Fishing? Sounds horrible. Sitting with him in the boat, or observing him from the lake's edge, the might be able to make a tolerable time of that. The short row of stores they drove past reassure her that they won't be living off the land if their supplies run dry. While her mind went wandering the existential cosmos, her body stayed in the exact same time and place, and abruptly switching to a paleo diet would wreak havoc on her system. As would Frank's basement wine. (Thankfully, it's impossible for there not to be a winery in the Catskills.)
The name is ominous as shit. She'll find out from Frank in the next few days, who she can hold accountable if that "sleepy" promise gets broken. Nobody in their lives can follow them here except through that loose end. If they know who Frank really is, they won't betray him by choice. But they could be compelled to.
The cabin that finally pulls into view is brighter than she's expecting, bearing zero resemblance to the dull colored houses they lived in. It's a few merciful shades off from the red sand of Reims, too. Stubbornly, she holds onto her reservations until she can get a look inside, ensure no one is waiting for them. With plenty to say and no energy to say it, she nods to Frank and Rocky before they get out, then clambers out her side. Her knees crack and her muscles yawn as she stretches, reaching her hands high above her head and dropping them listlessly to her sides.
After slinging her bag over her shoulder, she makes her way around the van to assist with unpacking. Jess grabs the heaviest two totes nearest her and follows Frank to the door, three steps behind. She bites her lip and releases it right before catching up with him. As much as she'd like to go first, she smothers the instinct and gives him the lead. She can be fully on guard while they scout, and he can be ignorant of it on point. Given the quaintness of the house, the entire floor is swept within moments of walking through the door. At last, her paranoia relents.
If Kilgrave were here, he'd leave an overblown hint they couldn't miss. A roaring fire, a ready meal, roses guiding them to a horrific crime scene. He can't resist his gruesome theatrics.
"Seems safe enough," she answers honestly, her mind clearing but not quickly enough. Jess smiles gently at him, then goes to drop off her crates containing god knows what next to where he set his. What happy coincidence, it's the kitchen. Her bag is hefted onto empty counter space, then Jess goes to familiarize herself with the cupboards in search of a glass.
no subject
The name is ominous as shit. She'll find out from Frank in the next few days, who she can hold accountable if that "sleepy" promise gets broken. Nobody in their lives can follow them here except through that loose end. If they know who Frank really is, they won't betray him by choice. But they could be compelled to.
The cabin that finally pulls into view is brighter than she's expecting, bearing zero resemblance to the dull colored houses they lived in. It's a few merciful shades off from the red sand of Reims, too. Stubbornly, she holds onto her reservations until she can get a look inside, ensure no one is waiting for them. With plenty to say and no energy to say it, she nods to Frank and Rocky before they get out, then clambers out her side. Her knees crack and her muscles yawn as she stretches, reaching her hands high above her head and dropping them listlessly to her sides.
After slinging her bag over her shoulder, she makes her way around the van to assist with unpacking. Jess grabs the heaviest two totes nearest her and follows Frank to the door, three steps behind. She bites her lip and releases it right before catching up with him. As much as she'd like to go first, she smothers the instinct and gives him the lead. She can be fully on guard while they scout, and he can be ignorant of it on point. Given the quaintness of the house, the entire floor is swept within moments of walking through the door. At last, her paranoia relents.
If Kilgrave were here, he'd leave an overblown hint they couldn't miss. A roaring fire, a ready meal, roses guiding them to a horrific crime scene. He can't resist his gruesome theatrics.
"Seems safe enough," she answers honestly, her mind clearing but not quickly enough. Jess smiles gently at him, then goes to drop off her crates containing god knows what next to where he set his. What happy coincidence, it's the kitchen. Her bag is hefted onto empty counter space, then Jess goes to familiarize herself with the cupboards in search of a glass.