<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/0euJdLC.jpg)</div><hr/><strong>Name:</strong>Jessica Jones<br/><strong>Time/Date:</strong>Evening<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Streets of NYC -> Jessica's apartment / Alias Investigations' office, 485 W 46th Street<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>Black leather jacket, black tank top, dark skinny jeans, flat heel black boots<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Misty Knight, Open<strong>Mentioned:</strong>Luke Cage<br/><strong>Warning:</strong>N/A<br/><hr/><br/><em>Un-fucking-believable.</em>When she'd taken the case from her latest client, some guy in his forties who suspected that his wife was having an affair under the pretense of going to a 'book club', Jessica had just been expecting the usual: finding the wife banging the best friend, a coworker or something like that. Instead, she got a whole lot more than she bargained for, not that it was necessarily a bad thing. Well, not for her at least, since she was being paid by the hour. Perched comfortably atop the fire escape staircase on the either floor of an adjacent building, sipping away from her flask, Jessica had front row seats to what was going on in the hotel room across the street through the powerful lens of her camera.<br/><br/>Tonight's show starred not only the naughty wife and her suitor...but a whole host of them! Having already gone through a couple rolls of film, Jess continued snapping more steamy photos for as long as the procession of men kept coming through the hotel room. Taking a short break while the latest John put his clothes back on, Jess pulled her phone out of her jeans' pocket and tapped the screen on so she could check the time, her eyebrows raising a little.<em>Damn, almost one every half hour. Can't accuse her of not being industrious.</em><br/><br/>That explained the expensive watch that the woman's husband had been wearing when he came into Jessica's office. She'd noted it as being slightly suspicious from the start, considering that the married couple were supposedly both school teachers, not exactly the highest paying profession in the world. How the hell hadn't the husband figured out that something was off sooner? Didn't he wonder where that extra income was coming from? In Jessica's mind, that just reaffirmed how stupid people could get when they were in love, not that she really needed any more reminders, her job providing them almost on a daily basis.<br/><br/><em>Oh yeah, don't forget your own shining example of brilliance when you decided not to tell Luke about...</em>No, no! That wasn't love. She didn't do love. It was...something. Something else. Now maybe it was nothing. Probably. Unscrewing the cap of her flask hurriedly, Jessica took a big swig of whiskey to chase those pesky feelings and shit away, then a second one, only to be disappointed and frustrated as she discovered that she'd already drank it all. Suddenly, she wasn't enjoying this easy money job nearly as much as before, and was that -another- guy walking into the hotel room?<br/><br/>Nope, it was another woman, actually, wearing designer labels from head to toe. She was the wife's pimp, as it turned out. Or was it madame?<em>Whatever</em>. The good news was that Jess could finally wrap it up for the night and get the hell out of there. It wasn't until she tried getting up that she realized just how sore her ass had gotten from sitting on that metal grating for over four hours. Occupational hazard, she supposed. Groaning, she descended back down to the street and hailed a cab to take her to the photo developing place that she always used. Jess kept the wheels greased so that they always prioritized her stuff and she didn't need to wait long. Still, there was a bit of time to kill, so she walked around until she found a stand where she could buy a couple of hot dogs, scarfing them down in the most unladylike fashion which would probably have Trish frowning disapprovingly if she'd been there to witness it. In any case, they were pretty delicious, and by the time Jess got back to the photo lab, her staggering amount of evidence was ready. Yeah, Mr. Schoolteacher was not going to be a happy camper.<br/><br/>Walking the rest of the way home, she was pleasantly surprised to find her door and the window with her agency's name on it still intact. There was no reason for someone to be busting down her door at the moment, not that Jess knew of anyways, but she'd gotten so used to having it destroyed recently that seeing it in one piece still felt a little unusual. Stepping inside, she took her jacket off and tossed it over the couch before crashing lazily into her chair, leaning back and throwing her feet up on the desk. Malcolm had gotten the apartment repaired after the pleasant visit that she'd received from Trish's former boyfriend - apparently clients didn't respond all that well to bullet holes in the walls - so the place probably looked better than ever. Still a mess, Jessica did live there after all, but perhaps not quite as bad as before.<br/><br/>Stretching her arm out while balancing precariously on her tilted chair, Jessica pulled open one of the lower drawers. So far, she'd only found one good use for all the extra money that she was getting thanks to the influx of cases, and that was buying more booze. Gone were the days of not being sure whether or not she'd be able to get fully hammered. Massive quality of life improvement right there. The open drawer was stocked with half a dozen bottles, and that wasn't even her main stash. Plus she'd upgraded to Jack Daniel's from whatever the hell she'd been drinking before.<em>Luxurious as fuck</em>.<br/><br/>Filling her coffee mug up halfway, Jessica closed her eyes and took a long, oh-so-satisfying sip, almost like a junkie finally getting the fix she'd been fiending for. Another perfect and absolutely-not-depressing-at-all night of drinking alone, what more could a girl ask for?