7225/Hell Hath No Fury...

Hell Hath No Fury...
Date of Scene:	13 April 2019
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Predated scene about the death and rebirth of Hellcat.
Cast of Characters:	Hellstorm, Hellcat

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Hellstorm has posed:
        BEFORE

    "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Daimon screams as he rushes into the bathroom. His eyes aflame in abject horror. His face twisted and tormented by Patsy's lifeless husk. He falls to his knees at the side of the garden tub. Knees splattering into the hot water intermixed with her blood. The spigot still flows hot water into the overflowing tub. His arms reach to her. One guiding his right hand to her head to lift it from partial submergence, the other gripping her slashed wrist. His eyes know she's gone. They see her soulless frame as with all dead mortals - the immortal soul already dispatched into whatever afterlife they 'deserve'.

    He sobs, green eyes filled with tears. If there was one thing that he loved, it was her. He pulls her to the edge of the garden tub, his forehead to hers as he mutters incoherent words that are likely prayers from his studies at the priesthood.

Hellcat has posed:
    The water is the dark color that is more than suggestive of the amount of life that's spilled from her wrists. Her body? Still warm. But utterly limp, and heavy. Dead weight. Her skin had already started to turn pale.

    How long could she have been in there? Not long. Not long since the door had been locked from the inside, and the water run. She hadn't even said anything to anyone. Not even a text to Jessica. The image of It had burned into her brain, and broken her until she couldn't cope.

    As he pulls her body towards the edge of the tub, her body moves without resistance, lighter in the water than it would be out of it. Her wrists are wet, but there's no longer any flow from them.

    Her moral coil is, and has been, broken.

    Another minute, two, passes, as he mutters those prayers. And then there is a -sound-. A sudden, heavy, lurching gasp of air, inhilation as if lungs were completely strained and empty and at their last inescapable moment before the body would die again - a breath held far, far too long under water. It wracks her throat, and the silence in the bath as her entire body suddenly stiffens with the effort.

Hellstorm has posed:
Daimon's eyes sharpen, his muscles tense and his head backs away to get a better look at Patsy's face and then her body within the water. He realizes that there's more within her than 2 minutes ago. Her soul, her essence has returned. He needs to react, quickly.

    He shifts, partially stands and reaches beneath the bloody water to lift her from beneath her knees and her shoulders/upper back. He will tilt her toward him when he does to hopefully guide her head to his shoulder.

    In a tone of despiration, "Patsy.. hang on Patsy. We're going to get you help." - He can't heal, he can't cast white magic to help others. He can only help himself or cast darker magics. Healing others... not his wheelhouse. But he can continue praying as he carries her from the grand bathroom into the bedroom where he will place her on her back upon the bed. Her wet head placed on the pillow and her lower torso covered by the grabbed blanket. The oher pillow will be taken in hand, the case ripped from the pillow. He's expecting that he'll need to wrap her wrists to keep them from bleeding.... "Hang on Patsy, we'll get you help..." he continues to mutter then realizes Isaac (Gargoyle) may be near. "ISAAC! Isaac will know what to do. We can get an ambulance here. They'll help you... fuck, we need Doctor Strange. He'd know. Don't die, Patsy, never die."

Hellcat has posed:
    Again, her entire body goes rigid against him, and then? Then she's pushing him back, hard, hard enough to give them both space. Her eyes flit to and fro, searching, quickly, trying to make sense of her sudden change in surroundings.

    Her soul returned isn't the only thing that's changed about her.

    "No." The voice, however ragged from her body getting oxygen back into it is firm. Unwavering. "No doctors." She pushes him back, firmly, but not unkindly. Creating space. She stares at him, unflinchingly as if she hadn't seen him for years.

    "Daimon." A pause, and suddenly she feels as naked as she is. She pushes herself up, onto her feet. Steps out of the tub and even as she does so, her Hellcat uniform simply apparates around her person, cloaking and covering herself. Armor. Protection. Something - familiar. Something she's worn for the last several years in her own personal Hell. In Hell.

    She looks back to the tub. The memories returning, like a flood. "How long was I dead?"

    Another pause. "And how many times have I told you to call me Trish?"

Hellstorm has posed:
Being pushed back, Daimon's eyes are filled with concern and wonder as she stands and her body coated with her armor - a trick she's never had before. His lips part, confusion sets in and as her words unfold he blinks and thoughts swirl in his mind wondering what has transpired.

    He tries to answer, "Minutes.." Before he's interrupted by the command to call her by the /other/ name that never really felt right on his tongue or coming out of his lips. "Pa.. Trish. You were only dead for a few minutes, what.. you have powers? What happened do you?"

Hellcat has posed:
    "Minutes." She echoes the words bitterly, but then there's a twist to her lips. And, she lets out a brief, but half-amused, half-bitterly ironic laugh. "Minutes." Her eyes search out Daimon again, as she flexes her fingers. Feeling the warmth in them again. It's -good-.

    "You should know better than anyone what happens to people who committ suicide, Daimon."

    "I need a drink. And some clothes." She starts to walk out of the bathroom as if nothing really important had happened. She had always had a strong will, but - now? Now something beyond her soul returned is different. She's changed, somehow, some way.

    She picks out a set of comfortable clothes from the closet, and begins to quickly undress, as if she'd merely got up and were changing out of her pajamas into some clothes for Sunday relaxation and possibly shopping. A pair of clean underwear, comfy jeans, and a light yellow t-shirt as she waits for Daimon's answer.

Hellstorm has posed:
    Despair, regret, and a feeling of dread flows over his frame and his face reveals those innermost emotions. Daimon could never hide anything from her; which is why they are where they are now. He knows the truth that she speaks. Suicide results in Hell, no passing go, no collecting 200 dollars. Though denial was in his mind before. Denial that she could ever go there. Not that place... but the denial is now shattered and the truth revealed. She was in his Father's realm - the horrors. The horror. Fully consuming. He whispers, "no..." as his mind processes who she may be now. Not the Patsy he once knew. But now potentially worse. Trish.

    Following her from the bathroom, he will watch her movements for clues to her current nature. Just to discern how diabolical she has become. Whether or not she is tainted beyond recognition or recovery. His eyes peer into the closet as she changes. Not to look upon her nakedness, but into her returned soul. He has no words. Just thoughts.

Hellcat has posed:
    "It wasn't minutes for me, Daimon." Trish pads, barefoot, over to the small wetbar they have in the bedroom, and pours herself a hard drink. It's downed in an instant, and then another is poured. This one is sipped, and her eyes close. She exhales, slowly. "God, I needed that." Then, her lithe frame is walking over to the bed, and she flops onto the edge of it, pushing her hair back with her free hand. She looks at Daimon.

    "Don't worry. I didn't make any deals. I'm back for good. Though, it's likely enough I'm on borrowed time, nevertheless. I don't imagine too many mortals escape Hell and get to twist Mephisto's arm to let them back." This is said just as casually as if she'd just been talking about getting one over on a politican on 'Trish Talk'.

    "Years. God. It feels like it was years. Ages. Minutes, you said." A frown. "Jessica? Did you tell Jessica?"

Hellstorm has posed:
    "No... It's been minutes." Daimon understands time differences that can go long or short. Which is why his sister, who was born 3 years after him is currently so much younger due to her time in Hell. He mutters as if he's still processing other things while he answers, "I didn't have time to tell anyone."

    Then a moment of clarity as his processes come to a head - especially with her mention of Mephisto (and not his father, Satan). "You were in Mephisto's realm? Not my father's? The hell hounds will be sent, you will always be stalked by demons and agents of Mephisto, whom I have no sway or leverage. But when they do come, I will dispatch them back to their HellLord with a message, that you will be left alone. Allowed to find your own path of redemption; given time to clear your soul of..." and then he pauses as his mind knows why she killed herself, because of his true face. He says softly, "I'm so sorry..."

Hellcat has posed:
    "Nine realms. Not just Mephisto's. Nine realms of Hell." She considers, looks down at the Hellcat costume, then back at Daimon. A touch of empathy for him, and she shakes her head, "What's done is done, Daimon." She sets her jaw, momentarily, then relaxes and takes a drink again. "It won't happen again. I've seen Hell. Every aspect of it. From it's Lords to it's minions. I've cleaved my way through their hoardes. And stopped the balances from being tipped, and Mephisto from being overthrown." She speaks with a certainty of conviction.

    "It took years of effort. Learning how to navigate. I found - pockets. Dimensional - holes? Rifts? I called them Catflaps. Learned to move between Realms. Figured out what was going on. One by one, I persuaded the other Lords of Hell to unite and deal with the ururper."

    She pauses, "When all was back in order, I told Mephisto to give me back my life. He laughed at me. Until I told him I knew about you. That you were Satan's son. He let me go. No deals. No agreements. I don't think he'll be after me for awhile. But he will be after me," she agrees.

Hellstorm has posed:
    The infraction or breach of trust doesn't phase him. Daimon says nothing about the name or family dropping because it doesn't matter to him. He's just glad that she's back. He thought he lost her forever. He hasn't realized that those fears should be back in his mind. For he hasn't come to make the connection that she has already moved on. His mortal side hasn't caught up with the devil inside and the intimate knowledge of what Hell actually does to a person.

    "Then when that time comes, we will stand against him. He doesn't know the power I wield. And with you..."

Hellcat has posed:
    "Daimon." The interjection comes naturally, but gently. She has moved on. But that doesn't mean she hates him for what he is, or is even afraid of him. She's not. She knows Daimon, still, better than anyone.

    SHe speaks reasonably. But, gently. "For you, it's been a few minutes. For me, it's been a few years. Maybe longer. I need space." Her mouth twists. She can't feel it. She knows he's feeling it. But she can't, right now. That ache died a long, long time ago in the first few long days? of her most recent journey. "I'm sorry. I need to figure things out."

Hellstorm has posed:
    Daimon begins to speak. A denial of where he is versus where she is. His lips part and only a raspy sound comes from his throat that may sound like the singular word, 'no'. But then he stops himself from saying anything more.

    The voice inside of his head is feint. It quickly reminds him where she is. How her words make sense. His heart however says otherwise. She's been such a strength in his life. A tether to keep him anchored to reality and not go off the rails. She is... /was/ his everything.

    She can see her words translated in his eyes as he looks away from her, toward the floor as the sadness washes over him. He whispers, "I understand."

Hellcat has posed:
    Trish looks away, for a moment, then finishes her drink. "Thank you." Her lips twist, "I'll stay in touch." The words are sincere. Just because she doesn't feel the same about him any longer, her own heart and mind have changed so much, doesn't mean she doesn't feel -something- for him, still. She knows his qualities.

    "I'm going to be taking a break from the show, too, I think. I think I need to. And the Defenders." It's not just him, then. "Everything. I just - need some time to reasses. Figure myself out. Now that I'm back."

Hellstorm has posed:
    Daimon has never been good with loss. Especially loss of himself which he's always considered her to be something more than just another person - but a part of him. As he watches that piece flow away, his heart feels as if there's a crowbar being taken to it. Prying, pulling, wrenching and levering. He inhales deeply, capturing breath after breating so shallowly.

    He nods, his green eyes looking at her one last time, letting her image burn into his retina. Then his soft and barely spoken words relay, "I'll be in the city... give you time to .." and his voice fades completely as it alludes to her departure. He turns away, then exits the room.