jessica jones (aliasjones) wrote in pastprologueic, @ 2014-09-24 07:42:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !type: log, character: jessica jones |
WHO: Jessica Jones
WHEN: Late night, right now, of course.
WHERE: Your average New York City back street, full of shadows and sketchy personages.
WHAT: Jessica tries to get her man.
Previously an untagged open scene, now turned into a narrative :)
____
Unfortunately, tomorrow was trash day. It really added something to the ambiance of chasing down a fleeing suspect, such as piles of haphazardly stacked heaps of rubbish to be navigated around and not to be tripped over. To say nothing of the smell.
"Why, why, why do they always run?" Jessica muttered under her very much intact breath. While running. She could do that. Perks of freak alien encounters and all. "Just wanted to talk. Just a nice conversation. Like why you were always spotted at the scene of the kidnappings. That's all. Friendly like."
She dodged a quickly thrown projectile -- carton of half-eaten lo mein, she grimaced as some of the noodles caught onto the sleeve of her jacket -- and doubled down on the chase, footsteps falling into rhythm behind her target's. Endurance, yeah she had that, but her miserable human speed was still very much at miserable human levels, and she had never been a track star.
But, but maybe she could cheat, just a little. She wasn't very good at this for reasons, but if she thought about it, if she concentrated and applied a bit of effort, maybe she could direct a little bit of that freaky alien mojo to her heels for some extra push and--
"Ack!"
Jessica went flying. Kinda. Sorta. It was a definite forward momentum and her feet were definitely no longer adequately touching the ground. Unfortunately that was about as much finesse as she could ascribe to the situation, for the rest of it was totally out of her control as she was hurled across the 25 foot gap between her and her target, swiftly colliding with the large man. Both went down like a pile of bricks into a disgustingly dirty puddle of water.
There was a scramble. He used his superior size and not inconsiderable strength to wrestle her down, throwing a big, meaty first into her face before she could gather her wits about her. The impact sent her reeling, even as he wrapped his large hands around her throat and squeezed.
Jessica began to panic, instinctively clawing at his hands to try to pry them loose. Whatever defensive moves she'd managed to learn flew out the window of her mind. She wasn't a fighter. She had never been very good at this. She was going to die in this filthy puddle. He was going to kill her. He was going to kill her. He was going to kill her. Help! Help me, someone!
With a last desperate burst of oxygen-starved adrenaline, she grabbed onto both of his thumbs and twisted them back with as much force as she could put behind it.
Which was a lot.
The man cried out sharply, his hands immediately falling away -- oxygen, thank god! -- enough so that she could whip up her foot, plant it on his torso and kick out.
This time, he went flying. Into a dumpster, to be exact. There was a large human-sized impression left in his wake.
"Fucker," she croaked, rubbing at her throat and trying to stagger to her feet. Her hair was dripping with unfathomable liquids. Her leather jacket had been shredded open in the fight. She had really liked that jacket too.
Across from her, the man (Jenkins, Ian) was stirring once more. He seemed to be recovering a lot better than she was. Oh, fuck.
She managed to duck his first clumsy fists, but couldn't remember where she was supposed to strike first when he circled his arms around her neck and drew her into another chocking headlock.
Oxygen was a precious resource she couldn't afford to cede more ground to. She tried to strike out, but she was weakened and her strikes seemed to make little difference as his massive arm became a tighter noose.
Desperation -- she swore she would not do this again. Didn't even know if it would work, but she threw all her weight into her heels, tried to push off the ground again--
"Auuugh, what are you doing, you bitch? Put me down!"
"Ask and ye shall receive."
They soared up off the ground. Jenkins was screaming, his grip on her turning into a frightened handhold. The leap was an arc, straight into the side of the building as hard as she could with enough force to rattle her bones, even cushioned by his massive body around her. You're good for something finally.
She felt the air forced from his lungs (could well sympathize, but in this case, most certainly did not) and then they both fell the three stories that had separated them from the asphalt below.
"Ow," was all she could think to say as she gingerly rolled herself to her knees and straddled the much worse off man in a move that was more like watching a four-year-old try to climb up on a horse than anything remotely approaching elegance. Right. She'd work on that.
"Ian Jenkins, I gotta a few questions."
Which she'd ask once she got her breath back.
What? He wasn't going anywhere any time soon.