995/He Followed Me Home

He Followed Me Home
Date of Scene:	17 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	A bored Clayface decides to visit Jessica Jones. He confides in her after an ugly confrontation, provoking a show of gruff compassion that will probably come back to bite her later.
Cast of Characters:	Jessica Jones, Clayface

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Jessica Jones has posed:
Did Jessica Jones stick around to investigate the whole clusterfuck at the flower shop, knowing that the cops were on the way?

Nope.

She might have a couple of good lawyers right now, but honestly, anything like that is pushing her luck, and there seemed to be a bunch of other do-gooders involved. She's already //doing// her good deed pro bono case for the moment. No need to take on another one.

So. Home at last, only a little the worse for wear for one of the incindiary devices going off in her hand, burning it. She spends a few moments just cleaning that up and wrapping it. Then? She takes a bottle of Wild Turkey off the shelf and unscrews the top. She flops on her couch and takes a long swig, closing her eyes as the alcohol hits her bloodstream. It's not as good as the stuff she's been enjoying down at Lux, a place she's been hungry to go back to ever since she took her break from it, but it's good. Being drunk is good. It's precisely what she needs right now after a day that was already long, after a day that took a veer into the strange.

Clayface has posed:
Just when she was getting nice and relaxed, Knock-knock-knock... Who is it? It's pretty easy to tell from the outline of the figure on the other side of the frosted window. It's a beat-cop. With his fancy hat and the distinct lump on his shoulder where the radio walkie is. He knocks and stands outside waiting like a good flatfoot for the lady of the house..er.. office to answer the door.

Jessica Jones has posed:
Jessica seriously considers jumping out of her own window. She has a headache. She could go sleep on Claire's couch tonight. Even if her creepy houseguest is still doing whatever he does. Or maybe Karen would let her crash. She could just get a hotel. Or...

But the cop would likely be back.

She lets out the longest of most long-suffering sighs. "Door's open, come on in."

She puts the Wild Turkey back down on the side table and caps it. It's her own damned apartment, but maybe getting sauced in front of Mr. Beat Cop isn't the greatest of ideas.

Clayface has posed:
Opening the door carefully, making sure it's all clear before he steps into the place like a smart cop, the officer steps inside and smiles politely, the most magnificent, perfect smile. He is a sculpted, powerful looking man that looks a lot like he just stepped out of someone's naughty dream. His eyes are the kind of blue eyes you can just get lost in. His body hints of the tall, power and stamina of an African but mixed with a lighter brown skinned race making him a delicious dark mocha color. He wears his uniform so very well that it would be a crime to ever shoot at such a modern adonis. He stands almost seven foot tall once he's inside looking down at the relaxing woman as he asks, "Is now a bad time? We got a report you were involved in an incident at a flower shop. I was sent to check on you and get a statement, if you don't mind?" and who would mind. He still keeps a hint of African accent in his speech leading her to believe he must be first generation American.

Jessica Jones has posed:
Slowly, Jessica reaches for the Wild Turkey again, though there are some different reasons this time. "I'm fine," she says.

"Do I need a lawyer?" Yeah, she's looking. She's looking and she's drinking. Appreciative and very wary. "I acted in defense of myself and others and stopped an arson or a bombing or whatever it was, and I don't really understand much of what I saw. If you want a statement to help you catch the assholes, I'll give it. But if you're here to get in my grill for doing Hell's Kitchen a solid, I can call my lawyer. His name's Nelson, Foggy Nelson."

Of the two Hell's Kitchen do-gooders, Nelson is the one who has a bit more of Jessica's limited trust.

Another slow sip of the whiskey. She shakes it at him, a little. "And I didn't have any of this till /after/, so I was not impaired at the time."

Clayface has posed:
His badge shows his name as Asim Aziza with a badge number and that is one digit shorter than a normal cop's badge should be. Hopefully she'll be to enthralled, tired or drunk to notice his little mistake. He can't keep track of every detail. Also his radio doesn't make any noise or have any lights blinking on it like a regular officer's stuff. "I assure you, " he says with that rich deep voice, "I am not here to be in your grill." he says as he walks in a little further, "There have been rumors of a new crime syndicate moving into the city." he says pausing again for a beat as is traditional in some parts of Africa, "When we find ninjas laying on the sidewalk it makes us think these rumors might be true." another thing she might notice, his service revolver has the wrong kind of hammer. His gun has a standard hammer not the rubber grip tipped hammer that police guns have.

Jessica Jones has posed:
Jessica Jones enjoys the sight of a nice looking man. It's true.

But a few sips of Wild Turkey aren't going to make her drunk enough to miss details. A long night isn't going to make her tired enough to cast off the paranoia that follows her everywhere she goes. She is a woman who still has to dance a long and intense dance with her own nightmarish past every night. A woman who has learned that being super-strong isn't enough to make her super-safe, that there is always someone out there with a power set or a weapon that can bypass her own and do terrible things.

She notes the bad badge number and she notes the service revolver discrepency immediately.

"Huh. Well. Good luck with that."

A swig.

"And now you can take your bullshit and get the fuck out of here. You're no more a cop than I am."

Clayface has posed:
The officer feigns confusion and says, "I don't know what you mean. I only need to ask you a few questions." pause, "Then I will leave and you may enjoy the rest of your night." he says then he takes out a phone from his pants pocket. A phone that looks identical to the one that idiot redneck was using in the shop. "For the record, could you state your name, the date and time and go over the events that happened this evening?" the 'officer' asks trying to skirt around her accusations. He gives her his best sultry smile trying to make her feel more cooperative. Not something a real cop would do. Not if they wanted to keep their job.

Jessica Jones has posed:
"My name is fuck off. The date and time is fuck off o'clock."

Jessica Jones says it all with sardonic sharpness and a withering look. "What happened this evening is a fake fucking cop showed up to my fucking apartment. He's doing a bad impression of the smoulder face, and he's not leaving nearly fucking fast enough."

Now, the phone? She didn't notice. Because at the time, she'd been zooming past him. Collecting bombs. Which took up a lot more of her attention.

"I'm going to give you till the count of three, Detective Douche, and then? I'm going to escort you to the elevator in a way you really won't like. One."

Clayface has posed:
Holding out his hand the cop says, "Okey, okey, fine. I'm not a cop. I just wanted to know what was going on." he says and puts the phone away, "Out of curiosity, what gave me away?" he asks always trying to improve his craft. He looks down at himself, "I thought the uniform was pretty convincing." he says his accent missing as well as the pause. "I guess trying to fool a P.I. was a challenge I shouldn't have taken on spur of the moment like that."

Jessica Jones has posed:
Is he going for flattery now?

Jessica scowls, trying to decide if she's going to tell him. He might just be another vigilante, and if so she really //ought// to forgive him the pretext, point it out. The thing is, Jess isn't one to show off knowledge just to look smarter, or more important. Jessica is rarely nice, and it takes someone getting off on the right foot with her in the right way to activate that. Usually it takes being just too kind or polite or basically decent to be shitty to.

Officer Smoulder Face has not met those criteria. He does a good job of trying to. But she senses some manner of attempt to manipulate her beneath his too-friendly words, and she doesn't want to play ball.

She puts the bottle aside, deliberately.

She rises. She's not a large woman. There's nothing about her that ought to be imposing, with her bandaged hand, with her petite frame. But there's something in the dark of her eyes. Something dangerous.

She speaks a single word. Very softly.

"Two."

Clayface has posed:
Oh? She's in the mood for a throw down? She isn't going to be nice and converse with Clayface like a normal person? Fine, if she wants to be rude, Clayface can be rude to. The tall black man looks down at her as a smile spreads across his face. Then, in an instant his height lessens, his bulk reduces, his police uniform melts into a purple business suit and Killgrave steps right up to her, whispering quietly in her ear, "One." in a voice she will never forget.

Jessica Jones has posed:
Tightness beneath her skin. A buzz in her ears. Flush in her face. Pounding in her heart. It's a full on PTSD episode.

But in her, those explode in //violence//, especially now, and part of her is certainly aware it's a shapeshifter.

She doesn't speak, now. She just //moves//. His 500 pound weight is nothing for her. She can lift a car over her head and fling it if she were ever inclined to do something so ridiculous and wasteful. She simply attempts to haul him up, to grab him, and to //fling// him through her door and into the elevator doors down the hall just as hard as she possibly can. Even then, should she be successful, she's conscious enough not to make it lethal force...he hasn't (yet) proven himself to be the kind of cancer that can only be ended via death.

But it's a sure bet that she's not adverse to hurting him more should he continue to press the point.

Clayface has posed:
(Awww, she's no fun at all. She didn't even cry) 0 o . Clayface thinks to himself as he goes flying down the hallway and SPLATS against the metal of the elevator doors. Jessica will realize her hands are wet, covered in clay where she picked him up. The end of the hallway floods with mud as the shape shifter impacts the lift doors then a head forms, a giant, clay head with a giant toothy grin, "Sorry, couldn't resist. You're very rude. " he says as he starts to pull himself together. Even the clay on her hands starts to drip onto the floor and ooze back towards the lift where the body of Clayface reforms itself.

Jessica Jones has posed:
"The fuck?"

Jessica raises her hands, now covered with...well, her first thought is really 'goo', not 'clay', but it's certainly something. 'Mud' is kind of what she settles on. She gets a disgusted look on her face and wipes her hands on her jeans.

And now this mud person is giving her a giant clay grin. Oh look, shit's oozing towards...ugh! She wiped her hands on her jeans! Gross.

She scowls at him, stalking to the doorframe.

"You entered //my// home under false pretenses," she grates. "So I don't think you're in any fucking position to help me brush up on my Emily god damn Post."

Course now she's broken her door. Didn't think that one through. She'll just...put up a shower curtain with a Mr. Yuck face drawn on it until she can replace it.

She remains in a defensive stance though, not sure if this weirdo is going to try something else; ready to defend herself if he does.

Clayface has posed:
The parts of him all ooze back together, which in and of itself is kind of horrifying to watch as they crawl up her broken door frame and out into the hall to join the rest of his mass. Clayface says, "Honestly, if I had shown up like this, would you have even let me in much less answered my questions?" he asks as he reforms himself into a massive humanoid mud-man sitting in the hallway with his hands resting on his knees. Fortunately there is no man there for his man-spreading to show her but isn't that just as disturbing? "Hi, I'm Clayface, super-villain, wanted criminal, I had some questions about that crime syndicate you were just fighting. Mind if I come in? How do you see that approach working out, realistically?" he asks being all reasonable and calm.

Jessica Jones has posed:
"If you'd shown up looking like yourself and said everything except the super-villian, wanted criminal part-- seriously? Who introduces themselves as a super-villian?"

Jess shakes her head. Whatever floats his boat.

"Then yeah. What the fuck makes you think I give a shit what you look like? I give a shit how I'm treated. I give a shit how people act. And like, I don't know shit about the crime syndicate. I just don't want people shooting up my god damn neighborhood. Or waving swords around. Or bombs around."

Now she gets it. "You must have been the farmer."

She folds her arms and leans in her doorframe.

"Supervillian. Why? Not why the term. Why do you do it. The villian thing."

She seems perfectly content to just hang out there as long as he keeps his distance from her. She's not exactly the type who is going to come barreling after him just cause he says he's a wanted criminal. Criminal's a bit relative.

Clayface has posed:
The big man shrugs, "I was human once. An actor. I was big time in horror movies. Basil Karlo" he says raising his hands and spreading them apart with fanfare, "Then one day the mob came after me. Guess they wanted to make a point by killing off someone important. Dumped me into a vat of chemicals, place burned down, and now I'm this." he says and shrugs putting his hands back on his knees.

"Why be a super-villain? Because I have to be something or I'll just fall apart." he says and his head slides off his body, bounces off the wall and plops on the floor in front of him but keeps talking, "Literally. Every day is a fight for sanity. I have to stay busy or else. So I pretend. I become other people. I run scams. I steal. I put on great performances." he says picking up his head and putting it back on, "Act or die. The show must go on."

Jessica Jones has posed:
"So people were shitty to you, and you decided to be shitty to everyone else?"

Jessica shakes her head. And sighs.

"Look. Basil. It's not too late to get your shit together. Obviously nobody's put you in prison yet. You're obviously real difficult to kill, cause you can literally suck bits of yourself back into yourself. You can look like anyone you want-- including looking like you used to look, I guess. You could certainly still make a living in showbusiness. Or you could help the shit out of people with your abilities. That'll help your god damn sanity better. What you're doing? You're surviving. Shit happens. It sucks. It sucks that they did that to you and it sucks that you went through that. The change probably hurt like Hell and you lost the life you wanted. I fucking get it."

She points at him. "But this? This thing you're doing? Where you decide you're going to take the role of villian? That's just letting those shitheads win. If you let it make you //better// than you were before? Let it carry you into being someone who could make a difference? I think your life would have a little more meaning."

She shrugs. "Just my two cents."

Clayface has posed:
Clayface says, "I've played so many roles, made so many mistakes." he lets his hands fall off his body forming two shapes, a 2 foot tall Batman and a 3 foot tall clayface that start to fight in the hallway. "It's funny, you know, I want to do better but they'll never give me a chance. The one thing I can never be is the person I was. It's the one form I can never seem to get right. This is who I am now." he says as the little Clayface tries to chop tiny Batman to pieces but always just misses. He hesitates at the wrong moment and Batman always gets away.

The big clayface looks down the hall at Jessica, "Besides, heroes need villains to fight. It's the big time and I'm a star again. I'll be part of their legend. One of the greats!" he says as little Batman throws a tiny Baterang and tiny Clayface twitches in agony then melts, "It's all I got. Who would give something like me a second chance?"

Jessica Jones has posed:
Jessica sighs again. Is she going to regret this? Probably. But there is a tiny chance she won't. There's a tiny chance that something else will happen, something better. And it's that tiny chance that informs her actions now.

Shit.

"I will," she decides.

"Come in, and have a drink, Basil," she says. She is /not/ calling this guy 'Clayface.' "/One drink/. And then I will give you my card. And then you will go home, cause I've seriously had a long night, and I've got exactly one drink's worth of socializing in me, I'm turning into an even grumpier bitch by the second. The grumpier version goes for defenstration balcony-side, just so you know. Behave yourself, don't touch me, and don't fucking take Kilgrave's face again."

But she turns and heads inside, leaving the shattered door and the empty doorframe open.

Clayface has posed:
Clayface says, "Thanks, really. And sorry about that. I have a temper and when I get mad I do the most hurtful thing. " and that certainly was it. He gathers himself again reabsorbing all the clay until he is one big clay man and compresses himself down again into a copy of Jessica, "My other idea was having you fight yourself." Clayface says with her voice, "That always throws people off. " he.. she says as she walks towards the office. "You can have my drink for me. It doesn't really work on me any more." which explains a lot of the crazy. Life without booze, truly terrifying.

Jessica Jones has posed:
Jessica studies herself. Yep. She looks like a tired, cranky woman who drinks too much.

She pours two drinks, because that's the measure of the time he has to spend in her apartment tonight. She drinks a bit of the first one, and says, "Shit happens."

Would it have thrown her?

"Probably would have just pissed me off," she says. Few things surprise Jones, really. Her 125 year old grandfather walked in and announced he wasn't dead and she just sort of took it in stride. The world's strange and fucked up. Anything weird that happens is really just more proof that the world is strange. And fucked up.

But life without booze does sound pretty shitty.

She picks up a card and slides it over to him. She's not sure what she thinks he'll use it for, but there it is. He can get in touch with her. As long as he understands that second chances are not infinite chances-- she won't tolerate him hurting people. But she figures that kind of goes without saying, really.

"I was telling the truth, you know. I don't know shit about what went down there. Just kind of random. I'm sure the costumed crew knows a bit more."

Clayface has posed:
Evil Jessica takes the card and slides it into her pocket. She says, "I was investigating them because I've been looking for Poison Ivy. " he explains, "When I heard a new crime syndicate was moving in operating out of a series of flower shops I thought it might be a good place to look." evil her says then wanders off to look into her bathroom. She doesn't go in the bathroom as much as stands in the doorway while talking and looking in the mirror. "We have a history. She mind controlled me this one time. Made me think we were married, there was a whole crime wave then Batman freed me of her mind control spoors but I still kind of have feelings for her and I worry about her. No one's seen her in months." she says as Clayface uses the mirror to remove the bags under Jessica's eyes and brighten up her teeth, to even out her complexion, take out a few wrinkles around her eyes, mimic just the right base and eyeshadow. Using his hands he puts her hair up into a cute bun with two ivory hair-sticks. Then her clothes change into a nice, long, dark, ocean-blue sleeveless dress that fits all the right ways. By the time she turns back around she looks fantastic. Maybe his true calling was as a make-overs? "You know how it is. Crazy life, crazy romance."

Jessica Jones has posed:
Jessica's eyes narrow. Poison Ivy. Mind controller. Now on shitlist. Anyone who does that shit instantly earns a place on her shitlist. To anyone. For any reason. Doesn't matter. Made him think they were married? This guy was raped.

Maybe /she'll/ go looking for this Poison Ivy, herself. It winds up on her mental list. Just like that.

Meanwhile, he's busy worrying about her. But...Jess kind of gets that too. She sometimes feels sick as she considers the times she hesitated to hurt Kilgrave. Tried to teach him to be good, which...maybe she's making that mistake again. The hesitation she felt when sometimes he tried to make her feel sorry for him, instead of hating him.

Man. Basil is a whole bundle of fucked up wrapped in one fucked up little clay package, and she is the least qualified person on the planet to help him. But she decides treating him like a god damn human has to be some sort of start. She watches him play dress-up with her face, prettying her up. She does sort of self-consciously rub her tongue over her teeth before resolving to make a dentist appointment in the morning. The display earns him the downing of Drink #1 a little faster though, just tossing it. She draws drink #2 closer.

He probably won't appreciate hearing that if she finds Poison Ivy she'll try to kill her, or throw her in jail at the least, so she stays mum on that subject. Instead she says, "Mind control is nasty shit."

Clayface has posed:
"Yeah, I know. I should be mad at her and when Batman set me free, trust me, we had words." Evil Jessica agrees growing a little taller and strolling across the room in high heels. She looks like a friggin Disney princess. Walking over to the window of the building she looks out through the blinds. "Still, I have this whole life with her that happened and it was real to me. It was the first time I felt like a real person since the accident." she says with a longing in Jessica's voice that speaks of heart aching regret that things worked out like they did. "I know I should hate her, but I can't." and that's the saddest thing yet, isn't it?

Spinning around sending the dress fluttering the fake Jessica says, "I was hired by someone to test their security system. Real top notch guys. Took me five months to prepare but I did it. I infiltrated their most secure location." she says then holds up a hand with red nail polish that matches her lipstick. When did that even happen? "It was a legit job. Not a crime. Government stuff." she says so as to not cause alarm. "They offered me a few million but I traded it for the most rare rose in the world. There are only three places on earth you can find living samples of them and one of them is me. When I find her she's going to be so thrilled!" the shape shifter says and bounces for joy in Jessica's body.

Jessica Jones has posed:
Or she could just stay out of it. Jessica rubs the back of her neck. Because yeah. She could see why he might feel that way.

She takes up the second drink. Considers it. Pulls about a third of it down her throat.

She does not offer to take //this// god damn case. Nuh-uh. She is not finding Poison Ivy so he can give her a rose and maybe get happily mind controlled again.

As if to consciously reject all this creepy false beautification, Jessica sticks her finger in her left ear and wriggles it around to get at an an itch. She wipes her fingers on her jeans again, just in case some gunk got on them.

"Well, there you have it. Legit jobs. Right there. You could do that again and again. You could buy a house and a whole fucking conservatory of rare stuff that way. There are worse ways to organize a life."

Clayface has posed:
Practically gliding over to one of Jessica's chair evil Jessica sits down lady like and crosses her legs under her dress, "I have a plan but I'm not sure if it's too bold. Imagine if you were a super-hero, " she says without pausing to think that might be insulting, "one of the big time ones and you needed to protect your secret identity by being both your hero identity and your regular identity at the same time." Jessica can see where this is going, "It would be the perfect job. I mimic Super-heroes at parties or if I can't pull off their powers then I can be the other person. If they would trust me to. But if that's my whole job I guess they could trust me. It would depend on the person. I know one hero who //desperately// needs me to pose as their normal self. It's super-obvious who they are. I don't know how people haven't figured it out. I could make a living going to parties. How awesome would that be?"

Jessica Jones has posed:
Jessica Jones doesn't seem particularly insulted by that, really. She has to earn being a hero. The fact that some people have slapped the label on her? Doesn't really make her one in her own eyes. She's certainly no big name. She's not Batman, she's not Superman, she's not Iron Man. Or of course any of their opposite-gendered equivalents. She's just Jessica Jones, private eye, and if some have called her the Hero Detective there are also some who have spit in her eggs at a diner, like right in front of her.

She takes another third of her drink into her mouth and says, "Hero types generally trust people who act in ways that earn that trust. If they see you doing good, then express this desire to work birthday parties and sub in for them when they gotta do their PSAs, like that one who is doing the whole line of 'The More You Know' commercials--" she knows at least one of them is, though right now it's escaping her which one-- "They might take you up on that. I'd drop the 'supervillian and wanted criminal' bits from your spiel, and you definitely can't go in by trying to //trick// them. But it could work. I'm sure some of them would appreciate the added privacy."

She salutes him with the glass in meaningful fashion. One more swig is left, and then his time will be up.

Clayface has posed:
Seeing it's time to go the shapeshifter stands and heads towards the door, "You're right, you've given me a lot to think about." she says then she pauses at the door frame letting herself out, "Tricking people is a lot of fun through." she says and winks. Reaching into her cleavage, wait, no, her chest cavity, the fake Jessica pulls out a roll of cash and peels off three hundred dollars and lays it down on something close to the door. "To make up for the door. That should cover it." she says before the roll of the rest of the money is absorbed into her hand and disturbingly can be seen sliding up the inside of her arm under the dress back to her torso. "I'll keep in touch, let you know how it works out." she says as she glides off towards the elevator... to.. Do God only knows what dressed like Jessica Jones.. She probably should have asked him not to run around as her before he left.