1964-09-11 - In the Crosshairs
Summary: Gwen Stacy meets Jessica Drew!
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
gwen-stacy jessica-drew 

"Oh, well, I'm the type of guy who will never settle down, where pretty girls are, well, you know that I'm around…"

It is 8 PM at night, and all the night creatures are coming out to play. One of them is ditty-bopping down the street right now.
"I kiss 'em and I love 'em 'cause to me they're all the same, I hug 'em and I squeeze 'em they don't even know my name, they call me a wanderer…yeah, a wanderer…I roam around, around, around, around…"

Portable music is decades in the future, so Gwen Stacy is mouthing the lyrics, but her eyes are open and alert for the local wildlife. Primarily the two-legged kind.

"Hey! Hey, sweeetie! Hey!"

A leggy brunette, walking down the street, looks like she's getting harassed a little. Two local men, holding brown bags that reek of liquor, are in lazy, staggering pursuit of the woman. She's tall— ridiculously tall, even, eclipsing six feet in her high-heeled cavalry-style boots. Tights are tucked into the leather and she wears a tunic-style top in pale green, which drapes and flutters alternatingly and hangs loose around her wrists. She rolls her eyes a little and steps out a bit faster, noticing Gwen be-bopping down the street. Her eyes widen a bit and she moves towards the blonde girl.

"Michelle! I'm so glad to see you!" she says, hurridly. "C'mon, we're late!"

"Heeeeelp," she mutters at Gwen, trying to hook the blonde girl's arm. Always better to have strength in numbers.

Gwen's smile is quick and immediate. Being a cop's daughter and all, she has been inadvertantly trained to spot certain things.
"Bonnie? Hey, come on. The car's over this way!" She waves Jessica over, the drumsticks poking out of the left front pocket of her jeans.

The two fellows mutter and break off as Jessica finds a 'friend', and the girls step out until the men head back the other way.

Jessica heaves a sigh of relief once they're clear, slipping loose from Gwen's arm to give her a one-sided hug. "Oh my goodness, thank you," she says, brushing her hair back from her face. On close inspection, Jess' tresses are truely ebony— not merely dark brown, but a real, ink black. Her accent is also vaguely Eastern European, which goes with her striking features. "I really didn't want a scene on the street. It's just not worth the trouble," she says, shaking her head. "Thanks so much," she tells the blonde girl. "I owe you big. Can I buy you some coffee or something, as a thank you?"

The platinum blonde chuckles. "Ah, it's chill as a cool breeze. We probably SHOULD get some distance, though. Those guys ain't gone yet."
She stops at the driver's side door of a cherry-please-officer-arrest-me-for-SOMETHING red 1963 Corvette Sting Ray, Detroit muscle on Goodyear rubber. "Get in. We can head over to Soho, if that's your jam."

Jessica blinks. "Oh wow, this is /yours/? I thought you were just vamping," she says, brushing her hair back and looking through the windows. "This is beautiful, I like it a lot. Let's go, sure!" she agrees, waiting for the door to be unlocked. She climbs into it, settles her purse on her lap, and beams at Gwen.

"Are you a good driver? I thought no one in New York even owned cars, because of the traffic," she says, without any irony.

The girl gets in, reaching over to unlock the passenger's side before buckling herself in. "You think I'd risk THIS ride by driving like Herman Munster?" She winks. "I'm Gwen, by the way." She scats into traffic, moving smoothly into the flow of the city's lifeblood. As she does, she takes out two items to put in the middle compartment—a pair of new drumsticks, and a spring-loaded pushblade, the blade currently hidden.

"Jessica," the taller woman remarks, flashing a smile. "It's nice to meet you."

She glances down at the tools but says nothing, holding her purse in her lap and waiting patiently as Gwen drives. Jessica seems unruffled by much of anything, even New York traffic, and once they're parked she climbs out of the car with lazy grace and waits for Gwen to join her before they head towards the little corner cafe.

"Hello, two black coffees? And two slices of cheesecake," Jessica requests, digging in her purse for coins and a few bills to pay the cashier.

The cashier spots Gwen and blinks. "No charge, miss," he says abruptly. Not if she's with you." He gives Gwen w smile that is get a little too wide. "Just want a little extra help around here."
Gwen sighed. "I'll talk to Dad," she says with a wry look, and the cashier smiles as he steps away to put the order together.
"Dad's a cop," she says, as if that explained everything.

Jessica blinks, looking back and forth with confusion. "I… extra help?" She murmurs at Gwen, even after she 'explains' the situation. "I don't understand. What can a cop do to help a cafe?" she inquires.

Still, she tucks her money away and slings her purse again. It's not like she's one to pass up a free meal, and she moves to a bar-height table and hooks a stool out to sit upon.

Gwen chuckles. "He walks to know if he can get a little extra police presence. Probably getting hassled. I'll ask Dad to schedule a few extra drive-bys with a cop car." She settles on the chair, smiling at the resonant scent of hot coffee. "Being a cop's kid can be helpful. Especially these days, when it looks like it's going to be bad for people in uniform." She looks over to Jessica, then says, "You a recent arrival, or is that accent so strong it's survived out of pure spite?"

Jessica smiles and nods. Up close, the whiff of her perfume is a bit more noticeable; it's almost impossible to put a finger on what, if anything it is. Fortunately it's merely noticable, not cloying.

"Only six months," she tells Gwen. "Enough to make a few friends and get bored with the night life," she admits, stirring cream and sugar into her coffee with an improbable disregard for her figure. "It's not bad but I'm feeling a little confined here lately. So, trying to get out and see more of the city, then the Bozos started following me." She rolls her green eyes expressively.

"Wait, what were -you- doing there?"

Gwen looks over to Jessica with a smile. "Jam session. Playing pickup for a rock band, although they seem to do their best work doing covers. Twenty bucks is twenty bucks." She chuckles. "The blade was to fight guys like that off. Never had to use it, thank God, but I put on a tough front."

"Oh, that's neat," Jessica murmurs, nodding approvingly. "Rock and roll is so popular these days! Every time I turn around, some new band is trying to make it big. I thought the Beatles were the best thing out there but now there are so many new songs on the radio all the time, it's really a great time to be alive," she says, flashing a smile. "And the shows on the telly are so funny! Lucy Ball, she's still my favorite show."

Gwen nods, taking a sip of coffee. "Hmm, that is good. Yeah, I definitely will tell Dad about this place." She looks back to Jessica. "You doing all right, though? Big Apple hasn't gone rotten on ya? I got into it with someone at last week's anti-mutant rally. Pissant guy, all 'mutie' this and 'mutie' that. Hadda deck him. Had to get cooled for that one, but it was worth it."

"Oh, no. It's nice enough. Glad you decked that guy though," Jess says, clearly understanding Gwen's slang. She's not /totally/ fresh off the boat. "I wouldn't have thought there were so many racists in America. I met a lot in Europe and Belgium— there are towns mutants just don't even go into. I would have thought New York was more welcoming."

Gwen chuckles. "We're getting our act together. I certainly wasn't alone in the anti-racist side. It may take a little time to find them, but they're out there." She sighs. "I have another gig tomorrow with that group I'm working with. You want to listen in, I think I can get you in. It's not the Beatles…but then again, who IS?" She winks.

"Almost no one," Jessica agrees readily, flashing another brilliant grin at Gwen. She's not wearing a ton of makeup— she has the sort of features that lend themselves to an au naturale approach.

"But! I'd love to hear your band. I like new music. I saw Alison Blaire in concert last week. She's amazing. And very funny!" Jessica adds, beaming. "And friendly. That was a lot of fun. WHat kind of rock and roll does your band do?"

Gwen shrugs. "Covers of the popular songs. No original playlist of their own. I'm not sure they've figured out who they are. I'm playing pickup, so if their main drummer doesn't get drunk tonight, I'll probably be benched, but it would be nice to have some company, Jessie. It's for two more days, and I get another 20 bucks even if I don't play any more." She smiles. "I'd give my eyeteeth to play with Blaire, but she's not going to hire a teenage drummer who might have to bow out because of a big Biology test."

"Well, hey! I'll come keep you company," Jessica says, impulsively. "I know sometimes it helps to have rowdies in the audience. As long as the drinks are good," she adds, wrinkling the upturned point of her nose. "I wish I could say 'I'm friends with her' but really it was just a drink after a show; I doubt she'd even pick me out of a crowd again."

Gwen chuckles. "I'd like that." She raises her coffee cup to Jessica. "To us—the Nobodies. Maybe someday we'll be Somebodies."

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