Breakfast at Emery's

June 18, 2018:

Emery Papsworth and Jessica Jones catch up over breakfast.

Danny's Place

So many guest rooms!

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions: Danny Rand, Owen Mercer, Luke Cage, Foggy Nelson

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Its a 'Danny' Morning, which means Emery is there before probably even the roosters, getting everything prepped for the day. His arrival is as stealthy as usual, he's just there…dressed in a pair of dark jeans, a cream colored henley and leather boots, his hair tucked into a cream colored beanie.

Coffee machine is turned on, tea kettle is put on, oranges have been freshly squeezed for orange juice. There's the fresh smells of frying back bacon, sausages, and baked bread all mingling together signalling that the Irishman is at it again making sure he has enough food for a freakin' army just in case.

His black apron is worn, draped around his neck and then secured around his waist and his sleeves are pushed up exposing some of his tattoos as he's carefully removing fresh baked bread from the oven and its dark brown and loverly as usual. Cuz. Breakfast, duh.

Really, Jessica Jones ought to be embarrassed. She just sort of technically invited herself to Danny's house without talking to Danny, because she wanted to stay with Luke, who is invited.

She's not.

The smell of coffee is what draws her, zombie-like, out of bed. Her sleep schedule is a sort of chimera; while it's usually long nights and sleeping days, sometimes her cases demand that she take in some obscene 10 AM meeting or something. This is one such day, which means she is up before the roosters too.

But not entirely human or presentable yet. She's in baggy black soft pants and a black tank top. Her hair makes a messy halo around her head. 9 times out of ten she tends to go to bed without letting a make-up wipe touch her fair skin, which means she tends to wake up with slightly smudged eyeliner and slightly-clumped mascara. This morning is no different.

Bacon attracts her attention next, and bread, and all the rest of it.

She slowly makes her way into the kitchen and blinks at Emery, who is both industrious and impeccable this morning.

She stares at the bread and asks: "You made that?"

As if shocked bread can come from anywhere other than a factory. Or that it could be credibly made in a kitchen.

(Good morning to you, too, Emery.)

Though really, it's a boon anyone can get a coherent sentence out of her at all right about now. She is not a morning person.

Bread is set on a rack to cool as Emery looks over his shoulder at Zombie-Jess with a quirk of an eyebrow and a soft chuckle. "Aye. I didn't feel like tryin' to stop by the bakery this mornin' and besides, sometimes its good to 'ave a taste of somethin' hearty." He replies gently.

Oven Mitts are set to the side as he retrieves a white coffee mug. The coffee fixings caddy is placed on the kitchen island before the mug is set down beside it. "Come and have a seat Miss Jones." He gestures towards the stools before filling the coffee cup, smoothly, using a cloth to wipe the rim in case there's any spillage. "Do you have anyting you want me to throw in the wash and have dried and pressed for you this morning?"

Jessica comes to take a seat, still staring at the bread in wonder. "I thought that took like 7 hours, bread," she says. "Have you been at it since midnight?"

Clearly not a woman of the kitchen. The coffee fixings caddy is ignored, because Jessica drinks it black. Or, rather, more precisely, she doesn't take anything from it. She does turn it, as if admiring this bastion of civilization here in the kitchen, as if mystified by it. Such things apparently do not exist on Planet Jones.

Then he's asking another perfectly civilized question. "Uh. Yeah. Please," she says. "I'll grab it after coffee."

Cause right now it's hot and she doesn't want to move.

Still, all this has the effect of getting a Jones who is far more amiable at this hour than anybody usually gets her. "How are you doing, Emery? Seems like we haven't talked in forever. How's Kennis?"

"Not this, its just brown bread luv. But aye, I usually prep the dough ahead of time so I just have to pop it in." Emery rolls his shoulders and makes his way back to the stove, taking down a white plate. He's removing bacon and sausages from their pans and setting them aside on the plate as he dabs more butter into a frying pan and starts adding in mushrooms, tomatos and dice potatos and they sizzle nicely.

He nods just head slowly. "No rush, just want to make sure I get a load in before Master Danny and Master Chocolate Thunder awaken from their slumber. Skip all the 'you dun have to do that' rubbish." Then the question has him smiling softly as he ahhs softly. "Mm. I get through each day. As for Kennis…She's better now that Mercer's been found. Still emotional and moody as fuck but I've let her go back to fencin' so she stopped calling me a 'Tire'. I tink she meant 'tyrant'." He pauses and quickly shakes his head. "Do you eat pork or am I goin' to have to pull down some turkey substitutes for ye?"

"I eat any damn tasty thing a good man puts in front of me, especially if he's cooking it," Jessica says, her lips twitching at Master Chocolate Thunder and his protests. "And I'm smart enough to tell you to please keep right on doing it."

She's fascinated by all these things going into the skillet, and she inhales deeply and shakes her head in wonder. Anyone would be a human in the mornings with this sort of loveliness around.

Moody Kennis turns her contemplative, and she circles back to that, saying: "Maybe I could cheer her up a bit. Take her to the Children's Museum or something. Did you tell her Mercer's just a big damned idiot, or did you come up with something else to tell her about his fool walkabout?" Because like almost everyone who meets her, Jessica Jones loves that kid.

"Ahh, a just the type of woman to take home to your mother. Healthy appetite and all." Emery compliments as works over one skillet of veggies and then gets the second started with…are those beans? Yes, those are beans that are heating up in another skillet as he's watching timers and moving smoothly between aisles with his magic spatula.

Then the mention of Kennis again makes him shrug his shoulders. "She's been costin' me a feckin' fortune in babysitters who have jest up and quit." He pauses in sauteeing and sighs softly. "Oh Miss Jones, she's so smart…too smart for her age. Too much like me at her age." He closes his eyes for a second before clearing his throat and nodding. "That would cheer her right up after all, she adores ye. And aye, I even gave her Mercer's gift early to reassure her that he didn't hate her but apparently he didn't answer her voice mail…but he's prepared to grovel so it'll be better soon I hope."

Jess laughs out loud at the notion that she's someone anyone would want to take home to their mothers. She's pretty sure if Luke Cage had a mom he could take her home to he'd somehow find all sorts of reasons to avoid it, even if she cleaned her act right up and pretended to be someone a lot…less…her. But the notion makes her eyes dance. Her laughs are rare things, as she's much more given to sardonic chuffs of breath and mild smirks, but this one earns the full thing. "The hearty appetite would allow me to keep my mouth shut before I ruined it all anyway."

She grins about Kennis being too smart for her age, and she says, "I can take her today if she doesn't have other plans lined up. This afternoon around 2, after I wrap up an appointment." Jess has learned to make offers like this on the day she has time so that some case thing doesn't blindside her and wreck any plans, especially not with small people who are already feeling disappointed with the adults in their lives. Fortunately today's business is not likely to spiral into anyone putting a gun in her face.

"Well, I guess it depends on teh mother. My mum was a nun so unless ye wanted to eat porridge and pray…" Emery trails off with a shudder. "But ye still are a good woman, and where I am from, ye want a woman who isn't afraid to eat anyting that isn't kale or organically modified and harvested by blind monks in Australia."

"Oh bless ye she'll love you for that. She's got fencin' practice but she can skip latin and her etiquette classes today. Then I can finish baking some muffins to send to the fucking lawfirm she tried to hire." Its a long story.

Meanwhile, things are getting plated carefully. Eggs are currently frying now as well. And he's taking time to cut some slices off of the warm round loaf and arrange it on the plate, so he can start plating the meat and veggies and yes beans, waiting now for the eggs that are frying.

Jess Jones pulls a face at the word kale. It's a sure bet that hasn't even managed to make it into her diet. But she makes no comment there.

Because. Kennis.

"She tried to hire a lawyer?" Jessica asks, eyes twinkling. "Who'd she try to hire? Who is Miss Kennis going after?"

Because that's cute as all get out, right there.

Meanwhile, she stares at this arrangement of plating. It looks like a food magazine, or a really high-end restaurant of the sort Jessica doesn't frequent too terribly often. This can be performed in a home kitchen. She is gobsmacked. Her own efforts usually end up edible, barely, just. They certainly don't look so appealing. She's doing good if they don't look frightful. Unless it is a scrambled egg. She has mastered the art of the simple scrambled egg through obscene hours of practice.

And then there's this dance between pots and pans. He makes it look easy; she's sure it isn't. Slim hands cradle her coffee, and she has to remind herself the man went to Butler Hogwarts to do this sort of thing.

"I'm sorry, Luke and Owen try to talk you out of doing this magic thing you're doing right now?"

This, asked in tones of real disbelief.

"Aye. She tricked her babysitter into tinkin' she was going on a fencing class, and snuck off to this Nelson and Murdock place she found in a phonebook and tried to hire them with 50 or so fudge chocolate cookies that were supposed to be goin' to her class." Emery explains the situation with a shake of his head. Able to talk and work without thinking too much about it as he carefully lays the slices of bread on the plate and then is scooping teh fried eggs out and laying them ontop.

"Apparently she's trying to hire them for some secret case she has against God only knows what but now I have to go up there with an apology basket and hope they dun sue me for her wasting of their time." He is bringing the plate over and then blinking at the comment. "With Master Luke, I've noticed if I just have the food already made for him he just eats without comment. Danny sometimes wants to eat like a monk. Its a ting."

The plate is set down even as he plucks up a cloth napkin and lays it down beside the plate. A knife, and fork appear and by the time he's done, there's a small white saucer of butter and two small pots of jam within reach.

Jessica flashes a merry grin. "I dunno. Your kiddo has a knack for choosing the right lawyers. You won't get sued. They'll appreciate the basket, but they probably thought it was adorable. Did she get Murdock or Nelson? Nelson, in particular, is pretty fond of sweets, but it wouldn't be the first time either one of them was paid in food. Those are my lawyers, and they're both good people. They were probably a little gobsmacked, but not offended."

But now, a plate. She puts the napkin in her lap (she's not that uncivilized) and does put a little of the butter and jam on her plate for her own personal use. Then she takes her first bite, and closes her eyes to savor it, making the sound people make when food is really damned good. "I had forgotten," she says, when she chews and swallows, "that the Hallelujah chorus actually starts singing whenever your food is on offer."

Blink Blink. Without missing a beat, more eggs are getting fried as he's making some more plates, no doubt to keep in the warmer as the other men in the house are sleeping but Emery has to laugh and shake his head. "Well that's a relief at least. It's a small world innit? I tink she got Nelson? Foghorn? Fogsworth? She just called him 'Sir Fogsbear teh Liar' and then I have to remind her that is 'lawyer' and she says 'that's what I said! GOD!' and flounces off."

Then he just smiles slowly at her reaction and bows deeply before winking an straightening up. "Oooh ye flatter me Miss Jones. But I appreciate it."

"Foggy," Jessica agrees, with another bright grin. "Sir Fogsbear. That's perfection."

Foggy might have just earned a new nickname. Jess herself might use it.

His bow and wink produces another twinkle in her eye. This morning, it seems, things that have weighed her down in recent weeks are far away. She certainly has no trouble with the lack of organically-sourced whatevers. She digs in and says thoughtfully, "It is a small world, but given they're Luke's lawyers too I wonder if he had a business card or something floating around that she saw and seized on. That might explain why she picked them out of every other lawyer in the entire city, including a bunch that are a whole heck of a lot closer to where you two live."

Though this brings her to furrow her brow, and she adds quietly: "Any more trouble?"

After all, the last time she was at his house there was a whole mess of trouble.

Somewhere, in Emery's head he probably thought his daughter was making up that name but to hear it confirmed he just blinks a few times and opens his mouth and closes it. He then just has to chuckle, scooping eggs onto another plate and then slipping the plate into the oven to keep in warm. On to the next one. "I wouldn't put it past Kennis to 'ave heard it or seen it or somethin' in passing." He does look mildly spooked at the idea though, staring down at the pan and exhaling softly.

Then that question.

He flashes back to the room, the tea dripping of tarot cards, the smell of burnt rice.

Snapping back to reality he just offers a wry smile and shrug of his shoulder. "It should be quiet for a couple of weeks at least. We have moved twice since you were last over. She likes the new place because she gets a bedroom and a playroom too."

Moved twice, in that little bit of time, but with the assurance of quiet. Jessica doesn't answer this right away, stopping to spread butter on her roll. She takes a bite of it, takes a long drink of her coffee, and finally says, "You know if I can do anything to help you keep any of these fucktards off your back you only have to ask. My talents are probably better put to use as someone who can dig crap up on other people, not so much as a bruiser, but I'm happy to help."

Because moving twice more indicates all sorts of unspoken trouble to her, a woman whose life tends to revolve around doing a little bit of reading between the lines. Moving is such a pain in the ass that nobody does it on a whim, especially in New York City.

Granted, the wry smile and the shrug tells her that he doesn't exactly want her prying, so she sort of throws it out there and then backs off in the form of offering no more follow-up or questions.

There's another soft smile as he finishes up the third plate to place in the oven and Emery is quiet at the offer, giving a small nod. "People like me were never meant to breed. Like priests they were encouraged to be celibate. But I cannae read minds, or move tings with me mind." His accent thickens momentarily as he tries to find words to explain, but he's quick to clear his throat and continue. "So there's always a hunger, a need to be closer to people. I never thought there was even a chance to have a wee one. Told meself that they probably made us all sterile anyways. Then six years ago, I get the best present I've ever gotten in me entire life. And everyting was fine."

His jaw sets. "It was good, it was calm, but then last year something leaked. Someone caught wind. Something happened and people found out about Kennis and our world got turned upside down. I am the last of me kind. The last abomination created to…do what we were created to do. I dun tink it will ever stop. Because if she's like me. If tere's enough of the damn tings that made me in her. They will take her, and raise her, and force her abilities to manifest and breed her and put me right back where I was before, servin' a holy purpose that I've left behind."

He is now scrubbing a pot clean. "I dun tink they will ever stop. But I /will/ give her as normal of a childhood as I can."

Jessica Jones listens to all of it, contemplatively eating her breakfast. Her eyes narrow at the concept of 'breeding her.'

"Just how big is this organization?" Jessica asks quietly. "You've got a lot of friends here, Emery. And you've got a lot of friends who have a lot of friends. If this organization needs to be taken down we could probably round up a lot of people to do that. To show them that messing with either one of you ever again is too expensive for them. Or to just ensure there's nothing left of them to bother you."

Anyone who would force anyone's abilities to manifest so they can breed them, and who would hunt down a child at that, is someone who has no 'holy' purpose at all, in Jessica's book. Or at least, not one she's capable of giving a damn about.

"There is a balance. A balance that has to be maintained in the world. A delicate see-saw of good and evil." Emery explains softly. "To understand the size of this organization you would need to understand the size of time itself." He shrugs almost helplessly. "It is not even an organization it is just…what it is." He waves a hand vaguely. "What they managed to create, many people have tried to duplicate. With serums and science and shit that is complicated and wearisome. It is not just those who made me that might be after us. It is those that know we were made who would want to recreate us."

His nose wrinkles and he sets a pot on its rack to dry as he wipes his hand off on a towel. "I am taking care of it, best that I can." He tries to sound reassuring. "Besides. You all have alot to deal with to be bothered with the troubles of a single father and his brilliant little angel." A soft smile. "With friends, as you said, that I have. I know no matter what she will be okay."

All of that frankly goes a bit over Jessica's head. Keeping a balance. See-saws between good and evil. She gets wanting to recreate something like a super-soldier serum well enough. Or something-even-better-than? She herself is the product of such attempts.

She stands up to get a little more coffee, not wanting to trouble him for it, and says only, "I'm always bothered by the troubles of friends. But. Probably enough dark thoughts for one day. We'll see if we can't get your brilliant little angel into a better mood. Shall I pick her up here or do you want to give me the new address or what? What's easiest for you?"

Because unless there's something concrete she can do to help them be a lot more okay, she's going to stick to what she can do, which is take Kennis to a place where she can stick her hands on one of those static things and watch her hair fly out in a zillion different directions and stuff.

"I'll pick her up and bring her over after fencin' practice. Get her a quick nap and then she'll be ready to go." Emery assures Jessica as he racks another frying pan. Then he just turns around fully to face Jessica and watch her for a few moments. "Be sure to leave your tings you want cleaned where I can get them, rub your loverboy's abs for good luck, and most of all. Thank ye. Outside of nannies, I never trusted many wimmen around Kennis. You are a good woman, following a calling of your own free will. Your own choice, no matter what life throws at you. That's all I want for me girl. For her to have a choice." He swallows. "So thank you. For bein' a shining star in a dark night sky."

"Oh Jeez, Emery, I don't know if I'm all that good," Jessica says uneasily. "I've made plenty of questionable choices in my life and will probably make plenty more. Shit, man, two years ago I'd have been the last person anyone in their right mind would trust around their kid. But I at least wanna be. A good person. And she's a good kid, so. Why haven't you trusted women around her? Just security or…?"

Well leave it to a Detective to turn that back into a question.

But she smirks at this bit about rubbing her loverboy's abs for luck. "At least we know I've banked a lot of good luck…"

She does like rubbing his abs.

"Makin' a questionable choice is part of life. And I can see ye want to do good." Emery folds his arms over his chest and his eyebrows raise slightly at the question about why. "Me mum was a virgin nun, Miss Jones. I've had many many years to learn to trust women outside of nannies, let alone with me own daughter. Its like a reflexive ting." He shrugs. "Which is weird because I happen to love women in every other capacity outside of caretaker." He lightens the response with a waggle of his eyebrows before he laughs and moves a hand to cover his mouth. "Let me know when ye've reached 'time to hit Vegas' level." He flashes a dimpled grin.

Jessica opens her mouth to ask how his mother being a virgin works. Then she decides there are about seventeen ways that question could be considered offensive in the extreme. It could just go wrong on so many levels.

So she puts food into it and thinks before she speaks. Her shoulders shake with laughter as he waggles his eyebrows and expresses his love of women. And then he's making this comment about Vegas and her eyes widen.

"V— what, whoa, no, not— " She puts up her hands, looking a bit spooked. If Emery wanted to do a health check on whether Jessica would feel super ready to say yes should Luke be mad enough to propose, that would be the barometer saying nope. She's doing good to get as far into this commitment thing as she has. Talk of Vegas makes her look gobsmacked in the extreme. Forget the L-Word. The V-Word is apparently the next on her list of oh-holy-shit words.

"Easy, Eaaaasy darlin'. I mean to hit the Casinos." Emery moves forward, setting a glass of Orange juice close to Jessica's plate now, eyebrows shooting up. "Just mean the casinos, because if you are super lucky then you could make a pretty penny." He does look a bit concerned, brow furrowing a tad. "Just deep breaths. That's all I was talkin' about. Because if ye two ever get serious enough and elope to get married by fuckin' Cher and deny me the right to cook your weddin' feast, I'll tie ye both up by your ankles and beat you with branches like the crazy people in the Russian Baths. So that's not happening."

"Oh. Casinos. Right. Gambling. Because that is the other thing people do. In Vegas."

Jessica puts her elbow on the counter and her head in her hand for a moment, blushing like crazy. Christ. Oh good, OJ. She drains that. A little like it's a shot. But she drains it. OJ is good. Life is good. Food is good.

"I'd um. Never deny you that. Especially if it meant getting beat like a crazy person in a Russian Bath. Just um. Whew. Yeah. No. Um. We're um. I mean we're good. He's good. It's good. I'm just. You know."

Thumbs up. This is awkward.

"Issues."

There. That ought to sum it up.

"We've only been dating four or five months anyway."

Emery folds his arms again and just nods slowly. "Mmhm." He nods as she stumbles through that explanation and squints at the thumbs up. He leans against the counter and just stares at Jessica for a moment before tuggin a strand of hair loose from his beanie so he can idly twirl it and go. "Mmhmmm." Again, a gentle tease that he clearly just moves on from with a slap of the counter surface. "If ye have no issues, you are not in an actual relationship. You need someone to hold on to when tings get difficult and there's reward as well in being that person that's someone else's anchor." A long pause. "And he's almost ilegally fine, me darling. So hold on to that, okay?" He winks and pushes off of the counter as he idly cracks his neck and turns his attention to returning to cleaning out the sink. "Speaking of which, please go ask his rather large arse if he is going to need sandwiches for lunch made when you get a chance, or else he's just gettin' stew."

"He is almost illegally fine," Jessica says with a smirk, though she's flaming bright red while she says it.

And he is a fine anchor. She, on the other hand, wouldn't trust herself to anchor a dingy in a frog pond.

Still, she leaves that lie. She cleans up the last bite on her plate and says, "Alright. I am off on a quest to grab the laundry and to ask Man Mountain what he needs for lunch. I'll pop back in with the answer. It might take me a few tries to get a coherent one. Thank you for breakfast, Emery. I'll see you later this afternoon." Because if she's going to make it to her appointment, and actually be ready to tackle the damn thing, she'd better get ready for the day.

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