2014.04.13 - Terrifyingly Pregnant and Bearing Gifts

The woman at the door to Nygma's office today is, alas, no stunning femme fatale with gams up to here, smoking suggestively and asking him to find some sort of last artefact before the next dark moon. Instead, there's a petite brunette in a really cool leather jacket that she can't quite button up all the way thanks to a very, very pregnant belly, so she's wearing it open over a pretty tunic sweater and nicely draped scarf. The gams situation is difficult to discern, seeing as the sweater is almost dress-length, and the maternity jeans disappear into it, swallowed by the fabric draping off her belly. She at least looks to be in better condition than many ladies in her... ah, condition seem to look when approaching a PI's office; there have been no recent bouts of crying, nor is she angrily clutching the photo of some fella who's done her wrong and skipped town on her.

She is, however, holding a box of doughnuts. There is also coffee, though one cup is labelled HBL. TEA and has a bit of a lipstick stain on the lid. "Mister Nygma. Hi! Jessica Jones."

This is not what he expected at his door. Giving Mabel some time off as the Court of Owls case had lead to one attempt on his life and the Joker kept popping up when least expected, Edward was sleeping in his office, bathing in his bathroom sink, and generally had seen better days. Leaning on the cane because has has to as opposed for simple affectation, he answers his door without his suit-coat on and his tie's loosened some.

His brows lifted, and his brain began to engage in short order; the competition in 'celebrity detectives' wasn't deep, but it was there, and he certainly knew who she was.

"Ms Jones. Please, step inside?" He gestured, and lead her through his small reception area to his office proper. He pulled a seat out-- he always fancied himself a gentleman rogue, and by God she was hugely pregnant. "What brings you to my doorstep in Gotham with donuts, Ms Jones?"

"A peace offering, Mr Nygma. I'm afraid Alias Investigations is about to move into your turf, at least part-time. Or. Well. It will be once I sign the lease papers on my new office and can once again resume the oh-so-glamourous life of late night stakeouts outside cheap motels without having to take half-hour pee-breaks," she says, then casts a bit of a withering glare at her herbal tea.

"God, I miss coffee." She puts the coffee ad doughnuts on his desk. "For the love of God, drink that, I can smell it, and it's calling to me." She makes a pained face. Then adds, guiltily, "...there might be a chocolate glazed one missing. I had to drive an extra block to find a place that wasn't a mob front, and they're fresh and smelled so good and-" she makes a gesture at herself. "I'm kind of a black hole for calories right now."

Things that were not a secret: Edward Nygma was sort of a huge failure with women.

What was a secret was why: he loved pushy women and smart women and powerful women, but none of them liked beta male nerds in glasses unless they were paid to, in his experience. When they did pay attention to him it was usually to use and abuse him, or attempt to murder him.

So he took his coffee to have something to do with his hands and tried to think of Miss Jones as Echo or Query; he settles on making her a substitute Query. Now if she only had a police cap on.

"I can only imagine," he said mildly, and sipped his coffee. "Can I ask why you are moving Alias Investigations into my bailiwick at this particular time? This is, shall we say, a bad time to be a PI in Gotham." He tapped his leg with his cane, before he rested his weight against the edge of his desk to relieve himself of the pain. "And to be frank, it's never a good time to be pregnant in Gotham."

"Well," says Jess, taking a seat in the client chair, because good god damn, her ankles are swollen. It takes a lot of self control to keep from putting her feet up on his desk. She manages instead to just stretch her short legs out a bit in front of her. "It's more of an expansion. I still technically have a license to operate in New York as well. To be honest, before I took time off for the obvious reasons, a good third of my cases had me hauling ass to Jersey to begin with- Gotham's got a way of spilling into New York, as far as our kind of shit goes," she says, matter-of-factually, and takes a sip of her herbal tea. And makes a face. Then just drops the cup into the nearest waste bin and sighs.

She changes position again, to lean forward, confidently, elbows on her knees. Were it not for her belly, this would be a smooth and kind of cool looking manoeuvre. It is, quite frankly, a little comical at the moment. After a moment to settle, she looks Nygma over.

"You recognized me by name and by sight. You know who I am, who I used to be, what I... what I can do." She looks at the cane. His clothes. "If you're gonna sleep at the office, invest in an ironing board, or a steamer" she advises. "And a better set of shaving tools," she adds, a little bluntly. "My point being- something's roughed you the hell up, obviously. You're scared shitless. You got... what, a beat-down? Maybe a stab wound or two? You're actually using that cane," she notes. Then, she points to herself. "When I was 16 years old, I took down the Scorpion by falling on him, from about 20 stories up. Not a scratch on me. Left a hole in the sidewalk. Can you honestly think of a PI more equipped to handle this sort of bullshit than me?"

"Frankly, yes," Edward said over his coffee cup. He sipped his coffee. "The most common superpower in Gotham is insanity coupled to genius, Miss Jones. The Joker-- who is physically normal-- broke into a high security chemical storage facility and wrecked the place. God knows what he made off with. Relying on your power set will be nothing from but a hindrance, considering that the City is held and protected by someone who is a relatively normal man in a bat suit."

He smoothed his hand down his chest, straightening his tie. He was fussy about his appearance, and the rest? Well. Rude. He moved her from Query to Echo; she'd been much more verbal, and more likely to snark and abuse.

"I may be merely a 'normal human', but this is a city that is very proud -- and very afraid -- of what normal humans can do without powers, Miss Jones. I doubt you'll find yourself with much of a warm reception from the locals. Gotham's not known for anti-mutant or anti-powered sentiment, but we are quite proud of being amazing without having to throw a car."

He paused.

"Well, Bane and Killer Croc not withstanding."

She leans back in the chair again. "Look, I'm- I'm not saying I'm hear to be a superhero. God, no. Fuck, no. I've got- For a million different reasons, the latest being a soon to be post-baby-body that sure as HELL is not getting her ass into tights-" she trails off again, wincing at the idea of trying to squeeze into that cute little Jewel costume again and shudders. Fuuuuck no. The idea of wearing a costume again always come with memories of OTHER, way more unpleasant things. She takes a few breaths and rubs her eyes. Ugh, she's fucking this up. Stop being a bitch, Jess. Just. Think back to therapy. Push the bad thoughts away. Good air in, bad air out.

"Look, if I came off cocky, I'm sorry. I came here to say I don't wanna be competition. This town doesn't need people like us keeping secrets from each other for a shitty paycheck. Provided there no conflict of interest on cases, I just wanted to extend that offer. You're a hell of an investigator from what I've been able to find. And I admit, there's something weirdly poetic about the reformed super-hero teaming up with the reformed rogue on occasion. I think, when the cases are right, we may as well at least compare notes. If anything we can bill each other as consultants." She opens her eyes again, and breathes out. heavily "Sorry. I should warn you I have this thing were sometimes I'm raging bitch from hell. I... can't even blame the hormones there."

Danger, danger, Will Robinson!

Edward leans back a little as things begin to go to the emotional, hormonal end of the pool. He is 100% unprepared to deal with a raging pregnant woman, so he hides behind his coffee cup a little, and quickly snags a donut and offers it to her as a peace offering. Shh, shh, terrifyingly pregnant metahuman who can break him a soon as a look at him. Have a donut. It's got sprinkles.

"Alright. Then there will be no competition. I suggest that you remain wary, stay on your guard and keep in touch. I know the local scene much better than you do, and I will have access to information you don't." His lips quirked, half a smile threatening to become a full one, but he managed to stop it before it grew. "But I'm sure we can manage something beneficial to both of us. As for the last bit... welcome to Gotham. The women are either battered housewives, single moms making a go of it, or bitches who get shit done. I suggest you remain the latter."

Jessica Jones snorts. "A man who paraphrases Tina Fey is welcome in my world," she says, snagging the doughnut and biting into it. "I think we may just be on to something here, Eddie." Smirk. She leaves her card on his desk, with numbers for a cell phone, and both a Gotham and New York number.

"Now, I need to haul ass back to Harlem and try to assemble a crib with an allen wrench. Again. Third try," she admits, and sighs. Neither she, nor Luke are particularly blessed with the skills to assemble Swedish furniture. And both very prone to breaking particle board...

Edward accepted the card, turning it over in his fingers, before he pulled one of his own. It was a lovely thing, eggshell white with green lettering and a golden embossed eroteme dominating the left side. He wrote a second number on the back.

"Main line, private line," he said, offering it between two fingers. "Don't abuse the latter. I rarely give it out." But he won't keep her past what she needs. Instead, he gets up to make sure she can get to the door without too much issue. It'd be nice to have a potential ally in town, but with the Court breathing down his neck, he sure as hell wasn't about to put a woman with child in the line of fire no matter how tough she was. He'd have to stow her card for another time.