AKA Grace Was a Wonderful Woman

March 27, 2017:

Azalea Kingston has announced her decision to move to New York permanently. To celebrate, Jessica Jones gathers her, Trish, and Cindy for a "family dinner" night featuring tacos, blackmail material, emotional moments and a healthy dose of TMI.

Alias Investigation, Hell's Kitchen, NY

Now serving: actual meals.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Tony Stark,


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

The smell of browning hamburger meat being cooked correctly and spiced with taco seasoning, from a kit, fills Alias Investigations tonight. Recently, Az announced she was moving to New York for good, because she needed her family. This spawned a sort of small 'family dinner' night from Jessica, with her sister and the two girls who she has indeed come to think of as her family, even if her relationship to them (Sister? Bad-ass aunt? Roommate? Employer?) is fluid and difficult to define.

There's been a lot of discomfiting stuff on her mind to be sure, things that have disrupted her sleep and left her on edge. Snappish, actually, and prone to being short with people and grouchy in the extreme. Nevertheless, for this she's in a decent, laid-back mood, if a slightly subdued one, standing at the stove in jeans and an old flannel shirt, bare feet on hardwood floors. She's roped Cindy into the job of chopping the tomatoes. This is not a hard meal, and as she's slowly losing her aversion to the kitchen she's slowly figuring out that most things come with directions that she is capable of following. Chips and dips and various toppings are hitting little bowls on the little dining table, which has been pulled out to the middle of the living room. This makes it rather cramped with the two additional chairs pulled up, but it's no worse than it was on Oreo Poker Night, for those who were present for that particular bit of entertaining.

Jess has a little music mix going in the background.


The bike raced on as if pushed by will alone, and she was thankful for it's special amenities, like the isotope that powered it's electric engine. And it's ability to corner like nobody's business, even if she were riding on a sidewalk and doing fifty past New York Traffic.

Az should have left sooner, but the truth was, she hadn't wanted to leave at all. The night before was a haze where time had stopped meaning anything, and the shower in the morning (more like mid-afternoon) hadn't done much to motivate her on her way.

And yet still she had this commitment, and it had done well to tame her into finding her way to her bike and spurring it down the road with all due haste. She still had to somehow find some fucking churros to bring to this thing, or else her credibility as a contributing member of this family would be in jeopardy.

The familiar sound of the window opening will greet those in the kitchen soon enough, and Azalea slips in with a small bag slung over her shoulder, cinnamon joining the myriad of delicious notation int he air as she smooths down her red button up and drops her gift of desert on the counter.

"Hey hey." She'll reach for the fridge then, looking for a bottle of water and settling on a surprise beer. "Awwww yisss. That smells great Jess, but it's going to be a tall order to conquer the last Mexican meal I had. The beef was at least grade F and I had to fight a guy for the last naked chicken chalupa shell in the restaurant."


Trish had been looking forward to Taco Night since she had heard about it. Now that it’s the actual day, she can admit to herself that she maybe went a little too far, as she struggles to get the large Igloo cooler inside the apartment building without dropping it or falling flat on her face. Once inside the elevator, she lifted the lid to make sure chaos and anarchy hadn’t taken over the contents.

She was done checking she brought everything and had the cooler closed back up by the time the elevator reached Jess’s floor. A small grunt escaped her lips as she tried to lift with her knees and not her back, and she was off down the hall, staggering a little under the weight. There was a bad moment when she almost fell over backwards as she lifted her foot to kick/knock at the door.

“Full arms out here, help!” The wobble was used to her advantage, as she ended up with her mouth closer to the door.


If she were to define their relationship and introduce Jessica to her family, Cindy would definitely go with 'Jessica Jones, bad-ass aunt.'

And assigned her task, the young spider-woman gives the slight pinch-and-slice with the knife at precise angles to minimize the amount of squish, her face locked in intense concentration— not just to make sure that she does this right, but to also make sure that her spider-strength doesn't go absolutely insane and lead to her snapping the knife in half, or cutting a gouge in the cutting board.

The maroon-colored apron she wears over her t-shirt and comfortable-fit jeans is heavy, sturdy, able to withstand splatters, and… pretty much something that she wove on the spot from her silk, as soon as she was assigned her task. It was a pretty 'leave it to me!' moment.

'Full arms out here, help!'

"Hang on!" Cindy calls, setting down the knife and hurrying to the door. Popping it open, she's all good mood and cheer. "Hey, Trish! Oh— hang on, I got it!"

Bending forward, she picks it up as though it were about as heavy as a brown paper bag, waiting until she's in the apartment before almost casually balancing it up on one shoulder. "Do you have anything else to come in? I can get it!"


Jessica turns to greet Az with a warm grin. "Oh yeah? Well I'll try not to disappoint." Oh crap, there was still a beer in her fridge? Had Jessica known, it…might not have been there. The whole quitting booze thing has been hard, and part of it has been just keeping alcohol out of the house completely.

She tracks it, inhaling the smell. She's not usually a beer woman; she's a whiskey woman, but right now any alcohol kicks off all kinds of cravings, which she steadfastly ignores in favor of quickly catching Az in a bit of a hug. "I'm glad to see you."

As for Cindy…Jessica Jones more than understands the need to be precise with strength. The struggle is real. Cindy races to help Trish, so she busies herself with getting the meat out of the pan and plated so they can get to the serious business, and soon, of fixing their tacos and having like, a whole dinner together. It would gratify her, by the way, to know she's in the bad ass aunt category for sure.

"You okay, Trish?" She asks, a little bit concerned by the amount of weight her sister decided to struggle up to the third floor. Her sister does not need to go and throw her back out!


Watching Cindy go bounding after Trish like the woman is under attack or something is most amusing. There's a hug, and the tension that comes with the sudden affection of someone who was certain she'd never earn this kind of trust from Jessica. Not after how they met. There's a slow slide of her arm around her back, giving her a hug with all the might of one arm. And then she takes a sip of her beer.

Beer that should have been thrown out, but was missed. It has, in fact, been there in the back of the fridge for actual years. There's a visceral reaction to the terrible taste of it, turning to spit it into the sink before her expression screws up with a need for revenge.

Two steps into the living room and she chucks it out the open window, her hands reaching out to slam the window shut before the bottle can even find the alley below. "Fucking Christ. I expect to be punished for the bad things I do but not like this." It isn't until she turns and sees Trish unload her offerings on Cindy that her expression dims from that fury, her mouth turning up in a little smirk and her brows lifting in silent mirth. Her hands find her pockets, as if keeping them in the open might give some telltale sign of something or other, and then she makes her way back to the kitchen to get a bottle of water to wash the pain of her previous drink away.

"I'd offer to finish up what Cindy started but.. I don't even have bunker-chef training. I have negative amounts of training."


Trish’s mouth hangs open for a moment, before she closes it, and clears her throat in a delicate manner as she enters the apartment. So it would appear that everyone living in this particular apartment has a little extra in the strength department. She slips out of her coat, pulling her loose, lilac, scoop neck shirt down over her dark jeans.

“No, that’s it, thank you Cindy. I’m fine, Jess, it was more awkward than anything. Just set it down anywhere, Cindy. I can unpack it.” She lies through her teeth about the weight, not wishing to give Jess anymore ammunition than she already had about Trish’s limits, making a mental note to make an appointment with her masseuse.

“Hey, you.” Her eyes meet Az’s for a brief moment, her own lips turning up in a slight grin, before she’s focusing on the cooler and its contents. Once the cooler is on the ground, she flips up the lid, and begins to bring out the goodies.

There’s four ridiculous, plastic cactus shaped Margarita glasses in a different color for each of them, silly paper, party Sombrero hats, a blender, and all the fixings for virgin margaritas, including the fresh limes and salt for the rims of the glasses. Trish grabs one of the paper Sombreros and plopped it on Jessica’s head, securing the elastic under her sister’s chin. To ease the sting of having something so cheesy on her head, Jess gets an extra squishy hug and smacking kiss on the cheek.

“Aren’t you just the prettiest belle at the taco ball! Smells yummyful, is it food yet?” She rubs her hands up and down Jess’s arms in a sisterly sort of ‘are you hanging in there?’ sort of gesture. The two sisters had been leaning on each other a lot in recent weeks, with everything that had been going on for both of them.


As Cindy starts coming back to the kitchen with the cooler in tow, Az is spitting mad, spitting beer, and force-feeding it to the street with how hard she chucks it outside. Pausing with eyes wide, her lips curl back into her mouth while she tries to not smirk as much as possible. Then, not quite able to hold it back, she asks—

"Not a fan of domestic?"

Then she hurries, trotting with the food in tow, to bring it to the table and set it down on the floor carefully before she says anything else to earn her things being tipped over the next time she goes to the bedroom.

Twisting around, her hand lifts and Cindy points at Azalea with the ol' finger-gun. "I'll have you know that I learned how to cook before that. 'Cause fresh food was really hard to come by, there. I had a lot of dehydrated food. And canned stuff."

A beat.

"I hate microwave dinners now. Is that normal?"

While Trish unloads the cooler, the more esoteric and fun things start coming out. Then, the radio host hurries up to Jessica to put the paper sombrero on her head, and she just— can't— help— herself—

The Starktech phone strapped to her wrist makes a camera click sound.

"I'm keeping that for all time."


Jessica Jones is relieved to see the end of the beer before she gets a chance to snatch it from Az's hands and pour it down her throat. She. Has. Drank. Worse. In the service of her own addictions. "Think of it this way, Az, you've just paid off some karma, and you will soon have edible tacos in your mouth." Some people would promise delicious. Jess promises edible.

And then…Trish is putting this ridiculous hat on her head. Her face twists into one of those 'are you fucking shitting me' expressions she's so patently known for. But then Trish is peppering her with cheesy hugs and kisses, and she sighs. She does not have the heart to rip it off. Cindy takes a photo, then, and she scowls.

She points two fingers at her eyes. She points them at Cindy. Back at her narrowed gaze. Back at Cindy. She is watching!

But she…just doesn't have the heart to be too angry at that, either, or even too embarrassed. "It's food," she says proudly. "Real bonafide edible food. Let's eat!" She picks a chair and gestures at the spread, wanting them to go ahead and make theirs, first.


As fate conspires against Jessica Jones to utterly ruin her reputation with terrible pictures and even worse accessories she backs away from the stove, a sweeping motion given to invite Cindy back to where she'd be much more useful than Az. There's the slow turn of gears in Azalea's mind when Cindy asks if she likes domestic. Oh, what horrors Cindy is asking to have visited upon her, in her answer.

But then there is food.

Mouth opens, then closes, and she nearly bites her tongue in a most literal manner as she moves towards the table, careful to give Cindy a seat across from Jessica so Jess can keep good on her threat to keep an eye on the Spider-Demon. Az, meanwhile, plops into a seat and slouches with the best of them, her crystal blues ticking up and up to find Trish Walker.

"What, no hat for me?" She asks of the celebrity, clucking her tongue as she reaches out for her bottle of water.


Trish lets go of Jessica, levels a finger of her own at Cindy, but for much different reasons. A wicked grin spreads across the blonde’s face. That couldn’t have gone better if she had planned it. “I’ll need a copy of that sent to me, please and thank you!”

She expected the hat to end up in the garbage and was beyond pleasantly surprised that it hadn’t. Since Jess was gamely wearing hers, the rest were gathered up to be given out. Cindy’s was given to her, with a murmured “Seriously, I need a copy, here’s my number…”

Azalea’s hat was also placed on her head for her, with a brief lingering touch on her shoulder. Brief, for the sake of discretion. “I just wanted to see if the ever cool Jones would wear it first. I figured if she’d be willing to wear one, you two would as well.”

She plopped her own hat on and took the chair across from Az. Her lips twitched upwards in a quick grin. “Should we say grace or just dig in?”


The second Jessica scowls and points, Cindy steps back with wide eyes and hurries out of the PI's line of sight— it's the classic teenage adage, 'if the authority figure can't see you, you can't be in trouble.' Unfortunately, she has to make it back in to the kitchen— at least, she was about to— as food is being brought back out. Untying the cord around her back, she slips the apron off her neck and brushes her hair back over her shoulder.

While the Dark Devil takes a seat, she slowly sees her options narrowing that ends up putting her into the line of sight of Jessica 'Cindy Has Blackmail Material' Jones. Then, as she slips into her seat, she grins. "Yes, Az. Please, wear one of those hats. I need it. Like, contact screen wallpaper or something."

Trish asks for the picture, and Cindy looks briefly at Jess, then back at Trish. 'Maybe,' she mouths out, attempting to be covert.

"I think if we keep Az from the food any longer than necessary, she's gonna start eating the table."


Do they say grace? Jessica Jones has just been to Limbo, has just fought an army of demons, and is half convinced she's going to Hell after she dies so…she actually considers it.

But really, what she says is, "Grace. She was a wonderful woman. Now dig in!"

She watches the interplay between Az and Trish, but something has shifted; she doesn't seem alarmed by it in the least in the way she might have been once. There are probably still reasons to be alarmed, but…for the moment those reasons are not what she sees, who she sees. What she sees is family.

She smirks as Cindy goes looking for more trouble with Az, but she does not rip the hat off. If she can't wear stupid hats with these people…

"The difference between me and most people," Jessica Jones says loftily, "is that I make this dumbass hat look good."

Dignity (somewhat) restored she goes reaching for a tortilla of her own, smirking.


"Are you kidding? On me it's practically dictator-chique. I mean, I am sure once upon a time I was a dictator. Or a drug lord. At least a Khan. Besides not all of us can just spooge ourselves a new hat, Cindy." There is a murmur there, and she crosses her arms as if she's keeping them in checking. "Fucking spider demons, man."

The side-eye she gives Cindy is only half-real, and then it turns up into a half-tick of excitement as she takes in the spread before them.

It is like watching a new super power unfold. She quickly grabs or scoops up everything she needs, heedless of waiting a turn, or passing things for other people, her gaze fixed like a predator moving in for it's kill.

In the end, she has herself something resembling a burrito, one that is the nearly the size of her head. It rises, majestic, and she beholds it much like all the land beheld Simba.

And then Azalea harumphs a bite off of the end of it, eyes rolling back like a shark who's sunk it's teeth into something it doesnt plan to let go off, the mess of it ignored as she chows down as if it's her very last meal. The way she's been going, skipping all but dinner most days, this is about par for the course.


Trish nods her head slightly in Cindy’s direction, indicating she understood that it would have to wait until she wasn’t under the direct scrutiny of one Miss Jones. She barks a short laugh at Jess’s version of saying grace, which turns into a full on belly laugh as Jess continues into her ‘I make this look good’ speech.

“Sure, J. Whatever you say. All you need now is a wise cracking pug and Ray Bans.”

Any thoughts to building her own taco/burrito are lost as Azalea creates her monstrosity. Unable to help it, Trish finds herself staring, eyes wide and eyebrows trying to climb off her forehead, as the first bite is ‘harrumphed’ down. She watches a moment longer, mostly to make sure Az didn’t choke, a little bit because she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

And then the words that preceded the construction of the mega burrito sink in.

“Spooge? Wha—? Does that have something to do with you being able to stick to the wall? I noticed that, the first time we met, by the way.”

As far as family dinners go, this would have to be one of the most enjoyable and entertaining experiences Trish has had yet. Far better than anything she would have experienced with her mother, hands down, no contest.


"Hear hear!" Praise Grace.

Waiting her turn to start snagging tortillas, the scoop for meat, a handful of cheese and diced tomato and all them fixings, she smirks at Jessica's declaration about her fashion accessory. This is a better feeling— the tingle at the back of her head is at it's quietest than it's been in ages, and she feels pretty calm. It's good to see Az (seemingly) happy, and Jess, and Trish subjecting her to things that end up being amazing blackmail material.

"Shoot, I forgot the hot sauce," she says, leaning back in her seat to see— there, it's on the counter.


'Not all of us can spooge ourselves a new hat.'

Cindy just about chokes on thin air when she says this, and then Trish asking the question leads to her frowning super hard at her roommate. Not like, badly, but in that 'oh gosh I am gonna get you so bad later, golly gosh, look how intimidating I am, darn it' way. She admits to have seeing the young woman on the wall that time, and Jessica said it was okay, that Trish is trustworthy, and—

Does this have something to do with her sticking to the wall? She looks at Jessica for a moment, then Trish, then down.

"Ah, well. Um," she starts, making herself sound humble.

Then with a flick of her wrist, a single strand of silken webbing fires from her index and middle finger across the living room and bolts straight into the kitchen. With a sharp tug and the near-distant sound of glass slipping off the counter, the capped bottle of pepper sauce comes /flying/ back into the room, into her hand. Tugging the webbing off the side, she flicks it open with her thumb and shakes out a bit on her food.

Cindy looks at Trish and winks, pushing a finger to her lips. "Shh."


Jessica makes a show of flailing when Az builds The Burrito of Awesome and proceeds to devour it like a tabled pterodactyl. It is a show, played a bit for laughs. A happier, healthier Jess is more of a ham than a caustic bitch (though she is still more than capable of pulling off the latter).

She watches Cindy trust Trish with one of her deepest secrets and is warmed to her toes. She suddenly swallows, smiling, a little bit of a watery thing. Damn her emotions, but…it's at least happiness. She's been trudging through horrors lately, horrors big and small, things that have wounded her soul and have marked her mind, have spiked her anxiety and provoked her nightmares. But this…this is something that reminds her of the reasons why she's trying to be better, trying to be a hero, why it's worth facing all those things.

She makes her own crunchy tacos slower, but then knocks a plastic spoon against her Coke can and raises it high. "So. A toast."

She turns to Trish first. "To Trish, who has always supported me, helped me to become better than I thought I could be, who is as brave as a lioness and who is better than I deserve."

To Az: "To Azalea, who has chosen to make her home with us, who fiercely defends the weak and innocent, who does the right thing even when it's hard."

To Cindy: "And to Cindy, who takes the time to help others despite facing so many of her own challenges, not the least of which is me. Comforter of nightmares, the voice of reason in the night."

"To family."

"We may be a bit cobbled together and haphazard. We some of us have other family members, those we want to return or those we don't. We are, in the immortal words of Lilo and Stitch, little, and broken, but…still good."

She waggles the can at the others, inviting them to clink, adding: "Yep. Still good."


Of course, Azalea seems not at all bothered by outing her sisterly-friend on her powers. Mostly because they had a perfectly good cover story for why Cindy dressed so strangely sometimes and kept weird hours. But noooooo, everyone was worried people would think less of Cindy! SHE'S ALREADY A SPIDER DEMON! WHAT COULD BE WORSE THAN THAT?! There's a long stare after the webbing, and then Az snaps her fingers and points to the discarded webbing.

"And she just leaves it around. Like, everywhere. I went to go pick up our room the other night, thought I was very sneakily stealing some of her underwear to sell online, you know, to old creepy men? But no. Right in my hands they dissolve into oblivion. I mean what the fuck. I guess it makes sense since I'd taken so many before that, I mean, she needs underwear, but I.."

And then Jess is toasting to them, and the burrito oozes from her other hand as she listens to it all. The humanity that's still inside her, twisted and lost, springs to the surface. It takes a moment, but she raises her water too, and drinks to the toast.

"For real though. Thanks for.. putting up with me. I got.. I have a long way to go. It's nice to know that as I descend into hell or somehow rise above this mess, at least…" She takes a breath, swallowing hard. "At least I'll have my very own New York Harem to satisfy me along the way!" She almost can't get the last part out, turning the heavy nature of her response into a giggling, sputtering laugh.

Wait. She didn't laugh when she mentioned Cindy's underwear. You know, selling them. Does that mean she was serious?! Her gaze catches on Trish for some support from her self-induced fit, drawing strength from the way she marvels after her eating, and from what happens when she gets to see a super-power demonstrated right in front of her.


Trish’s mouth drops open as Cindy lets fly with the web to collect the missing hot sauce. She blinks twice, really slowly, until she gets the ‘Shh’. First one side of her mouth quirks up, then the other, and finally the full grin shows.

“That’s pretty fucking cool, Cindy, like really awesome. Just so you know, your secret is safe with me. This is completely off record, witches honor.” She makes a ‘v’ with the fingers on her right hand and places them on either side of her nose, like they did on ‘Bewitched’.

Her focus shifted to Jess, as she clinks on the can of coke. Her own smile gets a bit wobbly as she’s being toasted. She makes a little swiping motion with her hand, complete with a little ‘meow’ as she’s compared to a lioness, to cover her momentary mistiness. Which comes raging back as Jess quotes Stitch. She lifts her own soda and ‘clinks’ with all three ladies.

She takes a drink and chokes on it as Az mentions selling Cindy’s underwear.

That has to be a joke, I am not checking mine when I get home…

Trish hopes any color in her cheeks will be chalked up to the choking on her drink. She wheezes a little, tapping on her chest, trying to convince the lungs to work again. It’s a laughing wheeze though, and the green eyes that meet Az’s are dancing with amusement.

“Sounds like Jess. I hated sharing a bathroom with her growing up. Towels and clothes everywhere, I tell you. Everywhere!”


A toast! Cindy snaps open her can of soda.

To Trish, to Az, and… to Cindy, and her challenges.

To family.

She doesn't call back on 'to family,' instead getting a little bit quiet, clicking the cap closed and trying her best to keep a smile on her face. Setting the bottle of hot sauce to the side, the brief urge to let all of those emotions come crawling up to the surface out of nowhere— the anxiety, the worry, all the work she's doing on her own missing family— and whether or not Az realizes it, she provides Cin with a pretty good out.

"What? Hey, I do n— y— Wait, you what!!" Before she can try to track down the validity of Az's statements, before it even clicks that she's just ribbing the spider-woman, Trish keeps her off-balance. "Y-Yeah, witch's honor!"

"Hey, I clean up after myself! And do the laundry! And keep all your files straight!" she says, pointing between Az and Jessica. "And keep the window cleaned up and I don't leave webbing on the building!"

Slumping back in her seat, not sure if she'll ever be able to win this one, Cindy sighs with a faint lopsided grin and tries not to think about it:


Just enjoy the moments, Cin.


"You're not that hard to put up with," Jess tells Azalea, shaking her head with a smile. "No worse than me." Really, Jessica can dish it out, but she can take it too.

Then Trish is going on and on about her cleaning habits. Jessica rolls her eyes and says, "Oh my god, Trish, towels, I don't know how you survived, truly. Clearly there was always this danger that they were going to make a giant wet laundry monster and smother you to death." She's really only giving Trish shit, and she lowers her Coke, taking a long swig.

The truth is Jessica is picking up after herself more and more. It is a small space. With three people in it. Not doing so is the death of everything, and they have clients coming in and out. Big, important clients. Household names and kings. The place has to stay clean.

"Just for that you get to do the dishes tonight, Trish Walker," the PI adds, waving her hand around in the general direction of the kitchen.

She grimaces a little as she notices Cindy go quiet. Shit. But…Cindy recovers, and starts bantering with Az, and her chagrin melts back into a smirk.


The laughter begins to die down, but the look she gives Trish carries onward, oblivious to the emotional turmoil that ebbs and flows left and right, she watches, but somehow manages to reach out and give Cindy's wrist a little squeeze. It's so reassuring, and yet she almost doesn't realize she did it. Perhaps that's how the real her seeps out anymore. Perhaps, those tiny gestures are all she has left. She'll talk with Cindy later about it, about what she sensed arcing around her heart. That gravity and pain that is a tasty treat to the creature that lives inside her. But it is not hunger that drives her, but mercy. She cares, despite her teasing.

There's a snort when Jessica mentions a smothering towel monster, lifting her water. "Psh. She can hold her breath a long time." And then she drinks. And drinks. And drinks. And then she's up and off to the kitchen, barely realizing what she said as she goes to get a second round for everyone.

Azalea Kingston, both King and Queen of the cooler exit, stage right.


Trish can tell she lost Cindy on the ‘Bewitched’ reference, lamenting the gems that were lost on today’s youth for a brief moment. She notes Cindy going a little quiet and resolves to bring her smile back somehow. And then Jess is going on about towel monsters and how hard it must have been for her.

I’m not going to do it, I’m going to take the high road, we’re having a pleasant dinner. Fuck it, I’m going in

“Some of us don’t have super healing. Some of us stay bruised for weeks at a time when we slip on ‘wet towel monsters’!” She falls back on her go-to pose of arms crossed and chin slightly lifted. “Asshole.”

Her tone is full of love and affection, as is her smile directed at Jess. That twists into something a little sickly as Azalea adds her little pearl to the conversation.

Trish gets very interested in her own taco at that point, using it as an excuse to not meet Jess’s eyes, for a while.


The friendship squeeze of her wrist helps push Cindy out of her momentary walk down memory lane and all of the feelings that she has yet to actually confront head-on. Instead, she's left stammering and exasperated and a little bit lost as to what to say, what with everyone also distracting her with the questions and the accusations that she doesn't clean up after herself.

Sometimes, she leaves some webbing on Stark Tower, but she has something of an arrangement with Tony!

Az makes her comment, then looks between Az and Trish, then between Az and Jessica. After a long moment— that includes her leaving the table for the kitchen, she considers Azalea's comment before departing for the kitchen and letting her head slant a bit.

'I don't get it,' she mouths at Jessica. Does this mean Trish is a really good swimmer or something?


You see what this is, as Az goes on about her sister's ability to hold her breath for really long periods of time? This is Jessica Jones. Eating. Her goddamned. Tacos. Munch munch. MMM TACOS. She's not thinking about the implications of that comment. Nope. Mmm guacamole. Mmm sour cream.

Trish calls her an asshole and she smirks. "Oh, boo-boos. I didn't realize I'd caused boo-boos, that's totally different."

Oh look, Trish isn't meeting her eyes. WELL that seals the meaning. It is not that they went deep diving together at Sea World.

But it's not her business. EATING. HER. TACOS.

And then Silk says she doesn't get it and Jessica momentarily looks a little floored. What's she going to say? When an Aztec-God-Girl and a Radio Host Love Each Other Very Much…

"The roof of Trish's building has a really big pool," she says with grim determination. "Just…huge. That pool."


A couple of cans of coke hit the table. One after another, and then a few bottles of water. Azalea looks around the table at how everyone is so interested in their food, and then she lifts her brows and slides into her chair again with all the grace of a conquering predator who's had her fill of the meal before her and now revels in the oh-so-full feeling that it's left her with. Oddly, she only had a few bites. But that seems to be enough.

Maybe the good company gives her just as much energy as the food, and as she settle sin and peers around, her brows lifting at the mention of the pool. "Jesus. You have everything up there. Her sparring room is absurd, by the way. You should come see it some time, Cindy. All kinds of gear.. and Trish def uses it. Stronger than she looks, too. Took me forever to put her out with a triangle choke…"

Az points a finger at Trish before she can even protest. "You said no tapping out. You wanted it to be real, so.." There's a hint of subtle amusement there, and her story isn't a lie after all. And yet, somehow, it does not sound entirely convincing. She still looks every bit the cat that caught the canary.


Jessica isn’t the only one eating their taco with grim determination, so much so that the boo-boo comments are ignored. Completely. So it’s not surprising that Trish’s mouth is full at the pool comment, which in turn leads to yet another choking fit. She wants to glare at Jessica, but her eyes are watering too much, so she settles for dabbing at them with a napkin while trying to catch her breath.

For the second time that night.

In a last ditch effort to clear airways, she lifts both arms straight up in the air. It was an old wives cure she had learned at one of her AA meetings a while ago, and oddly enough it seems to work. What little blush had faded came rushing back as Az talks about their sparring session. Of all the things to bring up, it had to be that particular part. Trish’s shoulders hunch defensively for a moment before she shakes it off and sits up straight.

“Yeah, for sure, lots of great stuff.” She groans internally, knowing she’s going to have to deal with the whole pool issue soon enough. But not tonight, thank Christ for small mercies. “Next time we’ll have to do this at my place and then you can check out my place Cindy.”

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