perfect stranger {jesse fforde}

[Marisol]

The glare was dropped. She wasn't in the mood for a match, and even if she was, she wasn't sure that she could beat out Jesse - not without her allurist moodiness going full tilt. She set her elbow against the chair, rest her knuckles against her cheek. The brunette couldn't help but wonder what had gone beyond the veil, what awaited her. In a sense, she supposed she cheated death - it had been her time, or close to it, when Jesse had turned her.

Even if she thought he was a dick, she'd asked for it.

She had no right to complain.

"Honestly, with how bad of a shot his stupid ***** of a wife was," While Marisol hadn't been close to Logan or even particularly liked the man, she had liked his wife even less. It didn't help that any time he had dodged everything, she had been the one unfortunate enough to deal with her crap,  "It wouldn't have surprised me if she'd kept shooting long after he was caught. There was another person... got him before I even got inside. Some nasty shots." She shook her head, her hand moving to touch the spot where she'd been shot.

There was a phantom ache that came and went occasionally. As they sat discussing it, she felt the ache return - she could remember the haziness that had accompanied the blood loss. The way that it had burned, like a hot iron piercing through her flesh after the wound. "She'd found out he was cheating on her... but he didn't get caught murdering people. Go figure." A bitter laugh. Marisol gave a shake of her head, finding that it was likely the stupidest thing she'd ever found.

She didn't understand how he hadn't come back. Location, perhaps. She'd heard something in the taverns about a boundary area...  "He was fond of you. Spoke highly of you. It's why he told me to ask you." She spoke quietly,  "He loved her like a sister, though." It was a strange thing to say, "He didn't say it, but I could see that he didn't care for her sexually. Logan was strange in that way. He liked to kill the women he slept with."

Marisol shifted. She crossed her legs, thinking about the bodies that she had come across, burnt and crisp. She'd coughed and gagged at first with tears in her eyes.  "I appreciate that, Jesse. Really. I can tell she detests me, but regardless, I'll still die for Clover."

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse snorted. Now he started to wonder whether this Mariah was really as bad as everyone made her out to be. She came after Logan with murderous intent because he cheated on her. Clover would have done the same. Jesse would be a dead man if she found out he was cheating on her. Then she’d bring him back, only to murder him all over again. But then, what must she have been like for Logan to have cheated on her to begin with?

”He loved who like a sister? Mariah? Why would he have married her if he loved her like a sister?” he asked. Although he had heard the precursor the latter half of that sentence, it was not something that he dwelled on. Jesse was not particularly a heart-to-heart kind of guy, less now than before. For a period in the past four to five years he had started to open up. He’d been able to talk about the things that bothered him, whether in sullen grunts or with gnashing teeth. Now, he’d gone back to the way he had been – he was the human Jesse, the mute Jesse, except without the muteness. He didn’t want to hear how much Logan cared or how fond he was. Jesse was happy thinking the guy was a disloyal *** who wanted only Clover’s company. It was easier to use his jealousy as a means to assuage his grief.

Jesse leaned forward and stretched, arms over his head. He nodded.

”I’ll make sure that Clover knows that. It might not make a difference immediately, but eventually if push comes to shove and we – she – sees the truth in it, she’ll come around,” he repeated. Clover could be stubborn, however. She could hold a grudge like no one else, but he’d seen her forgive other people for worse. Jesse could only see that it would be alright.

[Marisol]

Marisol pulled at a few strands of her long dark hair, eyeing it as she found a few split ends that later would no longer be there as she'd take a pair of scissors to them once she got home. These were the little things that she hated now, the fact her eye sight had become so enhanced that she was able to see the miniscule pieces of her appearance that needed to be fixed. To everyone else, they would be overlooked - but to Marisol? No way.

She gave a shake of her head. "Clover." Marisol corrected. Then again, she thought, with how twisted Logan was... "I don't know how he loved Mariah. Honestly, I don't even understand how he could tolerate her. All she ever did was whine and *****." She explained. But she supposed she did have a right given the fact her husband had been avoiding her like the plague. "A lot of the girls he murdered actually looked like his wife, actually. That was his type. Petite, red head, big lips." She ticked off what she had been able to establish in the time she'd been with him. A roll of her eyes showed that Marisol found it to be ridiculous before she crossed her legs idly.

"If she doesn't, I'm not too concerned." She considered what could be worse. "As long as she doesn't stab me without reason, I'm fine with the crap she dishes out. I can dish it back." A shoulder lifted and fell with her words.

[Jesse Fforde]

They were walking into dangerous territory. Well, it wasn’t dangerous per se, but there were things that Jesse himself could not understand about his own emotions, or the reasons he felt certain ways. He didn’t like that Clover and Logan had spent so much time together, but it was more than just jealousy; it was more than thinking that Logan had the hots for Jesse’s fiancé. His girlfriend. His now-wife. It had more to do with what Jesse had needed at the time, that thing that he knew he still needed though the lack of it no longer debilitated him.

It fed into Marisol’s last comment – she didn’t care if Clover never came around. Be that as it may, but Jesse did. The need for something greater, for a group of people to call family, a bloodline that respected each other and him – it wouldn’t work if Clover did not accept those within it, if she wished death upon those that he sired. So often he wanted to call her out on being unreasonable, but he held his tongue. He schooled himself into letting it go. If he didn’t cling so hard to an idea, if he stopped snapping at people and letting his temper get the better of him, more permanent bonds might be forged.

And it wasn’t as if he had no one. People came and went. They had the freedom to do so. He was never their keeper. He had plenty enough support from Clover without having to demand more.

”People have their reasons for loving other people, and it’s not always obvious to everyone else. You just have to trust their judgment, and be content to say ‘I told you so’ if things **** up,” he said with a shrug. No one had liked Grey and yet he’d stuck by her. It was a mistake in the end, but he’d learned his lesson.

[Marisol]

When it came to people, she had learned at a young age to just not care. They were going to have their opinions and there wasn’t much that Marisol could do to change them; it had taken a few times for her to come to that conclusion, even when it came to her own mother. Family wasn’t a foreign concept to Marisol - she got along with her parents better as an adult, and she and her sister were friends, and her brother-in-law was a decent man. She’d always been known as the cool aunt by her sister’s children, a fact she’d been proud of.

And as she considered the fact she didn’t particularly care what others thought about her, she considered her ‘relationship’ with Clover. In some ways, she didn’t see the point of the fact the other woman hated her for Logan’s death. Marisol would have been lying if she said that she hadn’t been planning the man’s death at one point or another. He was cruel, violent and if he hadn’t created one of his masterpieces in a certain period of time, he would take it out on those he was around the most. Unfortunately for her, when she couldn’t fight to avoid him, often had to deal with the brunt of his dickishness.

To become part of a family, though, again, she supposed she’d have to keep things like that to herself. Especially with Clover, as she seemed to like the man more than others. "Eh, I told you so generally isn’t something worth saying. It’s better left unspoken because the other person knows you could say it, but rather not.” She lifted and dropped her own shoulders in a shrug. "It’s a bit better character, I feel.”

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse couldn’t help but laugh. There were times that he could be hypocritical. He never did like being reminded that he was wrong. Anyone telling him ‘I told you so’ was met with a grand display of fury. But it was never something that had lost him relationships. It wasn’t the thing that had lost him relationships, anyway.

”Maybe I’ll be a better person, one day,” he said, peering at Marisol across the way. There were plenty of ‘good’ things Jesse had done for others. There were plenty of good things he’d thought he’d done, anyway, but in the end they were often overlooked. His flaws outweighed his goodness and, these days, he’d given up on trying. If people couldn’t be bothered seeing the rose above the thorns then, **** it all, he’d give them thorns.

”Today, though, is not the day I’ll stop saying I told you so,” he said with a wink. Jesse was confident in himself, that he would do what he needed to do to support those close to him. He didn’t have many rules, they had their freedom and their independence. Thus far, the only major disappointments he’d had were when those he cared for preferred the company of his enemies. No point focusing on that now, though. He’d focus on those who were left.

”It’s probably good you’re around, Marisol. You can fill the ‘good character’ gap,” he said. It was a gap Rhett could have filled, too. But Rhett was no longer around.

[Marisol]

She had her occasions to where she wasn't a good person, but a better person was always a constant change of pace. She strived to be a little better than she was the day before. "Just do something a little bit different every day. Change up your pace so that you are not stuck in the same old." The brunette lifted a shoulder briefly. She smirked, shaking her head softly.

"I told you so is such a moot statement. Pointedly rubbing it in." Marisol scratched a nail against her thumb as she contemplated everything. She had gone from being a model wanting to just run her own company, to essentially a slave, to a dying woman pleading for her life in less than five years. It was a good thing, honestly, that the woman had given up on planning out every little detail before she met her fate. It would have just been a useless disappointment.

She rolled her shoulders and sat forward briefly before settling back into her spot, "I can't promise good character, but I'll try."

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse laughed, the sound genuine and deep.

"Oh, Marisol. I didn't say I was trying to be a good person. It doesn't keep me awake," he said. He was a man without guilt, without shame, most of the time. If he had guilt and shame they were things that he denied, pushed down, pretended they did not exist. For a while, they had almost buried him -- they were demons he refused to entertain. The path he was on now was one of grim determination, a man who'd learned from his past and would treat the world like it treated him. He would make no apologies.

"If you have buttons, Marisol, I'll push them. I told you so is a favourite one of mine. It's a button everyone reacts to," he said. "Honestly I don't care about your character. Be who you want to be. Do what you want to do. Honestly, good people don't particularly stick to this life," he said. Again, he thought of Rhett, a hardness in his eyes. Like minds were hard to come by. For the world, for this city, that wasn't a bad thing. Jesse didn't judge. But good people, oh. They were good at judging.