Snow White, Bodyguard, and Labradoodle

October 13, 2017:

Danny Rand becomes the target of a kidnapping plot, which forces him to reveal his magical glowing fist to Emery Papsworth and Jessica Jones. Of course, Emery and Jess reveal a few new things to Danny and one another, too.

New York City

In these upscale neighborhoods we request you schedule all kidnapping attempts at least 72-hours in advance.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Sizani


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

The plot against Danny Rand was subtle and required more than a little bit of digging on the part of one Jessica Jones. It wasn't, in fact, a particular board member who hatched the plot, but rather the personal assistant of Priya Johnston, a relatively new Rand board member. The assistant actually gained his job through a series of well-placed documents and references that seemed good on the surface, but if Rand had dug deeper, would have found things were rather rotten. It all connects back to a criminal syndicate with worldwide ties. It's very difficult to know what to even call this syndicate or to gauge how influential it is. Essentially, they seem to want Johnston to move up in Rand and be under their indirect control.

Their method for doing this involves a kidnapping, and an opportunity for Johnston to be the hero who gets their little CEOling back home safe and sound, thus currying favour in the public eye and with Danny himself. No one knows how much Johnston knows about this plot, or if she's supposed to be cornered into playing along after things are already in motion.

Jessica Jones knows Priya's assistant, who goes by Jakes, is crooked and not who he appears to be. She knows the kidnapping is supposed to go down tonight as Danny heads out to a charity event where an exhibit space at MOMA is being named after his mother. The personal nature of the event means there's a much better chance that the flighty CEO will actually attend.

They're right. Danny is be-suited (with advice from Emery), looking neat and stylish. He is however, running late. He adjusts the scarf around his neck as they step out of the Rand residence. "I appreciate you driving me," he says to the Irishman. "But really, we could just walk." Yes, they could. But it would take about 40 minutes and then they'd really be late.

So far, there's no sign of the would-be kidnappers. But, as Jessica learned - they are professionals.


Lots of Rich People have Butlers, and Drivers and such…in their uniform suits and with their impeccable manners and such. Rand Enterprises hired Emery Papsworth and that means the fit bad-boy of butlers is walking along side Danny, turning to make sure he's locked the door. Dark grey is the color of the suit under the darker grey coat he wears over his Italian branded tailored suit, his longer hair slicked back and secured in a man-bun…and yes, he's probably packing under that coat, there's no telling.

"Next time we'll leave ya know, on time and mebbe 'ave time to walk. C'mon boyo, shift yer arse…" He claps his hands and gestures towards the company issued black car that he has nothing but disdain for. That lilting accent colored with the tones of his motherland as he opens a door for Danny, looking around carefully. "Its not like ye had to bleach or wax your nether regions…how can ye still manage to run late?"


Jessica Jones has not yet had a chance to take on any cases where she needed to solve a kidnapping, or prevent one. She's found some missing people, but they were never kidnapped. The logical first step? To just try to call the man. Of course, it went straight to voicemail. And then she tried to call other people to get to him, only to get the runaround. Great.

"Charge your fucking phone, Rand," the PI had muttered in frustration.

Now she's got some choices. She can try to lurk outside of the building on a rooftop, hoping that she catches them on their way out. But if they have some underground escape tunnel (look, the woman watches a lot of movies) maybe they'll slip him right out. And to be fair, there are actual underground passageways in New York through which such a thing can be pulled off, so it's not all that unfeasible.

As it happens she is still on the rooftop, though dressed to the nines, trying to figure out a way to get in. She could have gone waitstaff, but she was afraid for an event like this they'd actually check the employee rosters. Last time she pulled that stunt someone set her up with the cover ahead of time. She still has a little red dress that she finally got the bloodstains out of, courtesy of Sizani and a certain nightclub raid, and so she'd put that on.

And there, she lucks out. Danny is late, and she can just warn him in person, and probably get in with him. Excellent.

And so it is that a dark-haired woman in a stunning dress and well-shined combat boots suddenly drops down behind Danny and Emery from above. "Rand!" she hisses, just in case…what? They missed the thump of a woman landing behind them? Nevermind the Irishman he's coming in with. Maybe he's the kidnapper. She gives him a quick look and a once over, just in case.


"These pants are…tight," says Danny by way of explaining why he was running late. He tugs at his collar. "Plus I tried to make my hair do the thing the hairdresser made it do after I got out of my trim. I never realized it, but apparently I have difficult hair?" Which is only a thing you'd realize if you ever attempted to do something with it.

Danny's phone is in fact, an inert black rectangle with zero juice, though it is nestled in his jacket pocket. Hey, he remembers a time when phones worked for more than six hours without being charged! He really does need some Phone 101. Joy tried but got a weird twitching muscle in her face after about ten minutes.

The baby CEO turns and blinks at the sudden show of a well-dressed woman in combat boots dropping from the sky. It takes him a moment to put it together. "Jessica?"
There's not time for more conversation. Either the kidnappers planned to make their move now, or the PI's arrival forced their hand. Either way, what looks to be a heavily armoured SUV screeches to a halt on one side of the car. From two spaces ahead, a red sportscar suddenly backs up, boxing in the sedan. Three thugs spill out of the back car, clad in body armor, with balaclavas and handguns. A slim woman with her dark hair up in a tight bun steps out of the sportscar. She flicks her wrist and extends a baton. The fact that she's not wearing any body armor suggests she's the most dangerous person there.

Danny moves into action almost immediately. Before the closest thug even has a chance to stop and lift his weapon, he snaps out a sharp, bone-cracking blow that shatters the man's wrist in a place where the body armor doesn't cover. The weapon goes clattering to the ground. Then he follows it up with a sharp kick to the man's midsection. He hits with enough force that there's the sound of cracking despite the body armor.

The thugs aren't going to shoot Danny, but they clearly don't feel that way about the other two. The second thug out of the rear vehicle lifts and fires at Emery, while the third takes aim at Jessica.


At this time, Emery has not been given the full authority he'd like to have from Rand Enterprises to look at more things like all employees that will be interacting with Danny and such. He probably asked and was told that security for the young man was already being handled and that his job was to make sure he didn't show up naked for a press conference. That's the reason why the Irishman is insisting on driving tonight, he's got trust issues.

"Aye, ye 'ave the hair of a cocker spaniel. I'll show ye tommorow what product ye can be usin' to help with the fri-"

The strange, yet lovely woman lands behind them and Emery's right hand has already gone to the small of his back where that custom made glock is holstered as he spins around with the car door between him, Danny and the woman. "Tell me this is ye followin' me advice in findin' a woman…" He may be startled but there's a hint of wariness in his dark gaze. He doesn't have time as he gives the woman a slow once over, to comment on his approval.

Time slows down for him as he takes in the arrival of the sports car and the thugs and the proper fit woman with the baton, then Danny seems to be handling his business and the butler just raises an eyebrow slightly as he completes the formerly aborted draw of the glock.

He's just a Butler. Really. A butler who moves just a little faster than a normal human would, but perhaps it just luck as he side steps the first bullet and then calmly fires two shots at the thug, aiming for each kneecap. "I dun have a CARD to apologize for bein' late due to ARSEHOLES with malicious intent Master Danny!" A nod to Jessica.


Damn it. She should have worn the bulletproof gear. This dress is too damned cold, for all she picked the most modest thing she could find, and it has a distinct lack of bulletproof qualities.

She notes, distantly, that Danny is apparently a ninja and his Irish Driver is apparently a badass bodyguard. She maybe could have stayed home and watched Brooklyn 99 instead of trying to run in to save the day. Slash. Get shot. But she's cool enough under pressure, and if she's arm candy she's arm candy who leaps up again to avoid getting shot, only to come down next to the gunman. She tries to grab said gun and just crush it into uselessness. She hears Emery's query about advice on finding a woman and her face morphs into something irritated, but there's really no time to address that. She does say, dryly, "Hi Danny. I came to warn you some idiots were going to try to kidnap you tonight. Good chat, now back to kicking their asses."


If this moment in time had a soundtrack, it would ironically be the power vocals of the theme from The Bodyguard as Emery pulls the glock. Tap, tap. There goes the kneecaps. The guy drops to the ground as he cradles the gunshot wounds. He is a professional though, so he only whimpers softly instead of bellowing out in pain.

Meanwhile, Danny is landing a few other solid blows, but the body armor is fairly high tech and absorbs more of his blows than it should be capable of. His form is…precise, elegant, powerful and disciplined. His strikes are strategic and fast, and he dodges the krav maga style counters with something that could actually be termed grace. He is however, momentarily distracted by the sound of the other gunman's gun folding in like metal origami. He gets a swift right hook on the jaw for his trouble, but he returns a snapping strike to the man's jugular. "Kidnap?" he replies when he has a moment to do so.

Meanwhile, the woman with the club is advancing on Jessica. She flips the baton. "Oh darling, I really do hate to do this girl fight thing. It's so cliche, isn't it?" Her accent sounds like it might be South African, but it's got a British upper crust to the inflection. She cracks her neck and flexes her arms, which suddenly crackle with static electricity. Her eyes start to glow blue. "I wasn't supposed to get my hands dirty tonight, but Mr. Rand wasn't supposed to be able to throw a punch. And you two weren't supposed to drop in." She then takes a swing at Jessica with the baton, which is now electrified with the force of a taser.


This was not how he expected this evening to go, there's a text that lights up the phone in his breast pocket. Probably asking where Danny is. But Emery really can't answer because he's watching a man fall to his knees, keeping the gun trained on him. That's when he catches a glimpse of that crumpled gun his the ground and then over to the human labordoodle that is his current charge handling his business. Quickly analyzing his fighting stance and there is some admiration in his eyes. "Well, this is where ye tank Mistress Snow White for droppin' by and invite her to an after-scuffle cup of well fortified tea."

He comes around the car now his eyes trained on the lady with eyes that start to glow and gun lowered momentarily as he moves quietly in those Italian leather shoes, attempting to approach the woman with the baton from behind. "Master Danny, dun be rude…finish clobberin' that knobhead and see to yer guest if ye wound…" He offers to young man as he passes him. Then he whistles sharply in an effort to draw attention. "Oi! Baton Betty. If ye'd like to schedule a meetin' with Master Danny, ye need to call the 1-800 number and get on teh calendar with at least a 24 hours notice. I'm sure we need at least 72 hours heads up for a kidnappin'."


The Irish guy is getting a smirk or two out of Jessica. Four and a half smirks, a sign that she's taken a liking to him.

'You weren't supposed to drop in,' says this woman, and Jessica says to the lady, "In addition to your 72-hour notice fail, I don't do what I'm supposed to do. Like ever."

Her own style, what little of it she's actually showing here and now, is spiced with hints of Systema, though it's mostly settled on the Korean art of Tang Soo Do. It's executed with all the grace of a beginner who has the basic moves down but none of the finer points. It actually represents an improvement over her old way, and a lot of teaching from an incredible instructor.

It also doesn't work great in a dress. She steps forward to try to block the taser, and her dress screws up her stance. The block, and the fact that she does not use her full strength for it, controlling it like a finely honed tool and generally loathe to go around hitting people with blows strong enough to kill them in one, isn't enough. The taser slides past the guard and gets her right in the gut.

It probably doesn't go like Baton Betty expects though.

"Ow! Fuck! That really hurts!"

And Jessica means it. It does really hurt. She even doubles over. A little.

Then she tries to just grab the sparking baton, rip it away from the woman and hit her in the face with it, not really concerned with whether it keeps doing its thing or not.


This isn't exactly working. When Danny trained in K'un L'un, he didn't have to deal with sophisticated body armor that is actually designed to withstand metahuman strength. It wouldn't take too much longer to wear the thug down, but Emery's call plus the sight of sparks does mean he needs to expedite it. He takes a moment to center himself. The effort to pull his chi into his fist is visible. His face scrunches up. But then, his fist starts to glow like there's molten gold in his veins. The thug has a half a second to say, 'Oh, shit', before he swings a devastating right hook right into the man's solar plexus. The body armor shatters, sending bits of kevlar and debris outwards, some bits lodging in to his torso. The man drops back like a rag doll and bounces off a streetlight. His head snaps around. Only the absorption of the armor and the SWAT helmet on his head protects him from death.

As is, he's pretty seriously wounded.

He turns back to the main event, fist still pulsating with power, his stance ready.

The so-dubbed Baton Betty isn't expecting Jessica to absorb her electricity. The PI manages to get ahold of the baton, and even snap it into her face. Something about the electricity charging her body seems to give quasi-armor, because she just smiles wickedly. Jess now has the baton, which stops sparking a few moments after it's in her hand.

"Well, it doesn't seem like we're going to get to take mister Rand away," Definitely South African, judging by the way she rolls the 'r' of Rand around on her tongue. "But knowing about that," she nods towards the glowing fist, "…I suppose is the next best thing." She turns, crouches, then sails up into the air, the air crackling around her.


"…I tink this one might be a wee bit too kinky for ye lad…" Emery utters as he witnesses Jessica just /grab/ the charged baton and then serve the other woman a face full of baton. He's raising the gun to fire but he's distracted by something lighting up in this peripheral vision thing. Then there's a double take as he notices the glowing thing is attached to Danny. He watches the man go flying in what seems to be slow-motion to him, body armor shattering and all. The gun lowers now as he straightens up.

Oh swivel head back to Baton Betty who is…yep. "Oh Right. Teh electrified bint can fly. Of course."

So…he's counting, two kneecaps out, possibly shattered pelvis, the unarmed thug who's gun was crumpled and Baton Betty has flown back to psycho-heaven for the time being. He takes a deep breath and looks to the remaining thug. "Okay, ye can surrender now or I'm lettin' that lad fist ye and the lady wait her turn to name ye 'Spanky' and see if she can get yer arse redder than an apple." He gestures between Danny and Jessica with his free hand.


"Jesus," Jessica mutters eyes going wide when Rand goes all Hootie and the Glow-Fist on his attacker of choice.

The woman flies off, and Jessica…leaps.

She gathers her powerful legs beneath herself, and leaps high to try to catch her. She gets about six stories up, but she can't go horizontal, and she can't pursue, she can't get any speed. That's not what she does.

She ends up landing in a crouch, only to hear Emery give the final thug a very colorful run-down on his future. Her expressive face twists into something embarrassed, mostly. The patter is clever, but she's not exactly the type to enjoy it. And instead of waiting around for his answer, she just steps forward, attempts to grab the final guy, and attempts to literally pick him up and sling him into the side of his own SUV so she can knock him out. Because if he's into that? She doesn't wanna know. She really doesn't wanna know.


Danny watches up, up as Baton Betty sails off into the night on her own personal thundercloud. He blinks in surprise as Jessica goes sailing after, but falls short. It's almost enough to distract from Emery's run-down, but not entirely. He blink-blinks, but then Jess is ending the conversation in the best way she knows how - with unconsciousness. Smack, crack, seeing stars before the guy can even crack off a witty retort.

The CEO martial artist stands there and looks at them both as his fist slowly fades and returns to normal. He flexes his fingers, then, "So, um. We're clearly all more than we appear. Good job. They uh, they wanted to kidnap me?" He points at the downed bodies. Now that the imminent threat is over, he's starting to think logically about what happened. "Who..? And you knew?" That to Jess. He shifts uncomfortably suddenly, then reaches back behind him. He swallows, then, "I ripped my pants." He looks to Emery.

"Told you they were too tight."


In his many years, Emery has seen many things. He's doen many things for people to see. But there are some things that allow him to add to that list of witnessing the nigh impossible. They live in a world of people with super powers and abilities, and he's one to speak as he too is one of those people but witnessing new things. Between Danny's Glowing Fist and Jessica's Super Leaps and apparent Strength, the Irishman can holster his gun, flipping up the back of his coat to do so before smoothing it down. He is processing things even as he is slipping his phone from a pocket and sending a text to a special number for security to handle this clean-up quietly with police, emphasis on being discrete because…that's how things are doing with the rich and important people.

Phone is slipped back into a pocket, even as he quirks an eyebrow and sighs softly. "Well ye didn't exactly tell me that I needed to get ye pants tailored in a 'ninja' cut did ye?" He gestures back towards the house. "C'mon boyo, lets get ye some new comfortable trousers."

A look to Jessica. "Forgive me manners. Emery Papsworth, at your service miss." He bows deeply. "Ye better come inside. I'll put out a couple bottles of Jameson and make some sandwiches."


Jessica shoots Danny a really irritated look. "Yes, of course I knew. That's what you hired me to do. Dig into people and know things. You'd have known too, if you answered your phone."

But then Emery is a) beng charming and b) speaking her language, namely the language of the whiskey she's supposed to be quitting but totally isn't turning down tonight.

"Jessica Jones," she says, more than content to go inside. "Private investigator. Nice to meet you, Mr. Papsworth." Body guard and apparent Master of Pants. "I'm glad to see Danny has himself a good babysitter, at least." Yes, Danny has earned this snark tonight.


"I have my phone," says Danny a bit defensively. He pulls it out of his pocket to show her. But then he smacks his thumb against the screen and nothing happens. Oh. Right. Charging is a thing. He sheepishly tucks it away again. He looks over at the men, then at Emery. "I bet these guys were too smart to connect these cars to whoever organized this." He looks to Jess, and looks for a moment like he wants to ask her a question. However, a cool breeze reminds him of his trouser situation. "I'll uh, I'll meet you in the kitchen." He turns to enter the house, trying his best to grasp the torn seams at his ass. The jacket he's wearing is stylish and tailored short - too short to hide the fact that he blew the entire ass out of the expensive suit. He moves quickly back inside the house after a moment of fumbling with the lock.


"A pleasure to meet ye, Miss Jones." Emery slams the card door shut with a foot before gesturing towards the door. Pausing to watch Danny enter ahead of them and he blinks slowly. "I tink the more important part of this, is that at least if he has his arse hangin' out of his trousers its a nice one. Probably lots of ninja squats." He quickly shakes his head and flashes Jessica a dimpled smile as he'd let her go ahead of him into the house.

And with scene shift magic, he's leading the way into the elegant kitchen space. He pulls out a barstool with deft motion of his foot and nods towards it. "Please, have a seat Miss Jones."

Coat, and suit Jacket are removed and hung in their designated locations before he returns, undoing his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves to expose the hints of tattoos and very faint scars on his forearms. Three whiskey tumblers are set down on the kitchen island, amber liquid is poured into each glass as the Irishman speaks softly. "Did ye know that John Jameson was actually Scottish and yet he ended up the most successful distilleries in Ireland?"


"Yeah, he'd be a real ladykiller if he didn't act high half the time," Jessica says dryly. She in fact studiously looks just about anywhere else other than Danny's ass.

But she takes the seat after a moment of trying to figure out how to do that in this crap she's wearing. She might be giving Danny crap for his clothing choices, but she just took a massive burn on the basis of party dress, so maybe she really ought to lay off.

The topic to the origins of Jameson catches her a little off-guard. "I did not know that," she admits. "I know I'm grateful he did. Is this something you know cause you're a liquor historian, or are you a dedicated Jameson enthusiast, instead?" Bohemian that she is, she has imbibed all manner of things without ever really stopping to consider their finer qualities, or their pedigree.

Now's as good a time as any to start though.


"This here, is Distillery Reserve…have to order it actually here in the States." Emery holds up the bottle with a shrug of a shoulder and a soft chuckle. "I know because if ye gonna speak up for good quality Irish Whiskey, bein' from Ireland, is best to know teh facts so ye dun end up with egg on yer face." He winks and takes a deep breath. He leaves the bottle and pushes a filled glass towards Jessica. "Sometimes, knowin' the history of where something comes from help ye better appreciate what it does for ye."

He's moving to retrieve a loaf of bread from the bread cubby and then opening the fridge. "Ye dun have any nitpicky eating requirements right? Religion? Bein' a Hipster? Anti-Meat?"


His explanation wins him a grin. Not a long one, or a big one, but a grin just the same, which means he adds himself to a very short list of people who have successfully made her smile at all, let alone on the first meeting. His question earns another half of an amused lip quirk.

"Nope. Edible is enough, good wins you points," Jessica says. She decides, after getting a history lesson, not to just toss it back. She should only have the one anyway. So she sips it. She sips it as if she can't very nearly drink Thor under the table (he won, but she made him work for it), and fidgets on the stool again to try to get comfortable.

"I suck at small talk though," she warns. She finds her awkwardness with it just goes really much smoother when she just admits to it right off the bat. "I don't suppose I can have your number? You look like the kind of guy that charges his phone." The dryness is back in her tone, but then…

It really doesn't tend to wander off for very long, even when she's in a good mood.


The Butler pulls cheese, and butter and tomatoes and basil from the fridge, offering a soft chuckle. "Me problem has always been not bein' good with no talk. Dun worry Miss. I promise to steer ye around the trecherous curves of just shootin' the shit with the help." Skillet is set on stove as he steps and pivots into sliding a cutting board from its place.

There is a small nod when his number is requested and he rattles it off. "Aye, I keep me phone charged up. Master Danny is still learnin' alot of tings. That ismwhy they hired me to help him where I can." Tomatoes are neatly sliced into slivers, as are chuckes of cheese, even though the fresh mozz is just cut into managable chunks. Butter is dropped in the skillet and he moves with gracefully between counters and stations, light on his feet.

"Thank ye, by the way. For caring about the boy, not just the CEO."


"'Just' the help, my ass," Jessica says with a snort, but she doesn't poke at it more than that. "Your job title is not the problem. The problem is I don't really shoot shit. Promise."

But she's watching this sandwich go down with a great deal of interest. Her sandwiches look like sad, pathetic flat squares. That is starting to look like some sort of a work of art.

She programs the number into her phone quickly enough. Then he thanks her for doing what in her opinion anyone would do, and she looks momentarily confused, as if wondering why anyone would care about anything else. And then she realizes he used the care word, and she looks a little embarrassed.

"He seems like a decent kid," she says with a shrug, taking another sip of her whiskey. "What the Hell happened to him, anyway? He acts like he grew up in a cave."


Items are arranged between slices of bread as the skillet heats up and Emery cleans as he goes, setting out three plates in preparation for the finished product. "Mebbe he did. His parents died, he went missin' and now the miracle boy has been found again. He is now a bilionaire heir and CEO of a company that is embarassed by him most of the time. So worried about their image they hired me to help teach him tings."

First sandwich is placed in the hot buttered pan and he shrugs. "I took the job however because it would not be fair for him to have survived all those years he was missin, only to see his new life fall apart. Now that I now his body parts light up…gotta work harder to help him keep that shit a secret." There is a pause.

"How do ye know Master Danny?"


No new information there. Either Emery doesn't know either, or he's playing his cards close to his chest.

"Light-up body parts," Jessica agrees, snorting. "That's a new one on me."

Oh man, now he's cooking the sandwich. It's getting better and better over there. Jessica's gaze is drawn in that direction with all due interest, and then she realizes she's about to look like some sort of drooling wild animal, so she tears it away again. "He hired me," she explains. "To look into his board. Find out who is taking advantage of him. I mean I told him flat out he should assume the answer to that is 'yes, yes they are all trying to do that, but.' That's how I knew about the thing." She waves vaguely back in the direction of the outside, where she assumes something is being done against their assailants.

"Biggest problem actually wasn't a board member though. It was Jakes, who is the assistant to board member Priya Johnston. Johnston's connected to some sort of worldwide criminal syndicate."

And why is she briefing Emery with this and not Danny himself? Because of course she's pegged him as the one who is going to actually do something constructive with the information. Not just stand there shaking his head mournfully.


Spatula in hand, Emery leans against the counter narrowing his eyes as he opens and shuts and the opens…and shuts his mouth, processing what he just heard. "He hired ye." A long pause as he checks on the really grown up grill cheese he is making. "I am assuming ye be a PI? I didn't see a gun and ye didnt't flash a badge or call anyting in so ye cannot be a cop."

The Irishman does not exactly look worried, just thoughtful. "I will…look into Johnston." He knows more about that world that he cares to remember. "Did Master Danny pay ye in cash or is there a traceable transaction somewhere?" Slooow flip of the sandwich, the smell of butter and cheese and goodness fills the air.


"Nope. Not a cop. They suck at their job, I don't suck at mine. PI is correct." Jessica frowns at this second question. "Yeah, he wrote me a check. I didn't think about untracable transactions. I imagine they'd make my accountant testy. But if they wanna come trace the transaction and then try to kill me, they can just get the Hell in line, I guess." That's the only reason she can think of as to why he might be worried about it.

She is studying him. "Did the people who hired you know you can do what you can do? Or did they just dismiss you as someone who can cook the apparent Sandwich of the Gods and teach Mowgli up there how to keep his big boy clothes on?" Despite the fact that she's ragging on him, she meant what she said about thinking he's decent, so her jabs at Danny are lightly said.


Emery grins a bit. "Ahh, true Miss Jones but one of the few professions where ye can own handcuffs and nobody bats an eye." He sprinkles something on the sandwich. The dimples fade a bit as he explains. "Its more a downstream effect ting, forensic accountants for Rand Enterprises themselves could start askin' questions about how he is spending his money. As for Johntston and his lot, eh…they may notbe that smart unless they are trying to figure out who I am. If ye haven't cashed it yet, let me know. I'll get ye the cash."

That question however makes him offer a small smile as he plates the sandwich with care, using a knife to slice the sandwich in half before it it placed before Jessica with a folded napkin. "What I can do? I dun tink they hired me becaue I am genetically inclined to be a smartass." He drawls softly. "But I have a license to carry and I have had to protect charges before….but like I told Master Danny, they are not payin me for protecting him or patching him up. That I do for free. Cuz he is like a puppy. A wee bit slow yet adorable little puppy…that needs protecting as he grows in his paws. And his brain."


His arch comment about the handcuffs rearranges her features into a 'dude, really?' expression of the first order, and she sort of leans back from him as it morphs further into 'seriously, ew, stop.'

But it doesn't last long. The wry jokes return when he makes that crack about being a smartass. "I don't know. Being a smartass can carry you a long way. Ask me how I know. And no, I haven't been to the bank yet. I'll get it to you before I leave." Once, cashing that check so fast it would have caught on fire would have been Jessica's priority #1, but she is less worried about money than she used to be. Emery is in luck. And what Jessica knows about corporate money could probably fit on a speck of dust. But she gets 'the people she's investigating probably shouldn't know about that transaction and can totally look' well enough.

Jessica at least has class enough to put the napkin in her lap. She doesn't hesitate though. She takes a bite of the sandwich and her eyes close. She is a fan of amazing food. This is amazing food. "Oh my god, this is incredible." She has the grace not to say that with her mouth full, too. "Holy shit. Is everything you make this good?"

The comparison to Danny as a puppy makes her snarf a laugh, though— another rare event, it's worth noting, though less rare than it used to be. "Yeah, I had the same thought about him. Well, I guess you have some help in that now. This clearly isn't over with. I got some more digging to do."


"Thank ye kindly Miss Jones." Is the response to the bank situation even as Emery moves back to the stove to start working on Danny's sandwich, pausing to watch Jessica's reaction to his food. "Not everyting miss." He replies humbly. "Cooking is however just one of the classes ye have to take in Butler School." He winks and slips his phone out of his pocket, eyeing a text with a quirk of an eyebrow.

Phone is repocketed. "I appreciate that Miss Jones. Because if they show up with more powered people…lets just say, I want and need Master Danny to have people he can trust." A searching look. "Can he trust ye?"


"There's a Butler School?"

She asks it like she's genuinely curious, then realizes… "Nevermind. That's a really dumbass question. Or is it? Butler Hogwarts? You know what, no, that came out even worse."

Can he trust ye?

Jessica Jones opens her mouth. She's been asked this question before, in some iteration or another. In the past, she has laid down a bunch of provisos. A bunch of stuff about how she can't even trust herself, how she fucks up all the time, but how she won't actively screw over the person asking the question, or their interests, and how she'll do her best by them.

Something in her has changed.

It startles even her, so she sits there for a moment. She looks down at her glass. She's had only a few sips, then she stopped thinking about it. The sandwich and the conversation were holding all her attention instead. And she realizes abruptly…nobody's asking about honest mistakes when they ask that question.

The sun of Wakanda is still blistered across her face. It's peeling away, an incongruous detail in a New York City October. He can't possibly know, of course, the monumental shift being able to say what she has to say with no equivocation represents. But it's huge. Her words come out a little softer as a result.

"Yes. He can."

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