@profanemouth ; starter call !!
❛ in the flesh. ❜ fingertips ease the plastic edge of his name badge across the table, chin dipped downwards, one brow caught halfway between surprise and something like hope. shit was probably confidential, but what hill doesn’t know can’t hurt her ( banner imagines there isn’t MUCH, anyway ), and it’s the best PROOF he’s got aside from the other option.
and he’s guessing she doesn’t want him to chug this pint of guiness and get a little angry and go through the whole clothes-busting song and dance that goes along with his mean green alter ego.
❛ jessica jones. i’ve heard a rumor or two. ❜ has he, though? whether or not that’s true doesn’t REALLY matter. a man like him, past and present slathered over the lens of the public eye-- he takes all of the secrets he can get. a fingerpad tap on the plastic, it’s reflecting the neon ( heineken, disgusting ) in the room, giving his id photo an appropriately green sheen. the clip of his fingernail catches the edge of the badge and he retracts it, palmed and put away in another breath.
❛ glad you could make it. what are you drinking? ❜