"Everybody wants what they can't have, luv. Even if they've got everything else." In a sense, anyway. John's problem is that he gets what he wants, generally, but the longer he keeps it, the more he loves it, the better the chances are that he'll find some horrible way to ruin it, twist it or kill it. Things come easy to John, people are drawn to him, to the magic he has, but they never stay (or they never stay whole), and that's what burns him. For a man with Kilgrave's skillset, he's hazarding a guess that the shock of being denied anything is what gets under his skin.
Or at least, it interests him enough to waste time in the kind of shit bar he hates with a man that annoys him, instead of trying to kill him first and enjoying a scotch over his dead body in blissful silence. John will take that.
"So there's a time limit too, then?"
He'd figured out that there was a distance limit, given their cave adventure and the things Kilgrave admitted to there, but the rest of it he's just guessing at. Maybe the time limit is why he continued to feel dodgy for a day after the cave: he thought it'd been the threat of frozen death barely past, maybe the amulet's proximity, but it would make a sort of sense for it to have been the ward still at work in his system. He hopes idly that he'll still have a grasp on this info when he wakes up in the morning with the raging headache, and gropes around his pockets for one of his cards.
"What it says, mate," he slurs, sliding it over across the bar countertop. "Bit of runnin' around, poking my nose into trouble. Collecting the sort of bits that'd make your toes curl in those expensive shoes." A terribly thoughtful look crosses his face. "Or sick up on them, I don't know your fortitude."
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Or at least, it interests him enough to waste time in the kind of shit bar he hates with a man that annoys him, instead of trying to kill him first and enjoying a scotch over his dead body in blissful silence. John will take that.
"So there's a time limit too, then?"
He'd figured out that there was a distance limit, given their cave adventure and the things Kilgrave admitted to there, but the rest of it he's just guessing at. Maybe the time limit is why he continued to feel dodgy for a day after the cave: he thought it'd been the threat of frozen death barely past, maybe the amulet's proximity, but it would make a sort of sense for it to have been the ward still at work in his system. He hopes idly that he'll still have a grasp on this info when he wakes up in the morning with the raging headache, and gropes around his pockets for one of his cards.
"What it says, mate," he slurs, sliding it over across the bar countertop. "Bit of runnin' around, poking my nose into trouble. Collecting the sort of bits that'd make your toes curl in those expensive shoes." A terribly thoughtful look crosses his face. "Or sick up on them, I don't know your fortitude."