her mouth like an expert would, immediately lighting it as she takes a step away from the building. "And jesus fucking christ, put on a fucking shirt after you unbrisk yourself.."


AKA: Thanks for the food, gotta go!

Hercules picks up the fallen sausage and, after a moment, consumes it. He doesn't have to worry about germs, after all, and it would be a waste of a good sausage. The Visigoths may have been horrible savages who pillages mighty Rome, but their cultural inheritors sure did something right making delicious meat tubes.

"I do believe that Jesus Christ fellow was a fan of going shirtless himself, going on the statues people keep putting up for him. Poor fellow looks like he could use a few sausages himself," he says. "I did not mean to speak insult to you, lady. I have never been particularly well-mannered - god I may be, but part of me will always be a poor goatherd at heart."

There was a slight snorted scoff as Jessica keeps on moving. There really wasn't any stopping her.. nor apparent way of stopping -him- from talking. Save leaving. She can do that, right?

"God or not, you're fucking annoying." She takes another drag of her cigarette, then turns to point towards him, her steps carrying her backwards. "And I'm going to be -that- bitch and put the blame on you, I'm going to have another fucking drink. Ruined a good goddamned morning.."

With a turn, she mumbles to herself, her pace picking up. At least she had gotten something good to eat.

Hercules moves after her and reaches out, grasping the jacket at the nape of her neck and casually lifting her off her feet with one arm. He dangles her there as he walks along, keeping a good pace, "Ah, sweet lady, for your own good, I'm afraid I must protest! YOu need rest and relaxation, not more fermented grain. Tell me where your domicile resides and I will return you there. That or I can deposit you in the lake over there for a much colder bath, although I suspect the ducks might not enjoy sharing their respite!" he says.

The quick snap of the jacket at the nape of her neck has her inhaling the cigarette deeply, the smog of smoke that clouds her lungs was a little bit to much for her to handle, for she began to cough as if she had only a single lung left. Her hands begin to flail, her feet kick, eyes begin to water as she tries to catch her breath from the mishap of a cigarette that she really, really shouldn't have.

And that hangover? Puh-lease!

"Put me down you big motherfucker! God or no god, I will -fuck- you up!"

Hercules takes the abuse from the occasional boot impact on his massive eight-pack abs with relative aplomb. This is easy since he doesn't really much feel it - Jessica's strong and everything, but Hercules is…well, Hercules.

"I assure you, lady, I have never touched my mother in a carnal way. The gods may be perverse, indeed, and I may have gotten a little close to a half-sister or three, but my mother has been dead nigh three thousand years and, while I have visted her soul in Elysia on occasion and she was a beauty that lured Zeus himself, never once did I consider laying with her," he says.

"Now that we've settled this matter, again, I ask you: where do you live? Further reluctance in this matter will only result in you getting algae in your knickers, for the pond is quite close and I'm an excellent throw."

This.. this was unbelievable. Jessica dangled and kicked, so much that her wallet fell out of her pocket, along with her lucky strikes. In fact, everything that mattered was in her pocket, and she could hear the change from last nights meal of whiskey hitting the ground beneath her. Fuck. That.

Her arms lift as she allows her body to become slump, which causes her to slide through her jacket and land upon the ground. It takes a few paces of a crawl for her to reach her cigarettes, wallet, change and lighter, but goddamn it.. fuck that jacket now!

Hercules sighs as he sees the desperate girl scrambling, grasping at her fallen belongings. He throws the jacket back over his shoulder and takes a few steps to loom over her.

"I'm worried about you, woman. I'm afraid I may have to rescue you from yourself," he says. He looks about in either direction for a moment, shares a knowing nod with the sausage salesman.

And then promptly bops her on top of her head, a very measured and controlled blow that will likely leave her dazed and unconscious. "Good fellow, get me one of these yellow carriages. A cab, I believe it's called? I think the name of where she lives is going to be on one of these slips of paper…" he says, casually tossing Jessica over his shoulder and going through her things.

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