She is a PI, who wasn't working during his trial, and gets most of her news from a radio show. The months after Kilgrave's death, she went on a bit of a bender, and didn't see much of Trish to discuss this Punisher guy and his scrappy legal team. She got her head (arguably) above water just as the media was moving on.
But the way he looks at her makes her think there's something to him she's missing. And she's not crazy about that. She'd like to believe it's nothing but presumption on his part and mistrust on hers. Jess doesn't pick the eye contact back up once it's dropped. She scans the storefronts coming into view, looking for this hole-in-the-wall diner of his.
"I've got no problem with predictable. These days I've even come around to boring."
That makes him smile, though it's toothy and empty in the end. He lets it fall off his lips quickly, not wanting to fake more than his name in this interaction, but old habits die hard. Put the tiger in a cage, lock it up until it gets real hungry...
"There," he says unceremoniously, nodding to the corner joint ahead with a sign that's rotted off and no one bothered to replace it. It seems they don't thrive on new customers, or they've just made due with the old ones. Either way it's like stepping back in time when they do make it across the life-threatening crosswalk and inside the dark little diner. "This is my little slice of boring right here in the city."
Frank slinks his way to the corner booth and waits for her to follow. It will be a long time before anyone deems to acknowledge them, let alone take their order.
There. Huh. Jess recognizes it as a background detail brought to the fore. She passes by it frequently. Once, a long time ago, she must have passed a judgment on it similar to the one that occurs to her now: Too empty to people watch in, not the kind of place she'd stop to have a meal. And possibly a front for something.
With her eyes adjusting to the light, it's brighter inside than it appears from the street. The vinyl seats are cracked and peeling; the ones that aren't don't match the others. The grime between the tiles behind the counter must have several years of history to it. The smell wafting from the kitchen could ease a hangover all on its own.
Jess slides in across from him. She focuses on him despite the atmosphere still soaking into her. Doesn't want him to think she's impressed or anything.
He is studying her for any reaction, positive or otherwise, but ends up settling into a comfortable staring contest by the end.
"If I told you that, I'd have to kill you," he jokes lamely as a waitress finally takes pity on them and approaches with a carafe of coffee and her best resting bitch face. Frank is pretty sure she practices. He thanks her with a bright smile, the ancient menus she deposits on the table are as generic as they come and won't help Jess in her pursuit of knowledge in this instance. He takes a sip of his black coffee like it's the greatest thing he's ever tasted though it's burnt yet somehow not even hot - without ever taking his eyes off of her.
The waitress's unflappable disinclination toward hospitality positively captures Jess's heart. Her inert "thanks" glances right off her and that's all it's meant to do. Once she's fulfilled her obligations, she walks away, somehow making it feel like they're the ones leaving her alone. God damn, where was this place when Jess was in her deadend job phase? She could have lasted a while, if that's the service they shoot for. Not shade.
Her eyes swing from her back to Frank as she sips some room into her mug. "Wow," she muses judgmentally as she pulls out a flask and tops her coffee off with whiskey. "You definitely have a type."
It actually startles a laugh out of him and he ducks his head over his coffee to contain it before looking back over at her with mirth sparkling through his gaze. What an idiot.
"I can tell you like it too," he points out teasingly, not sure if he's trying to goad her into denying it, but he thinks he likes when she gets indignant. He finishes off his dumb, smug statement with a canine head-tilt before slurping down more awful, burnt coffee that's still somehow too hot just to sip.
Edited (one letter edit i know you missed me) 2022-02-09 23:29 (UTC)
Her glare glints, hardened but allowing a light through nonetheless. Damn feedback loop. The corners of her mouth take on a tautness as remaining expressionless now takes effort. He's goading her and she's allowing it. Because it's good kindling for a quickie, undeniably. Because her mornings, when she's awake for them, are all one dull blur lately, and this is something different. Interesting. That's as much as she'll knowingly refuse to admit. Calling it fun is just over the line.
"I always figured I didn't have the personality for waitressing." She lifts her mug, swirling it carefully. "Turns out I was just looking in the wrong places." The coffee and whiskey are barely mixed when she has a drink. It's awful and perfect and she sighs as she swallows.
Frank watches her with his own lips twitching, and though he's less concerned about acting goofy she's making it almost impossible not to fall in love on the spot. And that's definitely something he doesn't need to do. That sobering thought slowly widdles away his mirth even as he considers her point, trying to picture her working in this very diner.
"Not a chance," he comes down on, realizing just how ridiculous it is, Jessica Jones working as a mindless automaton among the rest. "You'd get bored, wouldn't you?" Get involved, more like. He narrows his eyes as he tries not to draw parallels between them.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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But the way he looks at her makes her think there's something to him she's missing. And she's not crazy about that. She'd like to believe it's nothing but presumption on his part and mistrust on hers. Jess doesn't pick the eye contact back up once it's dropped. She scans the storefronts coming into view, looking for this hole-in-the-wall diner of his.
"I've got no problem with predictable. These days I've even come around to boring."
no subject
"There," he says unceremoniously, nodding to the corner joint ahead with a sign that's rotted off and no one bothered to replace it. It seems they don't thrive on new customers, or they've just made due with the old ones. Either way it's like stepping back in time when they do make it across the life-threatening crosswalk and inside the dark little diner. "This is my little slice of boring right here in the city."
Frank slinks his way to the corner booth and waits for her to follow. It will be a long time before anyone deems to acknowledge them, let alone take their order.
no subject
With her eyes adjusting to the light, it's brighter inside than it appears from the street. The vinyl seats are cracked and peeling; the ones that aren't don't match the others. The grime between the tiles behind the counter must have several years of history to it. The smell wafting from the kitchen could ease a hangover all on its own.
Jess slides in across from him. She focuses on him despite the atmosphere still soaking into her. Doesn't want him to think she's impressed or anything.
"What's this place even called?"
no subject
"If I told you that, I'd have to kill you," he jokes lamely as a waitress finally takes pity on them and approaches with a carafe of coffee and her best resting bitch face. Frank is pretty sure she practices. He thanks her with a bright smile, the ancient menus she deposits on the table are as generic as they come and won't help Jess in her pursuit of knowledge in this instance. He takes a sip of his black coffee like it's the greatest thing he's ever tasted though it's burnt yet somehow not even hot - without ever taking his eyes off of her.
no subject
Her eyes swing from her back to Frank as she sips some room into her mug. "Wow," she muses judgmentally as she pulls out a flask and tops her coffee off with whiskey. "You definitely have a type."
no subject
"I can tell you like it too," he points out teasingly, not sure if he's trying to goad her into denying it, but he thinks he likes when she gets indignant. He finishes off his dumb, smug statement with a canine head-tilt before slurping down more awful, burnt coffee that's still somehow too hot just to sip.
no subject
"I always figured I didn't have the personality for waitressing." She lifts her mug, swirling it carefully. "Turns out I was just looking in the wrong places." The coffee and whiskey are barely mixed when she has a drink. It's awful and perfect and she sighs as she swallows.
no subject
"Not a chance," he comes down on, realizing just how ridiculous it is, Jessica Jones working as a mindless automaton among the rest. "You'd get bored, wouldn't you?" Get involved, more like. He narrows his eyes as he tries not to draw parallels between them.