Laundry Day

June 30, 2017:

Trish Walker and Jessica Jones share a rare, normal moment of sisterly bonding.

//The Big Bubbles Laundromat, Brooklyn, NYC //

Where you should remember the gum incident, for the love of god!


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Bucky Barnes, Jane Foster, Matt Murdock, John Constantine, Nathaniel Richards, Michael Carter, Peggy Carter, Zatanna Zatara, Azalea Kingston, Steve Rogers, Rocket Raccoon, Tony Stark, Peter Quill, Captain Marvel

Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

It's a Friday, which means it's laundry day. For Jessica, and for the Barnes-Foster household. Jessica has already been by to pick up their stuff, and basically just stacks five baskets on top of one another and carries them in, using her super strength to cheat. She has their favored laundry soap for their laundry, and her favorite — the lavendar cleaner that she likes— for her own. She looks back over her shoulder at Trish as she goes, saying, "Thanks for keeping me company here. I know it's not the most exciting thing in the world…coming on this grand clothing adventure with me once a week."

Jessica has found herself looking forward to it though. It's just laundry. But it's also a guaranteed time slot to spend time with Trish.

Trish shrugs, even though Jess can't exactly see her, dismissing the need to thank her for joining the laundry adventure. It's probably the one thing that's classified under the "Normal Person's Chore List" that she doesn't mind doing. Aside from stress cleaning anyways, but that might just be a universal female thing. She rushes ahead to open the door for Jess and her five baskets, shifting her grip on the soap bag she had snagged, to help feel more useful, beyond just getting the door and nagging Jess into doing things her way.

"It's fine, I don't mind. Who else is going to make sure you don't shrink everything, or turn the whites pink, or fold the stuff with wrinkles in it? Besides, it's a chance for my adoring fans to get to know me better, should they be brave enough to get past my dragon sister guard. Whom I love with all my heart and would be lost without."

She bats her eyes at the teenage boy who is goggling between her and the bus stop enclosure with her face plastered all over it. He turned a bright shade of red that made her giggle and wave her fingers at him before following Jess inside.

"Don't forget to let me check the machines before you use them. Remember the gum incident of 2004?"

It had been a tragic day resulting in the loss of her favorite dress during a rare show of independence in her early 20's. Instead of sending her stuff out to be done, she had decided to do it herself. It had been part of her sponsor's suggestion to help distract from using drugs or alcohol. The dryer she had chosen had a big wad of gum that ruined her favorite sun dress she had bought from Stevie Nick's dress shop in California. It still burned, since she had only gotten two wears out of it.

Jessica thumps the baskets down, ignoring blushing teenage boys. She has insisted on changing laundromats every time for security reasons. For Trish's safety, and to dodge anyone who might know she's connected with Bucky's case. She bends down to check the machine, running her hand along inside of it. She does that to the next one, choosing the big heavy duty one.

"Still don't understand the point of sorting," she says.

But she goes to a third and fourth machine, because even though she doesn't sort her own laundry, she does sort Bucky and Jane's, taking care to ensure theirs is done exactly by the book.

"So how's it going?" She asks this same question every laundry day. It's general, but…it's also her signal that she does actually want to hear what's going on in Trish's life.

Trish rolls her eyes at Jess's sorting comment, but chooses to not delve into another painfully long lecture. It was going to be a good day, not a nit-picky day. She stars loading sorted loads into the checked and passed machines.

"You know why, I've told you plenty of times, you just like taking the shortcut of throwing everything into one. Anyways. It's going pretty good. Rating spiked on the Bucky day, which doesn't really surprise me. There were a lot of people interested in the real story, the one Steve brought, surprisingly enough. I was hoping they'd be out there, but I wasn't counting on it, since I'm truly cynical. Zach got a girlfriend, which surprised the hell outta me. I figured he played for the other team. Don't forget to check pockets, chap stick is hell to get out. Drycleaning is the only way, unless you catch it before the dryer."

There was a growing pile of debris on top of the washer she was loading, loose change, a crumpled receipt, and the ever dreaded chap stick.

Jessica nods and starts carefully checking the pockets of the clothing. This is another good reason to have Trish here for this exercise. She would have forgotten. "That Steve interview was fantastic," she says. "I tuned in that day. Though I gotta tell you…big foul on ruining french fries for me. Big. Foul."

She's mostly just joking, even as she impatiently roots through pockets. Though with Jane's, the movement is less impatient. Whenever she finds a napkin, or a receipt, or a folded piece of paper with some math or incomprehensible notes on it, she carefully smooths them out and sets them aside. She never knows if Jane will actually need them ever again, but…when she returns the folded laundry they'll all be there, carefully paperclipped together and ready for her to have again if she needs them or wants them. Last week, in order to make Jane laugh— or in some effort to make it happen, anyway— she'd bought one of those smiley face stamps from a school supply store, the type one might see on first grade papers. She'd stamped the little 'Great Job!' stamps on every one of them. It was a goofy joke, but…sometimes that's all you have to remind a person how much you give a damn.

"Sure Zach's girlfriend isn't just the beard?" Jessica Cynicism at its finest.

Soap and fabric softener are carefully measured out and added to the first full washer, with a little of that fancy oxy powder added, since they were whites, and Trish was never comfortable using actual bleach for anything other than cleaning the bathroom. Her mouth drops open in confusion, trying to figure out what Jess was going on about.

"Fries? What? …..oooooooh." The vowel is dragged out as realization dawns. "Yeah, about that. I am very sorry. Keep in mind that was about fifteen years ago, and I am positive things have changed since then. Absolutely positive. Now they are all about good for you and healthy and not full of fake things so I'm sure you're fine and they are safely 100% potato. If you want, I'll even buy you an ActiFry so you can make your own and know they are totally real."

She adds her own collection of paper debris to the one Jessica's got going. She had tried to decipher some of the scribbling, giving it up as a bad job. She was smart, not your typical ditsy blonde, but she wasn't anywhere near Jane smart.

"What the Hell is an ActiFry?" Jessica asks, intrigued and a little disturbed. Because the name is a little disturbing. And yet. She could make her own fries. And that would be kind of amazing. Because she hears all this sarcasm about the True Nature of Fries. She really really does. And she's starting to get even more freaked out about the fries. Even though they are just a vehicle designed to bring ketchup directly to her mouth hole.

Nobody is anywhere near Jane smart, at least. Jess sure can't decipher any of this. It's just Jane's. Worth preserving.

The light conversation seems to be serving her well enough. In the past few weeks she's stablized again, and hasn't had any other episodes, despite the fact that everything that was going on still is. Parts of her are strengthening. She's getting used to things, taking less time to recover from things that used to throw her for a loop for a long time. She's not out of the mental woods yet by a long shot. Maybe she never will be. But right now she can sit and consider things like ActiFries, enjoying the eye of the storm.

Trish turns to face Jess, hands on hips, in a classic 'you have got to be kidding me' pose. Her eyebrow arches and she shakes her head at her sister.

"You are totally hopeless, but I'll keep you anyways. An ActiFry is the newest and greatest things from the genius people at TFal. It's a fryer that will cook your stuff in only three tablespoons of oil, or something like that, instead of being this huge bucket of disgustingly hot oil on the counter, begging to burn down everything you've ever known and loved. I'm pretty sure that even I could use one and not produce my usual offerings of digestive distress."

There may or may not have been an incident, involving oil that was way too hot, and fries that were way too frosty, resulting in a visit from the local fire detachment. It was her last attempt at cooking for herself with anything besides a microwave.

"Who is TFal?" Jessica asks with a smirk, knowing that not knowing that either will annoy her. But…she looks intrigued.

"But Hell Yeah! I want myself an ActiFry. Oh man. That means they'd be totally hot. Just piping hot fries. That's amazing. And I'm pro-anything that doesn't set either your place or my place on fire. Three tablespoons of oil. That means the fries are fucking guilt free, or as close as they're going to get." Like someone with her metabolism really knows a damned thing about 'guilt free.' "Do they cook anything else? Like could I make my own barbeque chips? Isn't that how people make chips? Frying them?"

With Bucky and Jane's clothes sorted, she starts dumping them into washers. Then she just upends her entire basket into the industrial sized washer meant for comforters and things.

Trish actually cringes as Jess unloads everything into one washer. She lifts a hand and opens her mouth to stop Jess, but lets it go. The question about TFal does the job, causing her mouth to snap shut sharply. She rolls her eyes, in an exaggerated manor, making sure Jess witnessed it, to show everything she felt was necessary to say about the question.

"Uh huh, yeah. Like you need to worry about guilt free, you bag. But seriously though. I will get you one and then you can make us both yummy, piping hot, guilt free fries. Without needing to invite the NYFD. Although….."

She trails off as she temporarily gets lost in the daydream of calendar worthy, obviously shirtless, firemen swooped in to same them both.

"Not all of us have time to watch hours of the home shopping channel, Trish," says Jess, smirking at the eye roll. "Doing our nails, eating bonbons or whatever it is you do…sitting around in filmy lavendar robes…"

But then Trish is off to la la land. What the Hell? Jessica snaps her fingers in front of Trish's eyes. "Earth to Trish, although what?"

She doesn't even remember to wash the clothes in cold water. She does the opposite, dumping in a boatload of lavendar soap without measuring it and setting her own clothes to hot. Then she painstakingly checks each load of Bucky and Jane's on the Internet, trying to remember what temperature corresponded with what type of load. She can't see that it makes a difference— her own clothes seem to come out fine for the most part— but she won't mess up their laundry if a little checking can do the trick.

Trish jerks back from the snapping fingers, losing the picture in the rush of heat to her face. She smooths her hair back and her shirt down over her hips. She clears her throat before answering Jess.

"Although, there's great potential for a good time if they do. Sorry. I'm, ah, a little deprived and distracted. And I watch YouTube videos about useful kitchen gadgets since I'd really like to be able to cook. It's not lack of desire that's my problem. It's a complete ineptitude to produce anything edible. And my robe isn't filmy lavender, it's practical terry cloth, that's super fluffy. And the color is more lilac than lavender." She sniffs primly, more for effect than upset.

She unobtrusively changes the temperature to cold on Jess's washer while she's preoccupied with Bucky and Jane's machines.

'Deprived and distracted' brings Azalea back to Jessica's mind, even as she snorts a few laughs at Trish's passionate defense of her bathrobe. She reaches down to touch the gris gris in her pocket, the one she still carries. Red cloth, filled with protective things, built for her by Zatanna to keep Itzpapalotl out of her hair.

Is she going to bring this up?

She finishes feeding quarters into the machines, and decides she is. "How is she? Have you been able to visit her? John told me to stop for her own good, so I've stopped."

Trish lifts one shoulder, with a sad little sigh. She missed Azalea fiercely.

"She's as well as she can be, locked in a box. I see her as much as I can, text her pretty much all day long as long as I'm not busy with work stuff, but she's ready to get out of there. As much as I want it, it's no where near where she's at. It's boring, to say the very least. Nothing crazy has happened when I stop by, not like what happened when you did. Have you heard anything on your end?"

She tries to hide it, with all she had, but there is a desperate hopefulness in her eyes and voice. Not just because they're dating, but because she knows how much Azalea hates it, being stuck in the basement.

Jessica shakes her head. "Not since Zatanna and John's last visit. They were working on some sort of…strange…huge…ward structure that was vital to what they were doing when we last spoke. But I haven't seen them since just before Bucky's arrest, and I haven't heard from them either. They went and looked into it without my prompting so I have to think they're doing the best they can, but…I honestly just don't know. I hope they think of something in time. If I could think of any way to pursue things that might help…"

She shakes her head, helplessly, and blows out her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Trish. They're pretty much her best hope, and if they're hitting a wall we might be up shit creek."

Trish's eyes frost over and narrow dangerously, as she considers everything she'd like to say and do to Itzapapalotl, should the opportunity ever arise. Not one of them were nice and most of it would probably end with the goddess turning her into some sort of beetle or something and squashing her. She forces herself to calm down with a sharp exhale and shake of her shoulders.

"It's fine, Jess. It's not your fault. They're doing what they can, and that's good enough. I mean, it's better than no one trying at all. I'm right there with you, sis. If I had even an inkling of an idea, I'd be on top of it. New topic, or I'll get all depressed. Back to Zach. Of course you'd think she's a beard. I saw pictures. She's actually kind of pretty, so maybe, but I doubt it. The look in her eyes was kinda sweet, so I think she really likes him. That, or he paid her a lot of money."

She lets out a wicked giggle, unable to resist making the little jab. Jessica was a bad influence.

"Poor Zach, that's the kind of shit that gets people hiring private detectives to dig out all your scandalous secrets," Jessica says, dropping her voice on the words 'scandalous secrets' like someone running a Haunted House at Halloween. She smirks at that and says, "But maybe he is straight and just effimenate. I mean. You know. I'm straight, and I'm not exactly feminine. So we probably shouldn't make fun of him, that can kind of be a Thing, you know. If he's survived past the second date maybe there's really something there, and good for good old Zach."

She finally hops up to sit on one of the folding tables, the way she often does, leaning back against it. "Especially if he's being less of a pain in your ass because he's happier."

Trish comes back from the vending machine with a bag of chips and package of Twizzlers, to snack on while they waited. She also had a bottle of water and a bottle of Coke for them. She starts her own munching with a piece of licorice.

"Yeah, I suppose. I mean, you have a point. Just because he wears bow ties and sweater vests doesn't mean he's gay. I certainly can't be judging, really. So whoops, sorry, God please be with the pygmies of New Guinea and feed the starving kids in Africa." She makes a quick sign of the cross, touching forehead, chest, and both shoulders, in her own act of contrition. "He had mellowed out, a lot, which has been a treat. I'm guessing if it's real, it's going to be wedding bells within three years. Five at the latest."

She leans up against the table beside Jess, comfortable resting her arm on her sister's leg. She glances up at the TV, pleased to see it was showing Despicable Me. She mouths along with Agnes as the cartoon girl hollers 'It's so fluffy I'm gonna die!'.

Jessica reaches for the chips, and smirks. "Are you trying to steal my reputation for being a sarcastic asshole? Take it all for yourself? You are, aren't you? You can't have it. You have to be Sweetness and Light. I am all things Dark and Doom Filled."

She pulls a ferocious scowl, just to show it, but it's spoiled by the slight upcurving of her lips.

And then Trish starts mouthing along with Despicable Me. "Ahhhh," Jessica says with exaggerated care, placing a hand over her heart. "There you go, being adorable and mentally 5 again. Order is restored." Whereas she will just brood atop her mountain apparently…and cut glances towards the silly show out of the corner of her eye, cause despite being night to her day she kind of likes stuff like that too.

Trish crosses her arms belligerently over her chest and sticks out her bottom lip in a really convincing looking pout. She hates being told she's sweetness and light. Sometimes, she wants to be sarcastic, snippy, and worse than Murkey from Rainbow Bright.

"Oh yes, sunshine and peppermints, all the fucking time." She keeps her voice quiet enough to only be heard by Jess. Public image to consider and all that, so it's said through a bright smile. A rather creepy thing, but something she's well versed in. Delivering venom through gritted teeth and bright smiles, to not make a scene, thanks to Dorothy's training. She softens a little, drawn in by the cartoon.

"You need to learn how to share better you know. I'm the only child here, so loosen up the grip on the Snarky Stick. It's just like the Spirit Stick, but you won't go to Hades if you drop it." She grins, a genuine grin, at her clever movie reference. "And I know you've watched this one too, so don't go all high and mighty on me, or I'll text Daredevil and tell him you watch Jem."

She puts on a fierce expression and waves her phone menacingly in Jess's direction. It's an empty threat, but she makes it anyways. There's no way she'd purposely try to embarrass Jess like that unless they were all in person. And Jess started it.

"He won't believe you," Jessica grumbles, but she looks awfully worried. "Because he knows damn well I am a tough as nails bitch with a black crusty heart. But I'll share. Christ. You play fucking dirty, Peppermint."

Because you know. It's not good strategy to pretend one's big sister is making empty threats when she starts going on about some way she's discovered to embarrass one. Jessica Jones has shit to do. She doesn't have time to melt into a big puddle of red hot shame into the middle of the floor, nor to flow in some direction towards a vent like a golem, all to live under a rock for the rest of her days.

"I'll even share the chips you bought," Jessica adds, dangling the bag back out at Trish. "Just have some fucking mercy, woman."

Trish's lips curl in a smug smile of victory as Jess tries to bribe her with food. She uncrosses her arms and takes one chip to show she accepted the peace offering, but preferring the Twizzlers for now. It's a heady thing, knowing you are the one person on the planet who can reduce Jessica Jones to shameless begging for mercy. Great power comes with great responsibility, so it's not something she does very often, for fear of it losing it's effectiveness. The phone goes in her pocket after one more waggle of warning.

"Just this once, because you've graciously agreed to share." She deliberately brings up her hand and points her first two fingers at her eyes first and then at Jess. "Just know that I"m watching you. And of course I play dirty, I play to win. Enough about glorious me, what's new with you? How did your week go? Any burgeoning romances to report?"

Jessica smirks, then puts another chip in her mouth. "I think this would be a singularly bad time to start anything like that," she says dryly. "It's pretty much the last thing on my mind these days."

This is nothing but truth. Her mind has been filled up with portals to other dimensions, Rising Darkness, machine gods, trials.

Indeed, she finds herself mentally poking at a certain wound inside herself that she hasn't even thought about in over a month.

It hurts a little, when prodded, but her heart seems to have come to grips with the matter of a certain handsome yet wholly unavailable lawyer slash superhero. Not that she doesn't still care about him immensely, but after nearly 7 months she realizes she's achieved a kind of acceptance of the whole situation, enough to let herself be open to whatever happens without mentally martyring herself over how she's all Doing The Right Thing for His Happiness. Not that she wouldn't still fight for said happiness should the need arise, not that she doesn't still carry a warm flame of love for him in her heart that he could fan into a raging bonfire again with the smallest and slightest of breaths upon the embers, the slightest hint that he carries anything similar for her in return. Subtle as the shift is, it's there, and apparently an important enough shift to matter. It's not an end of her love for him, because she's not sure she'll ever stop loving him really, but a shift in how she relates to that love, how she holds it in her hand and in her heart.

Even if she was ready to roll over and surrender when Trish threatened to embarrass her in front of him. Not that Trish knows enough to know just how potent that threat really was. She can't even talk about this with her sister. She's been content to let as many people as possible forget the fact that she fell in love for the first time back in January, that she fell flat on her face clumsily pursuing that love; her melt-downs and depressions in response episodes she'd just as soon see buried for both their sakes. She is getting used to the searing fires of un-numbed emotion now. She has again earned her 60-day sobriety chip, and really, the lapse that keeps it from being an 120 day unbroken streak was so very small in comparison to what she might once have indulged in.

If she had all that to do over again, she rather thinks she'd have handled it all so very differently.

And now, talk of her feelings endangers him. Trish is perceptive; Jessica's very feelings could be hints that Murdock and Daredevil are one and the same. So she cannot, must not, speak of these realizations, of the grappling she's done with the concepts of love and romance, grappling enough that an insane Aztec goddess decided to offer to play wingwoman.

But she feels acceptance, so maybe the inability to talk about it is okay. Maybe, for her, that kind of happiness will eventually come from elsewhere.

Acceptance enough for her to say dryly, "And even if I were, I'm so much of a fucking dumbass that I manage to clumsily tank every chance I get anyway. Imagine meeting a handsome, charming, polite gentleman who even called ahead to make an appointment. Then, imagine me. Babbling. About bacon. That's right. Straight to the lunch meat. My Magic 8 Ball," not that she has a Magic 8 Ball, "says that I might be single for the rest of my life because apparently romance requires peopleing. Who knew, right?"

Maybe that kind of happiness won't ever come for her at all, and maybe that has to be okay, too.

"Did get an interesting semi-permanent job offer though." A pause, a beat. "Well. A maybe semi-permanent job offer pending a bunch of conversations and background checks and things, but…apparently the Avengers maybe see an avenue to put me on some kind of retainer or something. Like. The Avengers. Avengers."

Sometimes it's nice to be able to share a little good news.


Trish almost shrieks at Jess in her excitement, much to the distress of the rest of the customers of the laundromat. She was getting dirty looks for disturbing the peace and relative quiet. Not that she cares at that particular moment. This news was a thousand times better than a new romance. This was cause to celebrate. Party Planner Trish kicks in, as ideas start flowing of what would be the best way to do so. Unable to resist, she wraps her arms around Jess, practically pulling her off the table with her exuberance.

She remembers to modulate her voice before continuing the conversation after letting go of her sister.

"Fuck the Magic 8 Ball. You tell me you're a good peopler, so you're going to find the guy who's going to tell you all his favorite dishes with bacon. I know you will. Enough about that, though. Tell me everything about this semi-permanent job offer. I wanna know who offered it, I wanna know what you said. Scratch that. You said yes, and if you didn't, I will kick your ass all over this place. Oh. Em. Sweet baby Jesus. The Avengers."

The last was said with whispered reverence. Meeting Steve Rogers, and training with Peggy Carter, had only increased her wicked bad case of Hero Worship.

Jessica is wide-eyed at this Sudden Trish-Wind.

"It's not anything yet," she says, hugging her back. "I met this guy Nathaniel Richards, who goes by Iron Lad. He's a member. I mean I guess Tony and Steve are too, but he starts blabbing on about how he recognizes me— me, right? Like whatever. Then he's like, oh you're a meta PI, and the Avengers always have cases, when you're done with the Stark Case we should talk about the Avengers hiring you on a semi-permanent basis. That he had to talk to Captain Marvel first but was I interested, and of course I said yes. I said yes like a god damn six year old being offered a swirly cone."

Jessica gives a lopsided smile, eyes warm. She won't be up for celebrations until Bucky is a free man, but…she has to admit, it felt pretty cool. "So I mean we'll see, right? Could have been a throwaway comment. Could all come to nothing."

Trish scrunches up her nose at Jess's per usual poo-pooing of something great happening to her. She even tosses her hands up in the air with an exasperated sigh.

"I swear, you work my last nerve. Like a two-bit hooker on the corner some days." She gently ruffles Jess's hair, to show she wasn't angry, just annoyed. "Why do you do that? If this Richards guy said he was going to talk to Captain Marvel about it, I bet he will. You'd be a great asset to the team, given your penchant for digging up secrets people work really hard to hide. It's a talent of yours, just like being sarcastic is."

She puts her arms around Jess in a one-armed hug, for a quick squeeze, and lets go.

"I'm glad you said yes. This is a great opportunity for you. I really hope you're able to get that Stark thing solved soon and that Captain Marvel is wise enough to see how great of an addition you'd really be."

"I think I'm going to be working with them on the Stark thing," Jessica says sheepishly. "Because I sort of told Stark to call them in. It's not really a mystery any more. Just something that I think mostly needs to be shot a lot."

But she takes the point, and the hair ruffling. "I'm sorry," she says, knowing damn well what's annoying Trish. "I'm happy too, I am. It's just hard for me to…"

She waves a hand around, trying to express it. "I…don't want to be disappointed," she admits, expressing this for the very first time in her life. "It's easier, Trish. It's easier to just…take anything and minimize it or…whatever it is I'm doing. Because then if there's a hidden hook, or if it is something I want that doesn't happen…then it's fine, right? I already knew it was crap. But if it does go down the way I want, then I get to be pleasantly surprised."

She hesitates, and adds, "And like…I mean…I don't know. I don't want you or any of my friends to think I'm getting a big head, or an inflated sense of self-importance. I already feel like a tool sometimes, when I'm like— oh, let me call so and so important person on your behalf, I'll get them to help you."

Trish immediately softens, feeling like an ass for giving Jess a hard time. Those were all very good points. It hurts a lot less when you prepare for disappointment. Expect the worst and you'll be pleasantly surprised was a decidedly pessimistic statement she had heard more than once.

"I'm sorry too. I get what you're saying. I just always want the best for you and get immediately cranky with you when you sound like you don't. You deserve to be happy. I'm going to keep telling you this until you are fully indoctrinated to my program. Muah ha ha. I am kidding, but the point stands." Her lips curl in a very Grinch-like grin. "Never fear of your head getting too big. I will always be there with a pin, ready to deflate it."

Her face relaxes into a more natural, and far less devious, smile. "Seriously though. It's not tool-shed behavior to break out the Rolodex when you encounter a problem which is far better suited to one of your super friends skill set. You'd be a tool if you walked around bragging about your contact list, but not using it to help those in need. An asshole you may be, a tool you are not. I will not let that happen. It's my sisterly duty to ensure your head stays regular size."

Jessica offers a slight half-smirk. "I suppose you will at that," she says, reaching out to ruffle Trish's hair in turn in a rare show of just unbridled affection.

"Your turn, though. Who you got lined up on the show besides Matt? I've decided to start listening more. It's a damn good show. I don't know why I didn't listen before." Lots of reasons really, that all seemed important at the time, but that she can't quite wrap her mind around right now.

The washers click to a stop, and Jessica hops down, grabbing a cart. She starts pulling the wet clothes out. "I think I forgot those sheet things." Jessica doesn't really use drier sheets either. She washes, she dries, and she has never seen the point. But again, for other people's clothes, she'll be a little more careful. When she remembers to bring the proper supplies in the first place.

Trish ducks away from Jess's retaliation ruffle, hands flying up to protect her hair. As she had, every single damn time Jess messed up her hair, since they were teenagers. The scowl on her face practically screamed murder, even though she was laughing on the inside. It really wasn't like there was anything important she had to look Done for, besides folding clothes.

"Don't mess with the hair! Jerk!"

As she had said, every damn time, since they were teenagers.

She's able to keep the scowl on for exactly one minute, before the smile starts making her lips twitch and quiver in a decidedly not intimidating fashion. And then Jess mentions 'sheet things'. A snort of laughter rips out of her wavering stern countenance, ruining it completely. She drops her head into her hands and lets the laugh come. "It's a good thing I take care of you. I brought 'sheet things'. The unscented, sensitive skin friendly kind, so they shouldn't get itchy or anything from them. As far as guests go, I don't really know. I'd love to have Jane on sometime, but I don't think she's up for it right now. Peggy would be a dream guest, and Elinor too. She'd be a super fun and interesting interview. If there's anyone else willing to come and talk about how Bucky isn't a monster that you know of, my door is always open."

She'll pull up her own cart to start unloading Jess's washer while her sister worked on Bucky and Jane's. She also takes the opportunity to sort the clothes out into two dryers, heavier fabric in one, the lighter stuff wanting a lower temp in the other, surreptitiously checking the pockets as she went.

"I'll tell Elinor to contact you. She won't be much help with the Bucky thing. I'd say Zatanna but she's a witness and that could really tank things. I think ultimately you don't want to put any guest on in regards to Bucky that Matt doesn't specifically have on. Though I guess Cap is a witness too. You might ask him. I haven't heard from Zee in awhile but she'd be a power guest for sure, lots of celebrity draw."

Jessica smirks on the matter of the sheet things. "Because you have brought the special magic sheet things," she says loftily, "I will not mess up your hair anymore. For the next ten mintues anyway."

She doesn't mind being called a jerk. She blinks as Trish chooses two driers; she usually just shoves all her stuff into one of the big industrial ones. Laundry is apparently really complex, when done correctly.

"Absolutely tell her! I mentioned when we met up at your place the one time that I'd like to have her on, but she might have thought that was just fluff talk. Here." She dug one of her cards out of her purse and gave it to Jess by stuffing it in the back pocket of her jeans when she was vulnerable and loading a dryer. Speaking of tool behavior. "Give her my card, tell her to call the studio and set up a time that works for her. I'll send an email tonight, telling them to expect the call and to accommodate her availability."

Business Trish had taken over for a minute. Until she's reminded of the state of her mussed hair. Purse and card are forgotten as she hastily repaired the damage as best she could using her fingers and reflection off an empty dryer door.

"I could have Zatanna on and specifically not talk about Bucky. At first anyways. It could be a spotlight on Zee herself, with the magic, more so than a piece on Bucky, which wouldn't be any conflict of interest. I don't want to mess that up so I'll definitely check with Matt first, before I make any moves in that direction again. What Steve said shouldn't be a problem, since we focused on who Bucky was in 1940-whatever, but you never know with Asshole Archer. He'd probably prosecute his out mother's case if he thought it'd increase his status. Prick."

An accusation founded purely out of spitefulness, utterly devoid of anything resembling a confirmed, researched, and vetted fact.

"Probably," Jessica agrees, rolling her eyes as Trish shoves business cards in her back pocket. But she doesn't complain, either. It's the kind of comfortable foolishness between them that makes them family, that makes Trish 'home.' "You could," Jessica replies, in response to Zatanna. "But I'd check even then, cause yeah. Heh. You could have Rocket on. He's an alien. He looks like a raccoon but he'll tell you he is absolutely not a raccoon. That one might be too 'out there' for your listeners though, not sure."

Trish snorts at the suggestion of a space raccoon that doesn't think he's a raccoon on her show. While it might be amusing to see the reaction of everyone else around the station, her listeners wouldn't have the benefit of seeing that he really was an animal, and not just some freak show who thought he was a space rodent.

"Uh, no, thank you though. Probably way too out there for my listeners, since they can't see the gloriousness that is one Rocket. Peter, though, with his rocket boots might be worth listening to." She stops talking and gives Jess one of her patented 'I'm having a super idea right now' looks. "I've got it! I know exactly who I need to have on my show. The interview of the century. Bigger than Captain America even!"

She pauses even longer this time, building dramatic suspense.

"Drum roll please! The one, the only, thank God for small mercies, New York's very own Queen of Snark, Jessica Jones!"

She waves her hands in the air, quietly imitating a crowd of people cheering.

"Jessica! Jessica! Jessica! You're so awesome!!"

She does a fake victory dance over to wrap her arms around her sister, enjoying the moment of just them being silly together.

"But first? I'll teach you how to fold a shirt properly."

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