voicetest | Canon is Jessica Jones; Setting

"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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"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.

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

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