17730/The Safehouse

The Safehouse
Date of Scene:	22 April 2024
Location:	Catwoman Lair
Synopsis:	Helena breaks into Selina's safehouse, only the Cat is home.
Cast of Characters:	Selina Kyle, Helena Wayne

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Selina Kyle has posed:
The safehouse is right where Helena remembers it from her parallel version of Earth; fourth floor in a five story apartment building. Too high to jump (for most people) and one floor below the roof. The security is as she remembers as well, so getting in through the window is easy.

It's a comfortable apartment, well-furnished, with a couple of notable items. Boots, gloves, cowl, and catsuit make a trail from the window to the bedroom. And on the coffee table sits an alabaster figure of a cat, about ten inches tall, inlaid with gold. It was featured in the Gotham Gazette yesterday as the newest arrival to the Egypt exhibit. The newspaper spoke quite highly about the new security measures as well, yet here it is.

The shower is off by now, and the sounds of a woman humming can be heard coming from the master bath.

Helena Wayne has posed:
It's just like how Helena remembers it.

Fourth floor up. Security impressive, but exactly the sort that she was taught how to get around and unobtrusively neutralize. An overwhelming love of cats suffusing the place from top to bottom.

Yes. Just like how she remembers it. Which is exactly why Helena was avoiding it up until now.

So she's not sure how it is that her body takes her here from the opposite rooftop. Despite the control she yearns for in her life, some things our bodies and minds do on autopilot... especially when we're desperate. Helena wanted to be somewhere safe. Somewhere she can recover. She has safehouses of her own she can use for that, now; she works quick like that.

And yet, it's here she finds herself, in the thick of the familiar.

Blood drips thick and viscous on carpet as a shadow-wrapped figure stumbles in through the windows. A hoarse whisper of "'m sorry" brushes the open air of the apartment's living space as that bright red stains a steady path across the long stretch of luxury despite her best attempts to stem it. The sound of humming is a distant, somehow soothing thrum in her ringing ears as she pauses by that cat statue. She looks down at it. A weak smile crosses her lips as a trembling, gloved finger reaches out to nudge the thing fondly over the top of its gold-inlaid head as if scratching a pet.

"of course," she says, to no one in particular, before moving on. Her thigh knocks the coffee table as she passes; she suppresses a curse as the alabaster cat quietly wobbles, just barely stopping it before it can make any more noise.

She keeps moving. She knows exactly where to go. Exactly what to look for. Her body does it by rote. Emergency first aid supplies. A needle for sutures. Something to sanitize them.

With a suppressed tremble, her body makes its way towards the liquor cabinet, looking for anything strong enough to work as disinfectant.

Selina Kyle has posed:
Selina Kyle doesn't hear it at first, but there is something in how her cats react. The cats that had been curled up and lounging about all converge on the intruder, purring fondly.

That's odd.

Wrapped in a white terrycloth robe with her hair in a matching towel, Selina Kyle steps out into the living room just in time to see the caped invader.

"Well this is awkw-... shit, you're bleeding." The last comes out almost as a hiss. She crosses the room in three strides, slipping her shoulder under Helena's arm to support her weight. "What and where? Can you put pressure on it?" And then she is half-dragging Helena towards the sofa. Blood be damned for now. "You need to sit. I'll get a first aid kit." The towel is unwrapped and handed over.

Helena Wayne has posed:
Cats are curling at her heels, purring affectionately. Despite the pain, her smile takes on a fonder element. Even the vintages in the liquor cabinet are the same. Everything is...

And then it hits her. Another voice.

Logically she should have known someone was here - /she/ was here. But Helena is rapidly losing focus. Making mistakes. Like the one that landed her -here-.

So it's not until she hears that achingly familiar voice that the reality of where she is, and who this place belongs to, snaps into wide-eyed focus.

Dammit.

She turns, just as she gloved fingers are about to pluck the highest proof bottle on the shelf on sheer instinct. The shadowy silhouette that is the would-be 'Huntress' comes into sharper focus. She looks pale as a sheet as Selina approaches, beads of cold sweat clinging to pallid skin and her trembling stature giving the impression a stiff breeze could bowl her over. And yet, she still takes a few staggered steps back from the safehouse's owner as she approaches, one bloodied hand lifting as if to ward her off.

"It's -- fine--don't--" she tries to say, but is already stumbling over her words by the time she feels that arm sliding around her, providing her that support she could never admit she needed. Despite herself, she leans her body weight into Selina until she finds herself deposited on the sofa, the landing, no matter how gentle, inspiring a suppressed wince from her.

"Have been," Helena mumbles to Selina's words, the order of her questions jumbled in the caped invader's scrambled thoughts. "Left... nnngh... side. Ribcage. Knife. Cuh-clean wound. Didn't.... didn't hit any..."

Her words trail as that towel is taken. Trembling fingers press it to her side; bright crimson blooms across fabric.

"Stupid," she exhales. It's not clear what she's referring to, exactly. "Shouldn't have... ... I can... I can deal with this myself."

Selina Kyle has posed:
Selina Kyle pushes the towel firmly into Helena's left side now, pulling it back briefly to give a quick look while she folds it over and replaces it forcefully. Helena's hand is taken and moved to the right spot to cover.

"More pressure. Here. And shush. I'll take care of you now."

The white towel is thoroughly bloody, and the white robe is probably a lost cause as well.

She swings the Huntress' feet up onto the sofa, propping them with a pillow before laying the younger woman's head back. So she doesn't pass out.

"Stay there." she instructs firmly, then disappears down the hallway. A moment later she returns with a first aid box that looks like it fell out of an ambulance. The box is opened and she starts rummaging around inside.

"This wouldn't be my first time with stitches, you know. And it's a lot easier when you're not stitching up yourself. I'm pretty good at not leaving scars."

Selina looks the black-haired woman over more closely, then. "You've gotta expose it first, unless you want me to see if I've got something sturdy enough to cut bulletproof fabric."

Helena Wayne has posed:
Her fingers might be trembling as accumulated blood loss reaps its unavoidable physical toll, but Helena Wayne still manages to hold that towel tight to her side with -exactly- the amount of pressure she needs to stem the blood flow without damaging the injured tissue.

It's rote. The things she's had hammered into her since she was a child. And it shows -- just like another caped crusader.

"Hh," is the hiss of air that escapes Helena's lips as Selina offers those quiet assurances. She's on edge in a way that's difficult to wholly place beyond the obvious -- and yet, those words see her relaxing fractionally despite herself. Legs propped, head back, Helena stares at a familiar ceiling as Selina slips away. Her lips twist in a grimace.

Stupid, she curses inwardly this time. Sloppy. She needs to be better than this. Smarter. How could she end up in -this- situation?

She listens to Selina. Despite herself, a knowing little smile twitches its way across painted, bloodied lips.

"heh," she barely laughs; it hurts even to try. "Yeah. I... know." A second passes. "I'm... not too -- tttsss -- shabby either. Had... a good teacher."

She feels those eyes on her. Despite the situation, she feels briefly self-conscious, before she forces it down. She feels vulnerable. She hates feeling vulnerable. And it only doubles down as Selina speaks next.

What she says makes sense. Helena knows that. And yet for a second, the Huntress looks up at Selina in a guarded way, as if for a brief second she's seriously debating just rejecting the idea outright and seeing if she can't just make a swift(ish) exit. Seven palpable seconds tick-tock past.

And then, with a pang of pain, she sighs and lurches forward, still holding fast to that bloody towel as she rolls towards her right side.

"... Fine. I need your help. Can't reach, with..." She shakes her head. "You can... you can open the costume from the back."

Really -- it's not too difficult to figure out. It's very similar to more than a few Gotham vigilante costumes out there.

Very similar to some of, say, Selina's.

Selina Kyle has posed:
She knows? Selina gives a curious look at that, but it's a brief one. The Huntress pauses, and those seven palpable seconds are filled with the sounds of concerned cats mewing and climbing all over the sofa.

Also in that time, Selina has taken several hospital-grade antiseptics and arranged them in sequence.

"I know how these costumes work, darling." she replies, with just a hint of playfulness. The costume is opened down the back, fabric pulled forward enough to expose the wound until the towel is jammed back onto it.

Then something dark lands on the sofa near Huntress' face; a black, leather glove with steel claws. "Bite down onto that. This is going to hurt a lot."

The towel is removed and Selina guides Helena's fingers to the wound to pinch it closed. "Let me sew it up first, then I'll disinfect everything that's not nailed down."

Selina's fingers take over pinching the wound closed, now, and she makes the first jab with the needle. Ready or not.

Helena Wayne has posed:
That playful remark reaches Helena's ears, and there's a part of her that wants to riposte. There's that natural inclination towards lining up something sharp and witty.

Blood loss, however, does wonders in ensuring the only cogent thought that enters her brain is a weak little, "Ha."

She's a bit cold. A little clammy to the touch. The cold sweat dappling her skin paints a story. How far did she go with this wound weighing her down to get here?

If nothing else, though, this new Huntress is about as good a patient as one could hope for in circumstances as strange as this. She obliges with the way Selina moves her; any backseat doctoring is thankfully stifled. When that glove is presented, she hesitates only briefly, eyeing it in a quiet way; her expression is difficult to read, behind the cowl. She listens to the concerned mewling of the cats, and squeezes icy blue eyes shut.

"... Wouldn't be the f-first time," she tries to joke, about the hurt. "Won't... be the last."

Her last thought before her teeth clamp down on sleek stylish leather is a simple one: "... Cute cats."

Her fingers pinch the bloodied wound. She suppresses a wince as her fingers apply pressure against her tender flesh. Her eyes squeeze tighter. She braces herself, subtly.

To her credit, she doesn't shout when that needle jabs, as nauseating pain explodes across her nerves and forces her to fight off a brief, intense dizzy spell. She just hisses hot around that leather glove and clenches her teeth that much tighter around it as her expression twists into a gnarled knot of suppressed pain.

More than anything, in the irrational, blood loss addled corners of her brain, Helena doesn't want to look weak. Not in front of her.

Selina Kyle has posed:
Selina Kyle stitches the wound with all-too-familiar fingers. Just strong enough, just soft enough. Selina does her own sewing, makes her own disguises and for a time made her own costumes.

To say she's good with a needle is an understatement.

And she talks casually while she works. "You're lucky it went across the ribs instead of along them. Kept the cut shallow." she offers. "It's still a good five, five and a half inches long. The wound is curved at one end, so it was a flexible blade and they got you while pulling back instead of thrusting. Also probably in your favor."

There's a pause as she adjusts the tension in the stitches before continuing. "This should heal up pretty neatly, but you might want to consider a one-piece instead of a bikini for at least this season. I'll want to check you over for anything else, too. And you're sleeping here tonight."

There is a pause, then. "Also, you've lost a lot of blood. I don't keep a supply, but a friend of mine does. I'll bring over a couple of units."

From the Batcave, of course.

"And I want to have a chat about how 1) you knew where to find my safehouse and 2) you made such short work of my security." Pause. "Not now, so just stay relaxed."

Helena Wayne has posed:
Familiar.

In the frantic firing of synapses inspired by jolts of pain, Helena finds herself winnowing her focus down towards predicting the motions of that needle as its used to deftly stitch her wound. Maybe another person would want to focus on anything else _but_ the thing causing them pain, but for Helena... it becomes like a game, becomes an anchor, anticipating the way that needle tip is going to move next.

She knows the technique by heart, after all.

"hmhhmffflee," she muffles ineloquently out around her impromptu bit as Selina offers an assessment of her injury. It's completely incoherent, of course, but she somehow manages to make her muffling sound oh-so-glib to communicate her sentiment all the same:

'Lucky me.'

Within the pause, Helena huffs out a ragged breath as the clench of her jaw loosens for a brief moment. Sweat beading at her cheek gathers and drools its way down towards her clad chin, falling in slow, steady drops as she tries to catch her breath.

"Guh-hhhh--good thing--" she manages to get out around the taste of leather, "--I-- look great in a wuh-one piece-- but th-there's no-- no way I'm -- I'm -- staying--ghhk--!"

The stitching continues, choking out her playful rejoinder as she bites back down on the glove. Eyes briefly roll up. Fingers spasm; she clenches tight to the couch cushions to keep them under control until the next little break.

A lapse. She hisses out around her glove, fingers briefly relaxing. She refocuses her swimming vision in the woman beside her. She tenses instinctively about the promise and-or threat of that future chat. A part of her pain-addled brain starts trying to think of ways to slip out. She wants to deny it. She also wants to tell Selina she won't be staying here.

Instead, within that lull, what she finds herself saying instead is, "... Why are you helping me?"

Selina Kyle has posed:
Selina Kyle expected resistance to her hospitality, of course, but there are questions that need answering. The stitching continues with that steady rhythm... five and a half inches is a lot of stitches, after all... and she continues to talk while she works.

"Darling, you're not the first bleeding Bat I've hosted on my sofa." she declares almost casually. Then she starts to work it out. "Except you're not a Bat, are you? Not exactly. I'm still invited to the meetings, you know, and I've never seen you around."

There's a pause, and Selina leans in as she tugs the last stitch and loops the loose end. She bites the thread with her teeth, patting the wound with her fingers to check the lay of the stitched flesh.

That's when Helena feels the next jab, in the fleshy part of her lower back. "That will help you sleep." Selina offers casually, regarding the shot. "Now let me clean this up."

The antiseptic burns worse than the vodka ever would have. Selina starts at the wound, working slowly outward to cover an area the size of her hand. "You didn't go to any of the usual Bat-locations, either." And no, she doesn't name any. "Instead, you let yourself into a cat burglar's safehouse. Annnd, the security system that should have kept you busy for at least an hour lasted probably less than 2 minutes. I'll have to check the camera footage to get an exact number."

She smiles, the sedative starting to take hold around the fringes of Helena's consciousness. "So you see, darling, a part of the reason I'm helping you is because I really need to know who you are. Everything is going to go fuzzy very soon, now, but I won't take off your mask. We'll talk more later."