Launched 1000 Ships
Roleplaying Log: Launched 1000 Ships
IC Details

After ignoring her calls and messages, Owen Mercer shows up to find out what Jessica Jones is calling him for.

Other Characters Referenced: Trish Walker, Matt Murdock
IC Date: July 15, 2019
IC Location: Alias Investigations, Hell's Kitchen, New York
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 16 Jul 2019 03:27
Rating & Warnings: R
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

When Owen first shows up, he'll find the detective buried beneath a mountain of papers. Not literally; these are old print outs and court records that she's going through with a highlighter and red pen. It's clearly for some kind of a case; the not-very-glamorous side of the work that few people see or think about. Or would want to— sometimes these things are an exercise in pure futility.

Jess finds them soothing.

But the office is open, which means the door is open. The Grumpy Cat plushie on the top shelf of the bookshelf glowers his disapproval down. Jess? Just arches an expectant eyebrow while scowling slightly.

* * *

The first three phone calls were ignored purposefully, the fourth was just bad timing as Owen was black out drunk at the time and the last two were enough to finally penetrate whatever alien material makes up Owen's ridiculously thick skull. Which means he finally drags his ass back to New York, back to Hell's Kitchen.

Somehow even his knock sounds drunk? Yes the door is open, but he still stands there and knocks on it. It's awkward rhythm and the sliding of his knuckles down the wood sounding like a slurred version of 'Hello?'. He enters without waiting for a reply and unceremoniously dumps himself on her couch with a fwump.

"That looks like the paperwork equivalent of cutting a pack of feral cats claws with teeny round nosed scissors."

* * *

Jessica exhales as she spots Owen's state. She closes her eyes for a moment, and then opens them up again. Nothing has, of course, changed in the interim.

"You've been ignoring my calls," she says, completely bypassing the banter about the paperwork in favor of cutting right to the chase. She stands, dropping one heavily marked up piece on top of the pile, to close the door behind him. She then turns to face him, arms crossed, making no effort to hide the annoyance on her face, or to tone down the bite of it in her voice.

"Did it ever occur to you that it was important?"

* * *

Owen Mercer says, "I was jamming out to my sweet ringtone and maybe forgot to pick up?" When you have the musical stylings of 'I Want Your Cray-Cray' as your ringtone (only for Jess) then it would be a shame to cut it short after all. He leans his head back against the couch as she stands to shut the door.

"When it's important, Luke tag teams and calls me right after you to ball me out for not picking up." Way to walk right into that one Owen. Douchebag. But he's not wrong, Luke is often the heavy that makes *this is serious* speeches into his voicemail. At least in the past.

"But I'm here. So, what's next more giant meta hunting robots to explode? Or are we going to just overthrow the government?""

* * *

There's a slight punched in the gut look that Jessica gets when he brings Luke up…even though she intended to bring him up herself. She exhales sharply and just rips the Bandaid off.

"Luke left," she says. "Probably for good."

She just drops the bomb to begin with, not elaborating while she gives those words a moment to sink in.

But they seem to drain her ire away too. She crosses now to open a window. It's strange to be on the ground floor, but it offers her a place to sit and smoke, perhaps to put some physical distance between herself and an emotionally painful topic.

* * *

Owen nods at first as if she's just starting to tell him the background on something but then he realizes what she just said. He stops and then blurs in place, giving himself extra moments to process both that statement and some of the extra alcohol floating around his system. When he stops his eyes are wide and he looks a little less trashed but still drunk for a mere mortal.

"What? I…" He blinks a few times and then watches Jess walk away towards the window. He slowly stands and walks towards it, pulling out his own cigarettes. Yes it's not the same window they smoked in before, but it still feels like the proper place for this conversation.

"Do you.. want to talk about it? Or.. yell? I'm …" He realizes now with a little mental math that this isn't a 'today' thing. She's been trying to reach him for some time. And he selfishly figured it had to do with him, that she was reaching out because he was a hot mess and she was somehow going to extol the virtues of sobriety. Not that she ever has, or would do that. He just had talked himself into that narrative and now he's just an ass.

"Are you okay?"

* * *

Something warmer flickers into her expression as Owen switches gears and asks after her. She doesn't answer right away, ducking her head down. At last she says, "No. No, I am not. But I will be."

And then: "He signed over the bar to you before he split. I've got the paperwork here for you."

The bar has sat with a Closed sign since it happened, too, because the one thing Jessica Jones can't do, especially not right now, is manage a goddamn bar.

Her dark eyes finally lift to meet his and she says, "He heard something from an old enemy that spooked him. Now he's off in the wind because he must nobly face this alone, or some shit. I can't find him. I've looked, but I can't. He erased the trails."

* * *

Pulling in a long drag of smoke he sits down on the window sill and leans out to exhale. He nods and says, "Still sober?" She certainly doesn't look like she's on a breakup bender, but she could probably hide it pretty damn well if she wanted to. And just because he's not, doesn't mean he thinks it's the right choice. For her.

The news about the bar causes him to blink. "He what?" Owen looks confused. Luke and he were okay, but not on great terms as of late and he had assumed any thought of him getting the bar was long gone. "Do you.. why don't we just sell it. You can take the money. I get that a bar is not.. great for you." Or me. He doesn't add that thought.

"Seriously? At least when I run away from all my friends and shut them out I do it for a good reason." Owen deadpans, "Like heroin."

* * *

The joke about heroin produces a chuff of a laugh. But she nods. "Yeah. I had to call Matt to talk me off the ledge, and I've been staying with my sister. As long as I'm working or with someone I'm fine."

Her lips twitch sardonically. "I guess I'd better get over needing that crutch quick though, people can't fucking babysit me forever."

On the matter of selling the bar she'd just looked briefly a bit overwhelmed, like she has no idea how to even interact with that idea, how to articulate, or even find, any preference in the matter of the bar's disposition. Another tidal wave of emotion washes over her face, and she looks up and says, "Let's…I mean…if you're going to sell it, just…wait a little, maybe? It won't lose you any money, it's under the building's umbrella, and apparently I own that, so. It's just. If you sell it, then— "

She cuts herself off with an angry sound and a scowl. "Well, he's already really gone, so I don't know what I'm hesitating for."

* * *

"Trish is in town?" Not the point Mercer. And far, far too fast with that question. Jess is already well aware of Owen's super fan status, so it's not like he's blowing up his spot by not playing it cool but still: focus Mercer.

"Bah, you needs friends and family, so what? You're human." Says the man who is used to having neither and actively pushing away attempts at support from both.

He watches her reaction to selling and while he's not sure what she's feeling, it sure ain't relief. He shrugs and says, "I can also run it for a while I guess." Oh the irony, he Harley are now both owners of bars. That's a weird little twist he never saw coming. He pushes that thought out of his mind with a rueful exhale of smoke.

"It's fine Jess. What the hell? I loved working the bar." With Luke. And Bart. And neither of them are there anymore. And Jess probably won't be stopping in either. It's not the same, duh, he knows that but the doubt on his face is probably not well hidden either.

* * *

She studies his face, and shakes her head. "It's yours, you can— it's yours."

She finally stubs out the cigarette half smoked. Even that's not doing much good right now. She says: "I'm sorry he took off on you, too. But he cares about you a lot. When you went missing he must have kicked over every crackhouse in the city. I mean. It was a terrible way to look for you, but he did."

A thing which had annoyed her at the time. She draws up one knee and wraps an arm around it, resting her chin there. And says, "I can introduce you to Trish if you want."

Her eyes soften again a bit, and she says, "She'd like you. You'd like the real her too, I think."

* * *

Owen's face scrunches as she reiterates that it's his. He shakes his head and says, "I'll give it a shot. If I hate it or it sucks, I'll revisit the sale thing. It's what he wanted." Something about saying that causes his face to scrunch again, "Not that he's dead. He's just a prick, a noble self-sacrficing prick. Well sausage really." Owen can't help but crack a joke about Luke's dick because while the big man might not be here, Luke's dick jokes are forever.

He shrugs and says, "Yea, it's fine. We'll reconnect when he shows back up." The implication that Owen can hardly hold it against him is there, underneath the assumption that the same is likely not true of Jess. It's a different type of relationship, he gets that.

"Oh yea? I'd love to meet Trish." Owen seems a little weirded out though by talk of her liking him. That's just not normal.

* * *

Jess rolls her eyes a little at the joke, a gesture that belies the worry behind them. He's sort of hitting the nail on the head with the death thing. But when he just shrugs she nods, relaxing a tad. She hadn't even realized she was tense until the moment when he did it this way. Having to be the one to break shitty news is never fun, and now that it's over with.

"You just have to play it cool with her," she says. "She gets all that omg Patsy stuff all the time. Just be real. I guess just be real even at the expense of making my sister suffer through all your dick jokes."

Because at this point, she'd far rather talk about Trish than Luke. All Luke things are getting shoved back in the box.

"And your bad pick up lines," she adds. But the tiniest smirk is there, the tiniest hint that she's yanking his chain rather than offering real criticism.

* * *

"Patsy? Who the fuck cares about Patsy?" Because Owen is the even rarer breed of fan, of her two-minutes of fame as a pop star. He plays that up a little bit sure, but he's all about the Cray-Cray, obviously.

"I will have you know that my dick jokes are A plus material. As are my pick up lines." Which granted he doesn't actually have any serious pickup lines, they're kind of optional for the types of hookups he has ended up in lately. Enough drugs and booze and talking before hand becomes optional, after the fact too for that matter. But he's happy to play along with the ribbing about them, feigning indignation.

Finishing off the smoke he stubs it out and says, "Well this fucking sucks." Before shaking his head and says, "Sorry." Not so much about the situation with Luke as the fact that he slipped back to the topic in a moment of distraction.

* * *

This feigned indignation gets a few chuffs in succession, a mild chuckle that says that indeed, for that one moment, he has amused her enough to lift her spirits a bit. But it's natural enough to slip back into the situation.

"S'okay." It's not a topic that's going away, after all. "It does fucking suck."

She tries relighting the cigarette though, not wanting it to go to waste, finding she needs the nicotine all over again. She opens her mouth a few times, like there are things she might say that she's thinking better of for all kinds of reasons.

So what she says is, "The rest of you are still here. It's not like I'm all alone."

Even Owen is being supportive, and more smoothly than he usually does when he attempts it. The effort is appreciated nonetheless. "He's lucky he took his motorcycle though, or I'd have twisted the damned thing into a pretzel and thrown it into the East River."

* * *

The rest of you are still here.

Technically Owen wasn't still here. He's barely been back to New York and been dodging Jess's (and most anyone's) calls. He's been wallowing in short but this is different.

"Yea well it's hard to get rid of assholes." His excuse for why he might just stick around.

"I would hope you'd at least let me attach some explosives to it first? I mean what's the point of wrecking something if it doesn't then explode, right?"

* * *

Jess may be aware of the technicalities, but he's here now. Her shoulders shake a little as he says it's hard to get rid of assholes, but he gets a full on smirk for the explosives. "It's true. There is almost no point at all. I guess I also could have made it into a motorcycle sized boomarang for you, leaving you to science your way into deciding how to make the thing work for you."

But much as Owen was content to throw the conversation back on Luke, and as much as he says it's hard to get rid of assholes, Jessica is nothing if not observant.

"Something's going wrong in your life too. You seemed a little more shitfaced than normal. What's going on?"

* * *

"Oh my god Jess I just got hard thinking about it." A motorcycle sized boomerang? Why doesn't he have a boomerang shaped motorcycle yet? What is he even doing with his life?! He then nods and gives her an assuring look, yes this will happen. These are probably high on the list of looks one doesn't want from Owen, particularly after he just overshared.

"Me?" Owen looks for a second like he might just brush it off before shrugging, "Harley surfaced." Does it need more words than that? He hopes not. He realizes it sounds pretty pathetic but it's only been a few months since the incident at Stark's errr Allen's? He's obviously not over it. Or her. Or anything.

* * *

Jessica does pull her 'ew' face as he tells her that. It was definitely an overshare. But his enthusiasm over this still amuses her. She reaches over to her desk to grab a small notepad and makes a little scribble of a note, then tosses it aside.

Then, in two words, Owen says pretty much all that does in fact need to be said.

"Ouch. Sorry man," Jess says, fully respecting his need not to dive into every ugly, gory detail. She feels much the same way, after all, about her problem. But hopefully the three words she picked to respond were the right ones. Especially since there's not much to be done about it either way.

"You should call Emery," she suggests. "Just say 'feed me' and he will and you'll feel better. He might make one or two comments about how good your ass looks or something, but that's a small price to pay."

* * *

Owen seems fine with the apology about Harley. He just shrugs and says, "It's fine." It's not. "It will be anyway." Probably closer. Not that he really is going to ever get used to it. He should have just left well enough alone. They fought, they broke up and then like a dope he went back. Idiot.

"I should." Owen agrees about calling Emery. He knows this is true. But there's lots of reasons to hide from that too. Chief among them being that's what Owen does best. "And frankly I could use more people telling me my ass looks good. It's a fantastic ass. It deserves compliments and praise."

* * *

Jessica snorts another laugh. "See, there you go. It's your new feel good affirmation. Don't look in the mirror and say 'you're good enough, you're smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like you.' No, you just look in the mirror, twist around, and say: that is the ass that launched a thousand ships. And then your whole life will be 500% better."

Usually she does not go in for this kind of humor, but sitting in these windows, smoking, staring at the wreckage of broken relationships, it just seems to fit. Fits everything like a goddamn glove.

"We could set that to music. You could lip synch to the 'I'm too sexy for my whatever' song."

* * *

"Well none of those are true. But my ass? Yea it speaks for itself." Owen easily jokes back about the affirmations and is thankful to at least see Jess laugh a little. Goodness knows he wasn't laughing for a long time after Stark's. Not that it's the same thing, but similar enough.

As if inspired Owen stands up, leans out the window to call, "New York! My ass needs more compliments!" and then turns to drop trow and show said ass out the window. Granted no one actually notices or even blinks at such things in this neighborhood, so Owen has to pull up his pants and shakes his head. "See? It's tough out there for a good ass."

* * *

Jessica is laughing a lot by the time he's done with this stunt. It all comes out in smoky wisps, and she doesn't even have a good retort for that one other than: "I can't believe you just did that! I hope you didn't just kill all of New York with your radiance or whatever."

She suddenly thinks of poor Matt, working away upstairs, hearing Owen's declaration in crystal clear tones and making a face that's some mix of amused, bemused, and purely exasperated. And that makes it all even funnier. She has to rest her forehead on the window frame while she lets a huge burst of tension go in a single rush. She hadn't exactly called Owen over to cheer her up, but as it turns out, he's really good at it.

* * *

Owen has a stifled smile on his lips at the whole thing. He wouldn't admit just how much he missed these interactions but he also isn't that good at hiding it either. He shakes his head and says, "There's a lot of ugly out there, sometimes you need to shine your very pretty ass at it." No, that's not a thing. But he says it with conviction, so that's something.

And while Jess thinks of Matt, Owen finds himself thinking of a drink. He snags the keys and says, "I might head up there and take a look around. Figure out what it will take to re-open and go from there." By which he means get a bottle from behind the bar and drink himself sick before passing out on the couch in Luke's office. His office? No. Luke's office.

* * *

Jess knows what he means, but hanging by a precipice as she is, she doesn't have it in her to bring forth any of her older wiser addict commentary. Even if she wonders if honoring Luke's wishes in this regard is likely to cause Owen a world of trouble.

"Sounds like a plan," is what she says instead. "Throw some newspaper into the furnace downstairs before you do. The spirit's probably pretty hungry by now."

A pause. "Or I can, when I swing by in the morning."

To put a bottled water and some aspirin in his hands that he probably doesn't need because of the speed thing, but which he's going to get anyway.

* * *

"God damn stupid fire cock."

Yes, Easton had forgotten all about the thing that means he can't smoke in the building. That and stops it from blowing up sure, but still. He wants to smoke! And he's well aware that he's not fooling Jess, and that's fine by him. He nods once more and then is off, at normal speed to make the trek all the way up to Harlem. Maybe cursing Luke a little bit for putting his bar way up there.

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