underachievement | IC INBOX + OPEN POST / memes, psl, etc.

The knuckles aren't what she first notices. It's the tensed muscles at the back of his neck that tip her off and the knuckles that confirm it. She envies him, how genuinely easy he can be with a dozen concerns on his mind. For a moment, she lifts her hand from Rocky's head, and as he slumbers along unbothered, she runs it down Frank's forearm. Her touch starts to vanish at his wrist, fingertips pulling away from his tattered knuckles.

"You got any CD's in here?" she asks. She could pop open the dash or flip down the sun visor or take a look in the back seat, if she wanted to waste effort and postpone the answer. Sober Jess don't have the time.

Jessica's cool touch pulls a pleasant shiver up his spine and he has to refocus on the road before he can even process what she's asking him. Somehow, he didn't expect her to request music, but then he remembers he has something she might like.

"Here, uh..." He pops open the glove compartment which definitely has a fully loaded 1911 in it, also a knife. He ignores both in favor of the Garbage CD he'd bought based on a conversation of theirs, and somehow juggles it with the Springsteen CD already in the player, though not before the first notes of 'Made in America' spill out of the speakers. Frank entrusts her to put the CD in the case and put it somewhere or other while he snaps the glovebox closed and waits for 'angry girl stuff' to queue up.

"Holy shit," she utters under her breath, and not at the gun. She might loathe them but she recognizes that Frank's peace of mind can never be disentangled from access to an arsenal.

The case is scratched from a decade of drifting through thrift stores. Both the cover and the label on the disk are chiseled into her early memory. It's Intro to Angry Girl Stuff, an album she'd pick up for Kamala. It wouldn't have occurred to her to revisit it for herself. The track listing escapes her, then the first song starts to play and she can instantly recall that "I Think I'm Paranoid" will follow. Shirley Manson's voice possesses the same dream-like quality as it ever did, gossamer words floating above grungy guitar strings.

Her eyes close with the lightest sigh. "Now I'm definitely going to fall asleep." Within the first several tracks, she does, piling her scarf between her head and the window for a pillow. Her hand is returned to Rocky right before she fades out.

For a while after returning to the real world, Frank wasn't sure he'd ever shoot a gun again. Without the villages, he doesn't think he could have worked past the things he saw in Reims, and the things he didn't hear. In fact, that he never thought he would hear again. He tries to push all of that aside when he realizes her exclamation is a reaction to the CD and not the firearm. For once, he did exactly the right thing, and he couldn't be happier about it. He's sure it would annoy her if she weren't out like a light already. Frank turns down the volume just a little bit and sets the CD to loop so that with any luck she could hit some REM before they get to the cabin.

Of course, that makes the rest of the ride a bit boring for him, but it's nothing he isn't used to. He tries not to allow thoughts and questions of the future bog him down, not when they're finally doing something just for themselves. Stolen moments for years on end, however enjoyable they were at the time (which varied dependent on how much danger they were practically in, usually) weren't sustainable. He's not even sure how they made it this far, or at least him. Their on again-off again thing often felt like it was going to defeat him, honestly, where every foe of his had failed.

Rocky lets out a loud, sleepy sigh which thankfully breaks off his mental dalliance. The road looks the same the whole way up so it's hard to focus on much else than inner turmoil. He whispers a stern Shhhh to the lazy mutt and watches Jess like a hawk for any sign of stirring from the corner of his eye. When she does wake, they'll be winding up the mountain on a seemingly endless trek to the little place he definitely didn't gain access to through any shady dealings. It's only once he sees the entrance to the abandoned resort that he starts to get a little excited, glancing over again to see if she's up.

Her sleep is black and formless, flirting with deep restoration. The rumble of the van and the soreness in her neck wake her up every so often, then she sinks immediately back under. It's impossible to know how much time has passed when she can swear that songs are being replayed. She seriously doubts that Frank likes this music. He must be sustaining it for the sake of her lullaby.

Letting her rest also lets her get away from old, old memories that haven't merited mentioning. Jess hasn't gone on a long car trip since the accident in her childhood. It's not an issue, she convinced herself, but if it isn't, why hasn't she ever taken a road trip? There were offers in her twenties. She could always devise an excuse and the excuse was always true. And the heart of the matter was deftly avoided.

Asleep, she doesn't have to worry about remembering a single second of it. It might be an inane, short flash of detail, like the reaching of her mom's hands or the anger in her dad's voice, but it wouldn't be harmless.

Half-asleep is doing the job too. Blearily, she sneaks a peek or two once they're on the open road. When the trees beside them thicken into legitimate forest, she figures they must be closer to their destination than they are far. Whether or not he's obeying the limit, the vehicle is flying. Jess indulgently continues to rest until the tires grind onto dirt. She's grown sick of half the album, announcing she's awake by jamming the volume knob down with her palm to turn off the CD player.

"This us?" she asks, squinting down at Rocky instead of ahead through the windshield. He's silent, breathing shallowly, awake and in denial.

He's studying the scene in front of them before turning down a dirt road and slowing way down. When she stops the music, it actually startles him some, and he turns again to make sure everything's alright, realizing enduring the quiet for so long plus all the caffeine has in fact made him just as jumpy as he usually is. "I think it's fifteen minutes more," he confirms gruffly. That's what he'd been told, in any case. They'd passed some simple supply shops a few minutes earlier, and a more booming resort, but only a few miles away this seems every bit as secluded as it had been billed. "Feel better?"

"Jury's still out." She feels marginally more human and incrementally more rested but she won't be fully ready to face the day without a little liquor in her. She can wait another twenty minutes to get her hands on a glass. She could dig into her bag and dive directly into a bottle, if it was that kind of morning.

It's not. Too many unknowns, too few dreams.

She's glad they're moving away from the large, commercial vacation building she caught sight of in the passenger side mirror. Reminds her of the Inn. Two years ago, she would have wondered about the people inside -- families, mistresses, teenagers with summer jobs. Now she assumes that whoever is in there, whatever their story, she couldn't care less about them. Guaranteed to be mutual.

It's far from her most pressing question, but those will answer themselves shortly. "Is there a lake around here?" Neutrally posed. He's got good cause to be soured on them but Jess still finds some escape in staring at the water.

Frank nods in understanding, as ever just grateful she speaks to him. He could go for a drink himself once they get settled in, there's a lot of unpacking to do before that though. For him anyway. The sudden question does cause a tiny jolt through his middle, but he covers it over smoothly enough. He doesn't hate the water the same as he doesn't hate the park, but to say it doesn't bring things back for him would be an unnecessary lie.

"Yeah. Thought we could fish some if the weather's alright." Maybe even swim, even if it is late in the season. Anything to shut their collective brains off - that's really what they need. There's a lot more nothing stretching on before them and as opposed to the highway, Frank finds it peaceful enough. Trees, gravel, even the occasional bunny off the path. It all paints a pretty quaint picture though he keeps expecting something horrible around the next bend. It doesn't come so he keeps on driving.

Just then is the little sign for Sleepy Hollow Lake and it has his lips twitching up some. As they round the next ridge and up their altitude even more the lake appears, vast enough that the edge of it isn't visible from this side of the cabin. The tiny red house is nestled on the bank of the water, still some ways up the trail but facing the road in either direction so it'd be impossible to sneak up on. Impossible to find without knowing what you're looking for, too, which might be more to the point.

Rocky perks up like he knows they're here too, sitting up some and arching his neck in a stretch before standing on the seat to get a look through the windshield. Frank scratches his head and drives on past the house to the parking area just beyond, slamming the van in park which gives a lurch punctuated by a pitchy squeal.

He gives her a look before opening the door to let Rocky bolt out into the yard and do his business. Frank slams it behind the dog and walks around the back to start pulling stuff out to minimize the amount of trips he'll make in and out. He puts the key to the cabin between his teeth and slings a case of water over one shoulder and a duffel bag full of clothes over the other. Moment of truth, right?

He'll wait for Jessica to be standing next to him before dropping his bag and spitting the key into his hand so he can open the door for her. He toes the door open and picks his bag back up as he walks in to drop the first load on the kitchen floor and look around. There's a big elk head over the fireplace in the center of the room, and a little deck out the back with a grill. It's cozy, for sure, but he thinks it'll do for their purposes just fine. The kitchen is well stocked with dishes and a big gas range so Frank can cook as much as he wants.

"Well? What do you think?"

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.

Edited 2019-09-07 04:02 (UTC)

Her words echo his thoughts and he holds his breath a minute before going to check the bedroom and the bathroom for any lurking monsters. Right about then, Rocky comes zooming in with a big stupid smile on his face and goes to claim the couch for his own.

"Pour me one?" he asks as he walks back into the kitchen next to her, palming the side of her face so he can kiss the highest point of her cheek. "And some water for Rock." He gives a glance to the food she brought in for him, but decides he'll tend to it himself before heading back out to get the rest of the supplies.

He kisses her cheek, a sweetly coded "clear."

"Yeah, sure," she says in response to both his requests. Jess diverts her search from the cupboards above the counter to the ones below, soon hitting upon a set of metal mixing bowls. She pulls them out to select a medium-sized one, puts them back and starts the sink running. The view through the window above it is odd and calming. Nothing but trees and the paths cut through them. Nowhere for a watcher to hide.

Once the bowl is full, she shuts off the faucet and moves Rocky's water to the floor. Since they haven't joined him on the couch, he hopped down from it and came to find them. His tail beats against her shins and his snout disappears into the water as soon as it's on the floor. And she thought she was an inelegant drinker.

In short order, she has two stranger glasses filled with her whiskey. Frank's glass is placed on the counter while she drinks from hers and idly checks the contents of one of the boxes. Dog food. She isn't sure where to put that. She drains her glass to half full in two gulps, leaving it with Frank's to help with the last of what's in the van.

"You stay here," she tells Rocky, who disobediently tails after her.

"I forgot ice," he says aloud, probably to himself since he doesn't even notice her until she's right beside him again. He can head out and get it later, not like it really matters. It doesn't seem to dampen his spirits any, and with Jess helping they manage to bring everything in and shut up the van in just one trip. Once inside, he starts finding places for all they brought. Meat and various foods go into the chest freezer and after a moment, he grabs the whiskey bottle and lays it in there too. Then he's loading the rickety, ancient fridge with water and beer. Instant coffee hits the counter and then he's finding a place to tuck the bag of dog food, he'd brought a big one even though Rocky will probably eat with them most of the time if he's honest with himself.

He grabs both their bags of clothes and throws them into the little bedroom, stopping there for a second to open up the window. It really is the perfect night. And just by being here, he already feels some anxiety start to melt away. Frank goes back to the kitchen to retrieve his drink and scratch Rocky behind the ears, ignoring him begging at his kibble bag.

"Hey, uh. I'm gonna see if I can get the grill fired up. You wanna drag some chairs out there?" There's no deck furniture and everything in here looks like it's straight out of the 70s. He figures she can lift it with her pinky so what's the point in him fighting with it?

She holds back on pointing out that they can make ice. Even she can do it, that's how easy it is. His brain must be giddy from their safe arrival. Inside, she kneels on the floor with Rocky, out of Frank's way but within view. There's nothing peculiar he pulls out and no particularly odd spot where he chooses to store something, so Jess gives up on memorizing where things are. When she goes looking for them, they'll be right where she'd first assume.

With the exception of the whiskey bottle. Freezer, freezer, freezer, don't forget, Jones. She decides the rest of her liquor is good where it is, snuggled between her clothes.

While Frank clears the kitchen of their duffels, Jess stands and returns to her drink. Rocky remains seated for a moment, adopting a little of Frank's cautious ease. He gets up and pads over to her seconds before Frank rejoins them, and then Rocky starts to pant eagerly again, his attention torn.

"What about Rocky's couch?" she asks facetiously, setting her glass down. As she passes Frank, she runs her hand across the back of his shoulders. Jess can manage one chair in each hand, grabbing them by lower rails. It's cumbersome and forces her to walk sideways not to knock into anything. She doesn't need any help opening the door but if he gets to it before her, she's not in a position to refuse it without looking even more ridiculous.

"Yeah, why not?" he gives a little chuckle as he opens the slider for her, rolling his eyes as Rocky dashes out in front of her, terrified of being left behind in the house. Frank takes a long drink and follows the pair out, closing his eyes for a moment just to appreciate the end-of-Summer breeze that washes across his face a moment. He immediately sets to work getting the ancient grill up and running, retrieving a small propane tank from beneath the deck and goes through the process of getting it fired up. As with anything tedious, Frank finds comfort in the steps, finding himself unable to think of anything else while he does it, even while old memories try to break through. They're so hazy they're easy to push aside, and by the time he can smell burning charcoal Rocky is jumping in and out of the shallows of the lake, barking at it like it wronged him somehow. Frank turns to see what Jessica is up to and finds her predictably in one of the chairs she brought out.

"Hungry?"

Hell, he's right. Why not? The weather's clear enough. In the event that she gets too drunk to haul it back in, he can do it. The hardwood floors are hardly in pristine condition. A couple more nicks and scratches won't lose him the security deposit.

Jess carries the couch out, losing a cushion while wedging herself through the door. As soon as she makes for it to pick it up, Rocky dashes for it to snatch it up first. She scoops it right before his teeth chomp down on the air where it had just been. Once she reinserts it into the couch, Rocky jumps up, hopping from pillow to pillow, then jumps back down and bounds for the water. He barks up a chorus when his paws hit the lake, which doesn't distract Frank. She won't worry about Rocky, in that case, but she will angle her chair to give her a view of both him and the grillmaster.

She disappears inside to find and use the bathroom. Returning outside, she grabs their drinks. She contemplates grabbing the whiskey bottle to refill them but it can wait until it's time to get the plates and silverware. On the deck, she sets his glass on the seat of the unoccupied chair and occupies her own chair with drink in hand.

"I could eat." She's learning, too, though she'll have to watch him cook on the grill more than once to pick up what details she missed. Her attention is split, and if it weren't, she wouldn't be overt about it, lest he consciously teach her something. "Tell me what we're having and I can take some of the prep work off your hands."

Edited (blorbo) 2019-09-09 03:06 (UTC)

He spies his drink and scoops it up for a long sip like it's ice cold lemonade after a hard day's work instead of unpleasantly warm whiskey after a few moment's tinkering.

"You don't have to," he points out after swallowing, but she knows that he enjoys the work. And he's not opposed to her speeding him along so he waves her on as he makes his way back inside the house after another cautionary glance towards their stupid mutt. He's still playing along the water's edge and doesn't seem to be disturbing anything so Frank lets him be as he starts to dig his grocery bags out of the deep freeze, laying fingers against the glass of the liquor bottle to see if it's cooled any. "Was gonna make kebabs."

He remembers to tell her as the ingredients would have anyway, peppers and beef and skewer sticks hitting the counter all at once. Locating a few cutting boards, he lays them down side by side and holds up two knives for her consideration, intending for her to take one. Since he doesn't think she knows which is which anyway, when she makes her choice of the vegetable chopper he shoves the peppers over to her station.

"Ever chopped onions?"

Another night, she'll let him take care of everything, start to finish. She's too restless to sit back and watch it all come together. She can make it up to him by leaving him with dish duty while she gets a fire going.

Inside, she rinses her hands in the sink and dries them with a towel. She grabs the knife in his left hand, the handle settling into the palm of her right. There must be a distinction between them but pfft, not with super strength. And she'd rather chop into vegetables anyway.

"Once upon a time." In her twenties, she learned a couple of easy dishes to make with the TV on in the background. One way or another, Trish was paying for the food, but it felt more self-sufficient to put together a meal herself than buy take-out every night. Though that meal was usually pasta. She could've nailed kebabs, if she ever thought to try them. At least the skewering part.

Jess chops the top off the onion and cuts it in half, laying both halves flat on the cutting board. She starts to peel the papery skin from the nearest half and putting it aside in a little pile.

Edited (i was doing Last Looks and got cut off by sammy) 2019-09-10 02:09 (UTC)

That inspires a thoughtful little noise, though it never leaves his throat. This moment could remind him of a great many things if he allowed it to, but right now he's focused on remaining in the present with her, something that gets easier with practice. As he goes to the sink to wash his hands, Rocky is charging back inside as if just now realizing they ditched him.

"Dummy," he says affectionately before slotting himself in beside Jessica and starting to cube the meat. Unsurprisingly, this is the job he prefers as well. It doesn't take long for the onion to start getting to him either, rubbing at his watering eyes every few seconds with a clean wrist.

"Hey, Rock," she mumbles over her shoulder, then gets to cutting. The dog continues to bump his snout against her calves, and Frank's too, when he steps in beside her.

Once her eyes are stinging, she glances at Frank to find his are glassy. Jess suppresses a smile and switches to slicing lengthwise, dicing the onion into squares roughly the size of the meat they'll be slotted between. After a long, hard blink, a tear rolls down her far cheek, to be wiped off on her shoulder. "I forgot I wasn't immune to onions."

Edited 2019-09-10 03:31 (UTC)

He glances over, giving a watery laugh at their predicament.

"You can't have everything, Supergirl." Another hot tear runs down his face, but goes ignored as he reaches out to drain his glass and keep cutting. Once he's done, Rocky gets the scraps for not being an asshole and Frank sprinkles salt and pepper over the rest. "Wanna bring everything out for assembly?"

The weather is so nice, every moment they're inside he feels like he's missing out.

There's a nostalgic quality to the sensation that almost makes Jess like the sting. Up through the end of the first onion. Then her tears are forming as quickly as she can wipe them away.

"Yeah, right behind you." Both onions sliced, Jess goes to the sink. She runs cool water into her hands and splashes her face, eyes open. She does it two more times and twists the faucet shut. She flicks water from her fingertips and pats her hands on her jeans, then dabs her wet cheeks with the collar of her shirt. Without further delay, she scoops up the onions and heads out.

Jess summons the driest gusto imaginable to kick them off with, "Okay. Let's stab some meat."

A dangerous gleam flashes in his gaze, grabbing the meat, peppers and skewers. They can come back for the whiskey later, or Jess can, he reasons. She would anyway even if he had nothing to do with it. He follows her out with Rocky hot on his heels and sits on the couch to form an assembly line between them. Though it's surely self-explanatory, he telegraphs the moves of putting the meat on the stick with peppers then onions then another cube of meat then more peppers and onions and placing the fist completed one on the edge of the cutting board on his lap. The dog sits back on his haunches to watch them, already drooling onto the deck and looking back and forth between them waiting for one false move.

"...I like doing stuff like this with you." Normal stuff, is maybe what he means. It sort of slips out, he doesn't want to put her on the spot day one, it's just been a long road for them to get here, and sometimes he can't help ruining a good thing when he has it.

Jess soaks in his candor, focused on the task in front of her. There are more skewers than they need but she wouldn't mind grilling up extra kebabs for leftovers, for her to eat cold in the middle of the night. Obviously, she'll think back on right now. It's unavoidable. So far, it makes for a kind memory, but that could change.

"I think I can only tell if I liked doing something once it's over," she muses aloud, putting aside a stuffed stick and picking up a fresh one. She supposes postponing her happiness is a defense mechanism or a form of self-punishment. Pulling double duty, most likely. Jess has no idea where to start undoing that and no hope of succeeding if she did. "But this isn't bad."

Rocky seizes his opportunity when she looks over at Frank, snout peeking over her cutting board. Her soft smirk vanishes as she snaps down, "Hey! No!"

It's such a Jessica rebuttal that all he can do is laugh, a soft, almost defeated sound.

"I'll take it," he admits, like she doesn't already know he'd gladly accept her scraps any day. Speaking of... he glares at Rocky and the dog backs up a few steps, pressing his ears back against his head and whining pathetically. Mean parents!!! Frank gets up once they're done, gathering up all their finished sticks to toss on the grill. The sizzle threatens to pull him back in time again, so he glances over his shoulder and attempts to hold her gaze a moment. "When you go back inside, can you grab me a beer?"

She regrets scolding Rocky once her hands are idle and coated in juices, without a towel in sight. Somehow she managed to forget that cooking is messy. Surely that's among the reasons she gave it up. What a waste it's been, bothering with the complicated excuses, when the amount of cleanup could ward anyone off. Actually, she remarks as Frank sets about grilling, he prepared a dish that makes very little refuse and requires very little tidying up after. She can do it while she's washing her hands and rinsing her cutting board.

Frank catches her as she's standing, board held in both hands. His request is so mundane, it echoes surreally against the aggressively domestic scene they've created. What sucks most is that neither of them can make light of it. Instead of a snide "yes, dear," Jess nods and heads in.

Like she thought, it takes a mere couple of minutes to wash her hands and clean up in the kitchen. Scraps are sorted into the trash or a metal bowl, to be taken out for composting. She wipes the counter down and hangs the kitchen towel over the faucet to drip onto the knives and cutting board to be washed after dinner. Jess grabs her whiskey bottle from the freezer, as well as Frank's beer. She's reading the label as she crosses the threshold onto the deck.

Stepping into the billowing heat of the grill, she hands the bottle off to him. "So is this your brand or was there a deal on?"

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rude perfect sammy

his patronus is interrupting starfish

Re: his patronus is interrupting starfish

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