Rocket Boot Envy

March 23, 2017:

Kinsey Sheridan, Trish Walker, and Jessica Jones try to unwind from all that is bothering them by playing some Oreo Poker. Cindy joins them briefly. Talk turns to the incredibly serious matter of a certain pair of AWOL rocket boots.

Alias Investigation

Now with 30% more space.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Spider-Man, Azalea Kingston, Batman, Peter Quill

Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

If people involved in various strange and nerve wracking things don't make time to do sane, fun things, sane fun things will not happen ever, and basically everyone involved in various strange and nerve wracking things will just go insane. Jessica Jones has no interest in going more insane than she already is. Besides, the last time she felt like chicken fried crap she went to go see Kinsey Sheridan, and Kinsey was awesome. And it's been over a month since she's seen her friend. If this friendship is not as close as some of the others she's developed, it's nevertheless one she's interested in cultivating into closeness.

Phone calls were made. Plans were set. And this has all culminated into the table being dragged out into the center of the living room, a metric ton of Oreos and double stuff Oreos being purchased, cards being set up, and various non-alcoholic beverages being purchased.

Nothing good is playing at the movies, and dinner out just didn't entirely appeal. Jessica, right now, needed to be in a familiar environment if she was going to relax. The Garage would have been fine, as would have Trish's place, but…for this, Alias was best of all. And when Kinsey said that she'd love to get out, Jessica pounced on the opportunity. "Trish will be here," she promised, "And maybe one of the kids." She hadn't really explained 'the kids' exactly, but there it is.


Kinsey did say she would love to get out, and she meant it. Ominous visits from young men clad in red and blue spandex have left her feeling exposed on her own property, and no amount of advanced security measures can quite scrub away the feeling that she's being watched by malignant eyes. That she knows this is sheer paranoia on some level does nothing to ease it, either.

It's better when she's outside and on the move, lost in the teeming humanity of Gotham or New York City. It feels anonymous, and anonymous feels like safety.

So do places that nobody would really expect her to be — like, she assumes, Alias Investigations. She was in a fine mood when she knocked on the door, long, dark hair tousled by the wind, cheeks flushed faintly rose with the brisk air from her short walk.

The moment the door opened, she'd held out a cozy-wrapped baking dish in both hands. "I made brownies," she'd announced. "Double-fudge ones." There'd been a pause, and then the confession: "I mean…they're just out of a box, but hey. It's chocolate."

Now she's standing inside the office-turned-hostel, undoing her coat and taking a stationary, turning-in-place look around. "Very professional, Miss Jones!"


In this case, 'one of the kids' turns out to be the young houseguest-slash-employee of Jessica Jones.

Making sure to close the door to the bedroom before she ventures out with company coming— worried that her wall of her own case-slash-investigation may draw a little more attention than she'd like— Cindy steps back out into the living room as Kinsey arrives, her nostrils flared and smelling deep the double fudge goodness being hauled along from damn near halfway across the apartment. Dressed in a loose, heavy sweater meant to ward off the last throes of the winter season and a pair of jeans, her feet are bare and hair worn loose. The spider-girl looks… disturbingly normal.

She squints a touch, though— something 'feels off' about her, to her senses.

How… peculiar.

"Chocolate is fine!" she exclaims, holding up her hand in a small, polite wave. "… Uh, I mean. Hi! I'm Cindy! I work for Miss Jones. Phones and filing and stuff."

She pulls a thumb to point back down the hall. "I also, uh, live here."


Trish Walker is habitually late. Never on purpose, but it just seems to work out that way. Any time she’s caught flack for it, she just brushes it off with a flippant remark about celebrity’s prerogative or ‘A celebrity is never late. Nor are they early. They arrive precisely when they mean to’. When she finally gets to Jess’s door, she’s slightly frazzled, out of breath, and very much in the mood for cookies and company. She lets herself in without knocking, as usual, and scopes the scene. She’s dressed for comfort in a soft blue and green flannel button down with the sleeves rolled up over plain black leggings.

The table is set and it looked like she was maybe the last to arrive as usual. Grins are passed around and Kinsey is picked out immediately as the one she doesn’t recognize. Her eyes fall on the massive amount of Oreos and they widen with anticipation.

“Hello ladies! How’re you all doing? I’m Trish, nice to meet you. Cindy, good to see you again.” Her hand is extended in Kinsey’s direction as she introduces herself and she tosses a wave in Cindy's direction with her free hand.

Any disappointment at Azalea’s absence is immediately quashed in the excitement of meeting another one of Jessica’s friends. Not to mention the excitement for getting to use what she learned when she briefly dated, dated being a clever euphemism for used for his body, a card dealer from a cruise she went on about five years ago.

“Is everyone ready to lose their asses, I mean Oreos? Muah ha ha ha….eeeeeeeh-cellent!” She starts drywashing her hands as she lets out a fake evil laugh, followed by the classic finger steepling as she impersonates Mr. Burns from The Simpsons.


"Brownies out of the box are more than I can manage," Jessica says warmly. "Kinsey, this is my friend Cindy," because she's not about to dismiss Cindy as an employee. She really kind of thinks of her more as a ward, but that's kind of loaded too. She does flush with some pleasure when Kinsey calls Alias professional though. "I had a lot of help, setting it up," is what she says, because…it is true. She did. Otherwise it would either be non-existent and she'd be semi-homeless again, or it would just be this place. Without any furniture. Or no sink.

Good times.

She comes to claim a brownie, biting down on it and gesturing to seats. "It's good you thought to bring stuff to eat we weren't going to use as poker chips. I didn't really think about that part." Chocolate draws her even though her appetite has really been hit and miss lately, along with her mood, her temper, her sleep schedule and a few other things.

As Trish arrives and introduces herself: "Trish, this is Kinsey Sheridan, the best damned mechanic in Gotham."

Trish goes all Mr. Burns, and Jess' lips quirk at all the corniness.

"And yes, Trish is like this all the time," she tells Kinsey. Cindy, after all, has already met Trish, so she figures she doesn't have to warn the young woman as much.


Kinsey quirks a crooked smile for Jess as she takes a brownie, and then glances up as another door in the space opens, admitting the existence of one young lady she's never met. She's quick with a warm, easy smile, and when Cindy mentions chocolate before any introductions are had, she's quick to hand over the baking dish, too, holding it out to be absconded with. "Hey Cindy. Good to meet you."

Anything else she might have said by way of introduction is summarily postponed when Trish arrives in a sudden rush of fluster. Her extended hand gets a firm shake from Kinsey — the kind of shake that comes from having spent time around people of authority, really, whether it be board rooms or battlefields. "It's really nice to meet you, Trish." Hazel eyes wander Jessica's sister's face for just a beat longer than necessary, which she realizes belatedly and follows up with a laugh. "Sorry, I was just thinking, you look exactly like the ads on the bus. I always assume nobody looks the way they do in promotional photos, but I guess that's not always true." She slides her thumbs into her back pockets, and dons a theatrically rueful, close-lipped smile when she's asked if she's ready to lose her ass. …Or her oreos. Though, really, if she loses all of her oreos, it's probably going to spare her ass. "I'm resigned to my fate," she says.

(Analysis indicates that the odds of winning this game are increased substantially by card-counting,) Five informs her, a quiet whisper in her skull.

We're not /cheating/, Five. God. I'd like to make some friends, you know? As much as I like your company and all, it'd be nice to have other people to talk to like…ever.


The late-arriving blonde arrives next, offering greetings. Cindy's arm lifts. "Hi, Trish!"

The laugh and the finger-steepling draws a lopsided grin, the young spider-heroine glancing at Jessica. She can usually tell when the PI is having problems sleeping, so seeing her in good spirits with friends is… good. Reassuring, even.

Curling her lips in, she moves quickly to take the dish and bring it to the table, peeling back the cover a bit to get a smell of the brownies. Yes, yes, and /yes/, she'll be enjoying that a little later— though she pulls back one of the chairs and drops into it, resisting so hard the urge to squat on the seat in the same way she would if she were balanced on the /back/ of the seat.

Six is already preparing for her defeat. Cindy waves her hand dismissively. "Don't worry, we'll go easy on you. Honest! I mean, unless you're like, a card shark or something, in which case we'll have to go all out on you." Bringing her thumb and forefinger to her chin, the young woman frowns. "I probably shouldn't have said that out loud."

Sometimes, Spider-Man rubs off on her.

"So like— Gotham. I gotta ask, in all seriousness," Cindy says, leaning forward in her seat…

"… Is it true Batman is way, way, way taller in real life?"


Trish sticks her tongue out at Jess as she gives Kinsey her warning and mutters “You’re just jealous you aren’t as awesome as I am.” Her bright smile comes right back and if she notices Kinsey’s lingering look, it’s not anything that is remarked on, or even shakes her anymore. It’s all part of the gig when your face travels on half the busses in New York after all. The brownies are marked for later, once she gets settled in and comfy.

As Cindy asks her question, Kinsey is given an interested look, complete with head tilt. “Oh, good question, Cindy. If it doesn’t work out here at Alias, you come see me about working at WNEX. Enquiring minds want to know…how tall is the Batman, really?”

Jess gets a quick hug as Trish heads to the kitchen to help herself to a bottle of water. Noting the lack of non-currency snacks, besides the brownies, she makes a note to suggest pizza or Chinese later. The fact that Kinsey is a mechanic does not escape the blonde, and she add another note to maybe see about hiring Kinsey to trick out her next ride for her. Later. Because if she started talking about work this early in the night, Jess just might kick her in the ass. Literally.


"Trish usually deals and loves the game," Jessica explains as they all express their willingness to have their asses handed to them. "Whereas I can barely remember the rules so…guess who is in charge of the poker part of this shindig?"

She has to give a snort when the subject of Batman comes up. A snort, and her habitual, knee-jerk opinion. "He's way, way douchier in real life."

The guy did not leave her with the best of impressions at that gala. He came across as a bigot, and Jessica Jones cannot stand bigots.

Jess gives a brilliant smile as she finds her seat. "Am I?" she asks Trish. "Is that what's going on here? My raging jealousy?"

Trish says she's jealous, and Jessica offers a smirk. "Oh? Is that the reason? Is that's what going on?"

But she'll settle down, all to the good of letting Kinsey actually answer the question that's been asked of her. In truth Jessica didn't really notice the height. She noticed the Douche Parts.


"No card shark here," Kinsey assures Cindy, and once proper introductions have finished, she pulls out a chair at the table for herself and sinks down into it, gilded eyes taking in the absolute hoard of Oreos. "I am good at calculating odds, though."

She glances up when Cindy poses that question, and ticks her gaze Trish-ward when it gets echoed, her lips parted, expression uncertain. It eventually falls into an abashed, apologetic sort of smile as she exhales. "I've never actually seen him up close," she admits. "Sorry. I keep hoping he'll need somebody to work on that car he runs around in, but, shocker — he seems to have his own mechanic. I saw him at the charity thing, very briefly, but it was dark, and I was…" Stuck to the ceiling of the opera house with spider goo, she does not say. She worries her lower lip. "Well, it was all kind of a big mess."

Scooting her chair in closer to the table, she places her elbow on the table to prop her chin in the cushion of her palm, and tilts her head Cindy's way. "What is it you do for Jess, Cindy?"


"Hah, see? I could totally be a reporter," Cindy says, pointing at Trish, glancing over at Jessica. "I could write stories and hunt down leads, and … I mean it's a radio station, right? Do they still have radio reporters running around town, anymore?"

Jess doesn't remember the rules. Grinning, Cindy provides a thumbs-up, firing another glance back at Trish. "Don't worry, I learn fast. Prepare to lose your double stuf," she intones, eyes lidding with grim resolution.

The Batman is a little douchey, eh? The young woman's shoulders slope down in a hint of disappointment. "That's too bad. Though the car sounds cool— I've seen photos of 'em on the internet. 'Cause you can do that on phones now, without needing to use those special browsers like they had on Blackberries."

Yes, she really just said that. No, she does not actually seem to realize how strange or old-tech that sounds.

"I answer the phones, take messages, do the filing and fill out paperwork, that sort of thing. Nothing too demanding!" She leaves out the part where she, daily, jumps out of a window and takes to the skyline of New York as the superheroine Silk. She leaves out the part where she gets paid pretty damn well, too. "It helps I've got a good memory, so even if I'm not a PI or anything, I can keep things straightened out for Miss Jones and Az."


Trish sits down at the table after cracking open the water and chugging back a couple good swallows. Just in time to hear Jess’s snarpy come back. She wiggles her eyebrows up and down at Jess, feigning seriousness, and levels a finger at her sister. The serious pose is only slightly spoiled by the grin causing her lips to twitch upward.

“Listen here, you. That’s the reason and that’s the story I’m sticking too, since it’s a lot nicer than thinking you’re just a big old meaner. As evidenced by your charming description of Bats.”

She gathers up the cards and starts to shuffle, complete with a fancy back bend for the sake of style and showing off just a little. Her eyes flick between watching what she’s doing and watching Kinsey as she tells them about Batman. Practiced fingers tap the cards into order and she sets them aside as Kinsey asks Cindy a question in return.

Trish cannot help it. She tried to not do it but, alas, her strength is not super. A snort tears out of her at ‘Miss Jones’ which she tries to cover with a cough. Oh, man, Jess is never going to get rid of that title. Ever. “You definitely can, Cindy, and I’ll give you a glowing recommendation if you decide you wanna seriously pursue it. We still have roving radio reporters, say that five times fast, though I don’t use them in my show personally. I might though, once in a while, it could be…hmm…”

She briefly trails off in thought before snapping back to the task at hand. The cards are picked up and given one more shuffle before dealing them out. While she passes out cards and runs down the rules it’s not hard to picture the classic green visor on her head and toothpick in her teeth.

“Okay ladies, quick breakdown of the rules. Everyone antes one regular oreo, small blind is another regular oreo, and big blind is a double stuff. Small blind is to the left of the dealer and big blind is to their left. Positions shift left one spot at the beginning of each hand. I can stay the actual physical dealer if no one else wants to, but that doesn’t stop the positions from shifting. Everyone starts with two cards, we have a round of betting, then we get the flop or three cards. Another round of betting, and then the turn card. Another round of betting and we get the river card. There’s another round of betting, assuming it’s gone that far, and cards are shown. Highest hand wins. In order, highest to lowest, they are royal flush, straight flush, four of a kind, full house, flush, straight, three of a kind, two pair, one pair, and high card. Any questions? Miss Jones?”


Jessica definitely does not try to do anything which would derail Kinsey's attempt to change the subject away from the gala, knowing all too well the reasons why the mechanic wants to keep that right under wraps. Kinsey begins questioning Cindy, and Cindy starts waxing about being a reporter. Jessica gives a faint smile.

"If that's what you wanna do, Kiddo, go for it," she says gently. "Just gotta finish that GED first. You do a great job here, but…nobody wants to play receptionist forever." Yep, the Aunt is coming out now, for all this talk of employment and roommateness and friend. Jessica is trying to parent. Or something.

Still, Jess will need a receptionist if she's going to do what she wants to do with this place. And a new building. And maybe several more subcontracting PIs. Problems for another day, another time.

Trish brings up Batman again and Jessica only smirks, but…Kinsey has navigated them away and she wants to keep it that way. As it is, Trish is explaining the rules like she's some sort of casino dealer. Jessica goes a little cross-eyed at all this talk of blinds and flops and rivers and whatnot, just utterly lost. She glances at Kinsey to see if she got it. "I was really drunk," she says at last, "the last time we played this game. So if you got it? I'm just going to follow your lead."

And then? Trish calls her Miss Jones like she thinks it's going to rattle her, and Jessica just snorts. Swing and a miss there, cause people call her that all the time.


"Being a reporter sounds like a fascinating job, though I'm…under the impression that it can sometimes be dangerous." Kinsey keeps her tone light, but her thoughts continue to inadvertently revolve around the conversation she had last night, and the steady drip of stress produced by that line of thinking is sufficient to have her popping up out of the chair to raid her own pan of brownies. "Anybody need anything while I'm up?"

She's in there picking out her brownie (she leaves the edge pieces for her hostesses, which is as keen an expression of love from Kinsey as anyone could ever possibly hope to receive) when Trish rattles off the rules like she's casting for ESPN. "Oh boy," she says, in a tone that implies theatrical amounts of dread. "We're in trouble."

Jessica receives a quick little wink when the detective sends her an at-sea look. "I've got it. It's hold'em. Very popular with the strapping young gentleman colleagues I had at Picatinny Arsenal, though that may have been because they knew they could count on my hemhorraging twenty dollars every time I sat down to play."


Trish grins, and gives a pleased little wiggle, barely noticeable, at Kinsey’s ‘oh boy’. The disappointment at the lack of response from her jab at Jess is completely brushed off in the distraction of brownies. That didn’t mean she was going to give up on the ‘Miss Jones’ for good, just for now. Jessica was without a doubt very intelligent, more so than Trish. But when it came to Hold’Em, Trish definitely had the advantage and she liked it. Because she’s petty like that sometimes.

“I’ll take a brownie, please and thank you. I think I know a couple of gentleman colleagues who were alumni to the gentleman colleagues you know. It’s somewhat reassuring, while distressing, to know that gentleman colleagues are nothing if not consistant.”

The corners of her cards are turned up and she glances down, careful to not give anything away. A shitty four deuce, not even suited. It would be fold for her this round. If they had at least been the same suit, she’d have given it a go, especially since it was only Oreos on the line and not cash or clothes.


"So two of us here are about to get eaten alive is what you're saying," Jess says with a laugh, as Kinsey talks about playing this self-same game with strapping young men from her past. If she notices the nervous energy, she says nothing about it, opting only to add, "I'm good." She peeks at her own cards, scowling down at them thoughtfully. "Okay, so…I throw cookies into the pot now?" she asks. She's not folding but then…she…really and truly never ever does. She plays Poker as stubbornly as she plays her life. There is no folding. There is only charging stubbornly ahead, no matter how bad an idea it really is to do so. If it is time to put cookies in the center of the table, she will, ponying up the valuable double-stuff ones with all of the irreverence one might expect from someone…playing for cookies.

She in fact watches Trish fold with some surprise, but…the night is very young, and she knows for a fact that her sister tends to play the long game. She also knows her sister likes working people into a false sense of security. And is really good at this particular thing, as evidenced by her casino-dealer patter at the very beginning of all this.

"So what's new with you, Kins?" she asks warmly. "It feels like forever since we last talked."


Kinsey slides a brownie on a folded napkin into an unoccupied space next to Trish, then she twists around and drops into her seat bonelessly, setting her brownie aside and reaching to lift up the edges of her cards, having a look at what she's been given. It's garbage, really, but then there aren't many of them, and one of them has already folded. She's never seen Jessica Jones play cards before, and has no idea how she plays, so — why not? She might learn something. She antes up with an enigmatic little smile that shatters into a full-blown laugh for Trish. "Reassuring and distressing. Yeah. That's like, eighty percent of the men I've ever met."

Contentment finally finds a foothold in the hazel eyes that slant over to Jess, whom she regards for a few silent, relaxed, decidedly thoughtful moments before fielding an answer. "Working. I wish I had something more exciting to report." Which she does, actually, but she can't do that, and it leaves her groping for something to say that doesn't make her the social equivalent of a doorstop. "Speaking of which, if you see that Quill guy, would you have him come by the shop? His rocket boots — " That was the whole point of bringing this up, actually; rocket boots are exciting, right? That's interesting, right? " — have been sitting around for like…two months now."


Trish eats her brownie, one piece broken off at a time, careful to keep crumbs off the cards, and out of her shirt. She watches each woman take her turn, making notes each time. Because Jessica is right. Her strategy, when it comes to this particular game, mirrors that of one Mel Gibson in Maverick. She’ll spend the first part of the game learning tells and feeling out the players, before getting down to business. A moment is spent reminding herself that it was a game, a friendly game, and that cut throat is not cute in this sort of setting.

Not much is said by the Talk Show host, as Kinsey and Jessica catch up. It gives her the opportunity to get to know the mechanic without conducting an interview, which is a habit of Trish’s. She slips into interview mode, a lot of the time without realizing it. As evidenced by her approach with The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Her cheeks heat slightly as she recalls the epic fail at playing it cool with him. Who says ‘I’m a big fan of your work’ to a vigilante, for crying out loud?

“Rocket boots? Quill? Is that the space dude you told me about Jess?” She rather delicately leaves out any embarrassing information that may be attached to said space dude. “If you fixed them, do you think you can make them? Or something like them, since I’m sure his parts are not orderable.”

Visions of rocket boots are now dancing through Trish’s head, and all the fun that could be had with them. Ballerina dancing shoes were all well and good, but rocket boots? Rocket boots beat the hell outta ballerina shoes all day long.


Kinsey brings up Quill, and Jessica chuffs in surprised laughter. "Oh, yeah? I'll tell him. I have to swing by and talk to him soon anyway," Jessica says, though she steers clear of why. That's as dark as the subjects Kinsey is trying Not to Talk about. "He must have more than one pair, I've seen him whip out rocket boots a couple of times now. Might be why he's forgotten about them. He seems to get distracted pretty easily. Space ADHD, now with 30% more space. If he doesn't show up, it won't be from a lack of trying on my part. It'll be just because he goes 'oh yeah, those rocket boots—squirrel!"

Jessica flushes a little as she remembers the context in which she might have told Trish about Quill. She can hear it in the delicacy of her voice, and that's just not territory she wants to revisit. She keeps her tone very light. "Peter Quill, aka Star-Lord, flippant fellow from space," she agrees. "Please do not make my sister any rocket boots," she says to Kinsey dryly. "Even if you did manage to reverse engineer them or something. That's the last thing she needs."

Jessica waits for the next step in the game and just carelessly adds more cookies into the pile after another scowl at her cards. She then proceeds to nearly put some of her "poker chips" into her mouth before standing up to get a fabulous edge brownie instead, her second of the night. She swigs her Coke and returns.


Could she make them?

Kinsey's smile for Trish in the wake of that question is unlike all of the others to precede it, feline and somehow sly. "Funny you should ask," she begins, but she hasn't got time to expand on that. Jessica's laugh cuts in, along with what is, by Kinsey's estimation, a wholly fair imitation of what it's like to try to have a conversation with the eminently distractable Star-Lord. Her eyes glitter under half-masting lashes, the fingertips of one hand drilling lightly on the top of the table, those of the other devoted to the task of dismantling her brownie a pinched piece at a time. "Mmhm. Well. If he wants to forget about them for good, that's fine by me."

'Please do not make my sister any rocket boots,' Jessica says, and Kinsey arches both of her brows, elegant lines that paint her expression in an arch cast. "Oh? How can rocket boots be the last thing anybody needs? I've needed rocket boots since I was six years old, practically." She tucks a bite into her mouth, and her perked brows lift just that little bit higher before they fall, a kind of wry waggle. "I did. Reverse-engineer them. She's not even the first person to ask me for a pair. But as Trish says…Home Depot's not gonna be carrying most of those materials. I could probably make do with terrestrial alloys and whatever for the boots, but the power source for the rockets…that's a whole other bag of nuts." She gives Jessica's haphazard bet a thoughtful look, and then presses her lips into a thin line, and concedes the hand by folding. "Nuts," she says again — this time over the game.


A bubble of laughter escapes at Jessica’s description of why Peter might forget about the rocket boots. Followed by a flush of her own as Jessica kiboshes her having a pair of her own. Once everyone had passed over their cards and the winnings were collected she started the process of shuffling and dealing all over again. A quick peek at her cards and she was throwing a couple Oreos into the pot. Strategy or not, she just couldn’t fold on a pocket pair.

“Don’t listen to her Kinsey. I’m technically older, and therefore wiser. I agree with you 100 about rocket boots. Tell you what. If he doesn’t come claim them before leaving Earth, I call dibs. I’ll pay a very good price for them.”

She glances at Jessica, clears her throat, and looks back at Kinsey. “I’ll even add a healthy confidentiality bonus if you promise not to tell Miss Jones. Cindy, I’ll even through in a handsome distractors fee if you can keep Jess occupied enough with making sure you’re getting your GED that she leaves me and any boots I may, or may not, be in possession of, alone.”


"I'll tell him you want to keep them. He might even shrug and say 'Sure,'" Jessica points out. "And then you can have them guilt free. Like I said, I'm 100% certain he still has some of his own. They probably get busted a lot. I haven't seen him in action in awhile but he relies on them a great deal. If they were his only pair, he'd have come for them, not left them for months."

She does precisely the same thing as last time, it should be noted. She scowls at her cards, then bets the same number of Oreos, with exactly the same mien as before. It worked for her once, it should work for her again, or it's just…a convenient thing for her hands to be doing while she actually just shoots the shit with her friends. Cindy wanders off to bed, telling everyone goodnight, because she has early classes, staying for that one round and off; but not before Jessica adds stoutly, "Cindy is on my side, aren't you Cindy?" Yep, that's gonna chase Cindy to bed!

Trish makes her case for rocket boots and Jessica rolls her eyes, smirking. "Yeah? Did the other person who asked you for a pair try to shamelessly bribe you with filthy money for that? Cause I think that should disqualify anyone. I also want you to picture this. She puts the boots she has bribed you for on her tiny little feet. She says 'I'm older and wiser!' as if someone has pulled a little cord on her back. And then she goes 'wheeeee' and loses control and ends up with her little blonde head in the lamp portion of a chandelier. BZZAT."

Jessica flails about and mimes twitching a few times. "Do you really wanna be responsible for that kind of carnage, Kinsey?"


It should be said that Kinsey is an only child, and the joys (and 'joys') of siblings are not something she ever personally had the privilege (and 'privilege') of experiencing for herself. She watches the pair at the table go back and forth, the smile she struggles to keep small eventually overpowering her restraint to widen by another scant few degrees with every fresh riposte. By the time she's being bribed her shoulders are shaking with silent laughter, and some of those bubbles of amusement find voice once Jessica solicits Cindy's backing.

It's the description of Trish Walker zipping around the inside of a room like a rapidly deflating balloon and winding up jammed head-first into a light fixture that finally does her in and causes her to lower her head, crown briefly touched to the tabletop. When she sits up again her eyes are shining, not tearing up, but close, and her cheeks are starting to cramp.

Does she want to be responsible for that?

"I mean," she says, through percolating giggles she valiantly swallows, and in a tone of voice that does not promise much reassurance for Jessica's petition: "…Maybe?"

She takes a glance at her cards, and this time folds them straight away, sniffing and lifting a hand to rub her cheek gently with slender fingertips. "I wasn't bribed, no. I was asked really nicely, though. C'mon, Jessica Jones. You can't say you don't want some rocket boots. That's — everybody wants rocket boots. If you don't want rocket boots, what do you want?" The question is initially a throw-away sort of thing, but the thought sparks interest for her, and she leans forward, forearms on the edge of the table, to clarify: "Yeah, how about this: if you could have any kind of technological doo-dad, sci-fi or otherwise, what would it be?"

Indignant outrage war equally with amusement. While she’d like to think it would be nothing like the picture Jessica is painting, she’s honest enough to admit there’s a fairly good chance she’s not that wrong either. She draws on her acting skills to keep the laughter at bay, lifting her chin a couple inches and giving Jess a convincing sneer.

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about. My money is not filthy, thank you very much. It’s perfectly clean, well laundered I assure you, and I’ll not be ashamed for using it on cool toys. Just for that, by the way, if I get them I’m not sharing and you can’t have a turn. So there.” Trish crossed her arms with a little “hmp” and nod of her head to punctuate the ‘so there’.

Her own grin spreads as Kinsey gives in to the laughter. She jerks a thumb at the bowed head, in a ‘get a load of this one’ gesture, since they were really just getting warmed up with the verbal sparring.

And then she asks the best question ever, which has Trish leaning an elbow on the table, hand cupping her chin, as she focuses on Jessica and her answer.

“Yeah, if not rocket boots, then what? Enquiring minds want to know, man.”


The question gives Jessica pause.

For one moment she's thinking back to Limbo, to that one strange moment where she thought she'd…accelerated. In the air. Impossible, of course. It must have been some sort of distortion of her perceptions; adrenaline narrowing in on catching one Zatanna Zatara before she could be dashed to bits on the ground below. She thinks about how she jumped farther and faster than ever before, and of the flying dreams she'd been happily having before nightmares of a certain murder scene in Dundalk, Maryland started to wind their way through her brain.

She folds, at that moment, more a symbolic gesture than any real reflection of what's on the cards, a self-deprecating smirk taking over her expressive face.

"I…guess I'd want something to make me fly," she says, mock grudgingly, laughter in the shaking lines of her own shoulders. "I guess…what I'd want…are some god damn rocket boots."

She siiiighs dramatically, and concedes her defeat by adding:


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