|
  |
Not even 1 pm on a Sunday afternoon in a bar is no place a sane, healthy person is. They should be off enjoying lunch after church with families, or taking a day of rest. But, then, Sharon is probably not necessarily a sane or healthy person and she has no family she really speaks to, so the bar seemed the best of places. The lanky, girl-next-door looking woman sits at the bar, nursing a glass of somethimg amber with a single melting rock inside. She's in jeans and a tank top, though has a light leather jacket hanging on the back of her bar chair. Her body is tilted just enough that her shoulders are sort of against the bar wall, she sitting right in the corner, and pale eyes watch the entire room with an edge of habitual paranoia. Otherwise, the place is pretty damn dead.
Jessica Jones isn't dressed much differently than Sharon, except she's got the slightly oversized leather jacket draped over her shoulders. Weather be damned, that thing is basically Jessica's armor and she wears it until the summr sun beats it off her shoulders. She'd rather sweat a little anyway, keeps the gropers at bay.
She slumps herself onto a stool, rapping knuckles on the bar, "Taste and a chase," she says, her usual signal for a beer and a whiskey. She peers sidelong at Sharon, "Man, I must be a trendsetter, all kindsa girls on their own hittin' the bar lately. I should get royalties," she smirks.
The blonde arches two skeptical brows as, rather strangely, almost her brunette opposite side of the same coin walks into the place. Sharon looks Jessica up and down with a gaze which isn't lacivious, or even interested like that, but picking apart every detail like she would a crime scene. Any hidden weapons, limps or parts of her body where she's protecting old injuries, right or left handed — all the things Sharon has been trained to file away about a person within the first five minutes of meeting. Of course, she follows it with the odd smile of someone who is trying to be more human, just hasn't gotten the hang of it yet.
"Sister, I've been goin' to bars alone for the last decade… just haven't been back in the country long. But if you need a cigarette, best royalties I can offer." Sharon pulls out a pack of crumpled Lucky Strikes, sliding it across the bar.
Jessica Jones takes the cigarette, tucking the unfiltered tip in her mouth, "I'm usually a Camel girl, but I ain't ever turned down a smoke," she says. She strikes a match on the bar, lighting it and taking a drag as her drinks arrive.
Jessica doesn't appear to be armed in any way, but her body shows her to be fit, moreso than average, her build lean but strong. "No offense, just a weird trend I've been seein' lately. yOu're the third broad I've run into this way this week alone," she says. "One worked for Tony Stark and the other…I don't think I wanna know where she works," she says. Which is a lie, she's curious about Castle, just not sure she'd like the answers she'd find.
"It's the 60s. Women's rights… civil rights… freedom of career, escape the kitchen and make your own life. Isn't that the thing these days?" Sharon asks, tapping free an unfiltered cigarette herself and slipping it between thin lips. She is just as long and lean, though there seems a bit more built up muscle beneath the surface and a few scars visible on her arms. Mostly knife wounds, but there is a ragged line of what could be a bullet graze. Who knows. Most of them look old.
Jessica Jones grins and shrugs, "Yeah, yeah, but you don't see a lot of it in Brooklyn. Most of the mooks who come to this bar can't even spell liberation, much less understand it," she says. "They keep their wives and sisters and mama mias home and close, slavin' over the stove and spewin' out more little guidos to run around their ankles," she says.
She throws back her shot, "I don't get political much. Long as I get left alone."
The blonde's nose wrinkles even more as the other woman goes on about spewing out kids and the like. Sharon looks genuinely a bit creeped by it, "Yeah, well… if they have issues with it, they can fuck right off. Besides, I like this place. Few friends used to drink here, back in the day." Which probably means Sharon was friends with cops, because she's got that attitude about her, even the way she sits, and this is still nominally a cop bar.
She takes a good drag of her cigarette, her hand instinctively cupped over it, the outer shell of her palm hiding the cherry. Old habits die hard, it's just how she smokes now adays. "And you… what brings you here?"
Jessica Jones nods, the PI following the trail of breadcrumbs pretty easily, "You used to be on the job? Or still are?" she says. "I thought about bein' a cop for a while, but I was never very good at following orders. Or doing paperwork. Or being friendly to people. Or staying sober for more than eight hours," she says.
"Other than that, I'd be great at it, though," she says. "As for bringing me here…just the usual self-annihilation. Nobody comes to a bar this time of day unless they'd rather flush a few thoughts down the john," she says.
The commentary about a few thoughts down the john actually gets a little cough of a laugh from Sharon and a small nod of approval, "Never heard it quite put that way, but… Yeah. Pretty much. I like it better here now, more quiet." The blonde shrugs her shoulders quietly, knocking back a good gulp of her scotch in a way that isn't respecting it as being any decent sort of vintage. Probably bar rail, maybe mid shelf at best. She has no cares.
"And no, not really…Not a cop, but sorta same swimming pool. Some government work. I ended up being too good at following orders. I think…you probably made better life decisions." Which is probably the first time anyone in the world has said that to Jessica Jones.
Jessica Jones actually does laugh at the idea that she's made the right choices, "Yeah, well, somehow my brilliant decision making put me in the same place as you today, so we'll just call it a draw, huh?" she says.
She taps the bar for another round, shrugging off her jacket and hanging it on the stool next to her. "Quiet is definitely good. I was in O'Malley's last week when it got burned to the ground. Probably a mob hit, since they shot up the place, too. Can't say a few of 'em probably didn't deserve it," she says.
"Shit. Shot the place up and you got out? You're lucky… if it was to make a point, well… I don't see guys like that really being careful where their bullets spray." Sharon now looks Jessica over a bit closer, perhaps the smallest trace of almost worry in her eyes. There is a protectiveness about the distant blonde, something out of habit as much as someone who still might care buried deep down. She hides that care behind a good drag of her cigarette and her pale gaze returning to the bar around them instead of the brunette right across from her. She can't have the woman thinking they might end up friends.
A careful eye might even see a bullethole or two along the leather of Jessica's jacket, although it doesn't seem possible. If she'd been shot there, she'd probably still be in the hospital or dead. Maybe she wasn't wearing it at the time.
Jessica puts the remnant of her smoke out and shakes her head, "They weren't careful, although I think they were aimin' for a few specific. The local mob hung out there, were holding court at the time," she says. "Guess I was lucky I wasn't standing next to 'em."
Sharon is the very definition of a careful eye, despite the booze in front of her and slight haze of smoke in the room. She arches a pale, unmanicured brow, "…Looks like your jacket was standing next to 'em…" Sharon nods to the hole in the leather, her blue gaze even now a bit more curious. She's forgotten about her drink, the woman before her far more interesting than cheap scotch.
Jessica Jones shrugs, "Maybe it was closer than I thought," she says. She tend to keep her abilities on the downlow, but she doesn't exactly have a secret identity. She just finds that it's usually more trouble than it's worth. People start expecting you to wear a cape and solve their problems. Yuck.
"So, what were you doing out of the country? I'm guessing you aren't really the tourist type," she says, turning the tables.
There is just a moment of skeptical curiosity in Sharon's eyes, but she doesn't push it further. She finally goes back to her scotch, taking a smaller sip, but she's not knocking it back like she was before. Getting drunk is fine when there is nothing more interesting to do, but the woman presents something a touch more interesting. "Got lucky…" She just adds, too offhanded to really mean it.
"Out of country? Oh… government work. Middle management foreign relations… awful boring stuff, honestly, but someone has to do it." None of those are technically lies. There is a lot of boring about spy work. Sharon hides any more of her expression behind another drag of her cigarette.
Jessica Jones takes a sip of her beer, "Foreign relations, huh? Throw in the not quite a cop and that means something rough and tumble or something involving bedsport with strange diplomats. And I don't peg you for the latter, although I could be wrong. I don't judge anyway. Worse ways to make a living," she says.
She notices the interest, not sure what to make of it yet, but she's not spooked enough to get hostile about it. "Everybody gets lucky sometimes."
Another comment which actually gets a laugh from Sharon. Bitter, rather sardonic, but an actual laugh. "You're not entirely wrong… whatever gets the job done, you know?" The blonde shrugs, no real pride in her voice, but not bothering to hide it since she's been pegged. Burnout is a thing — she recognizes it in the other woman and is so heavily treading that line herself, so all of this mainly seems a sardonic joke to drink through. And so, she finishes her scotch with a silent toast in the woman's direction.
"…People get lucky once, usually…not twice in the same night." She doesn't stare directly at the jacket, but she definitely noticed both bullet holes.
Jessica Jones follows the eyes and gives a slight shrug. Busted, no reason to make a federal case of it. "Maybe I'm a little more than lucky. Not unheard of. Age of wonders. People flyin' around strapped inside tin cans. Gods roaming the skies and swinging hammers," she says.
"On that sort of scale, why, I'm practically an ordinary person, not important to anybody, not worth being noticed. And I'd kind of like to keep it that way," she says.
A single nod comes from Sharon, something a bit too professional and sharp about it, but respectful too. She reads those words, loud and clear. "…I mean, if you had your coat hanging on the back of a chair, I supposed that's luck too." The woman offers out casually, like she hadn't just accused the woman of being super human in not so many words. She just seems content to file that knowledge away for her own information and not make a case of it otherwise. "…it is a weird world. All the more reasons to drink." She motions to the bartender for another one herself.
Jessica Jones manages to give a grin and a nod of appreciation for the discretion, "I never needed a reason, but having a few certainly provides motivation," she says. "There are days I wake up and don't even want to drag myself down to the bar, but then I think for a moment about the weird world and some of the weird shit in that world and how a few metric tons of it have usually found ways to get shifted right on top of my head…and I find my way here," she says.
"Unless I have a case. But I don't usually have a case. Which is why I have a tab, thankfully. Seriously, I'll get you on Friday, I do have a check I just gotta hold it till then, the old lady's gotta wait for her pension to pay me," she says to the bartender as an aside.
A small wave of Sharon's hand towards the bartender. "Put her on mine. I'll cover it." And before Jess says a thing, she's getting a steely eyed ice look and a deep smirk, "Seriously. I got a paycheck, pension, government benefits, and am crashing with friends for free. I don't know half of what to do with my money. Let me." Sharon's tone doesn't sound like she's one of *those* women, suddenly interested in Jessica for her figure and a scandalous fling. If anything, the tone is someone awkwardly stumbling along an attempt at maybe making a friend and utterly having no clue of how to do it. "…they frown on me for drinkin' in the house, though… So gotta come out here."
Jessica Jones allows a smile to quirk the corner of her mouth, "Don't owe me any explanations. You wanna pay for my drink, I'm not gonna lose any sleep over it," she says. "Thanks, though."
She nods to the last, "Yeah, people get uptight about that sort of thing. I get it from clients sometimes, they'll come in and then bitch if I smell like booze. Like there's a PI in this city who doesn't. If you're going to spend your pin money to hire me to look at your husband's flabby ass while he porks the floozy from his office, you're gonna have to accept that I need a drink to do it."
"Yeah, see…you ain't good at following orders. I don't think I could handle workin' for the public. Eventually I'd tell them how petty and stupid their problems are and just kick them out of my office. At least I know the shit I'm doing…eventually, somewhere… might have some big impact on someone. Or maybe I'm bullshitting myself." Sharon half grimaces at the thought, that edge of burn out creeping more and more near. So, she takes a deep gulp of her scotch, nearly finishing this glass off in three drinks, not the nursing she was doing before. And, while she's got a decent amount of muscle, if Sharon is as normal as she looks she probably doesn't have near Jess' tolerance. "But yeah…Mr. Stars and STripes forever gets real cranky when you walk around the house drunk. So… bar it is."
Jessica Jones nods, "Sometimes I do tell 'em to fuck off. Sometimes I just take it cause I need the money and it isn't that hard to sit on a fire escape and snap a few pictures," she shrugs. "Dignity generally goes about as far as whatever my bill at the grocery store is," she says.
"I imagine its worse for you,' she says. "I try to steer clear of government generally, but I imagine once you're on the payroll, they get mighty pushy about what you can and can't do," she says. "I'd suggest quittin' an' being a PI , but I don't need the competition," she grins.
"…yeah. I been thinkin' of getting out. It's… Dunno. You think you work for the good guys… I guess I do." Sharon mutters, not looking at Jessica as she says that. Not even looking at the room. The words are quieter, mainly meant for her own ears and the booze in her hand, but Jessica's hearing is probably more sharp than she realizes. She finishes off the last gulp and motions for another drink, not having bothered touching water yet. She's probably going to regret that in the morning. "But… ain't like I have many more abilities… or going to find some guy to take care of me. I'd go even more crazy doing that than helping old ladies find their cats. So… keep with it. Pays well, at least…"
Jessica Jones holds out a hand and wobbles it back and forth, "It pays. Well? Eh, not in my experience," she says. "But I'm soft and I don't overcharge and I don't do the kind of corrupt bullshit that usually pays the bills easy," she says.
"And the only reason you couldn't get a guy is if he was just one of these bitter fucks who wants to nail his own mother. You're a good lookin' chick, you'll do fine, it's just the putrid examples of the male species that are the problem. Pretty much given up on 'em myself, so cheers in that regard," she says.
"Oh no… I could *get* one, but he'd expect me to be all… soft and obedient or something and fuck that. Besides. Most men are horribly boring and the ones that aren't are just awful ideas." Sharon admits flatly, her lips pulled into another firm smirk, the look behind her gaze saying she's got some stories about the bad choices she's tried to make, but when she gazes back up to Jess, it seems the woman probably shares in those poor decisions.
Finally, after a low breath released, Sharon shifts her frame fully in Jess' direction and offers a hand, "Sharon. Sharon Carter."
Jessica Jones takes the hand and shakes it, "Jessica Jones," she says. "I haven't really had the problem with boring boyfriends. More the opposite, really. Sometimes a bit too exciting," she says. That, of course, would be a vast understatement, especially insofar as HE is concerned. But she doesn't think about HIM unless she absolutely has to and, since she snapped his neck like kindling, that isn't nearly as much as it used to be.
"Tough broads gotta stick together. Fuck knows we can't count on these humps," she says, nodding towards a couple of half-drunken sots in the corner.
"God no. And… good to meet you, Jones." Sharon's got the habit of using a last name the way soldiers do, and she says it like military, so that might be another hint as to just what sort of government work she does, even if she's not bothered to hide it all that well. Once the hand shake is done, Sharon strong for a woman but she's still just a human woman, her next round of scotch has been put in front of her and she knocks back a good sip of it again, her cheeks nice and flushed already, but she's not teetering on the barstool quite yet.
Jessica Jones reaches into her jacket and gets out her card, "Here, you ever need to find me. My office isn't that far and, if you can't make it back to the old barracks some night, I got a couch. I picked it up off the street," she says and means it quite literally. "But it doesn't smell too bad and it's better than passing out here and letting one of these scuzzbags drive you home," she says.
The card is accepted, read over quickly by Sharon, then the number read a second time mentally, committing it to her memory, before she slips it into the back pocket of her jeans. "I appreciate that, really… Damn nice of you. If…if you ever need the same, I'm up at the Avenger's mansion… I'm sure Steve and them wouldn't mind some company, god knows we have room… but… Dunno. Me comin' home drunk with a hot woman just as sauced might get a double glare from the good old Captain…" Sharon chuckles a bit to herself, but she actually seems to sound like she cares what Steve Rogers thinks.
Jessica Jones raises an eyebrow, "Captain America, huh? Man, I run into a girl who works for Stark one day, an acquaintance of the old war hero the next. Bars in this city are looking up," she says with a slight smile. "And I imagine that might be worth it, to see the look on the old man's face," she chuckles. "Hey, if he wouldn't give Stark static for it, he better not give you any. Brave new world and all that."
"Oh, he gives Stark static for it too, I'm sure. Not as much as he gives me when I'm cursing, but… the man really, really is a good guy. In the weirdest, way too perfect sense. Too good to even hate for it, but… it's weird sometimes. Makes me feel like I should be…Better, I dunno, just being around him. It's weird." Sharon repeats, wrinkling her nose just a bit and into the tipsy part of drinking where she speaks a bit more freely and thinks a little less.
Jessica Jones nods, "I can imagine so. I feel guilty just from the way my kitty cat alarm clock looks at me when I come home drunk. I imagine it would be worse if the cat was a national treasure with big blue eyes," she says.
"Although my reaction to people like that is usually to behave worse. I'd probably cuss twice as much just to spite him, speed up the rejection."
"Oh, I'm just considering fucking his best friend. So… trust me, I'm not making much healthier choices." Indeed, it's definitely loose lips o'clock. At least, where it comes to men. Sharon doesn't stop with the scotch, though, finally easing into the thought of getting comfortable and it's the first time in a while she felt that way with another woman, so she's letting the guard down slowly. Or maybe that's the scotch. Either way, she goes to pick up her pack of cigarettes and tap free another.
Jessica Jones laughs at the sharpness of that, although she certainly appreciates the candor, lightning another cigarette of her own, one of her Camel filters. "Depends on the friend. If he's anything like Cap, I imagine he can give you quite a workout. Good for your health, if anything is," she says. "Honest truth, that's about all men are good for these days and our nation's plastics industry is working hard to make even that obsolete."
A good laugh echoes in return, this one actually amused, "…considering he spent a good month trying to kill me in Russia… I think he's up to the challenge." Sharon then blinks, realizing how that sounds, and she tries to wave it off casually, "I mean…it's a long story. But… Yeah. I like'em dangerous and, preferably, the worse choice I could make. Seems a healthy way to live life." She dead pans honestly. At least she can be truthful with herself.
Jessica Jones winces but shrugs, "Yeah, I…can relate. I mean, my ex…" she says and yeah, she's thinking about HIM, even if it wasn't really a relationship, even if it was all forced and wrong and broken and demented, it still -felt- like one, which was almost as bad as the actual things he made her do. He made her feel things. If she could hate him more, it would be for that.
"Dangerous comes in a lot of different shapes. And it can be exciting. But a knife at your throat is still likely to cut, even if the hand holding it doesn't mean to. There's unhealthy and then there's straight bad. Make sure it's not that kind."
"…Your ex?" Sharon asks, her head tilting a bit more. Tipsy enough she doesn't quite catch the awful mix of horrid things on Jessica's face as the woman considers her unhealthy ex. In fact, Sharon just motions to the bartender for another round for both of them, "My tab again." SHe echoes to the man, happy to enable this less than healhty activity in both of them. "And…nah. He's a different person now, almost literally. It's complicated."
Jessica Jones nods and takes another shot, this one harder and faster, "Bad boyfriend. The worst," she says. "And, yeah, it's always complicated, but I get it. Gets the blood pumping," she says. "I've had a few of those, but they never seem to last. Mostly just leads to a long night sweating the sheets then everybody thinks better of it when the sun comes up," she says.
"…Hell…that'd be fine for me too right now, really. Can't remember the last time I just fucked a guy for fun." WHich suggests that she absolutely has fucked a guy for work, probably recently, but there isn't any sort of shame in her tone. Simply the acknowledgment of that is the way life is. Once her scotch is refreshed, she takes a nip of it before going for the last cigarette in her pack. She wrinkles her nose as she taps it free, but the mostly full ashtray at her side proibably shows why.
Jessica Jones laughs, "Well, it can't have been that much fun if you can't remember it," she says. "I've regretted a few, but nobody so bad about it that I forgot they existed," she teases.
"But yeah, kind of on a dry spell myself. I have broken the noses of a few of the handsier guys around here, though, so word might be getting around not to hit on me. When the lesson they should learn is, 'don't grab her ass when you do it".
Silence lingers for several heartbeats, Sharon looking over her scotch in Jessica's direction with a look that is considering things she maybe hasn't really done before, but also hasn't dismissed. She looks Jess up and down NOT critically, for the first time this converation, and then clears her throat and forces herself to look away. "…Shit…I gotta get my tolerance back up. Half tempted to offer to rectify the situation but… hell, you might be one of the few women in the world who could kick my ass."
Jessica Jones meets the gaze and, while she isn't always at her most alert after a few drinks, she's not so drunk that she can't read between the lines, "I probably would kick your ass. But I wouldn't kick your ass for that," she says with a grin. "But I wouldn't want to take advantage of ya either," she says.
"…I'd probably be frankly awful. Ain't really sure how to do this any more with someone who I just… wanna do things with, you know? The goal is always…information, or something else." Sharon mutters into her drink, almost on the edge of embarrassed that she's been so achingly obvious about this. She then finishes off her scotch, forcing herself up into a standing position. She only slightly wavers. She nods to the bartender, "…I probably should close up before I insert my whole leg in my mouth."
Jessica Jones takes a long drag, "I doubt you've ever been awful at much anything in your life," she says. "Drunk or not, you smell like a high achiever, valedictorian type. I wasn't that type, but I was friends with it, saw it up close. You fly high, but it burns," she says, maybe a bit too insightful for her own good.
"Offer stands, whether you wanna sleep on the couch or…wherever," she says, grabbing her own jacket. "Either way, thank ya for the drinks."
There is a long moment of silence, as Sharon throws a twenty down at the bartender and stands just a bit straighter, trying to prove that no, she's not near as drunk as she feels, which probably means she's even more drunk. She's certainly flushed enough. She finishes paying and then turns back to Jess, "Look…uh… It's… just been a weird month… I'm sorta shitty at all of this and even shittier at being a friend. You seem really…nice… and probably as fucked up as I am… and… that's probably not good for either of us, so… just… Forget it, okay? It was..good chatting, Enjoy the booze." And with that, Sharon tries to escape to the door.
Jessica Jones shakes her head and downs her last bit of shot as Sharon heads her way out. She could chase her down yeah, but the chick's right. Things probably wouldn't work out well. Not for her. Things didnt work out for Jessica, pretty much ever. Still - free drinks. Not all bad. And who knows, maybe she'd run into Sharon again sometime.