Haller, Jess, and Warren
Sep. 23rd, 2023 06:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsJessica returns home after her annoying and unanticipated day of wrangling teens in a dumpster and the consequences thereof. Unfortunately, she lives with people.
They day had been unusually quiet, so seeing Arthur return with the younger residents retroactively explained why their little feet had not been pitter-pattering. Or, more realistically, watching B-movies and emptying the communal fridge.
Then Jessica stomped in, and logic immediately excused itself from the picture.
Jim said, "Um."
Jessica drew up short, managing not to start only because she had known, just known in her heart, that someone was going to be around to witness this. 'This' being the fuzzy peach sweater, slim cream-coloured pants, and ballet-style flats she'd been forced to wear because her actual clothes (currently quarantined in several plastic bags courtesy of Sooraya) were covered in God-knew-what from the bottom of a dumpster. "Don't say a fucking word," she said. "Actually, pretend you never saw this."
The furiously pastel vision of Jessica Jones was impeding his better judgement. Unable to stop himself, Jim gestured at her.
"Is that the stuff Warren--"
"Do not." To punctuate this, Jessica made a violent chopping motion with the hand not holding the plastic bag. "This was not a choice, it was a - a necessity. And if Arthur ever tells you he needs your expertise for something, take my advice and tell him absolutely not under any circumstances."
"He took you somewhere with a dress code?" Jim asked, unable to stop himself. He felt instant sympathy, however; the idea of trying to turn down a direct request from Arthur made his soul writhe in sympathy. Jessica had never stood a chance. Still . . . Jim slowly reached for his back pocket.
"Fuck off, no - he made me a chaperone," Jessica said, nearly hissing the word. "To children." Well, more or less children. Anyone under the age of 25 was basically a child anyway, weren't they? Underdeveloped brains or something.
"That must have been terrible for you," the telepath remarked. His phone was now in his palm. Using the fingerprint-lock was frowned upon, but at this very moment it felt like one of the better decisions in his life.
"Two of them went fucking dumpster diving," Jessica said, almost plaintively. "Have you ever had to convince two teenagers to get out of a goddamned dumpster?"
"No, but Cyndi did let me wake up in one once. Hey, what's that?"
"What's what?" Instinctively, Jessica turned.
There was the soft, ominous sound of an artificial shutter going off.
"Sorry," Jim said, lowering his phone, "but this has to be captured for posterity."
Jessica's mouth dropped open in outrage. "Delete that right now."
Jim smirked. "Absolutely not. At least not until I show Jean."
"Show Jean what?" Warren had an uncanny ability to show up when he was least wanted which was why he usually brought baked goods. He knew he was A Lot. It helped when you had raspberry and white chocolate scones in hand.
If nothing else, Warren knew that much about himself.
"Jessica!" His eyes widened appreciatively. "I knew I still remembered your size. See Haller? I told you I never forget an ass."
The voice. The aftershave. The infuriatingly delicious scent of pastries. Jim froze. Deep in his soul, he knew somehow this was his fault. This was what happened when he tried to be Fun.
He didn't dare to look Jessica in the eye.
That eye, lit with a martial gleam, would have pinned him to the wall if it could have met his; she turned it on Warren instead, with the expected nil effect. "That sounds like a fun conversation," she said acidly. "For the record, the only reason I'm wearing these godforsaken things is because the alternative was literal trash. Literal. Trash."
"I've seen Zoolander. Derelicte is a choice and you choose yoga pants. Don't put this on me. " Warren extended his arm. "Scone?"
Jessica's jaw worked; her gaze turned furious and her hands worked, perhaps imagining strangling someone. In the end, after a long few moments of glaring, she snatched the tray of scones from him directly, gave Haller a look that did not absolve him of ass-related commentary, and stomped out.
Warren's brow furrowed, his hands now suddenly empty. "Wow, she's in a bad mood. What'd you do?" he asked Haller, confusión etched on his face.
Jim sighed and swiped the photo gallery closed, resigned. "Tried to act like someone with normal social skills," he said as he pocketed his phone. "It's fine. I won't be doing that again."
He was keeping the photo, though.
They day had been unusually quiet, so seeing Arthur return with the younger residents retroactively explained why their little feet had not been pitter-pattering. Or, more realistically, watching B-movies and emptying the communal fridge.
Then Jessica stomped in, and logic immediately excused itself from the picture.
Jim said, "Um."
Jessica drew up short, managing not to start only because she had known, just known in her heart, that someone was going to be around to witness this. 'This' being the fuzzy peach sweater, slim cream-coloured pants, and ballet-style flats she'd been forced to wear because her actual clothes (currently quarantined in several plastic bags courtesy of Sooraya) were covered in God-knew-what from the bottom of a dumpster. "Don't say a fucking word," she said. "Actually, pretend you never saw this."
The furiously pastel vision of Jessica Jones was impeding his better judgement. Unable to stop himself, Jim gestured at her.
"Is that the stuff Warren--"
"Do not." To punctuate this, Jessica made a violent chopping motion with the hand not holding the plastic bag. "This was not a choice, it was a - a necessity. And if Arthur ever tells you he needs your expertise for something, take my advice and tell him absolutely not under any circumstances."
"He took you somewhere with a dress code?" Jim asked, unable to stop himself. He felt instant sympathy, however; the idea of trying to turn down a direct request from Arthur made his soul writhe in sympathy. Jessica had never stood a chance. Still . . . Jim slowly reached for his back pocket.
"Fuck off, no - he made me a chaperone," Jessica said, nearly hissing the word. "To children." Well, more or less children. Anyone under the age of 25 was basically a child anyway, weren't they? Underdeveloped brains or something.
"That must have been terrible for you," the telepath remarked. His phone was now in his palm. Using the fingerprint-lock was frowned upon, but at this very moment it felt like one of the better decisions in his life.
"Two of them went fucking dumpster diving," Jessica said, almost plaintively. "Have you ever had to convince two teenagers to get out of a goddamned dumpster?"
"No, but Cyndi did let me wake up in one once. Hey, what's that?"
"What's what?" Instinctively, Jessica turned.
There was the soft, ominous sound of an artificial shutter going off.
"Sorry," Jim said, lowering his phone, "but this has to be captured for posterity."
Jessica's mouth dropped open in outrage. "Delete that right now."
Jim smirked. "Absolutely not. At least not until I show Jean."
"Show Jean what?" Warren had an uncanny ability to show up when he was least wanted which was why he usually brought baked goods. He knew he was A Lot. It helped when you had raspberry and white chocolate scones in hand.
If nothing else, Warren knew that much about himself.
"Jessica!" His eyes widened appreciatively. "I knew I still remembered your size. See Haller? I told you I never forget an ass."
The voice. The aftershave. The infuriatingly delicious scent of pastries. Jim froze. Deep in his soul, he knew somehow this was his fault. This was what happened when he tried to be Fun.
He didn't dare to look Jessica in the eye.
That eye, lit with a martial gleam, would have pinned him to the wall if it could have met his; she turned it on Warren instead, with the expected nil effect. "That sounds like a fun conversation," she said acidly. "For the record, the only reason I'm wearing these godforsaken things is because the alternative was literal trash. Literal. Trash."
"I've seen Zoolander. Derelicte is a choice and you choose yoga pants. Don't put this on me. " Warren extended his arm. "Scone?"
Jessica's jaw worked; her gaze turned furious and her hands worked, perhaps imagining strangling someone. In the end, after a long few moments of glaring, she snatched the tray of scones from him directly, gave Haller a look that did not absolve him of ass-related commentary, and stomped out.
Warren's brow furrowed, his hands now suddenly empty. "Wow, she's in a bad mood. What'd you do?" he asked Haller, confusión etched on his face.
Jim sighed and swiped the photo gallery closed, resigned. "Tried to act like someone with normal social skills," he said as he pocketed his phone. "It's fine. I won't be doing that again."
He was keeping the photo, though.
