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

[mindmagician]

"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.

Comments

[birch_street]

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."

[nolessthanseven]

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."

[katerrifically]

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.

[aphotic_auror]

"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!