Inej was eternally grateful for what Kaz Brekker had done for her. If it weren’t for him, saints knew where she’d be. Probably still at the Menagerie hating every single moment. He’d given her a purpose. A roof over her head. He’d given her a job that didn’t involve selling her body for money. However, there were times when she had to curse his name for the things that he managed to get her involved in. Inej never questioned his genius or his madness. She wanted to sometimes, but Kaz always seemed to know what was best and she respected that. She didn’t like it, however, when she was hours into a stakeout and nothing was happening.
Inej had lost count of how many hours she’d been laying upon the roof. Her muscles in her neck had begun to hurt and despite her reserve of patience, she was running low. Inej’s head perked up, however, when there was finally movement in the alley way. That movement was accompanied by the flashing clicks of a camera and Inej immediately rolled onto her feet, her hand on her knife.
“Who are you?” Inej asked quietly, her annoyance focusing upon the woman with the camera in her hands. “This is my stakeout.”
“The whole street is blocked off. The police won’t tell us anything, but I think there’s been some kind of attack… Maybe a bomb?”
SEND ME A SENTENCE FOR AN INTERACTION!
It was that woman. The one who looked like she never went out in the sun, from the cafe. Janice? No. Jessica Jones. A mutual acquaintance of Brekker's. Great. Harold shoved his hands into his pockets, and sighed. They were standing far enough away from the public that he felt like he didn't have to put on his mayoral persona, and he had a sneaking suspicion that this woman wouldn't fall for it anyway.
"Nah," he said, casually. "It's not an attack. It's those Kevinian people. The ones who live in the woods." He stood on his tiptoes to see over the crowds. "The Chief of Police told me. That's one of the things about being Mayor. You get the inside scoop." He flashed Jessica a smile. "They're just walking through town. God knows why. The police don't want everyone gawking at them, so they cordoned everything off. But it's nothing to worry about." He paused, before turning to her properly. "You're Jessica Jones, right? I don't think we introduced ourselves when we met last time."
Summary: Jessica tracks Jamie to her place of work
Trigger warnings: Mild stalking implications
Written by: @akawhiskeymess and @jamiemoriartes
JESSICA: There were a lot of characters at the mayor's address. Jessica wondered if that had been part of the point — to try and draw out the town's seedier elements. But that might've been giving a lot of the establishment a little too much credit. A common occurrence in small towns. Almost as common as being underestimated.
Jessica had worked goddamn hard to track down the blonde woman. After their strange interaction in the crowd, the way she'd been so pointedly vague and mysterious, but cocksure enough to stand right in frame for one of Jessica's shots, Jessica had been obsessed. In between boring assignments, she found herself tracking down every trace of this woman she could find. Which was surprisingly little — but not nothing. She wasn't a ghost. Finally, in an old archived article about the museum, Jessica had found a quick mention of a first-class restorer coming to grace their little town. There had been a small grainy picture, but her face was so distinctive. Sharp, pointed... and begrudgingly, attractive. Or whatever.
The point was, she had a name. Jamie Moriarty. And she had a location.
Jessica started staking out the museum. Just waiting. Learning routines. It took a few extra-long lunch breaks and an obscene amount of after work hours that could've been better spent at a bar, but something just... wouldn't let her go about this one. She spent her time seemingly staring at paintings that reminded her painfully of her few weeks at college, but really her eyes were locked on a door marked Authorized Personnel Only. An art restorer wouldn't need to be at the museum every day... But she would need privacy to do her work. It was only a matter of time.
It was a Tuesday. Completely innocuous, at least until that moment when the door opened and a familiar blonde head peered out. Jessica smirked to herself. "Gotcha," she whispered.
JAMIE: Jamie had, of late, been taking an uncharacteristic sort of refuge in her work. To call it that might have been an overstatement, as it suggested she needed refuge from some sort of attack, or concern, and to suggest that implied a lack of control. But it wasn't as clear-cut as that. She did not feel out of control, exactly -- it was less tangible than that. In some way, she wished there were some overt crisis to which she could point, some large thing which she could blame for this odd sense of wrongness. Beyond the dreams, it had started to bleed into her waking hours.
And furthermore, to imply a lack of control suggested an emotional depth of which she simply was not capable. It wasn't that she was concerned, but rather mildly irritated. There was a logical, albeit strange, problem at play here. She had inexplicable dreams at night, of places and people she had no knowledge of, and she had odd sensations during the day, which had no basis in experience. But she held these facts at a metaphorical arm's length, studying them as the truths they were, and did not allow them to invade her daily life.
And yet, she had worked longer hours lately, taken fewer lunch breaks, and, even for her, been more withdrawn and less inclined to put on the persona of a sociable, friendly, member of the museum staff. So, when she left the restoration room to get lunch, it was out of necessity rather than desire. She needed food, and that was that. Or rather, it would have been, had she not seen the black-haired woman standing beside one of the exhibits, staring right at her.
Jessica Jones. Their meeting hadn't been anything special, but it had stuck in Jamie's mind all the same. The other woman's astuteness, the way she hadn't fallen for Jamie's meticulous persona. And now, here she was.
Jamie made no secret of the fact she'd seen her, and instead crossed the gallery and walked towards her, without smiling. "Can I help you?" she asked, bluntly.
JESSICA: "Nope," Jessica replied, popping the p. Her smirk grew wide and she rocked casually back on her heels. "I've found everything I was looking for, actually," she said. It was that same double-speak they'd been using before, except this time she had the upper hand. She had the control.
She looked around the museum, just a check to see if they'd drawn any attention. They hadn't — she was probably being paranoid, but she preferred to think of it as prepared. It served her well this instinct. It was why she was here. There was no real reason to track down Moriarty. Nothing but a gut feeling that something just wasn't quite right. She couldn't say what exactly set her teeth on edge, but already she felt it again.
It was something in her eyes. Or rather, a lack of something. Something missing. Something cold.
"Just thought I'd drop by and take a look at the art," she said, gesturing to the paintings in front of her. "See what there is to see."
JAMIE: This woman was so ridiculously smug that Jamie felt an unfamiliar flicker of genuine irritation. It took rather a lot to make her honestly angry, but Jessica Jones had managed it. Her sudden and inexplicable appearance was startling, and it begged the rather urgent question of why on earth she was here. Was it some kind of threat? Jessica had struck her as an incredibly astute woman, but exactly why she had come here was, currently, a complete mystery. Surely, if she knew of Jamie's past as a forger -- if that was indeed why she was there -- then she would have gone to the police. And how on earth could she know of that? The portraits hung on the wall of her apartment, unseen by any resident of Echo Springs.
As difficult as it was to admit, Jamie had to acquiesce that there was something mildly impressive about the way Jessica had tracked her down. It was hardly incredible -- her name could be found on a variety of prestigious art institution's websites, and there was a short biography of her past work in England on the Echo Springs Museum's website. But it still took some effort to find her from what Jamie could only assume to be a single photography, secretly taken at the mayor's event.
"Well," she said, adopting the same double-edged syntax as Jessica. "It's very interesting that you decided to come here. You did not strike me as a museum-goer." In that, there was an unspoken question: Why did you come here? But she did not voice it, instead saying, "But since you are here, I would recommend the Renaissance art. It is beautiful." She wondered if Jessica's research had told her that was Jamie's most common area of restoration. This was, in a way, a test.
JESSICA: It wasn't actually her first time here. Once upon a time, she'd been an Art major, and her Art History class had even held some lectures here. But Jessica didn't say any of that. She just let the judgement in Moriarty's voice wash over her, reveling in the fact that the assumption was wrong. She shrugged a shoulder. "Yeah well, old paintings really get me off," she quipped. "But it remains to be seen if it's all that interesting. I'm usually more into the stuff going on behind the scenes," she said with a pointed look.
Renaissance art. Jessica thought back — she had the feeling nothing Moriarty said was casual or thrown away. Every word, every syllable had a purpose. "That's where you've done most of your work," she said, eyes trained on the other woman. Moriarty was clearly used to issuing challenges, but how would she react to someone prepared for them? "I'd love to see." Her voice was overly-sweet, saccharine sweet, like the valley girls at her old campus. "How does a little old museum like this get the attention of a prestigious art restorer anyway?"
JAMIE: There was an irritating arrogance in Jessica Jones that Jamie despised. Her shrug, and sarcastic reply, grated on Jamie's nerves, and, were they anywhere besides her place of work, she would have spoken much more coldly to this woman. But, as it was, they were standing in the middle of the gallery, and appearances were everything. She was lucky that none of her colleagues were intervening, even out of curiosity, but then again, it did look as if she and Jessica were having a pleasant conversation.
The comment about old paintings was so pointless that Jamie did not deem it worthy of response, so she stayed silent as Jessica spoke. Everything she said was incredibly telling. Despite the façade, they understood one another perfectly. "Yes," she responded, when Jessica said that was where she had done most of her work. Though restorations were required on paintings from any period, a majority of those held here were from that era, but she didn't feel it necessary to explain this to Jessica.
She returned the falsely sweet request with a smile of her own, and nodded once. "Of course. This way." And she turned on her heel and walked at a rather brisk pace towards the exhibition of Renaissance artwork. At the compliment -- which was clearly nothing more than a blatant attempt to find out more about her -- Jamie smiled. "Aren't you kind?" she asked. "I moved to Echo Springs for some peace and quiet. Having spent much of my adult life in busy cities, I thought it was time for a change." In that statement was the very subtle admission that she had moved around a lot, and she was, admittedly, curious to see if Jessica would notice. As she finished speaking, they approached one of her latest projects -- The Incredulity of Saint Thomas. "Here we are," she said, in an entirely matter-of-fact tone.
JESSICA: There was no emotion in the affirmative reply. It was said simply, without anything injected into the syllables to make them more palatable. Jessica preferred it that way. When Moriarty switched to mimic the fake-sweetness in her own voice, the hairs on the back of Jessica's neck stood on end. It was like a switch had been thrown, a whole person suddenly appearing in Moriarty's face and voice — though not quite reaching her eyes. There was just something... missing there. Something Jessica couldn't quite put her finger on.
"Not usually," Jessica replied, falling back on bluntness. She could only play nice for so long. "Busy cities. London? Paris? That sort of thing?" she guessed. The accent, that grating, nails-on-a-chalkboard accent, was too obviously European, and big, busy cities that were common in the art world were easy enough to guess. "Seems like a real drastic change," she pointed out. "Moving countries, continents. Couldn't just get a hair cut or go on a fling like everyone else with a midlife crisis?" she asked. But that was her suspicion. That it was much more than a midlife crisis that had brought Moriarty here. The pieces just didn't add up, they just didn't fit.
She stared up at the painting, eyes narrowing for a moment. She hadn't been in college long — a semester and a half, maybe. But her art history class hadn't totally blown and moments of it had stuck with her. A thousand what-ifs and old memories, blurring together irritatingly, were swimming through her head. "You restored this?" she asked, leaning forward. "You're very talented at what you do."
JAMIE: When Jessica asked if she had lived in London or Paris, Jamie had the unmistakable feeling that this was not an innocent question. This woman, for her own, as yet unknown, reasons, had tracked her down to her place of work without even knowing her name. None of these questions were merely innocent curiosity. But, for her part, Jamie could not work out what her incentive was for being so inquisitive, so she decided not to withhold any information. "Yes," she replied, nodding a little. "I lived mostly in London, but I spent some time in Kent. I realise that will probably not mean anything to you, but it's a beautiful place." There was a very subtle jab there -- Americans rarely knew of places outside of their own country, after all.
Jamie shrugged casually at the next comment -- an uncharacteristically natural gesture for her, unlike most of her poised, stilted, movements -- borne out of needing to emulate ordinary people, and then laughed at the midlife crisis comment. "Oh it was hardly a midlife crisis, Ms Jones," she replied. "I simply fancied a change. Yes, it was a drastic one, but it isn't one I regret."
They both fell silent to look up at the painting, and Jamie could sense, in the silence, an appreciation of her talent. As much as she lacked empathy, people were ridiculously easy to read, and Jamie smiled blandly at the compliment. "Thank you very much," she said. "And yes, I restored it. There was some damage here --" She raised her hand to gesture to the paintwork, though it was now completely invisible. And then, after a moment, she turned to Jessica. "It seems you're very talented at what you do as well. I didn't give you my name, and yet you were able to find my place of work, presumably from a photograph alone." She looked at Jessica steadily. "That is very impressive."
JESSICA: One of those strange, unsettling feelings washed over her. The kind that usually only came after one of those intense goddamn nightmares. Jessica didn't understand it at first — she didn't think it was Moriarty. Not specifically anyway. It was something about the idea of London, of Kent. "If you're into country sides and rugby maybe," she muttered. "And limey cocksuckers who think they're better than everyone else just because they're from the south."
It didn't make sense. Nothing about Moriarty did. Even her movements felt strangely alien, distant and far-off from actual emotion. Like there was a wall between the world and the woman. "Jessica," she interrupted. "Just Jessica is fine." She didn't like how Moriarty said Ms. Jones. Like she was dangling the name in front of her, bait on a hook. Everything about Moriarty screamed deception, predator. But she had no concrete facts about that, no way to prove it. And in Echo Springs, as she was acutely and painfully aware, evidence was what mattered. Even if you knew for sure, in your gut, it didn't matter. Even if it happened to you.
Her eyes lingered on the painting a while longer. There was still an immense feeling of wrongness here, surrounding her. It felt like she was suffocating in it. But she just set her jaw, shrugged at the comment. (It couldn't have been a genuine compliment, after all.) "I'm effective," she said simply. "And I don't like being challenged very much. It tends to piss me off." She smirked lightly and took a step back. Towards the exit, then she stopped for a second. "Maybe you just aren't as hidden as you think you are," she called back. "Not that you have anything to hide, right?" she asked, and with one final smirk, she stomped out of the room.
Enhanced Theft Abilities: Children of Hermes are able naturally stealthy and can supernaturally steal things without people noticing, even other demigods.
Clauditiskinesis: Children of Hermes can magically sense the internal structure and mechanisms of any lock they touch. They are able to make it unlock, even telekinetically. This doesn't work on cursed locks, though.
Lock Intuition: They can identify curses and traps placed on locks. If they concentrate hard enough, they can deactivate them.
Chrimatakinesis: Children of Hermes are presumably quite good with money.
So yes Kaz is a child of Hermes end of story.
Okay but in all seriousness - I could see Kaz being in this cabin, crowded with people, his anxiety getting the best of him and all these people in the cabin are playful and fun and Kaz is just... Everyone assumes he’s a child of Hades because he’s so broody and extra next to everyone else in his house.
stones— which infinity stone would they want most?
Damn, this ask is making me realize how little we know about some of these damn stones. I think I’d go with the time stone; Kaz has a lot of regrets in his life, and he’s made a lot of mistakes, so I think being able to turn back time and fix those things would be very appealing. Of course, he shouldn’t have it, because he’s definitely learned from those things - but still.
🙊what would my muse say their biggest flaw is⧱ what really is my muse’s biggest flaw 😰when my muse is stressed, how do they act out?
meme → character flaws meme
topic → 🙊 what would my muse say their biggest flaw is ⧱ what really is my muse’s biggest flaw 😰 when my muse is stressed, how do they act out?
eager for more? → queries
🙊 what would my muse say their biggest flaw is
“Too many enemies, not enough money.”
⧱ what really is my muse’s biggest flaw
He’s so guarded. Kaz has every reason to be guarded, but the inability to let his guard down makes it difficult for him to actually enjoy his life, and to let other people in. People do care about him, and they give him the opportunity to open up many times, and he’s very reluctant to do it.
😰 when my muse is stressed, how do they act out?
By pushing people even further, and by making himself seem even crueler. It’s easy for him to do - when people don’t question how deep your darkness goes, it could even go to the core. He’s even harsher.
3.If you could change one event in your muse’s life (in their main or canon verse), what would you change? 14. How would you describe your muse to someone about to meet them, in person, for the first time? 12. What about your muse amuses you?
meme → questions for the mun, regarding the muse
topic → 3. If you could change one event in your muse’s life (in their main or canon verse), what would you change? 14. How would you describe your muse to someone about to meet them, in person, for the first time? 12. What about your muse amuses you?
eager for more? → queries
3. If you could change one event in your muse’s life (in their main or canon verse), what would you change?
I’d like to say changing his brother’s death, to make him happy, but I don’t even know if I’d want to say that, because I love Kaz as he is. Here’s a tiny thing that I’d change, I suppose, and it’s quite small but always struck me very distinctly. Spoilers for Crooked Kingdom: when Kaz has Wylan go somewhere, Wylan asks why he didn’t just tell him what was really there (ifkyk). Kaz responds ‘because you needed to see it’. To me, I’d want him to respond ‘because you wouldn’t believe me if I’d told you’. I do think the second is sort of the subtext, but still.
14. How would you describe your muse to someone about to meet them, in person, for the first time?
Responded to this over here!
12. What about your muse amuses you?
I like that Kaz is so edgy to the point of sometimes being ludicrous. Like, do I love him and think he’s a fascinating character? Yes. Do I also want to make fun of how extra he is? Also yes.
