[ Ah, what the hell. She's not technically here under duress. She's already taking a chance on this place, might as well keep the gamble going, and besides, she used to really like scavenger hunts as a kid. This is the bare minimum of justification she has to go through in order to participate in just about anything, so convincing herself of it isn't any extra burden.

Private investigator is, after all, a grown-up scavenger hunter, when it comes down to brass tacks. Case closed.

It's a decently entertaining solo venture, on which she gets her bearings and eyes people in passing. Pizza place is cute but not really her deal, and too many newbies like her are coming and going through it. With no one slowing her down, Jess blasts through her first and second venues and ends up at Dinah's. There she finds the Stepford photo and the instructions on how to proceed, at which she scoffs derisively. Okay, fuck scavenger hunts actually.

Jess crumples up The Perfect Couple and asks the staff what they've got instead of read the menu. She hunkers down near the window with a bucket of fries and some condiments in paper cups, to people watch. Once a big enough group comes in to keep the staff busy, she intends to slip in among them or behind them and make off with the bucket that she's not allowed to leave the restaurant with, keeping you between her and the eyes of Dinah's proprietors. She's gonna get something out of this stupid kid's game they tricked her into playing.

Jessica Jones has won a bucket. ]

[ An NYC lifer, Jess is used to busy, bustling streets... full of other New Yorkers, who know how to behave in foot traffic. The other Cadell...ans, Cadellites? Cadellese? She's sure she overheard someone say it but she didn't bother hanging onto the information. The other idiots like her are all technically tourists and most of them walk like it. When Jess isn't ducking into one of the emptier businesses to pretend to browse and/or slake the gist of the local economy's vibe, she takes her chances walking on the street, and spends most of the day mapping the place with her feet without sparing a glance at her map.

As the day winds toward evening, Jess has another pass by the residences, and without a visible queue of people from the street, opts for that moment to go and check out her place. Her place, in front of which you may find her swearing when her goddamn keys don't work, and not bothering to look around before wrapping her fingers around the door knob and twisting it beyond a brief metallic wean and the crack of cheap wood. Or good wood. Who knows.

Her place, maybe not so much her place? Did they screw up on the door number too? If so, ] Uh, hey. [ Screw it. It's not her fault the bureaucrats can't get their crap together in any universe. Her place now. ] Get out?

[ Don't forget there's always the scenario behind door number three: She got the right room number, wrong building. If someone else is doing one, feel free to do the other; I have no limit on the amount of doors and lives she can fuck up in a day. ]

[ Do whatever! PP or add my plurk lungful if you'd like to plot first, though it's not necessary. All CR is good CR to me! Texting, action, or prose, all welcome. Her OKC and IC inbox can be found... there. ]