Mother Dearest

February 20, 2017:

Dorothy Walker tries to entice her daughter back into her loving arms with the help of a mystery and some liberally applied threats. Trish takes the visit about as well as could be expected.

//Trish's Apartment Fortress of Safety, Manhattan //

Fortified and chock full of class.


NPCs: Dorothy Walker (played by Jessica Jones).


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Trish took the afternoon off from the office, telling her assitant that she was going to work from home for the rest of the day. The car chase and scuffle, followed by pizza with Jessica and Azalea had chased all of her Dorothy blues away. In fact, everyone had noticed how good her mood had been since that night. Trish had even managed to recover her car without incident, which just added fuel to her 'I want to be a hero' fire.

She sat on her couch, enjoying a patch of sunshine, as she answered emails on her tablet. The stereo was on, tuned to the 80's channel, and she sang along to her faves. One might say she was floating on the proverbial cloud nine. She had heard from Tony Stark's office but had yet to confirm a date for his appearance, which reminded Trish she wanted to send Jessica something to say thank you for that little hook up.

"What do you get for the person who doesn't want anything?" she mused outloud to the empty apartment. "I'd'a just sent booze but she's trying to kick it. What do you think Whitney?" Talking to the radio didn't help as Whitney just wanted to dance with somebody.


There's a text.

Went to see your Mom this morning. She should leave you alone now.

It's from Jessica, of course.

Which might make it all the more surprising when the door buzzes; the intercom lights up, and Dorothy's voice is…pretty much right outside Trish's door. "Darling, if I could just talk to you for a minute…"

Dorothy is terrified of Jessica. But she's also a woman who wants what she wants when she wants it, and she's going to pursue it if she thinks she has half a chance of doing so. On her first visit, she had tried to tell Trish she had vital information for her, all but bursting with it, but the encounter had ended too soon for her to set her hooks.

Now she's back. She's here, not just on the street outside the radio station.

Trish had smiled when she pulled out her phone and read Jess's message. Trish's smile froze and her hand tightened convulsively on the phone as she heard Dorothy's voice. If it could have talked, it would have squealed in protest. Her eyes darted to the balcony, making sure it wasn't open. This was her haven! What was that bitch doing here?!?

Trish's mind raced back to that encounter on the street, something about needing to tell her something important. She glanced down at her phone and briefly considering calling Jess and hiding in her bedroom until Dorothy went away.

"That fucking doorman is fired! Goddammit! Shit!" Trish stood up and dithered between her bedroom and front door, like a ninny, while she tried to decide what to do.

Mind made up, Trish typed up a text saying Dorothy was at her place, HELP, 911 and saved it in drafts. It would be ready to send, if needed, and hopefully Jessica wouldn't be busy when she got it. Trish approached the door, much like someone would a live bomb or poisonous snake. She almost started laughing hysterically as neither description was far off.

"What do you want?" she asked, voice cold yet shaky as she pressed the talk button.


Dorothy lifts her eyebrows, as if wondering why Trish has to be so dramatic all the time. It's a complaint Trish has heard from her mother before. You're always so dramatic, Patsy.

But the words don't come. Instead she says, "I'm trying to do you a favor, darling. You and Jessie both. You know she broke my desk this morning?" She shakes her head mournfully. She holds up what looks like a press release.

"Five minutes of your time. You're going to want to see this. Hear me out, and if you don't want to know more…I'll never come back." She makes a crossing motion over her breast, offering a coquettish pout. "Cross my heart."


Trish rolled her eyes and said a lot of very bad words, pulling from Jess's vocabulary when her own ran out. She paced back and forth in front of the door as she struggled with telling her mother to fuck all the way off and opening the door.

Dorothy Walker was nothing, if not good. She knew exactly which buttons to press to get Trish to dance to her tune. She let out a snort of laughter as she pictured Jess walking in and demolishing Dorothy's desk to make her point. The laughter faded into a resigned sigh as she opened the door. Her eyebrow was arched over cool green eyes, and her tone was icy.

"Obviously you didn't hear her. Must be time to get your ears checked. You've got five minutes and then I'll put you out myself, nevermind Jessica."

Trish stepped back from the door and gestured for Dorothy to enter her home. She was already toting up the cost of having her place completely steamcleaned, top to bottom, to remove all traces of her mom after she left.

Dorothy sweeps in like she owns the place, her eyes going everywhere, touching everything. There are signs of both jealousy and approval there, but as she only has 5 minutes to play her mind game, she doesn't waste a lot of time cooing over the decor.

Instead, she offers the press release to Trish.

It reads:


Subhead: "Prominent investment firm brings biotechnology concern under its umbrella."

"NEW YORK CITY, NY, FEBRUARY 14, 2017 - Confederated Global Investments has wrapped up a "sweetheart" of a deal, acquiring biotechnology giant IGH in a $1.4 million dollar deal. IGH is a privately held company, and the details of the deal were not open to the public. CGI's stock prices are expected to skyrocket as a result, and are already up 4.5."

The press release goes on to discuss a few more particulars, discussing vague accomplishments that have contributed greatly to "various FDA approved treatments and cutting edge regenerative research projects" on IGH's part. CGI, by the description, seems to be one of those companies that seems to exist solely for the aim of snapping up other companies, patents, and projects, and then profiting from them in the extreme. Often, such companies are…quite shady, really, in Trish's experience.

Dorothy looks like a cat who has gotten into the cream. "You know, of course, who IGH was don't you?" She looks, like she often does when asking such questions, like she really hopes Trish doesn't already know the answer.


Trish snatched the paper out of her mom's hand and skimmed the contents. She was about to crumple it and toss it in the trash when the tone in Dorothy's voice made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She lifted her eyes to see that dreadful expression on her mom's face that said she knew damn well Trish had no idea.

"You obviously know I don't or you wouldn't be looking like you've had a whole bottle of cream. Cut to the chase, mom. What does this have to do with me, or Jess?"

She glanced significantly at the clock, indicating she hadn't forgotten the original terms of Dorothy's entry. Say it, Trish thought nastily. Tell me I'm being dramatic and I'll toss you out on your ass. Aside from two spots of color starting to show, high on her cheeks, she kept all of it out of her expression.


"Why they're the ones that paid Jessie's medical bills, of course," Dorothy says, smiling brightly. "Just out of the blue, probably out of the goodness of their own hearts. Or…not. And now they're with someone else, someone very shady, perhaps even shadier than they were, who might just end up with access to a few of our girl's secrets."

She shrugs her shoulder and smiles. "Now…I happen to have all those files back home. And you can have unlimited access to them for the price of…oh…Sunday dinners, with me, every week. And, of course, it would have to be our little secret. I really don't want to keep replacing furniture. You know how overwrought Jessie can get."

Dorothy wanders around Trish's space, running two fingers along the granite countertops, vastly enjoying the feel of them. "I understand she's…trying to become some sort of hero now, yes? And she already has had a little brush with the law…it really would be a shame if she hurt me or vandalized my office to the point where I had to press charges or some such. That's the tough part about wanting to be more than a common thug. Your actions are suddenly held to a much higher standard, aren't they?"

She comes back to pat-pat Trish's shoulder gently. "I'm sure you're very proud of her though. Wasn't that always your vision for her? That she'd stop wallowing? Get out there? Become someone worth knowing?"


Snake, she thought. Definitely a snake.

Trish watched Dorothy slink through her space, touching things, and making her skin crawl. She was frozen in place, much like Mowgli had been by Kaa in The Jungle Book. Until Dorothy threatend Jessica. And touched her.

Trish sucked in her breath, and the spell was broken. She jerked back, bringing her hands up between them to knock away Dorothy's. "Don't! Do not touch me." Trish rubbed at her temples as she turned away. "I'll pay for the desk. There's no need to go to the cops."

Her voice was hollow and tired. "I need time to think, before I give you my answer on the files. If you push for one now, it's no." She turned back to Dorothy, fire flashing in her eyes once more. "I am proud of Jessica, more than you'll ever understand, and she has always been worth knowing. You're just to selfish to see it."

Trish grabbed her checkbook out of her purse, and wrote one for substantially more than what Dorothy would have had in her office. "That should cover the desk and your distress. As always, it's been an absolute pleasure, mother." Pure acid dripped off Trish's voice, she knew it, and she couldn't help it. She held the check out to Dorothy. "It's been almost ten minutes. I think it's time for you to leave."


Dorothy gives Trish a haughty look as she gets knocked away. She makes a show of rubbing her wrist.

But she reaches out to pluck the check, almost as fast as the aformentioned boa constrictor would reach out to pluck prey. She studies the amount, and looks most satisfied. "Money won't keep me quiet forever if you keep sending her after me," she says, by way of sweet warning. "I'm really rather tired of her visits. After all I've done for her, really. And all I've done for you, too. You would never have been able to write checks like this if it hadn't been for me. You'd be a nobody. You'd probably be spritzing perfume on people's wrists at Macy's for a living."

She hitches a shoulder, heading for the door. "Nevertheless, all I want is a relationship with you. I miss you. I can be a good mother, if you'd ever give me an opportunity to prove it. I don't see why you forgive Jessie every terrible thing she ever does, but you can't let me move past my past with you. I understand that I hurt you, darling, and I'm very sorry, but come on. Look around."

She turns a slow circle, her arms moving to take in the space very slowly. "Look at all you've wrought as a result. I made you strong, and beautiful, I shaped your talent from a coal into a diamond, all by putting under a little pressure. What would you be, if not for me?"

And with that, she sweeps through the door, turning to cast one smile her daughter's way, her lips glistening with lipstick. "Think about that, while you consider your answer."


Trish's mouth worked, but no sounds came out. Which was probably for the best. She'd either start screaming obscenities or gibbering like a completely mad creature. Not too far off, she thought ruefully.

"I think we're done here. If I decide to take you up on your little offer, I will let you know. Otherwise there's no need for any further contact. Between you, and Jess or I." The way Trish said it, it was very clear who the outsider was there, and it certainly wasn't Jessica. "Goodbye mom."

Her voice shook, and her hands clenched at her sides, hard enough to draw blood. Once the door closed behind Dorothy, and she heard the lock engage, Trish picked up the closest thing she could get her hands on and hurled it at the wall with a mindless shriek.

Thankfully, and perhaps ironically, she had picked up her hematite sphere instead of one of the many glass figurines she owned. It did, however, leave an impressive hole in her wall. And the sphere was now trapped in the drywall.

Great. Wonderful. Fucking fantastic, even.

Unable to deal with it any longer, Trish sat down on her floor and wailed "I want a FUCKING DRINK and A JOINT!" before breaking down in tears.

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