voicetest | Canon is Jessica Jones; Setting

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entry: prose

Canon is Jessica Jones; Setting - A high end hotel bar

"I think I might quite like to take a holiday. Go the sea maybe, get a tan. Have you ever been to Italy?" The bartender shook his head. It wouldn't have mattered if the man did; the well spoken Englishmen in the tailored patterned suit of deep purplish-blue wouldn't have wanted to hear it. "Ah," he tsked with a shake of his head. "Shame. I hear they've got great parties. Last til dawn. And the women?"

He sucked in an appreciative breath through his teeth and shook his head once in wonder before taking a shallow drink. "I wonder if I shouldn't just.. take a tour of the country. See some new scenery. Bit too dirty around these parts for me nowdays. No one has the same self respect anymore. Disgusting, don't you think so?"

The bartender was still staring at him, compelled and rooted to the spot. "Yes." The glass in his hands being wiped clean had been clean ten minutes beforehand but Kilgrave wanted the company. He didn't seem to mind the repetitive movements; in all actuality, he found them.. quaint. Like he might be in a movie or something.

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The message came by way of some UPS driver, "there" to deliver a message instead of the box he was holding for someone else entirely. Figures. And he wanted to meet at a swanky hotel bar just a block outside of Hell's Kitchen. Somewhere that was public because Kilgrave knew how to manipulate her when there was someone there he could control; use as leverage to get what he wanted from her.

Well, he didn't tell the messenger to tell her how to dress, so she wasn't going to doll herself up. Jessica arrives wearing her black leather jacket, faded black tank top jeans and her favorite boots, clunking across the tiled floor until she got to the bar.

She sits two chairs over, eyes on the bartender who's quite visually attached to Kilgrave. Jessica rolls her eyes over to him and gestures back to the man behind the bar.

"Tell him to get me a bottle of bourbon."

The slight crowd made him comfortable. It made him cocky. Being alone with Jessica, while their inevitable destinies pointed to that, wasn't safe just now. Not like it used to be. He double takes as she sits down, smiling broadly, charmingly as he turns in his seat to face her.

"Jessica! So glad you could make it. I wasn't sure if you'd get my message."

The glance and nod to the bartender, freeing him to do as she asked, was almost an afterthought and his attention was returned to her as though nothing were the matter.

"I suppose we're lucky I chose a place that didn't have a dress code," he continued, with a glance down at the jeans and boots. "Not that it really matters."

She was there; that was all that mattered. Sitting there, talking to him. Delightful.

Edited (Spacing) 2016-02-08 00:03 (UTC)

His casualness was sickening. Always had been. The over-played affability made her want to punch him in the face right there and then. That might have been visible in the way she looked at him in return after he opened his mouth.

"You sent a courier to my apartment." she told him pointedly, grabbing the bottle the bartender just delivered to fill the glass that came with it.

She downed it like she was parched for water.

"So, what do you want?"

Jessica poured another.

"I did have to make sure you got the message," he comments, glancing at the bartender as he hurries away before Kilgrave has the chance or inclination to say something else to him. Hopefully no one would notice the wet piss from the bladder he couldn't hold hugging the fabric of his pants to his leg.

"What do you think about Bali? I was thinking you and I might.." He took a shallow breath in, like he was gathering the words, "..'get away from it all' for a few weeks."

Kilgrave's smile was sickeningly sweet and totally sincere. This was obviously a good idea, right?

Isabelle sort of loved scoping out bars and clubs. They were always the most fun, even if they didn't actually result in taking out various demonic forces; at the very least, she got to get out for the night, dress up a little, have some fun. She'd been watching the man at the bar for a while now, mostly out of curiosity. She and her brothers caught wind of some kind of weirdness going on, and she was the one to check it out. Naturally. She was the prettiest.

She was decked out in a slinky dress - black, naturally - that clung to her in all the right places, her hair curled slightly and pinned to one side, tumbling over her shoulder. Her Marks were glamoured away, her weapons all hidden from view, the ruby around her throat not even thrumming slightly. Good to know, at least.

She drained the rest of her glass of water, then crossed over to the bar, heels clicking on the floor. Kilgrave was shot a coy little smile, as she slid into the seat next to him, and then the bartender got her attention: "Vodka cranberry, thanks."

Kilgrave glanced over as the dark haired woman sat down and returned her smile with a crooked half grin of his own. He did so like dark-haired women. It made their skin glow somehow. As she ordered, he propped his elbow on the bartop for a drink, subtly gesturing a 'Go ahead' to the bartender with his eyebrows.

No need to keep a lady waiting.

"You can put it on my tab," he directed to the now animated man, looking over at Izzy with a charming, playful smirk. "If the lovely woman doesn't object?"

Always nice to not be kept waiting. She wasn't quite observant enough to realise that the bartender was only doing what she asked because Kilgrave told him to, but she knew that something was up. Something got this guy on their radar, she just didn't know what. Hopefully, she found out. Sooner rather than later, maybe.

But she grinned anyway, acting as innocent as she could as she turned her attention his way. "Not at all. Who minds when attractive guys buy them drinks?"

"Almost no one with any good sense." Smiling, he took a shallow drink and shifted in his seat a little, seeming to face her a bit more but realistically, he only leaned towards her like they were sharing some passing secret.

"Of course there is always one exception, am I right?" He chuckled. "Tell me, what's your name?"

"Exactly," she replied cheerfully. Her drink was set in front of her, and she twisted a little to face him, crossing her legs to reveal a bit more of her pale thigh. His next remark earned a little laugh before the compulsion set in like a bit of a haze; still, it didn't yet register. There was nothing weird about being asked one's name, and it wasn't like she cared enough to create an alias.

"Isabelle," she answered easily, not batting an eye as she took a sip of the drink, maintaining eye contact all the while.

"Isabelle," he repeated with a softly surprised lift of his eyebrows and short nod that gave way to a quick glance down everything that she silently offered.

"It's almost as beautiful as you are," he continued, warm brown eyes coming back to her face. "What brings you out tonight?"

She did love a good compliment, even in the field of duty, and his got a little grin out of her. She was also pretty sure that he was luring her into a sense of security, where she'd feel safe telling him things. Or something like that. It was just a feeling she got, though she'd have to actually ask Jace and Alec if it was even remotely accurate or just her.

But hey, they were all sceptical of this guy, and there had to be a reason.

As of right now, though, Isabelle did feel weirdly comfortable telling him things.

"I'm checking things out. Call it patrol."

Kate pushed her way to the bar. If she seemed in a bit of a hurry, it was because she was. Her right hand was pressed hard enough against her left wrist that her knuckles were turning white. She tried to get the bartenders attention. "Excuse me, could I get a few napkins please?" Kate smiled politely.

She really needed something to catch the blood before she made her way to clean up her hand. There weren't any napkins at her table.

Kate caught his attention immediately and in true gentleman's fashion, Kilgrave spoke up as he pulled a dark purple handkerchief from his pocket.

"Here, let me." Of course, there was no stopping the power of his compulsion so when her hand comes forward, he's pressing the silk across her wrist with a firm, sure hand as he studies her face.

"Well hello you. Aren't you a pretty thing."

"Oh, I cut myself." Vocally, she found herself being able to say something. It was a warning. There was blood. "Thank you. There was an accident..." She was worried. It was going to soak through that handkerchief and she didn't want to be outed this way as a mutant. Strangely enough, she didn't seem to want to stop him.

Her head turned to give the gentleman her undivided attention. Beware of men who call women things. "Thank you." She began cautiously but with a polite smile.

The bartender hadn't moved, outside of his repetitious cleaning of the glass he held.

"Don't be an idiot," Kilgrave snaps at him, "Get me a towel." Silk was never very good for soaking stuff up and he knew it; it was a temporary solution. The bartender snapped into action.

"How did it happen?" The silk was pulled away so he could look at the cut.

Kate glanced at the bartender. What was his problem? Her attention was swiftly brought back around to Kilgrave.

"I dropped a glass and it shattered on the table. I tried to clean it up by catching it as it shattered." That was a specific amount of details to give him but she was mostly worried about what Kilgrave would see when he lifted his silk handkerchief. "I'm sure it looks worse than it actually is."

She could feel the telltale signs that her cut was well on its way to healing. It itched. "You're really being too kind for this small little thing."

"OI! Barkeep! A little service, please?" The young woman at the other end of the bar was understandably frustrated, considering how bloody long she'd been standing there, watching the man just-- stand there, simply entertaining the damned Mauve Madman as she had already dubbed the gentleman who was sitting at the bar in a damned sharp purple suit, that really looked like something one of her colleagues from the Ministry would have worn to "blend into" the Muggle population, if they had never actually seen a Muggle's generally more-- muted sense of colour.

She crinkled her nose up at the "sharply dressed" man, thinking very loudly, as if hoping he was a Legilimens: Stop being so bloody Obvious, please!

"OI! You, Barkeep? Please, could I get some service over here? I'd like a mint cordial, please." She speaks authoritatively, as if she too is accustomed to being obeyed with all her orders, even if she still had to shout herself practically hoarse in order to get the barkeep's attention, and of course, she was just a rookie Auror, and thus: didn't have much chance to order anyone around, save of course, the Dark Wizards she happened to arrest away from her senior partner. "And please, give me that glass that you've been polishing for the past ten minutes; I am satisfied as to the cleanliness of that one, and that one alone. And..." She sighed softly before adding yet another "command" for the bartender: "And please leave the bottle out for me, too, for that matter!"

She had been somewhat reluctant to leave this obvious wizarding official, in the "snazzy suit", with the impression she was a damned dipsomaniac, but at long last she had made her decision: let him think that. She was going home tomorrow, after all. Home to England: sweet, lovely, foggy countryside!

There was no other way then obvious, not when you were accustomed to being obeyed like he was. Regardless of that, not being a Legilimens meant he didn't 'hear' her admonishment. Not that it would have made any difference.

The man couldn't look her way, ("Pay attention," Kilgrave had said as he settled into the bar 20 or so minutes beforehand, and attention he did pay.) but the Englishman did. Who was this loud abrasive woman interrupting his pointless monologuing?

"You're awfully loud, aren't you." It wasn't really a question but his head tilted at the flash of irritation at being interrupted turned into quiet curiosity. He had time to kill, why not kill it finding out about this lovely creature?

With a glance at the barkeep and a nod of his head, Kilgrave relents. "Do as she says." Warm brown eyes swept back to her. "What's the occasion? Or the hurry.."

That pretty face he was admiring, pulled up into a grimace as she hears the distinctly British accent coming from this man's mouth; what the ruddy Hell was this then? Was someone else from the Ministry tailing her? And worse, was this some sort of test her abilities as to when she could tell she was being tracked-- one she had apparently failed?

Or... was he possibly a Death Eater?

Yes, yes, he definitely could be, in fact; she was certain that no Death Eater had actually taken any course in Muggle Studies, that did NOT involve studying their innards, and so it would certainly make sense that this gentleman in the very Loud Suit, was a Death Eater on the run, trying to blend into the local scenery. At least, until he'd had the bad fortune to run into a British Auror in this bar. She fingered her wand inside her pocket, not drawing it quite yet, of course; not until she was alone with this man, or else had reason to fear for the safety of the Muggles in this place...

She smiled thinly at him, as she addressed his question: "Sorry, but: I don't think there's any hurry about me, considering I've asked him to leave me the ruddy bottle-- do you?" She smirks now, a little more comfortable on her face than that mere smile. ""As to what occasion is prompting this round of drinking: well. Getting to go home, after a good month in this ruddy city, tracking down a bloody murderer for-- for Interpol..." She stumbled a bit over the name of the organisation she was ostensibly working for, over on this side of the pond. (MI-5 was the usual answer, when she was operating amidst Muggles inside her own country, of course!)

If he were privy to any of the internal debates, it would tickle him pink. Except the bit about his suit; it wasn't loud, it was sleek and elegant, thank you very much. The best money could buy. He couldn't help it if the bar for standards of dress were lower in America.

The other patrons of the place were already in danger, though it wasn't really direct and ignorance is the best kind of bliss. He never cared enough to even consider the thought of protecting people.

"You asked for it like you might die of thirst or impatience. You haven't even gotten the first glass." His head tiled a little as the bartender slid her the glass and poured her first round, leaving the bottle as directed before getting the fuck out of dodge before Kilgrave could command something else of him.

The lie was caught - people didn't stutter when they answered him unless it was by habit and his lips pulled into a little smirk of his own.

"England is a sight for sore eyes after being over here too long. Interpol.. Very interesting... Who do you work for?"

Yes, yes, she'd just said Interpol but he didn't like lies. He expected the truth and would ask more directly for it.

"OI! I resemble that remark!" she giggled, as she smiled thankfully at the barkeep, and then, of course, made herself stop talking for a brief moment to take a good, solid gulp of the mint cordial, before turning that grin upon her "new friend". "No, but seriously though: I was standing there for a good five minutes-- or possibly longer; I mean, it's not as if I had my watch out, y' know...?" Which should have indicated to the man across from her that she did NOT have a wristwatch, but something a little more old-fashioned, like, say, a pocket-watch. "Just-- waiting for the barkeep to bloody well notice me!

"You can understand my frustration, that he seemed ruddy well hypnotised by your bloody suit!" She giggled again, until, that was, she heard the question she was being asked. Then, of course, she let out a huff of exasperated air, and took another hearty gulp from her glass before answering, averting her eyes to pour another glass for herself.

"I told you: Interpol. I come from MI-5, really but-- I am also an Interpol agent!" She forced the corners of her mouth into a small, challenging smile up at him,as if daring him to know better than she did herself, about her own damned job. She continued to keep the "windows to her soul" shielded from his view, by tilting her head up to meet his gaze, with her eyelids shuttering her eyes.

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Canon is Jessica Jones; Setting - A high end hotel bar

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