IROÍDA

@bitchheroine gets a starter

"Do you think together the two of us would be capable of killing your father?" Kara wasn't sure, after all Azazel wasn't known for being a pushover… but at the same time Meg and her were a force to be reckoned with, especially with her grandmother's training.

"I have not experienced his strength first-hand, but he has to have weaknesses we could exploit, if only we found them."

"I mean... I don't rule out the possibility. S'just... what if we can't? And then we're looking at a fight with him. A nasty one." Meg knew that they were both skilled, having taken to Kara's grandmother's training like naturals. And when they were together... well, not much held them back. If anything could at all.

Sometimes, she felt like she'd been destined to find Kara. That they were extensions of each other. That made them sisters.

"...but if we find a weakness, and go in with the upper hand? I think you're on to something."

Hel lowered her eyelids partly and smirked at the bashful demon, "And how are you so sure that was not my intention?" A low chuckle finished her words.

She hoped playing coy was enough to distract from the nervous energy growing in the back of her mind. It chilled the room ever-so-slightly. It had been the longest time since Hel had been to a party. Obviously social etiquette did not matter in light of a trap situation but.. she still wanted to make a good act until the time was right.

Did she know any of the dances? Were her dresses fitting enough for the scenary? Ah! She had not missed such stresses. Sometimes isolation was not so terrible a curse.

"Oh, oh no." Hel whined, her face pulled down in a sad expression. "A death joke? That is the most wretched thing you could speak in my presence." She held that feigned insult about... three point five seconds before loud and earnest laughter filled the space and she promptly waved off Meg's concern, "Fret not, darling. I am the original Macabre. I love jokes about death. It's a lot more humorous than mortals care to acknowledge."

And then it was Hel's turn to blush. Or she would have, if all the blood in her body were not pooled in the pit of her stomach. The duality of her emotions was impressive. "I'm not sure I'd go that far but.. I'm almost certain this is going to be very, very fun."

Well, if it had been Hel's intention to reduce Meg to a flustered mess, she could certainly call it a job well done. The demon felt as fluttery and red cheeked as a school girl over her first crush.

But, Meg was also observant, and she was aware of the fact that her companion was nervous. She didn't want to call attention to it, and make her feel uneasy, but she certainly took note of it.

A snort, loud and undignified, escaped her when Hel teased her again. That masterful, mock expression of sadness, the dramatic dressing down of her death joke... well, it was good to know she hadn't actually offended her. She laughed, too, unable to help herself.

"Well, thank fuck for that, because I would've had to dig deep for appropriate jokes, otherwise."

Meg extended an arm, with a dramatic little flourish.

"I think it might be time... Please, my lady, will you do me the honour of being my partner in all this cloak and dagger mischief? I promise to make it very worth your while!"

There is silence for a moment while Azrael stares up at the starry sky, unblinking. She steals a few side-long glances at Meg, and each time, it makes her heart thump in her chest. The moon and stars reflect off the rippling water, casting dancing lights across Meg’s face. It’s beautiful; she is beautiful. Azrael feels her mouth go dry and her light pulse restlessly. It is an unusual reaction, one Azrael cannot interpret.

“Why did you help me?” Azrael asks. “You could have left me to die. Everyone else would, but not you.”

Why.

That's always the question, Meg has been anticipating it. And the truth is, she doesn't know if she'll have an answer to satisfy Azrael. Not because she regrets helping her, absolutely not. She wouldn't have changed what she did for anything. But, she'd been operating primarily on instinct.

"Guess...Guess I just knew I needed to. That I wasn't gonna leave without ya. Don't expect anything, Angel, don't wanna take anything from you... just... I couldn't have left ya."

Meg sinks a little deeper in to the cool water, still silvery with moonlight, and sighs. "How do you feel, sweetheart? Any better?"

Why.

That's always the question, Meg has been anticipating it. And the truth is, she doesn't know if she'll have an answer to satisfy Azrael. Not because she regrets helping her, absolutely not. She wouldn't have changed what she did for anything. But, she'd been operating primarily on instinct.

"Guess...Guess I just knew I needed to. That I wasn't gonna leave without ya. Don't expect anything, Angel, don't wanna take anything from you... just... I couldn't have left ya."

Meg sinks a little deeper in to the cool water, still silvery with moonlight, and sighs. "How do you feel, sweetheart? Any better?"

"Well. Fuck him then, I guess. Good riddance."

Yeah, this looked real messed up. It was coming from her torso alright, the blood not dry at all, flowing still, soaking her already soaked clothes.

"What was it? Hunter? Demon?"

He definitely paid extra attention to the what. Not who. Whatever did shit like that? Wasn't fucking deserving of personhood. That was a fucking monster. After far less consideration than was probably appropriate, he lifted her shirt a bit, trying to get a better overview.

"Fuck. How the hell are you even still breathing?"

"Perks of being technically not living, sugar..." Meg rasped in reply, wincing in pain as the fabric lifted from her raw, battered torso. There was a misconception around demons, as it happened. That they didn't feel pain... which she wished was true, in moments like these.

Unfortunately, until she healed, she'd feel every second of it. Every raw nerve.

There was something sweet about Lance's indignation, though. His anger on her behalf. "Hunters, this time. Ones with fancy toys, holy water in gallon jugs, all that good shit. S'why I'm not healing yet. Gonna take time with all the bullshit they used. But hey, least I got good company in the mean time."

❝  probably for the best. most 'nice guys' will always be victims. their consequences nothing but cruel fate in their eyes. true gold medalists in mental gymnastics. ❞ at one time, jess was more likely to give others the benefit of the doubt. but she'd seen so much more of the darkness within people after being crashed out of her naive and simple life. were people getting worse or was this just another symptom of losing those rose colored glasses?

❝  might be spoilt for choice. i know just the one. it's just a couple blocks from here. ❞ aptly named the ugly mug, the dim bar was covered in the yellowed film of years of cigarette smoke. and the regulars from what she had seen were just as slimy.

a sliver of excitement started to shine in her eyes as jess turned to lead them toward the bar... pushing back her contradictory thoughts about exposing herself to fire for now.

"You are so right... and so poetic. I love it." Meg murmured in return, nose crinkling briefly in amusement as she smiled, before beginning to fall in step behind the blonde as she led them to their first stop on this evening tour of misogynistic losers. The name of the bar earned a chuckle from the demon, it was quite literally the perfect mantle. On theme for their plans. "I got a good feeling about this one, gorgeous. Thanks~" She crooned, as they inched ever closer, the old, faded sign now in view.

"Gotta say, I love this side of you. Can't wait to commit our first crime together, babe."

You and me. You and me. The words bounce around in the Archangel’s fractured mind, only to be overcome by the sound of her own voice laughing a cruel, jagged laugh. She shakes her head frantically, trying to cover her ears with her trembling, blood-stained hands, but the voice persists, as it always does. No, no, get out, get out, Azrael mutters between gasps.

“It’ll be…it’ll be you next, and…I won’t be able to stop it,” Azrael sobs.

Another wave of terror shatters her tenuous grip on reality, and Azrael loses sight of Meg, her vision replaced by harrowing visions of the dead walking, their fingers pointed at her in accusation. In retrospect, Azrael knows it is her guilt manifesting itself, but, in that moment, they are real and tangible, and they are there to punish her.

Without her usual grace, Azrael recoils from Meg’s embrace and scrambles to her feet, clutching at her abdomen and trying to pull her clothes off as her insides cramp, though her hands have involuntarily curled into fists, rendering them useless. She is small, clumsy, and weak, like a newborn lamb, muttering in various languages, not an ancient warrior who could cut through swathes of men as though they were nothing.

In her uncoordinated escape from the phantoms lingering in her mind, Azrael falls into books and tables, knocking over an antique room divider with a horrendous clatter of wood against stone. Eventually, she makes it to the large copper bathtub, unfolds her bloodied, filth-ridden wings, and clambers into it. There, in the empty tub, she cocoons herself in the black feathers, still trembling in fear.

“Shhhh. Shhhh,” Azrael whispers to herself like a mother would hush her baby.

It pains Meg, physically pains her, to see Azrael so overcome with horror. To see her rocking and shaking with a pain that the demon knows she may never fully understand.

And it hurts to feel her archangel struggle free from her touch, to recoil as though she couldn't get far enough away. "Azrael, baby, please... you can barely stand-" She begs, eyes full of ink tinged tears as she follows behind her, hoping to keep her from harm. The archangel is not well, knocking things over, barely keeping her balance... but nothing Meg says manages to cut through whatever noise is filling her head. She kneels by the copper tub, eventually, wanting to plead with Azrael, to pray if that's what it takes. "Oh, my angel... I'm here. For... for whatever ounce that's worth, I'm here."

It pains Meg, physically pains her, to see Azrael so overcome with horror. To see her rocking and shaking with a pain that the demon knows she may never fully understand.

And it hurts to feel her archangel struggle free from her touch, to recoil as though she couldn't get far enough away. "Azrael, baby, please... you can barely stand-" She begs, eyes full of ink tinged tears as she follows behind her, hoping to keep her from harm. The archangel is not well, knocking things over, barely keeping her balance... but nothing Meg says manages to cut through whatever noise is filling her head. She kneels by the copper tub, eventually, wanting to plead with Azrael, to pray if that's what it takes. "Oh, my angel... I'm here. For... for whatever ounce that's worth, I'm here."

He tries to feign offense in the way he looks at her.

❝ A double killer twist? That'd be so tacky. ❞ he clucks his tongue. ❝ I do love a good Hunter Becomes Hunted plot, though. ❞ his arms cross comfortably over his chest as he sinks deeper into the couch.

❝ And what kind of duo would we be, hm? Probably something not too far off from the original Ghostfaces, I'd assume. The clashing aesthetic besties. ❞

In light of Clark's mock offence, Meg's nose wrinkles, playfully, as she laughs. Who would've thought that she'd get to know such comfort in her long, twisted life? Curled up on a couch, discussing horror tropes with a person she would quite literally follow anywhere, do anything for. "See? You act like you'd hate it, but you know you'd live for that reveal as much as I would." She teases, blowing a strand of hair off of her face.

The demon lights up, too, as she imagines herself and her companion as Billy and Stu. "Clashing aesthetic besties with a relationship so close that everyone wonders what's going on there... oh, and they're murderous ride or dies. Yeah, that sounds about accurate to me, sugar."

He didn't even need to see her to be able to tell just how much blood there really was. The smell of copper, overwhelming, biting, real. It was shocking to see her covered in it, just as overwhelming as the smell, really. Yet even then, maybe because of it, Lance couldn't keep the remark in.

"Nah, I wouldn't say you look like shit at all, but you've got blood all over you, yeah" he said, eager to approach, put his hands on her after handing her the bottle as requested. Checking for any possible source of that much carnage.

"Is it yours? What the fuck happened? Did he get you? Where?"

A chuckle escaped her lips as she accepted the bottle from him, head tipped back as she took a long, greedy pull of the bourbon. One satisfied sigh later, Meg reluctantly let Lance fuss over her. It was still new, someone being so concerned for her wellbeing.

"S'mine, some of it... some of it's his. He's dead, really fucking dead. Just got me all cut up before he let up. Some stupid fucking holy weapon-" She coughed, which made her sore ribs ache even more.

"S'mostly my torso. Gonna take longer than usual to heal."

"Of course." Hel smirked playfully. "I measured you up the moment I met you and I've not been inattentive since."

"Well, what can I say?" Hel said, grinning playfully, "In my Pantheon we trade in cunning and Seidhr. Not a lot of grace among us." She winked once and laughed, clearly pleased at her own joke. Though truthfully Hel was unsure she had a wealth of either type; Gracious soul or gracious motion. She had been born in this body but first she existed without. She used to drift on the winds. And now she walked with bone thin feet. It didn't feel to her as if any grace was left.

She was too heavy. Burdened with flesh. And delightedly so.

"That is some solace." She smiled, and curiously brought her "empty" cup to her lips. It wasn't empty anymore. And she sipped at the drink slowly before going on to say, "I've had dance partners in the past that, well..." She smiled even wider and returned her cup to her ribs, holding it in her left hand, "The dance of death is a romantic concept, but it is heavy holding up a corpse while the song finishes."

"Shit, careful now, you might make me blush~" Meg crooned in reply, her lower lip briefly caught between her teeth.

Hel fascinated her. There was no other way to put it. She was utterly captivated by the goddess, by her history, by the many facets of the incredibly long life she led.

"...I can see how it would be more poetic in theory than in practice." Meg murmured in understanding, still smiling, eyes softened with admiration for her current company. "I promise I won't be uh... dead weight in your arms. Shit, sorry, that's probably in poor taste." She cleared her throat, suppressing a giggle.

"Seriously, though... been wanting to take you out on the town for a while. Even with a trap involved, I'm gonna enjoy showing you a good time. And having the most beautiful woman at my side while I deal with these lowlives... well, it's an added bonus."

❝ I think weird is followin' all of us at this point, ❞ she remarked. The way she looked at it, she had always convinced herself that she was some normal girl until she started dating a vampire, nearly getting herself killed every other week, and finally learning what she was. Weird was just part of her life at this point. She laughed dryly. ❝ It's an honor to be part of the Winchester story club then. ❞

"You may be right, gorgeous, but there's weird, and then there's weird, y'know?" Meg chuckled, a fond smile tugging at her lips. She was so grateful for the friendship she'd formed with Sookie, that the woman had been willing to trust her, even after all she'd been through.

"Ah yes, it's a prestigious club, lemme make sure you get your complimentary t shirt... and one of a kind key chain."

"Should have. I would never make such a mistake." Hel teasingly replied.

For Hel herself it was not so much a matter of choice. For all her graces and rehearsed movements and sound, Hel was very much a creature of instinct. Her eyes lingered where her thoughts knew they shouldn't and her feet often took her where she didn't want to admit she longed to go.

"At parties? Not so much. But I know how. And what I lack in grace, my dress skirts and beautiful hair distract." The goddess grinned at the demon, "And if I get lost, I trust you won't lead me astray?"

Not that the idea sounded particularly unappealing. What mischief the two could get into... If Hel were not so worried about Meg's safety, she'd almost be inclined towards debauchery and mayhem for the night. What else were dances for, if not hijinx and romance?

"Ohh, is that so?" Chuckling, Meg smiled even wider. It was impossible not to be caught up in Hel, in her warmth, and her wit. The demon was rarely caught off guard, but when it came to the goddess, it happened fairly often.

"Aw, you lacking in grace? That's hard to believe, gorgeous. But don't you worry, I'll take good care of you." She murmured, flirtatious to be sure, but also reassuring. She wouldn't let anything happen to Hel, not on her watch. Even if this gala was a total trap, which seemed likely, they were going to take every advantage of it, and enjoy themselves.

"Sides, the secret to a good dance isn't really skill... it's having a good partner. And I know I've got that on lock."

❝  makes me want to keep tabs on them, see how long it takes for them to learn not to be shit. ❞ from what she could, a certain subset of humanity may never learn from their mistakes. a victim of circumstance, no matter the consequences they face. it is truly disturbing how much money and that kind of charm that's almost slimy can really get a guy.

❝  i know. just not feeling like showing any cracks in my airtight tough girl persona. ❞ she laughs, hoping to brush past the vulnerability that lies even in the very sentence trying to cover it up. maybe she should say something, but she's too intrigued on how she will handle fire in a controlled environment.

she doesn't want to be tied down by that fear for the rest of her life.

"Ahh, I've never tried the long con before. Usually just leave 'em in the dust with their comeuppance." Meg chuckles, though there's a definite note of intrigue in her voice. She's a cynic, she knows, but part of her doubts that many, if any at all, will learn. Still, maybe if they know someone's watching them, willing to make 'em pay... they'll change their tune.

Her expression softens, briefly, as Jess answers her somewhat stilted offer of support. "Hey, I get that. How about we head to the first bar, get ourselves a drink to start? We can scope out potential scumbags there."

❝ I'm always hearin' weird things. It ain't nothin' new. Well . . . ❞ Sookie paused to think, laughing as she did. ❝ I guess hearin' someone think about microwaving faeries with nipples is kind of a new one on me. ❞ Something told her not everyone was going around thinking about microwaving faeries. It had to be one of those freak things that had happened while the hunter had been on a case.

"Yeah, well, you can count on those boys to bring weird to a new level. In my experience, weird follows them. To an impressive degree." Meg chuckles again, mind flooded with memories of her own encounters with said hunters, back in the day. "And now, you join the club of those of us with a Winchester story."