The Devil's Favor

February 28, 2017:

Trish Walker asks The Dark Devil for a favor.

Trish Walker's Apartment

An amazingly expensive and secure apartment in NYC.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Jessica Jones


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Trish opened and closed the texting app on her phone before she hit send. "In for a penny in for a pound, as Dorothy used to say all the time," she murmurs to herself as she waits for Azalea's reply. Trish had decided she was going to get her hands on the information Dorothy had without suffering through her horrid Sunday Dinners. Without Jessica knowing, because Dorothy had made it very clear what another visit from her would result in.

So she sent the text, knowing full well it was not something Jessica would approve of her doing. The text read:

'Az, I need your help. Jessica can't know, please meet me at my place as soon as you can, I can pay for your cab if you need. Xoxo T' with the address.

If Azalea is able to make it over; Trish will explain her very risky plan of having Azalea break into her mother's apartment to steal the files. It would be risky for many reasons including breaking the law and being on the receiving end of Jessica's wrath when she found out. Jess was simply unable to see reason when it came to Dorothy Walker; much like Trish given the ten minutes she actually considered taking her mom up on her offer, if for very different reasons.


"This is Trish Walker's bike. So. I'm leaving it here. In the lobby."

If not for the way that Azalea Kingston could stare someone into their own personal abyss, the attendant might decline her storing her new motorcycle here. If not for her deconstructing eyes, he might even be tempted to take a look at the Bat-Bike. Not that it has much in the way of secret weapons, it was stripped down - she was the Baby Batling of the family, after all.


The button to Trish's bell rings once, and through the video surveillance system a pair of crystal blues peer back, as if she could meet Trish's gaze even through the electronics.

Tonight she's dressed in black slacks over black boots, and a button down of crimson red that has some sort of embroidery on it, though it's hard to see through the camera. She cuts a lean figure, aggressive, predatory, an aura of something /more/ lingering around her despite her size.

If not for the small smile she flashes, Azalea might look every bit the part of someone you should /not/ open the door for.

Trish grins back at Az forgetting the picture only went one way. She brushes her hands over imaginary wrinkles on her black jumpsuit she still had on from work then opens the door. The grin widened, now that Azalea could actually see her and she gestures the other woman inside.

"That was really quick! Come in, come in. Obviously you didn't have any trouble finding the place. Did I interrupt something? You could have sent me a text saying you were busy, I wouldn't have been offended."

Trish quickly snaps her mouth shut as she realizes she's babbling at Azalea before she's even all the way through the door. /What the hell happened to my ability to talk to people? Az isn't just people though is she, she's? well?Az. Special. Quit staring Trish, she's going to think you're an idiot!/

Trish closes the door once Azalea is inside, rubbing the back of her neck, trying to collect herself.

"Let me try that again. Thanks for coming Az, I really appreciate it. How are you doing?"

The way she accords herself when that door opens and Trish assails her with a rambling gush of twists and turns has everything to do with meditation and the vicious beating she put on a wife beater last night. For now, The Devil Inside is less rowdy than it otherwise would be. All it takes is the slight bit of fluster to show, a little human weakness, and her jimmies are instantly rustled. Tonight her makeup is the usual: Smokey eyes, accentuating the clear, crystal blue she levels along the celebrity's jumpsuit, her head giving a tiny tilt before Trish collects herself and asks that question.

"Dealing. You know. The usual. At least until I got your message." She breezes in past the older woman, close enough that they'll touch for a brief moment, her eyes going wide and her hands remaining in her pockets as she looks around in abject wonder.

"Holy shit. This place is… /amazing/. And the security door i…wait. /What/ did you need my help with?" She turns to face her again, brows lifting. "Is some asshole stalking you or something?"

Trish blinks for a moment, still kind of flustered, then laughs at how scarily accurate Azalea's aim was. Trish walks into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of juice, jug poised over the second glass she had taken out earlier in preparation, and eyebrow raised in a silent question.

The time it takes for her to get to the fridge and pull out the juice is enough to allow her to calm down and speak to Az like a normal person.

"Thanks, Az. It's home to me. Something rather like that, actually. My mother is trying to blackmail me into spending more time with her. She's using information about Jessica that she gathered when Jess came to live with us as bait. I want the information, without spending time with the evil bitch, and Jessica can't know. Last time I told her about mom bothering me, Jess broke her desk and mom threatened to go to the police and press charges if Jess does anything else." Trish swallows some juice before continuing, using it to mask the emotions starting to thicken her throat. "I need someone to get the files for me and that's where you come in, if you're interested. I feel absolutely shitty asking you to break the law and keep secrets from Jessica, but I don't know who else to ask."

Trish's lips quirk in a sardonic grin. "I usually just ask Jess, not that I make it a habit to have others break the law for me."

The way she wanders is like a creature investigating some new cage it's been introduced to, but she does not have the demeanor of someone who's caged. Rather, she looks almost like a conqueror, her brows lifting when Trish moves to make them a drink. There's a long stare down the hall, towards the celebrity's training room, but her wanderlust comes to a halt when the mission is laid bare.

Closer and closer, she steps over to pick up her juice and give it a sniff, her expression showing nothing about how she might feel about breaking into someone's house. It isn't until after she has a sip that she moves past Trish, her free hand snaking out to hook the far side of her neck. It might be strange or presumptuous, but that brief moment of contact, just as emotion wells in the blond's throat, is meant as a balm.

Her hand slides away as she turns to lean back against the counter and level her deathrays at The Seeker, trying her best to not overplay her Thrill.

"Jessica mentioned her a little. I heard you two talking about it some too. Not this information, just that your mother was not to be trusted. It sounds to me like she's hurt you… and I don't like people hurting those I care about. So sure. I'll take care of it. I'll get whatever she's got."

Azalea might also make sure that bitch /never/ messes with Trish or Jess again, too. It really depends on how things play out.

Trish's breath hitches slightly as Azalea touches her, a small shiver sneaking down her spine. It's soothing and confusing all at the same time. Had it been anyone else, without a dangerous Aztec God inside them, Trish would have laid her head on Az's shoulder. Jessica's warnings kept her from getting too physical with Azalea and moving very slow.

"Yeah, she did." Trish gets quiet for a moment, deciding how much to reveal. What had happened between her and her mother was private. Secret. But she knew one of Azalea's, so she decided to share a couple of hers. "My mom was a tyrannical, psychotic, bitch who used mind games and physical abuse to get me in line and make 'Patsy' a household name. At least until Jessica couldn't take it anymore. So the least amount of time I have to spend with her the better."

Trish's green eyes meet Azalea's blues. "No one but Jess really knows how bad it was and it's not exactly something I like to talk about. But I figure you need to know what kind of situation you're getting involved in. She's manipulative, she's cruel, and she will not hesitate to make things incredibly difficult for you, me, and Jess just for fun, if we get caught doing this. Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?"

Trish pulls a file folder on the counter closer, covering it with her hand, waiting for Az's confirmation before opening it. Inside are blueprints of Dorothy's apartment and details of her security. It had cost a bit of money and a reservation at Bobby Flay's new restaurant as payment to get it, and it was worth every penny.

All through the story, the warning, Azalea watches her, but does not really see her. She's looking for all the small edges, the reaction to the way she touched her, and the way she worries over what might happen should she draw Azalea into this conflict. Her glass finds the counter, and she steps close again, one hand reaching out to take hold of the folder. The little tug she gives isn't enough to pull it free, and in fact she steps even closer, her teasing smile the last remnant of a playful God, one that died a long time ago when he had his heart ripped from his chest. Xiuhnel might have lost his mirth outside of debauchery and murder, but Azalea still has a little left. There she stands, looking up at Trish with an expression that is at once amused and certain.

"No one can make my life difficult, Trish. It's already on maximum setting. The things I've done, fought against, and for… your mom won't make my top 20 list, sorry to say. I'll get everything you need, and if she persists in whatever her fantasy is, be it power or control, or simply money, well. There's an answer for that too. Not many people recover well from a talk with The Devil."

Trish's fingers twitch on the folder, an answering grin tugging at the edges of her lips. It was hard to not react to Azalea's closeness, or how the way she looks up at Trish. Azalea's confidence, her playfulness, and yes even the edge of danger make an incredibly appealing, hard to resist package in Trish's eyes.

"I know you can handle yourself, Az. Those guys in the parking garage proved it. Dorothy has this amazingly awful ability to bring out the worst in people, so it would be best if your paths never cross directly."

Trish lifts her hand off the folder and brushed Az's hair back with a gentle smile. It was rather heartwarming that Azalea would offer to convince Dorothy to stay away. It was tempting, oh so tempting, but not something Trish could ever ask. And certainly not of Azalea, given the struggle she was already facing internally.

"She's not worth bringing out The Devil, Az. Once I have the files, she won't have any more reason to bother me, and Jess won't need to bother with her. Which will in turn, leaves us more time for shopping, movie night, and trying to convince Tony Stark to outfit New York's newest Hero and her driver side kick. Wins all around, wouldn't you say?"

With that faint touch her gaze drops, eyes almost closed as someone else's fingers play in her hair. It's brief, but these are the moments she tries to live in now: A fleeting glimpse of the normal. It was not as if her life was lacking in physical contact. Sex and violence were the playgrounds for her Dark Passenger, but there was never any real intimacy in either.

It comes to her as she's told just how freeing this will be for Trish, to complete this mission. Her promise. Her honor bound vow to Jessica. When her eyes open again they trace over Trish's mouth with unhidden temptation, but stills he takes the dutiful step back, finally claiming that folder.

"Maybe. But you're no one's sidekick."

The declaration sticks in the air like something pinned over Trish's head. Maybe something written in big, bold letters, that says Hero. That's the way Azalea is looking at her now. Because this mission is just that, and act to free someone from terror, to save Jess from terrible consequences, and to move them all forward.

"I think about it a lot. About what it is to be the person that acts. The truth is, the action does not matter, only the will. You drive her places. You help her in all the ways she needs help. Our families, not blood born, but those we connect with because we need them, they are our real strength. Not some special power or iron will. It's /you/. Don't worry about this. I'll take care of it." She lifts the folder, and some question hangs there after she stops speaking.

Maybe she's staring a little too long. Maybe she's struggling with what she should be doing, versus what she wants to do. But she does not yet move, despite the indication that she might get working on research to plot an attack on Dorothy's right now.

The way that Azalea looks at Trish like a Hero, the way Trish so desperately wants to be look at, is far more intoxicating than any of the different things Trish experimented with back in the day. It makes her feel invincible, which is dangerous in its own right. The one addiction she's never been able to kick is that feeling of being special, needed, and like a bonafide, goddamn, capital 'H' Hero.

The reassurance that Azalea will handle things makes Trish smile with relief. And when she tells her to not worry, it makes Trish let out a short laugh and arch her eyebrow.

"Worrying about my ladies is my super power, didn't Jess tell you? I'm a world class champion worrier. Please, Az, just the files, okay. Leave Dorothy alone. She's a pee-on with delusions of grandeur and a false sense of entitlement."

The way Azalea eyes were focusing on her mouth had Trish's heart rate increasing. It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on the reason why she had invited Azalea over in the first place.

"If you, ah, if you have any, um, questions??" Trish's voice trails off as she's captivated by the way the color of Az's eyes contrasts with her hair.

The way Azalea looks down and away says everything Trish might need to know about her question, the coy smile, the way it plays on the edge of her lips, unspoken for long moments as she weighs propriety. Even at her best, she is still rotten to the core, something she will likely never shake without the help of two of the best mystics in all the world.

"Yeah, but they're all questions I'd need to spend the night to answer."

Every step backwards is a step towards her humanity, towards her promise, and towards control. Slow is the only way she can go without ruining it all, and she lifts the folder, as if to hide her face from the terrible mischief held in her smile.

Trish will get to see it drop away before she opens her door, though, her gaze sweeping up to lock with hers, to remember her expression when she implies that she'd be more than happy to stay over, you know, to cure her curiosity. To answer her questions.

Maybe next time.

The spell Trish had been falling under broke at Azalea's comment about spending the night. Not because Trish was taking offense to the statement, but rather the urge to accept. Trish finds herself speechless, mouth twitching between a saucy grin and being on the verge of speaking.

And then Azalea is retreating with the folder, complete with all the information Trish gathered about Dorothy's two bedroom Brooklyn apartment, the moment passing. The grin settles as she debates responding with something sassy in return. The only things she could think of were either cheesy, groan inducing, or beyond over the line of appropriate.

/I could really like that idea. You're so sweet you make sugar jealous. Are you sure you could answer them all in one night? Stay and find out./

Instead, Trish takes the safe road.

"Thank you, Az. I really, really appreciate this. I'll owe you a huge favor. Be careful and I'll try not to worry too much."

Trish slowly follows Azalea to the door, keeping a careful distance to avoid doing something stupid or embarrassing.

Azalea chances a glance back before slipping out and closing the door behind her, making sure Trish can't tempt her towards something too soon, too destructive. Once outside she stares off at nothing in particular, oblivious to the camera that can still see her, that folder brought up to fan her face as she turns and swoons and leans to the wall.

Never would she let a smile so big take over her expression in front of Trish, but she'll see it none the less, and as her fist finds the button to call the elevator she lets out a long breath.

The party was her first real taste of something normal, something fun, something human. Speaking to Trish for half an hour, touching her without meaning harm, was everything she'd been building toward. Maybe it wouldn't last. With Xiuhnel, her abating efforts rarely did. With a spring in her step she's gone, slipping into the elevator, content with her momentary reality.

Azalea Kingston felt like a human being again.

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