Owner	Pose
Daimon Hellstrom	It begins when Patsy decides to open her eyes. There is a man before her, very close, gripping her shoulders but there is no sense of her orientation in space. Is she being held off the floor? Is she pushed, back into the wall? Are they in a room? It feels like a room, but its not well lit. Daimon is easy to see, as is Patsy. They are illuminated, or it would be better to say they emit their own light in this place. "I want you to find out who killed me." explained Daimon.
Patsy Walker	Patsy is, as a matter of fact, not simply Patsy. The woman whose shoulders the man is holding on to is more. She is Hellcat, clad in her butter-golden, black suit with the cat cowl covering the majority of her head and face. Eyes flutter open, solid white as part of the mask itself, and she goes through one of those jerks in place as if waking up from falling. It feels odd, like up is down, left is right, and nothing feels quite like it should. As she works on gaining her bearings, a chill runs down her spine. There's something..off here. Something wrong, but she can't put a clawed finger on it just yet. What she can do is get her hands up to push at the man in front of her, push against his chest. Not too forcefully, but enough to create some space. It's only then that she asks, "Excuse me? Killed you?"
Daimon Hellstrom	Now Diamon was approaching her, now, from a tall sliding glass door he'd opened, to let in the air and light from the city outside, but there was no sound. From her vantage she could see the city. Buildings loomed impossibly tall, some of them intersecting with each other at right angles offering a dizzying scape of uncanny angles. There were streets that passed up the side of buildings, twisted around them, dissappearing from site behind them. Buildings moved and shifted places smoothly. Some consumed each other and mutated at a scale that probably suggested months or years in the making. There were inverted bridges, lateral staircases that seemed to serve no purpose. Skyways made of glass that had tubes filled with water and great numbers of sharks and anglers and teeming translucent manowars. There was a thrum of activity, humanoids walking to and fro, packed together so that you couldnt make out what they where walking on. Daimon arrived at her side, where she was now standing before the window, she hadnt moved, she hadnt needed to. The city demanded that she look upon it. It was a stripper and she had a twenty in her metaphoric fist; she had never seen this city, and it new she hadn't and it wanted her to see it. It wanted her to spontaniously scream, shout, cum, and weep in its presence. See me. SEE ME. "We were on prime, just before we arrived here. It was a social event, there was an explosion and I died. What do you remember?" he asked of the woman, as if he could not see the visual riot through the window, or knew every of inch of it already.
Patsy Walker	Hellcat's spidey senses...well, no. Can't say that. That's probably copyrighted somehow. It should be. But something is tingling, and it's likely not what this city wants to be tingling. Her eyes widen at what she can see, and an immediate feeling of dread threatens to flood her. It's not familiar, yet everything about it is all too familiar to her. "Cheese and crackers," she whispers, something she's been known to utter in the past for lack of a better turn of phrase. It isn't nearly enough to convey any of this as a shiver passes over her, enough to be seen. "No.." Panic wells up inside. Panic, fear, helplessness, hopelessness, and for a long moment she's taken back in her mind to a place. The Arena of Tainted Souls, where those damned to it fought for eternity. She escaped that fate, to be brought back to life. But she was back. Where? Hell. Or some version of it. It had to be. "Fucking..no!" she shouts, a clawed hand lashing out toward the man nearby, only to come up short of striking him, short of drawing blood. "That's not true! I wasn't there!" Hellcat insists, a shake of her head as she wills herself to turn away from the literal hellscape laid out before her. Does it do any good? But there /was/ something that happened, even if the description of the setting isn't what she recalls. She'd been responding to a call, a disturbance. That was it. Wasn't it? "You grabbed me just before...before."
Daimon Hellstrom	"I don't remember what happened, I manufactored something...anything, a fencepost in an empty field. A starting point." he seemed mutedly frustrated. "When I get back up there, I need answers. A guy like me can't let something like this go." he admitted to her. "Its iodmatic. Its postulate. Blood for blood is compulsory. Even if its just a mortal body. Even if...who are you?" he said, now pearing at her from behind his dull red ember eyes.
Patsy Walker	She turns away from him, but she can't turn away from /him/ or this place. It's all around her. It's part of her, much as she wants to deny it. There's a tie, a connection, something that will always be there whether she wants to acknowledge it or not. "Hellcat." The answer is a near-growl. It might be a hiss, were she actually feline rather than just looking the part through the costume. "You did what?" she asks/demands, shooting him a look as her clawed fingers curl, though not enough to pierce her own gloves or skin. "Now I want your name."
Daimon Hellstrom	"His name is Daimon, of the Massachusetts Hellstroms." said the female attendant with the wicked black lipstick and cracked porcellain face. She was helping Hellcat into her evening wear, sashes of black leather strategically covering portions of her body and leaving enough skin exposed to entrap the eyes of any onlooker. A selection of tall black heels rest on the table beside the eigth foot tall mirror she was staring into. "I know what your thinking my love." she said to Hellcat, pacing around her to admire the thing she was wearing now and how it loved every curve of her body. "But its not like that here, everything sort of happens at once. Your holding on to linear time like drowned bitch in the sea, clinding to a buoy. But what you dont know is that you can SWIM, baby. Your were born to swim, you swam for eternity in God's Grace, and then he betrayed you and sent you to Earth where you learned to count the days until your death." she kissed Hellcat's cheek, genuinely despite her cold ceramic skin. "Your swimming again baby. Its all already happened, everything you've done here. You already had dinner, your about to have, dinner. You just got here, you've always been here. Your already fucked him, you will never fuck him. Just swim." said the attendant fading out of view. "Swim." "Swim." Dinner time.
Patsy Walker	Daimon. It's a name she's heard, but only from the mouths of others. In some cases, it was uttered just before their tongues were removed. Before she can think too far on that, reality appears to shift on her. The corrupted attendant. A sinful set of leather, nothing that would be considered decent out amongst polite folk. Not something in her own closet back home. Or is it? Where is home? Here? There? Anywhere? Nowhere? "Don't..touch me," she says, hands going up to seek dismissal of the woman, though there is the effect of a slice through time where seconds or even minutes disappear. A pair of thigh-high boots now rests in place over her legs and feet, the heels adding inches to her height. Before more can be done, before she has to listen to more of the unreal woman's words, she shoves her away after the kiss, after the words. But she's already gone. Swim? Swim. Into a river that looks like fire, yet it chills to the bone rather than burning. She must reach the other side. Answers lie there. She knows. And, Hellcat's magical sense is going back and forth like a needle waving this way and that on a compass. It'd be overwhelming if she hadn't faced something like this before. Something not like this at all.
Daimon Hellstrom	Daimon either reached for her hand or held his out to her. The entrance to the dining hall was open. He lead her down the center line of the floor, as they where gawped and gaped at. Things sat the long U-shaped table they where passing into the middle of. Some of these things leered with eyes that widened unnaturally in greeting, teeth show, tongues that looks like sex organs or knives, or both at the same time. Each was an acknowledgement of esteme, and at the same time and invitation to partake of something on offer; something that was eating, fighting and sexual indulgence all at once, with the promise of the loss of all choice and agency hidden below the surface like a wood splinter in a finger. When they were seated, and presented with a choice of food and drink Daimon leaned close so that he could speak to her in conspiritorial tones. "I'm going to call you Hellcat. They know you by that name." he whispered. "There is already a ledger for you, but not here. This is mine, we are not on the main concourse of Hell. So, just tell them you are mine for now. Don't play games here, you won't like it. I'll get you topside again when I'm corporeal."
Patsy Walker	There is a lost sense of time and space as Hellcat swims, as if the literal sense of it is pointless as everything shifts at the gripping of her hand. The doors to the dining hall suddenly stand before them, and she looks to the side he's at. Eyes narrow in confusion. The costume returns, but it is not exactly the same as she knows it to be. It's a little more a mix of feline and demon. The sash is a tail, tipped with a spade. The claws are her own. The ears atop the cowl, also her own. Teeth include fangs. She levels a challenging look back toward some of the beings here, as if just inviting them to try her while she also tries to avoid placing too much attention on certain aspects of this display. Then they seat, and none of the food looks to her like something she'd enjoy. Not at first glance. "They should know me by that name. That is who I am," she says under her breath. "But I'm nobody's. And I don't play games. Take me back, now." But he may not be able to, not yet.
Daimon Hellstrom	Diamon stood up at the table. His cape tugged at the walls, where it had merged with the draping tapestry lining thousands of yards. The stress in the material took on the look of veins, until the massive cape became translucent wings erupting from his back and above his head; a crown of fire. "All of you, fuck off." he said bluntly, and they were alone. He reached for her with long clawed fingers and planted her on the table before him, eyes greedily considering his next move. He was human and demonic in alternating shades, like the shadow cast by slatted blinds. "I'll take you back when I'm done with you." he said, his demonic voice harmonized against his human one.
Patsy Walker	That mystical sense was pinging something fierce again. As the room vacated, Hellcat found herself on the table, though she quickly went to a crouched position, a snarl on her lips. Almost, for a moment, a flickering between human and feline. Or human and demonic feline. In this place, who could say what was what? "Told you, I don't play games," she responds, regardless of when she will go home or not. But if now is not the time, here may not be the place. "Show me somewhere else," she tells him. Is she commanding him, now? Or merely making a request? The tail, seemingly real, lashes behind.
Daimon Hellstrom	There is a balcony in the round, it can just be made out over the glare of the operating theater's lights. "Soul storage really more science than Art, Hellcat." offered Daimon, where he stood by her side, also dressed in full surgical. "When I ursurped, they questioned my relevance. I could rule by birthright but that is a warriors game. Perhaps something you would be good at." he admitted. She was with him, but she was also unconscious on the table, naked, and still. "I attained relevance by solving a problem, and that problem was soul storage. With that problem came an opportunity, soul sleaving." "I can bring anyone back, I can put anyone in anyone. And with contol over conditions, initial or otherwise, we can produce outcomes." he explained. "Want to speak to the archivist at the library of Alexandria before it was burned? Want to listen to Cleopatra sing to her newborn son? Want to fuck Sid Vicious while Nancy watches? Hell always had a mine for the resource, but no idea what to do with it." As the spike approached the back of her sleeping form on the table, the controls in her own hands, Daimon offered "Let me show you a few things you never thought were possible."