14209/A Curio-us Surgery

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A Curio-us Surgery
Date of Scene: 21 February 2023
Location: The Curio
Synopsis: Ariah stops by the Curio to look for a Balm for some inside issues. Phoebe lends a hand and gets to (finally) use the First Aid Kit at the Curio.
Cast of Characters: Phoebe Beacon, Ariah Olivie




Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The Curio, supposedly, used to be in Liverpool. And then it was in New York City. And now it's in a run down neighborhood in Gotham, gien new life as a hang-out place for the Weird, the Mystical, and those who really wanted to be Weird and Mystical. Between the New Agers, the dabblers, and everyone who looks like they're trying out for a Cure biopic, there is a decent crowd for a Tuesday night.

    Partially because it's Trivia Night, and the trivia person is asking esoteric questions about German magicians from the 1500's.

    It's a tough crowd.

    Among those here for trivia, a young woman wearing a red sweatshirt over jeans and a black tee, her hair bound back in braids is studying out of an aged tome with leather bindings, eating from a tray of hot pretzel bits.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Given her recent run-ins all across the Tri-City Area with vampire hunters and other things, Ariah finds her current visit to Gotham might be best spent in the company other mystical weirdos. That and she has a very particular need, and a need that may only be solved by someone in her particular... fields? Either way, the white-haired woman enters the Curio and pauses once she's within, not quite having been prepared for such a crowd.

    She frowns, lips pursed, as mismatched eyes scan over the various faces all over the place. A quiet sigh escapes her and she hunts for someone, anyone, perhaps at the least a familiar face--though unlikely. Then, silver-and-purple sweeps over where the pretzel-nomming reader. Ariah isn't quite so old to forget faces yet, and she had seen this one after a certain beachside incident. So, the smaller woman approaches.

    Ariah's attire of the evening is a blood red knee-length skirt over black knee-height boots. Up top, a loose cardigan hangs open, also in black, while the teeshirt underneath is the same color as the skirt. Black and blood. The logo on the shirt is a faded fist-holding-lightning bolt logo in a shield that... if there any gamers glancing her way, they might recognize it.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The reading woman pauses, and she draws her gaze up to Ariah as she makes her approach. Her head tilts lightly, glancing the younger-appearing, shorter woman in curiousity before she closes her book with the soft 'pamf' of soft vellum and wood, and she sets the tome back in her bag.

    "Good evening." Phoebe greets Ariah, giving a little smile.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "Bonsoir," comes Ariah's reply in greeting, a slow nod. She watches where the book had slipped away to, tilting her head in curiosity. "..a curious tome..." she states, accent no less thick than usual. Her nostrils flare a little as she draws in a long, deep breath, then sighs quietly. "...old parchment and wood?" she asks, head tilting the other direction.

    "...forgive me. It has been some time. October, non?" she inquires, standing before Phoebe's table and not being so bold as to just sit down yet.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Sometimes I lie a little light reading on a study break." Phoebe replies back, giving an amused look to Ariah. "Ah... yeah, the beaches. With the spiders. You gave my guardian-type quite the scare. Don't think that's ever happened to him before." she comments dryly, and she motions to the chair across from her as the crowd universally boos a bad trivia judgement call.

    "Been a minute. What brings you to the bar?"

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "I wish that had not happened," Ariah says, her usually icy tone turning to remorse for a moment. "I do not wish for people to see me at my worst like that. It has happened again recently... The Bluebird of Gotham helped me out of a spot that I may not have otherwise survived..." she explains softly. "...but that is not why I am here, actually."

    She slides into the seat and folds her hands on the table. "I am looking for someone that is talented in the arts of medicine," she states. "...if I am correct in recalling... you are well-versed, non?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "The Bluebird-- the one with the guns, or the one with the bu--" Phoebe begins, and then she decides to not finish that statement, instead just giving a small grin, and rubbing the back of her neck.

    "Well, that depends on what medicine you need. I was under the impression that someone like you rther took care of themselves." she states, and then leans in.

    "But I'm all ears."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Ariah blinks owlishly, lacing her fingers together on the table. "...she had a mass driver of some sort..." she says quietly. "...a stun weapon?" she considers, recalling the woman's disdain for... the body she'd left. Then she blinks again when Phoebe mentions the sort of woman the vampiress is. She nods, slowly, "...oui, that would normally be all there is to say, but..."

    She trails off, "...I have been... making trades. To secure the construction of a magical weapon. It is beyond my capacity to craft anything beyond the ammunition. As such... I have taken on the burdens of... another. Who had taken them on from others. In a manner of which I am honestly unable to describe the how of it. It is another thing beyond my limited understanding," she admits.

    "But at the end of the day, these burdens consist of cancerous growths, of various types, because the woman who I ... exchanged with ... rightly assumed that my body is able to play host to them without them killing me as they would a normal human." She unlaces her fingers and turns her palm over, "...but.... they interfere with my energy flow. They will not kill me, non, but they could put me in a compromising position. I require them to be cut out. My flesh will knit around the gaps."

    As if to demonstrate, she draws her energy through her fingertips, shielding her hand from the greater view of the bar. A small sphere of light coalesces in her palm as threads of blue-white spin it into being. The sphere, however, pulses, small cracks in the light showing. Like broken geometry in an early 3-d video game.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I don't suppose this was a nice lady in the East Village of NYC, was it?" Phoebe asks dryly, her lips pursing a moment as she considers. Her shoulders sag a moment, dark eyes lowing to the table as she reaches for a pink, fizzy drink and sips it in thought, before she looks back to Ariah.

    "This can't be an all the time occurance. Even supernatural bodies don't respond well to being cut up all the time, not to mention the mental trauma that will come with repeated instances." she replies, her eyes closing.

    "Where are the tumors?"

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    That head tilts again, slowly, "...oui, I believe it was. Gardener?" Ariah subsumes the sphere back into her palm, a faint hint of light seen beneath the sleeve of her cardigan when it vanishes. "I do not intend to collect tumors as part of my adventures in eternity, believe me..." she counters softly. "But I am a creature born of violence. I am no stranger to wounds."

    Then she shakes her head, "...I was carved open years before I was... embraced. I am not a... stranger to it. Non, it is not pleasant, but it will... not take the toll on my mind that you may be expecting..." she trails off quietly.

    The question of 'where' has her considering. Her very basic studies of first aid at least has her knowing ... some things. "...the energy flow disrupts..." she closes her eyes a moment and lets herself focus internally. "...chest... near stomach... and... colon...?" she considers. "...there is the matter of skin as well... but I will have to take that into my own hands. It will be an arduous process.." she frowns.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "You're not the only one involved with it." Phoebe counters with a weak smile, and she takes a deep breath, and she lifts her phone to check the time as she considers.

    "I can do it." she decides, drawing her dark gaze to Ariah, lacing her fingers as she rests her chin on them, looking to the French vampiress as she weighs her decision. "But nothing is without exchange, that's the general rule, isn't it? There's never not a price." she comments, and she frowns a moment as she looks to the table, then back to Ariah.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Ariah blinks at the revelation of involvements. Then she nods slowly, her own mismatched eyes focusing on Phoebe's. "It has been a series of exchanges. The gains I am seeking will outweigh the costs, if I survive them. What I paid for this was in the abstract, as I am afraid I have little to offer outside of... myself. So in that juncture. the pound of flesh was taken. In the necessity of gold, HYDRA paid that fee."

    The smaller woman sits up straight now that she needn't hide her magecraft, no more light on the table or her fingers. "Make known your cost, please? I understand that it is not a small endeavor. And I cannot simply tell you to think of it as practice, nor tell you that you need not worry about being careful--no matter how true it is. My organs are..." she quirks one corner of her mouth. "...as much an illusion as my heartbeat."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The young mage across from Ariah considers. Money. Gold. Fucking over Hydra.

    "A Favor." she states, and holds up a finger "To be redeemed at a later date, should I have need of an ally or something more in your wheelhouse." Phoebe states, and then she leans her chin on her palm, and holds out her right hand.

    "And I'll remove the tumors causing the issues with your flow. Gotta get your groove back, after all. Can't have you biting people willy-nilly."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    The offer of a nebulous favor earns a slow blink and a blank look from the vampiress. "...I mislike writing blank cheques..." she states simply. "...but you are aware of what I am capable of and my favored... environments. While I would prefer a less open proposition, you are a woman of good moral fiber." A beat, "...and you did not send me to my final death or allow another to do so even after the... incident on the shoreline."

    She reaches for that hand, her own right in return, rather small with her short stature. A moment of pause, and then she takes Phoebe's and gives a squeeze and a shake. Her skin is soft, her body is warm. Anyone could think she was just a normal human girl. Perhaps less so with her oddly-colored eyes, but colored contacts aren't hard to come by.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "There was once a young vampire that I considered a friend. I wanted her to be my friend. Least I can do is not be a complete asshole." Phoebe replies with a slight smile. She was warm and welcoming, and smelled faintly of roses and black pepper. "Chances are I'll never call it as much as it would be 'pick up a pizza order' to be honest." she explains, and then she takes a deep breath.

    "Were you looking to do this as soon as possible...? Because uh..."

    Phoebe then motions out to the trivia night partakers.

    "Curio Trivia Night is an awful time to have a surgery in the open. Not to mention who knows what could fall into open body cavities."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    The words and the smile make Ariah's expression soften some. For a moment. But she does nod. "...I should like to hope this is not merely a transaction. Despite my advanced age and longevity, I am bereft of many I could call a friend. Perhaps, in time, we could think the same of one another?" she asks quietly. "And I would enjoy partaking of pizza with you. But regardless, I endeavor to be a stalwart ally whenever you wish it."

    Then the question comes up of the when and she looks around, lips pursed. "...as soon as possible, oui. But certainly not in here. This is. Too public. Too open. And I imagine there would be some... alarm... were you to be cutting someone open who is still able to speak and move..."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I don't know, that *would* be a heck of a magic trick, wouldn't it?" she gives a wry smile, and then she gathers her bag, finishes her drink, and sets some bills down on the tabletop.

    "Come upstairs; it hasn't been *used* since... well... ever. BUt I have a medical area from when this place was something different." she explains, moving to the old, wire-cage elevator that exists to access the apartments above.

    "I don't think I caught your name, or if I did... I've forgotten it. I'm Phoebe."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "I can do a very good impersonation of a corpse," Ariah deadpans quietly, "If need be." Then she nods, standing from her seat and following Phoebe. Into the elevator and up. "What did it used to be?" she asks, curious, watching the walls as the elevator ascends. "...I am fascinated by history... I endeavor to learn as much as I can while I can..." she explains quietly.

    When the question comes, she returns her focus to Phoebe looking her in the eye and nodding. "A pleasure. I am Ariah."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... it used to be Home." Phoebe states softly, as the bird cage acends upstairs.

    When it comes to a closet door, which opens into a very plain looking lobby with checker-board style floors, dusty gray-green walls, and an apartment map that looks like it was set on fire at one point.

    Phoebe extracts a set of keys from her pocket, around which a cord with a blue-and-copper-crystal is wound together. "This used to be the base of operations for a group called The Night Brigade. Like a lot of groups we were determined to fight what goes bump in the night. My adopted dad lead it."

    She comes to a door marked 'FIRST AID CLOSET', and she goes to unlock the deadbolt keeping it closed.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    The answer to the question of what just lingers there in silence. Ariah doesn't respond, she just nods solemnly. Her eyes wander the space, the floors, the burnt map. The history of the place meets her ears not long after and she files it away in her mind. Just a place to store things she's learned. Eventually, though, she does break the silence once the deadbolt clunks open. "...we cannot go home again..." she says quietly.

    Her head shakes slowly and Ariah exhales a long sigh, "...for me, perhaps the winery where I grew up was rebuilt eventually... but it is not my nome now, nor will it ever be again..." she says quietly, pushing her hands into the pockets of her cardigan.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Yeah... I might sleep here some nights, but it doesn't make it home." Phoebe states with a small, sad smile, and when she opens the door, it leads to a very, very clean, scrupulously scrubbed, small operating theater.

    "It's all gone now. The Night Brigade. My adopted dad, the life that I was building... but it gets replaced, you know? At least I got to keep the house in the divorce." she offers as a lame joke, taking off her sweatshirt to hang it on a hook and going to wash her hands in the little sink.

    "I'm guessing you're not afflicted by normal pathogens, yeah?"

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Another solemn nod from the witch. She understands things. Loss, too. She doesn't speak any further on the matter. Instead, she moves to hang her cardigan up as well before looking around the operating theater.

    "Non, I am most affected by sunlight, cold, flame, and... divine energy of various sorts..." she explains quietly, trusting Pheobe not to take advantage of some of her more glaring weaknesses. "...the former is not going to reduce me to a pillar of ash, however. It is simply... very uncomfortable..."

    Another long look around, "...it is you who takes good care of this place?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Yeah, I'm kinda the caretaker-superintendent-landlord type person -- but this place hasn't been used in years." she explains, and sets out paper. To this, scapels, tweezers, and a heated cauterizer are added to the little tray table.

    "Well, That's good. Because otherwise we'd be in trouble, since I'm a regular ray of sunshine." she states with a slight grin.

    "I'll be using a little flash cauterizer to help seal off what I cut away." she states, and then she adds a deep, kidney-shaped basin.

    "That's for the tumors."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    As Ariah listens, she makes her way over to the operating table, just climbing up and sitting on it as if it were no big deal. "...this feels familiar..." she says quietly, trialing off a little, then looking back towards Phoebe. Eventually, she asks: "Do you have blood stored here?" It seems inocuous enough to her. But maybe it's not.

    "I expect some degree of extended downtime as I will be missing... pieces. As unnecessary as they are. I ... ate before coming here, just in case. But it is on my mind."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "If I do it's probably two years old and mine. My blood retains some of my magical properties, but it was actually -- you know what, I'm getting too chatty." Phoebe begins, originally brightly discussing her own blood before cutting off.

    "I do have a secure room you can rest in afterwards. Not many people dwell here. I use the apartment here to study or work." Phoebe states, and then she finishes her material prep, and then brings up another hair wrap, netting and then wrapping her hair before she grabs out scrubs and begins to scrub in.

    "Go ahead and remove any clothing that you don't want to have cut. I have some paper I'll lay over you for modesty's sake that's already pre-slit."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "...that is likely too old... and your blood I am..." Ariah ponders, "...perhaps unsure of. Magical energy is good but..." Then she shrugs when the overly-chatty is mentioned. "I do not mind chatty," she states and then nods. "But I understand if it will disrupt your concentration," she adds.

    Then without really worrying about modesty, she undresses. Everything goes, folded up neatly and set aide if there's a spare shelf. "...this will still likely be more pleasant than my first time on the table... but they were drastic times and... they were drastic measures..." she says absnelty and resumes taking her place on the operating table.

    "I am very appreciative of you doing this. I would attempt to do so myself, but it would be neither efficient or precise."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... more that inevitably it gets used against me." Phoebe mutters to herself, and she draws the tray to the table, and steps on the foot pedal to turn on the bright overhead light.

    "I can't imagine operating on your own lungs would be a cheery experience, Ariah." Phoeb counters, and she takes a deep breath, through the mask she's wearing, and looks down.

    "Do you want local anesthetic?"

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "You have my word that I will not use this knowledge against you," Ariah states. Phoebe might've muttered but the vampiress can track heartbeats across a room and further. She does, though, shut her eyes when the light comes on. Clenches them shut, even. The brightness seems to be a point of discomfort. "...lungs.. breast..." she muses. "...non it would be unpleasant, and very difficult. If not impossible..." she muses. "...I only know field medicine, after all."

    The question of anesthetic actually earns a pause of consideration from the girl and after a few moments of thought, she nods. "It may be worth a try. Merci, Pheobe."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I apologize for the brightness, but I'll need it." Phoebe states apologetically, and then she preps local anesthetic. "You're going to feel some pinches against your skin as I insert the needle for the anesthetic. Then it might tingle, or feel numb." she explains, and after a moment, she makes the first incision.

    For someone working solo, she works quickly. Creating the incision, clamping, dabbing away blood with a sponge, and she takes her first look at the inside of Ariah. Each attached tumor is treated with an injection of anesthetic, a quick swipe of the scalpel, the touch of the cauterizer, and the drop of the tumor in the bucket.

    "So, you're from France I take it?"

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Ariah just shakes her head slowly about the light. "...worry not..." she says simply, then goes silent. As she's poked, prodded, and cut, she makes no noises. Her face doesn't even seem to flinch. In fact, if not for the soft thumping of her heart and the way her blood is indeed trickling out with the cuts as one might expect... it'd be easy to call her dead. Which, in a sense, would be true. In a sense. Though, there doesn't seem to be terribly /much/ blood flowing through her.

    The extra bonus of this, of course, is she doesn't need to breathe. There's no need for her lungs to inflate and deflate, no need for her chest to rise and fall. Her being as still as the grave is no doubt of use to such an operation. Within, the tumors have taken root, and a normal human would likely be in later stages of needing serious treatment. An oddity, however, is when bits of bone are uncovered.

    Etched onto her ribs, the same runic symbols as those etched on the staff she had brought to the beach. As she lays there, they shine faintly, hints of blue-white in the lettering, pulsing with her slow heart. It would seem that magical energy is as much the lifeblood of the girl as actual blood, even if it is not her own. When she's spoken to, however, she nods and speaks, absently, as if she's concentrating on something.

    "Oui... I was born in 1920, not long after the end of the first World War... my family, they had a winery... rolling hills and grapevines..." she sighs. "...a world and a lifetime away, non?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe looks at the runes carved onto the ribs of the dimunitive vampire woman, and her eyebrows rise up behind the hair guard. She gives a soft 'hmm' of thought as she continues to cut away at the tumors, one by one, working quickly as she goes.

    "What kind of wine did they produce? I'm not much of an alcohol person, but it's nice to have someone who knows what they're talking about. for an education, isn't it?" she asks absently. Another few tumors loosened and placed in the bucket.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "My family cultivated the white wine you may know as Sauvignon Blanc.." she states, still absently, as if she's just maintaining focus on keeping her body still under fight-or-flight sensations. "..I admit that I have more of a taste for ice wine, which is stronger and sweeter.." she explains quietly.

    "Would it surprise you if I told you that wine was not my preferred field of study?" she asks after a few moments and a few more... cuts. "...I took up music... and it is still one of my favorite things to this day..." she says with a slow, soft exhale. Her tone turns more to the wistful as her fingers curl and uncurl slightly against the table.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "It wouldn't. Apples might not far fall from the tree, but grapes have a tendency to roll about, don't they?" Phoebe gives a wry smile, cut, cut, cauterize. She works methodically.

    "What instruments do you play? Do you write music as well?" she inquires, keeping her patient thinking on happier thoughts rather than the bits being cut out of her body.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    There might be some ice-cold assessment going on in Ariah's mind. The points of failure in the 'circuitry' of her body already showed bottlenecks where her magical flow was being hampered. Now they just show voids, blossoms of warmth where the lines intersect but coalesce and slow down. A better situation than the tumors themselves, of course, but still suboptimal until she heals.

    "I was given a violin when I was very small," she answers quietly. "It is an instrument I enjoy and continue to play. I like to listen to the piano, but my playing is... not very good..." she considers, lips pursed as she ponders. "More modern, the bass guitar has been fun. As far as writing? Non. But... I am presently in the production of a movie. It is a unique experience that I am most pleased to be a part of."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe continues to slowly pull tumors out from between ribs worked with runes.

    "Always liked the violin, Never got the chance to learn to play it. I play a little guitar." Phoebe replies conversationally. Thuck. Thuck. Splat. Eeew.

    "What movie are you working on? SOmething shooting locally, or do you commute to LA?" she questions, with an amused tone in her voice.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    The runes seem to pulse brighter whenever Phoebe's fingers dip closer to them. The nearer to making contact with her, the more they shine, as if resonating in some kind of harmony with the other girl's own inherent magic. There's no backlash or hostile reaction, though. It seems more akin to hairs rising up near the presence of electricity or static. "If you wish, I could play for you," she suggests, voice still coming soft and distracted. "Or we may play guitar together?" she offers.

    Then at the question, there's a very small nod, "Oui, local. Mostly. Gotham City. There is a... Count of Monte Cristo filming... I attended the audition in the hopes of joining the orchestra with my violin but..." she trails off, lightly pulling her lips between her teeth before subtly shaking her head. "...I ended up with the wrong line on mistake, and am now the lead actress... But it is no problem. I do enjoy singing."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Ah, you're shooting with Mike?" she gives a bright smile, and she gives a soft snort. "Who knows? Maybe you've got a new career move incoming. HOw good is your American accent?" she questions a bit playfully.

    ... as... playfully as one can get with their fingers gently moving aside important bits to find more tumors.

    "My art of choice is ...ah... art. I draw, mostly. Relaxation, to unwind, in journals." she states, noticing the reaction of the runes on Ariah's ribcage.

    That... is curious.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "Oui. Mike. Or. Nick?" Ariah asks, frowning slightly. There are names that mix to her now, but to her, she's just the same man. "...and non, I do not plan on moving. New York is my home for the forseeable future.. and my American accent is not good, not even a little bit.." she states in near-monotone, clearly missing the joke. "It is easier to stay as I am, I can pose as an exchange student and go about my business without strange questions... usually."

    She would shrug, but she's keeping as still as she can. To Ariah, as peculiar as this is, there's no sign of discomfort nor ... really any sense she's feeling troubled by all of this--all opened up and being poked around at. "Trade for trade?" she asks. "Violin, play for you. You... show me your art? Or is it not the sort of art you wish to share?" she asks, completely missing the implications that could come with that inquiry.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Nice thing about New York is no one really questions the accent. You just kinda fit in. No matter where you're from, what you look like..." she drops another couple of tumors in, making a *face*. "Good Gracious, how many was she storing?" she mutters to herself.

    "Most of my art is journaling. I've made a couple comics for friends, but it's how I work through some of the traumas that come with the job." she places an incision in a breast in order to open the muscle and tissue to check.

    "... and tattoo work, on the odd occasion."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "New York is..." Ariah considers her words, her memories. "...interesting. I have been here since the sixties, and it has changed a lot in the last sixty years. The whole world has..." she says quietly. She hears that muttering again, "...I do not know. She did not say. There was a device, a ... transference of sorts.. and then.. what you see."

    She shakes her head slowly, "If you wish to keep me on retainer for some time to pay for the effort, I would not object. You are focusing very much and working very hard, and it is very, very much appreciated," Ariah says quietly, voice full of sincerity. "But I would like to see your work, then," she adds while the next cut is made. It's a wonder the little witch could maintain her magic at all.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The younger magician takes a deep breath, and she begins to cut away at the tumors here as well.

    "No. Just knowing I have an ally out there is good enough. I'm sure you'd do the same if our roles were reversed." she states thoughtfully, and then she breathes out. She begins to suture in. "Looks like the top is pretty clear now. How are you feeling? Can you feel the flow getting better, or will that take time?"

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "Of course I would," Ariah states. "Though I will admit my medical skills do not progress too far beyond plaster, morphine, and sulfa powder..." she adds. Then she rolls her shoulders when Phoebe mentions being done with the top half of things. "But I would do my best to stabilize you and avenge you, in the order most conducive to ensuring your survival," she states simply.

    Then she flexes her fingers and her toes, opening her eyes. There's a faint glow in both, the silver and the purple, and she takes a long breath even if it's not really necessary. "...better. Marginally. But better. It is like... a stone in a stream, blocking the water... but now the stone is gone. The hole it left is still delaying the flow, but... the water may continue once the rift has filled. I must take it easy until I am healed, I do not wish the energy to form... knots?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Heh, I have a friend who works wonders with accupuncture needles. Was able to restore full feeling to my arm." Phoebe gives a small smile, and she finishes sewing the top half closed. "The stitches should dissolve in a few days with warm showers." she states, and she looks at the Bucket O' Awfulness that she's assembled. "I'm going to have to find a way to dispose of these that doesn't incriminate anyone..." she murmurs, and gives a small smile.

    "So, fifteen minute break before I take a look at the bottom half?"

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Ariah blinks, "...that is a talent. It is beyond me. But we all have our own roles to play, non? We are good at what we are good at. And that is what working together means..." she says quietly. Thenshe glances at the.... bucket. Of. Stuff. "...have you considered fire? Or. An acid solvent to dissolve it? And then more fire?" she inquires. Maybe she's making a joke, but her deadpan delivery ... might make it funnier, actually. Then she nods, exhaling a long sigh.

    "Oui, a break is good. Take your time. I... will need the time to rest. And. Then find food. I.." she considers, "..know of someone who may help in that regard." She focuses her eyes on Phoebe. "Consensually."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I am definitely considering fire. Very strongly. I think the only corrosive product I have right now is basic though." she purses her lips, taking the delivery of the joke with the seriousness it deserves.

    "Are you one that can take them like capri sun packets or does it have to be from a particular per--" she pauses, looking at Ariah as she finishes"...son type."

    There's a beat.

    "I hope you don't mean me, 'cause I'm chock full of Vitamin Holy."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "I believe the phrase I have heard is that 'fire always makes it better'. Given one of my methods of recharging, it is not entirely wrong..." Ariah explains. Then her head bobbles at the question and she gives a small shrug. "Bags are sufficient in an emergency. Warm and fresh is preferable. There is a connection that the bite makes. It can be an intimate gesture but there is something about... how you say.. from the tap? It cannot be replicated by a bag in an icebox."

    Then she blinks owlishly at Phoebe, "...hm? Non. You are magically charged and I would be curious to try. But there are risks. Non, I was speaking of someone else I know who is very.. potent?" she furrows her brow at her choice of words and ultimately decides that it's accurate and sound, and she nods. "..oui, potent.." Still, though, she's looking at Pheebs.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I know for a fact that I'm Bad Stuff for most Vampires. I can emit Sunlight at levels that can hurt some. I've got holy heritage." Phoebe pulls up a stool and sits down, and offers a lint-free blanket for Ariah's shoulders. "My blood's caused enough trouble. But if there's someone you need to call, like I said -- there's a recovery room that you can use."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Ariah nods, "You do exude an aura of discomfort. Much the same as Patience does. But. I have become accustomed to her in the same way you do not affect my... focus?" she considers. "I would still be curious to try, however, much like the moth seeking the flame..." she considers. Then considers another joke: "Or the man from Florida licking the poison frog.."

    Was that a smile? Maybe a hint of one. For a moment. "...but, Merci. I will... consider a call. But she is often in Happy Harbor. It would be a bit of a trip at this hour. For either of us, in my state. How long may I stay here?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Let's not go all Florida Man status, shall we?" Phoebe states, giving a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head.

    "We can discuss the finer points of nibbling if the topic's broached with my--" she pauses a moment "... boyfriend first."

    She gets a rather distant look, mouth set in a straight line.

    "... anyway--" she gives another small smile. "You can stay in one of the spare apartments as long as you need to, to recover."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "Did I use the correct nomenclature?" Ariah asks, taking up the blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders as best she can. The pause and mention of a boyfriend makes the girl blink, though. "Ah? Boyfriend? He is very lucky. You are beautiful and talented," the white-haired witch says with a nod, sincerity filling her tongue again.

    Then she glances towards the door, "Merci. I will keep it clean. It has been... some time since I have had to heal so much. The last time I had a ... very ready supply of ... food ... at hand.." she frowns, recalling a not-so-pleasant memory. "...this did not happen in Gotham. But there are... people who know who and what I am, and my encounters with them are not improving any. When I am recovered, I will have to converse with you and Bluebird... to find the source."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe gives a small grin, and her ears and cheeks darken.

    "Thanks, pretty sure he thinks so too." Phoebe gives a small smile.

    And she lets out a breath. "Hey, anyone that messes with Bluebird's friends, messes with the family. Pretty sure the local vigilante outfit's interested. And if they're not... we can make 'em." Phoebe gives a small smile. "But for now, take a little bit, and we'll get the bottom half done and you can rest the rest of the night."