All the Good Names Are Taken
Roleplaying Log: All the Good Names Are Taken
IC Details

Trish Walker and Jessica Jones have a heart-to-heart.

Other Characters Referenced: A Whole Bunch
IC Date: July 13, 2019
IC Location: Trish's Apartment, Manhattan, NYC
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 13 Jul 2019 08:02
Rating & Warnings: PG-13
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

Pacing has happened. Plenty of it. The untrained eye may not pick up the telltale signs. However, to the trained eye of someone who knows Trish Walker as that of a sister, there are details to note, even if Trish now sits on her couch, the Daily Bugle on her lap.

Her favourite comfy slippers lay next to the couch in a slightly askewed position, where normally she'd sit them there perfectly parallel to the couch. There's a plate on the kitchen counter with crumbs. Cookie and muffin. Messily eaten as if picked at while walking past. Her favourite decorative vase? It has made a complete 180 and is facing the complete opposite direction. This is 'Worried Trish' pacing.

Trish, as mentioned, now sits at her couch with the Daily Bugle on her lap. A macchiato sits on the table in front of her, though it seems barely touched.

* * *

Jessica has been…here. For the most part. Beating Trish's bag in her workout room. Eating. Sleeping. So much sleeping. So much grouchiness, and so little talking. Of course, the fact that she's not wearing her engagement ring anymore, and there's been no mention of Luke Cage, definitely provides some hints. She'd gone out the night the YMCA blew up and looked grouchier than ever at the news report. They'd been saving trafficking victims, and people suck.

Tonight she went out after some fake company that she's trying to trace to real people, linked somehow to a kidnapping case she's been working. She came up empty, so her mood hasn't improved.

But keen eyes taken in the details nevertheless, and she finally goes to lean over Trish's shoulder to see what she's reading.

"What's got you tied up in knots?" she asks.

* * *

Trish looks up at Jessica. "I've finally had time to go over news from earlier in the week." There's a glance down at the paper and then back at Jess. "You're one of the unidentified women, aren't you, Jess? You were there, with Daredevil. With Punisher and Spider-Man. And you were trying to help those metahumans."

She reaches forward and brings her macchiato up to her lips, taking a sip. She makes a sound of disgust. "Cold." Is all she says.

"It's admirable, doing that" She continues. "But, was it just about rescuing them? Or was there more to it? Like using it as…" She clears her throat, glancing at Jess' ring finger. "You know. A distraction?" She winces slightly. It's been a tough topic to bring up.

* * *

Jessica shrugs. "Yeah. Only it wasn't Spider-Man. It was some different kid with a Spider-motif. I swear there's a ton of them running around. He's the fourth Spider-dude I've seen. He talks way less than the first one I've met. Daredevil wasn't anywhere near it, and I'm surprised there were only two 'unidentified women.' Most of us there were women."

The question elicits a dark scowl and a sardonic tilt of her head. "I did it because this is what I do," she grumbles. "I find people in shitty situations, I get them out of them, and sometimes I get smeared by the press or otherwise screwed for my trouble. I'm not going to stop doing it just because my love life's all fucked up. If anything, I haven't done enough of it."

Her scowl deepens. "Weren't you the one who was always on my ass to do this hero shit? Well. You and Carol, I guess."

* * *

"Right. Spider-Kid. That's the important thing to take from that." Trish murmurs. She takes a deep breath in. No need to get snarky. That's usually Jess' job, anyway. Two snarks are too many. "Look, I'm just trying to piece things together. You're not the only sister who can do their research, put together clues and signs, and come to conclusions. It just so happens I usually do it for my radio show and you do it to get paid…mostly." That 'mostly' being for both of them, though more Jess than Trish.

A soft sigh emits from Trish. "It's just that, I've wanted to give you your space. Honestly. But the lack of a ring? You staying here. Well, the staying here can be for multiple reasons. But the fact is, something has happened between you and Luke and you haven't said two words about it since getting here. Excuse me if I care about your well being and want to make sure you're not going down a dark path and making bad decisions."

There is another wince on her part. It's true. She had pushed Jessica toward being a hero. "I admit, I thought you'd make a great superhero. Part of me still does. But then, you stopped." Of course, there's a reason. A very good reason. Which she doesn't dare bring up. "And now we're here."

* * *

"I'm always making bad decisions," Jessica grumbles. "I stopped, and then I started again. I've been doing this shit for 3 years now, Trish. I know what I'm doing. I barely got out of the freaking gate before."

She heads to the fridge and opens it up, glowering at the contents. She closes it, and goes into the pantry, and finds a half-eaten bag of Doritos that are on the verge of going stale. She settles into a big comfy chair and eats them without much evidence of actually enjoying them. They're just fuel, or perhaps a way to eat her feelings, or both.

"We were engaged. Now we're not. He left while I was on a case on the other side of the country, and he left with a note, and now he's in the wind. Not because we weren't working, because we were, not because I'm too big of a pain in the ass, because that mostly seemed to amuse him, not because we fought too much, because we fought just enough and it was fair, and not because he didn't want to be married, because he did. He left because of some big, dumb, macho, This Is My Fight Jess bullshit, and now he's in the wind doing his best to get himself killed, and I'll probably never find out what's happened to him. Because even if he wins his stupid fight and survives, the longer he stays away the harder it's going to be for him to come back. And given he handled the legal side of deeding his property over to me and Owen, I think he's probably not even planning on it."

She shrugs. "It's a story small enough to fit on a fortune cookie that reads : 'romance sucks, thems the breaks.'"

* * *

"Oh Jess…" Trish frowns, flicking a blonde strand of hair out of her line of sight. "Want me to track him down and kick his ass for leaving you like that? Because I will. And I'll drag him back here, set him down, and say, 'Stop being silly. It is time you realize we are all in this together. Any issues you have we all have. Now marry Jess already and so we can take care of whatever issues you have as one big happy family!'" She raises an eyebrow. "I'll do it, too. I swear."

Trish actually snorts. "If your life can be found on a fortune cookie, I haven't been eating enough Chinese." She offers a tiny smile. "No matter what, though, I'll always be here for you." Which is evidenced in the fact that she picked Jess up and let her stay here. "Just tell me what you need."

* * *

Jess shakes her head. "I wish. Maybe you can succeed where I failed, but he was real careful not to leave trails. He's been watching me work pretty closely all the way back to the Barnes trial, you know? He knows where and how I look. He even knows some of my more obscure tricks. He watched me use them to try to track down his traitorous bestie. And for all I know, this is just the conscious bit. The subconscious bit may be that he really doesn't want to marry me, for all kinds of complicated reasons. And whatever. I'm Jessica freaking Jones. Who needs him anyway?"

She sounds more miserable as she says that, slumping down in ther chair and disconsolately crunching a Dorito.

But when Trish says that last she softens. And she says, "Yeah. I know. I wouldn't lean on just anyone like this, you know?"

She hesitates, and she says, "When I'm here, with you, I'm not tempted to drink. When I'm alone, in that apartment…or alone anywhere when I'm not working…"

She exhales. "I made it 18 months before I so much as slipped. And then the slips were tiny. I don't want to go down that road again, Trish. I don't want to wake up at the bottom of a 20 bottle binge. But when I'm alone…"

* * *

"Conscious or subconscious, no matter what, it's his own damn problem. Because you are Jessica freaking Jones. Any dang guy worth his salt would realize just how lucky he was to have you in his life. Any gal, too. Heck, any intelligent being worth anything would be lucky." Perhaps Trish is pushing it a bit too far. But that's what she does sometimes. She's a radio personality, after all. She has to know how to talk to fill the gaps.

"And that is why liquor cabinet is now filled with ciders and juices and my wine bottle have been replaced with…well, other wine bottles. But wine bottles filled with grape juice. Like actual juice." If she knows one thing, it's how to keep a place clean for someone who has an addiction to something. "If you want a non-alcoholic apple cider on the rocks, though, I've got some of the best apple ciders from around the country, plus one from Canada!"

* * *

It actually elicits a smile for a moment. It's a real one, if a pained one. "I'll take the apple cider from Canada, then," she says. "It'll be apologetic, but really good."

Self-sufficient as she is, she just stands up to toss the bag that has now become a bag of Orange Crumblets, and goes in search of it herself.

"I don't want to talk about me anymore," she says. "Now that I'm not freaking out, what new powers did you get when you decided to go tripping the light fantastic?"

There's no bite to those words. This is just a direct question, an oversight in information that she intends to remedy. If there's any realm where Jess can be said to be fully comfortable (besides a bar), it's when she's asking questions. And there are definitely good reasons for knowing what her sister can do. And…

"How's being back in town treating you, career-wise?"

* * *

"Canadian apple cider…over there in the cabinet, second from the right, light brownish colour." Trish recites from memory, a brief pause between each bit of information.

Oh. They're talking about her now. Okay. She can do that, maybe? No, yeah. She can do that. "Powers? Um, well, they're more enhancements, I guess? Though you could say 'powers' too. Let's see." She takes a deep breath in. "I'm way more agile than I was before. My reflexes have been heightened and sped up. And talking about speed, I'm faster than I was before, by a good amount. Not like, 'zoom' and I'm gone in the blink of an eye, I don't think, faster than normal people." She furrows her brow as she thinks. My endurance levels have shot way up." There's another brief pause and she smiles. "Oh! And I'm strong! Or…stronger. I doubt I'll be as strong as you, but I've definitely been noticing that I'm strong than before."

Oh, yes. Her career. That thing she does. "Careers good. I'm back on the air. I actually had an event in Gotham not too long ago, and will probably be having one of their mayoral candidates on the show." She begins to reach for her drink before she stops, realizing that it doesn't taste good any more. "OH! You'll never believe who came to talk to me at the radio, and what they came to talk to me about!"

* * *

Jessica nods at this information, slowly and thoughtfully. She doesn't comment on it, but she apparently takes it into account and absorbs it into her worldview fast enough. She finds the cider and pours it into a glass that Scotch would normally go into, brings the bottle over the way she might have if she were drinking. She mutters something about 'sex with your pants on,' but as this is commentary on her current pretend-drinking, and not anything Trish is saying, she doesn't say it very loud.

She arches one eyebrow and tilts her head as Trish does her guess what, guess what. "Guy Fieri, about how in the living fuck anyone catapults to stardom by noisily smacking their way through every greasy spoon across America?"

* * *

"Nope! But that would be…no, not even I could touch that one. I tend to like to leave Guy Fieri to his own devices. Interviewing him would be a strange day on Trish Talk." Trish can't help but grin a little bit. She leans back, glancing at Jess.

"I'll give you a hint…she's known for wearing a red and blue outfit with what looks like an S on it, and neither she nor her male counterpart are birds or planes." She raises an eyebrow. She pretty much gave all the obvious clues, though she doesn't really care. She's just excited that this person decided to visit her.

* * *

"Superwoman?" Jess ventures. "I'm not 100% up on the Metropolis super set other than Superman. What did she want to talk about?"

Despite not being up on it, the clues are definitely enough for an educated guess. She pours a second cider shot, but does nurse it instead of down it. It really is kind of too good to sit there gulping, and it doesn't offer the pleasant burn sensation anyway. She might as well enjoy it for the taste.

"I don't think I caught that show," Jess adds, completely ruining her curmudgeonly insistance that she never listens in the first place.

* * *

"Close! It was Supergirl. Very chatty…super chatty, one might say. But she's a good person, if a bit young. Also, apparently a huge It's Patsy fan." Which still confuses Trish a whole bunch, but that's a totally different story.

"She…wanted to talk about metahumans and the Registration Act. She wanted my help in speaking out against the Registration Act." She explains.

"She came in after the show and…wait, did you…do you actually listen to the show?" Yes, because that's the most surprising thing about this conversation.

"Sorry." She shakes her head. "Not important. What's important is that Supergirl wants to work together against the Registration Act and in protecting the rights of metahumans."

* * *

Jess nods thoughtfully and says, "Well, that's good."

In reality, she's swung back and forth on the issue of Reg, shown some ambivalence lately where she'd had nothing but pure hatred for the law before. But…this business with trafficked metahumans getting rounded up because they weren't registered, as if that were the crime that mattered, has shoved her back on the anti-Reg side of the line. YouTube videos of her snarling 'they have a point' at a telepath notwithstanding. If Kilgrave wasn't a telepath he was surely the next worst thing to it, and Jess has a hard time with that entire class of people, even though she actively tries to work against her own prejudice in that area.

"I seem to remember something about her speaking out on other venues. Are you going to give her a full-scale interview?"

* * *

"I might." Trish responds quite quickly regarding interviewing Supergirl. Trish certainly has her own views on the matter of registration. Being that she's against it. But she's been hesitant to say anything aloud, almost afraid that if she does so, someone might come knocking on her door asking why she, in particular, doesn't want there to be registration. Asking her what she has to hide.

Brushing those thoughts aside for the time being, however, she takes a deep breath in. "I need to do some research. Bring some facts. I need something other than just opinion on why Registration is bad." She explains. "I'm in a position, though, of both having my own radio show and of being a celebrity in my own right, that makes people stop and listen to me. They don't always agree, but when…" She hates this part of her celebrity. "When Patsy of It's Patsy says that registration is bad, people will at least listen, whether they agree or not. And it's for the 'not' that I hope some will listen to reason."

* * *

Jess rubs a hand over her face. "Thing is, it's a real complex issue," she admits.

She takes a deep breath and says, "On one hand, having a sort of…driver's license for superpowers isn't really that bad on the face of it. And you can't say, 'well, it's only catching people who don't have anything to hide,' because it's also not catching a lot of people who are just scared."

She tips a finger at Trish, as if to demonstrate.

"So on one hand, you get a walking nuke who likes destroying lives, or a Kilgrave, and you find them without a card, great. You get to chuck them on the raft. On the other hand, there's the schoolteacher Matt and Foggy have built their lawsuit on. Minor empathy, harming nobody, other than, I suppose, disclosure maybe might have been nice for a whole host of reasons. And of course, the person who caused one of the greatest losses of lives New York has ever seen is Wilson Fucking Fisk, and his only superpower is money."

She pours more cider and sets the bottle down. "I personally have freaking benefited from it. It doesn't fly anywhere else, but the way the law is written? Here in New York if shit's going down, I whip out my Reg card and suddenly I'm basically as good as a cop or a SHIELD agent. I can sometimes order cops around. And that's weird, but it's also given me a lot more power to help people."

She shakes her head and blows out her cheeks. "And then there's people who can't find jobs or places to live because metas aren't a protected class, and Reg means they can't easily hide. There's people the cops won't go find when they're missing, because they're known metas, so 'must just be fleeing Reg,' even if they Registered. There's the motherfucking Sentinels, which just piss me off every time I think about them. There's all the shit that database could be used for. In short…"

She drains the glass like she's drinking booze again, "It's left a lot of people, including me, not knowing whether to wind our asses or scratch our watches, you know?"

* * *

"Yes, it does have people scared, for a variety of reasons." Trish nods. "History being part of it. Such as the Sentinels. Look how that turned out?" She raises an eyebrow questioningly. "What's the true benefit for the average, everyday person to register? Me, I've got money. If one building won't take me, I can probably find one that will take my money. Not everyone has that luxury. And yes, some people are losing jobs and unable to get rehired because they're registered."

She lets out a frustrated grunt as she places the Daily Bugle on the cushion next to her on the couch. "It's not that I'm not glad for how it's benefited you. I am glad. But most people aren't you. How many people are practically an Avenger and have been able to invite America's Ass…sorry, I mean Captain America, to a gathering at their place?" She shifts about a little uncomfortably in place, a sign that she's almost ready to start pacing about the apartment again. "Plus, the so called 'bad guys' aren't going to care about registration at all. But what if a bad guy has the same power as someone who has registered, huh? The bad guy causes trouble, the innocent registered meta gets pulled into some government agency to be interrogated for something they didn't do!"

* * *

"Yeah. It's a clusterfuck," Jessica agrees. "And I agree. For most of us, it's been a shit deal. And I'm not practically an Avenger. That is seriously like some community theater asshole calling themselves a movie star because they got a walk-on part in Star Wars once. Being a PI just means meeting people. Just like being a radio host means meeting people."

She waves that much away, but she does note: "What I have done is been open and maskless since the beginning, a lot of what I've done is known, for better or for worse, and yeah. I mean…I'm not saying I think you should run out and get your R-card. I think you're smart to hide it. Hell, there are days I wish I'd invested in a goddamn mask right from the start too, but it's a little late now. On the flip side, I'm the one super-whatever people can reach on the phone, so."

She stands up to actually root around for some real food, adding, "False accusations, though. That's as old as law enforcement. Quite a few of my cases have involved pulling together evidence to try to get some wrongfully convicted sorry sod off. As a side note, The Building in Harlem," which is now what she is calling her former home, "has been used to hide metas in need before, who were dodging reg, and we've worked to get them out before, and that much hasn't changed."

* * *

Trish rolls her eyes. "Fine. Avengers Adjacent?" She jokes. A little levity for an otherwise heavy conversation. "I will admit, I've had fans say to me, 'I'm an actor like you…I was an extra on…' and then insert a random movie or TV show." She rolls her eyes.

"I uh…I have been considering getting a mask. Not that I think I'm ready necessarily to go out on the streets and fight, but on the off chance I could help someone, having a mask I could carry around, and maybe even a full on costume, could be useful. That way I can help while keeping my true identity hidden."

The building in Harlem. Good to know. "Do you mind if I go by there, see what kind of set up you've got there for the hiding of Metas? You can describe the layout for me. I just…if I were to help at some point, it might be good for me to know the location."

* * *

"I'll take you around. I have to feed the rooster anyway. It's just a fucking building. That I own. But it has a hidden location, and any apartment can be filled up with people. We've got several that we just furnished. I've got several. That Luke just furnished."

Jess rubs the back of her neck. "Yeah. Adjacent. I mean…I have been thinking about making the ask. That would put me publically for Reg…but…maybe give me more authority to act, too. The press sure as fuck might not have made mincemeat out of the Y thing if an Avenger had been there. I might have been able to shield the metas, too. The Avengers are handling it. Some of them probably had been prisoners since before fucking Reg was fucking law. My first love is the Defenders, but I've always worked with other teams, and am a formal member of at least one other too."

She blows out her cheeks and studies Trish. "I absolutely think you need a mask. You can't afford to act at all in public otherwise. And if you want to learn the ropes of masked life, well. The masked among the Defenders will teach you. I don't think I can possibly teach you anything you don't already know. Carrying one is smart, as long as you don't, I don't know. Fucking keep it in your purse and drop it and send it flying along with your lipstick and cellphone."

* * *

"Huh…moving into a position where you're publicly for it but secretly against it? Now that's a power move worthy of Jessica Jones." There's a pause on Trish's part and a little smiles crosses he face. "Does this mean I could…is there a chance if I have a ask and help out, I could maybe be an honorary member of the Defenders?" It's a thought that she's has crossed her mind for a bit now.

"I guess I need to get myself a mask guy." Hopefully her new powers actually earn her better memory too. Although it's not hard to forget that she needs a mask and suit if she wants to start using her abilities in public. "You wouldn't happen to have any suggestions, would you?"

* * *

Jessica snorts rudely at anything being worthy of her. Or rather, the other way around: of her being worthy of anything. "It's not like I invented it," she grouses. "Plenty of people did it before me."

But she squints at Trish and says, "Well…you could probably just…be one," she says, of the Defenders. "We don't— we aren't like— look, there's no leader, right? Daredevil sort of keeps us organized, but it's loosely organized. We don't have secret handshakes or membership cards or whatever. Really we all ended up named what we were and considering ourselves a team at all because people on the street did it, and then the newspapers did it, and then we decided we kind of liked it. So…fight enough times with us in your Masked Trish persona, and yeah, pretty soon you'll just have the same guilt-by-association as the rest of us. We formed it…"

She tilts her head, remembering what Daredevil had said. "Because we all have a habit of, you know. Just trying to handle shit alone. And we decided maybe it would be better to watch each other's backs instead. It…doesn't always work…half of us still run off saying I Must Not Drag My Friends Into This, half the time. And we're not always in agreement on the right way to handle shit. But…we're also all friends, you know? I imagine you'll be swept into our madness soon enough."

She shrugs her shoulders at that. And squints a little at Trish's statement. "Mask…guy? You're looking for a cape SO?"

* * *

Tapping her foot thoughtfully, Trish nods as she listens. "Well, okay. I'll just…I guess…join you guys once my secret identity is in order?" A phrase she never thought she'd say. She frowns at Jess. "What? No! Mask Guy as in a guy who makes masks! Like how I've got a pleather guy who gets me clothing made out of fake leather that looks like the super high quality real leather products. A fact you did not just hear about me." She blushes.

"Anyway, I need to train a bit more before I'm comfortable, I think, to go out in public, fighting with the good guys." But that will happen in its own time, the training. "Until then, mask and costume being made is top priority!"

* * *

Jessica shoots Trish a highly skeptical look at pleather. She exhales and says, "At least one person I know ordered his shit on Amazon, but that's probably not a great idea."

A pause.

She scrawls down a number and passes it over. "She's hard to reach, and she might not do it. But if you need an armor person, Dr. Jane Foster's the way to go. In the meantime…"

She digs around in her bag. It's all rumpled, but she pulls out the one business suit that's in there. They're at least close enough in size to make this much useful. It's a black pantsuit, with a red blouse.

"Starkweave," she explains. "Bulletproof. It won't help you fight crime in anonymity, but…just in case you find trouble when you can't toss on your mask or whatever. I've got plenty of jeans and t-shirts that fit the job, and right now I don't need to wear this monkey suit shit, so. It'll at least keep you a little safer."

* * *

"Dr. Jane Foster." Trish repeats. "Starkweave?" She raises an eyebrow. "Made, by chance, by Stark Industries?" Although, that's not quite surprising to her. What good armour isn't? A lot of good armor, among other military items, have come out of there over the years. She smiles at Jess. "I don't know what to say…thank you, Jess. I really appreciate this."

"Now…I've been thinking of nicknames for myself when I go out fighting. How about: Ass Kicker?" Okay, maybe coming up with nicknames is not her strong suit.

* * *

Jessica pulls a face. "I'm not even going to dignify that sorry ass attempt at a name. All the good ones may be taken, but you can do better than that."

A pause as her scowl deepens, her sardonic, curmudgeon side back in full force in the wake of Luke's leaving. She'd gentled for awhile, let her softer, kinder side show. But all the armor is back in place. At least Trish knows not to take it too seriously.

"God. You're like a goddamn kitten with a new toy."

She stands up then, scooping up the bottle of cider. So much like a whiskey bottle she wants to drink straight out of that it's clear there will not be any Canadian cider left by the time she's done.

"I'm going to go avail myself of your ginormous bathtub," she announces, stomping in that direction. "Ass Kitten."

* * *

"Hey, this is all sort of new to me." But true to form, Trish does just shrug it off. She knows when to take Jess seriously and when to let something go in one ear and out the other. "And don't think I won't take 'Ass Kitten' into consideration!" She calls after her, a sassy smirk on her face.

She sighs and leans back, smirking and shaking her head. "Seriously. Who'd ever go by 'Ass Kitten'?" That being said, it does set her mind on a cat theme that she just can't seem to get out of.

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