3118/Old Friends and Fresh Clothes

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Old Friends and Fresh Clothes
Date of Scene: 27 August 2020
Location: Ariah's Safe House - North of NYC
Synopsis: A long drive in the dark. The caring touch of an old friend. Washing away the blood and dust to clear the path to a brighter future.
Cast of Characters: Ariah Olivie, Peggy Carter




Ariah Olivie has posed:
    It's not the worst drive. At this hour, ther's not really any traffic. The trip out of the Bronx and towards a nicer section of town is quiet. And with Peggy having fallen asleep to the gentle tones of the engine and the warmth of the car seat, it's almost entirely silent. Ariah takes the car away from the city at large, north along the river until the black sedan is in the shadow of trees and greenery, far from prying eyes. Far from a lot of things, other than the smaller towns out here. Up a winding road, and down a quiet path, the car's tires crunch on dirt and gravel before coming to a halt in front of a single level home. A safe house, one might expect.

    Ariah backs her way into the empty carport and shuts the engine off, taking a moment to assess the sleeping Peggy. She reaches up to turn off the auto-light and opens the driver-side door, leaving it open as she goes to open the side door to the house. It's squat, modest, and rather remote with no neighbors in viewing distance, the trees aiding that. Perfect for what she has to do, being that she looks a mess and she's opening the other door to gather a corpse-like Peggy in her arms and ever so carefully princess carry her into the home. No vehicle doors are closed, avoiding extra noise, and the short woman's vampiric strength finds no strain with hauling her friend indoors.

    While it might be a single level on the outside, the stairs down into a basement shows the true size of the building, where the bedroom and other more presonal amenities lie. The witch carries the unconscious, injured Agent directly for her bed, gingerly laying her down before making her way upstairs to shut and lock everything, leaving the upstairs lights off as well. Nothing left to chance after all. She spends several minutes, moving around the home in the dark, her vision being an advantage with the lights out, and gathers up a number of things. When at last she returns to Peggy's side, it's with medical binding tape, some heat packs, a bottle of painkillers, a glass of water, and a cup of tea.

    Then it's careful work, removing dirty clothes, setting them aside to be laundered, removing body armor, and all with the express purpose of ensuring the woman wakes up comfortable and in better shape than when she had passed out. While she's no trauma surgeon she can at least operate as a field medic, placing warm packs where needed, wrapping Peggy's form in binding that ensures movement won't exacerbate the internal injuries, and she leaves the drinks and pills within arm's reach. Her last act is to pull a blanket over the woman, left in her smallclothes, atop this plush, luxurious bed. Vampires have all the nice things, don't they.

    Clothes gathered, her own included in short order, she goes to toss things in the laundry before hitting the nearby bathroom for a shower. Eyes closed, Ariah leans against the wall under the hard spray, the sound of it hitting the tile echoing around the bathroom and bleeding out into the dark basement bedroom, the door ajar enough to let out light and steam.

Peggy Carter has posed:
It's not too hard to get the body armor off, old tension tape already beneath it because Peggy went *into* the field tonight already injured. She made some choices. But she doesn't wake up the whole time into the house, ragdoll heavy in Ariah's arms, her body all muscle, curve, and the difficult of someone who is dead weight. Fortunately, Ariah is stronger than she looks.

Once in the bed, Peggy dimly half wakes up. Not really conscious, but enough to help shift arms and make getting the messy, bloody body armor and suit beneath off a little easier. Her torso is a horrible mix of yellow, green, and some purple where the bruises were starting to heal. They'll probably be fresh again in the morning. Her right shoulder is also a wreck, the dislocation of earlier in the week screamingly angry about tonight's fight. But she's still breathing and seems stable enough. Eventually, she's in nothing but the simple black boy shorts, matching sports bra, and the various bandages that Ariah's wrapped her up within.

It's well into Ariah's shower that, body feeling a touch better than before and circumstances changed enough her paranoia radar is going off, Peggy stirs on the bed. She takes in a deep, slightly ragged breath, coughing against a bit more of that debris and dust in her lungs, "Oh hell..." She mutters. That hurts. But she's awake now.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    With Ariah's work, the only bindings Peggy would wake up to are the loose, soft blanket and the freshly-applied tension tape. The smell of chamomile and vanila wafts up from the mug, warm tea, and the glass of water with the bottle of painkillers is room temperature by now. Within the bathroom, the water stops, the sound of the dripping showerhead accompanying a door opening. Ariah can hear the coughing easily, even as she towels off and makes herself modest.

    No nightgown, no lace lingerie, just loose black shorts, a white tank top, and the fluffy blood-red towel thrown over her shoulders. She's in the process of drying her hair with one hand, the other tugging the door open, her silhouette and small frame distinct in the backlight.

    "Mademoiselle Carter," she says quietly, nodding her head. "I took the liberty of undressing you and re-dressing your damage... you are not in good shape, but you do not need me telling you that, non? Please let me know if you have needs that require fulfillment."

Peggy Carter has posed:
A quiet bit of a groan escapes her lips as she forces herself up and into an almost sitting position. The tea smells lovely, and the blanket feels far better than the stiff SHIELD issue clothing. If she's worried about the fact Ariah mostly stripped her, she's certainly not acting about it. She drowsily reaches over, finding those pain killers and popping two out of the bottle to be swallowed back with a sip of that tea. By the time Ariah is out of the shower and partially dressed, Peggy's half sitting up in bed, the tea nursed between her hands as she stares into the room with drowsy, processing eyes.

The formalized version of her name is the first thing she hears. She gives Ariah a somewhat pale smile, "Ariah, after all this time, you can call me Peggy, you know? We're not in the field, not on mission... formality is... Unnecessary." That's easier to talk about that then fact she feels a wreck. Her pride is probably more injured than her body. "And I... noticed. That feels much better. I still need to get this dust out of my hair but... this is much better. Thank you."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "Of course, Peggy. You know that I am a bit... old fashioned. Old habits are hard to break," Ariah says quietly, vanishing for a moment to hang the towel up before coming out into the bedroom proper. The painkillers aren't anything super special, over-the-counter business mainly, just a higher concentrate. The witch casts a light, gentle smile to the agent, and moves to sit on the bed next to her. "There are clean towels and the shower is warmed up, if you wish to get cleaned up. I am running the laundry with your things, though if you require replacement clothes..."

    She pauses, eyes briefly wandering the blanket covering Peggy. "...I may only have a robe to offer you in the interim," she suggests, conscious of her small size. Her smile widens a little more, though, "Tu es la bienvenue mon cher," she says very gently. You are very welcome my dear.

Peggy Carter has posed:
Peg is fluent as ever in French, one of the first reasons she was stationed with the SOE in France during the early war. She gives a tired laugh, "Pas des nuits comme ça..." <<Not nights like this...>> And shakes her head to follow up. But she can still feel some of the dust on her skin, in her hair. There's some of that blood splatter left on her neck and while Ariah's bandaging job helped, a shower will be a miracle. "The robe is... more than enough. Thank you. Just... give me a minute."

She reaches that hand over, though, pressing across the back of Ariah's palm and giving a gentle squeeze. The touch is meant to be reassuring, thankful, all the things Peg is awful at saying but very much feeling right now. She lets it linger a few heartbeats before she shifts herself up and out of the bed, walking achingly to the shower. She's already peeling off sports bra as she goes. Modesty was for women who didn't go to war together.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "I will retrieve one for you, then," she states gently. Ariah seems to start to get up, but feels that touch on her own hand, and pauses, settling back down. Her fingers curl, and while her hand may be warm, she herself has no pulse, no beat. But she squeezes Peggy's hand and feels the warmth and knows she's alive, and safe. Then it's gone, and the agent is standing and heading for the bath. "Let me know if you require anything else," she offers quietly to the departing woman, though she stands up to retrieve the last articles of clothing so they can be laundered.

    Her gaze lingers some, of course, pausing in the light, gentle expression on her face. "I do not visit here often but this home is well equipped for most needs, and is a refuge from things in and around the city proper."

Peggy Carter has posed:
Boy shorts are kicked out the door as well because of Ariah is doing laundry, she might as well do everything. She doesn't totally shut the door so the shadow of her can be seen unwrapping those ribs and moving into the shower. It also means they can vaguely talk through the door, though the sound of mixed relief and pain from Peggy's throat when she enters the hot shower is enough to still conversation for a few moments. Everything hurt. "...A new body might be a good start." She calls back to the door as Ariah offers if she needs anything else. It's a joke, mostly.

As with most things, Peggy is efficent even in her shower. Just long enough to ease some sort muscles and get all the debris out of her hair, blood off of her skin. The shower runs pink for the first few moments, the man who died on her washing off into the drain, and some of her own blood from where her lips and the touch from her nose. But soon enough, once everything is running clear, she kills the water and steps back into the bathroom proper. She stares into the mirror for just a few heartbeats at that body that looks like so much bad road. The sigh that escapes her lips is heavier than before. Drowning in thoughts a thousand miles away, as she grabs a towel to wrap up over her hair.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Ariah sits on the floor next to the doorway, head tilted back, listening to the sounds of shower and pain and words alike. She'd rushed off to toss the last articles into the wash cycle, and is there for everything. The mention of a new body makes her consider, "...that could be arranged but I would need permission, and you may dislike the results and methods..." she thinks on it, as if suggesting Peggy join her in undeath. But that's beyond the nuclear option and Ariah isn't even sure she has that kind of power.

    That aside, she listens for the water, and when it stops, she stands. The promised robe is gathered, and layed across the bed, and she begins to gather up the tension tape once more. "If you wish to stay the night here, I can cook you breakfast and see you taken home in the morning. I do not have my own car here right now, just yours."

Peggy Carter has posed:
"... I think, for the moment, I will keep breathing. Though the fact you'd even think on it is incredibly kind." Peggy isn't joking there, even if the aspect of undeath is a little terrifying, she recognizes that to be considered is probably an honor. She steps out of the room, other towel wrapped around her hourglass frame and held in place by her left hand, right arm still not near so useful as she'd prefer. Logan was right, she needed a few full days of down time to really start healing this all.

"Sorry for... passing out on you. I'm generally a bit more put together than this. And yes, we can manage breakfast in the morning then I'll drive you back into the city. Even this little bit... Helps. Thank you for getting me out of there. Truly." Peggy gives her a momentarily longer look before finally crossing to the bed, to carefully change out towel for robe.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "I am not sure I can grant you that gift as it is. I am still very young in comparison to my Lady," she says quietly. Again Ariah appraises the wrapped form before her, eyes wandering, appreciating to a degree, from where she sits on the bed. As for the apology, she shakes her head. "We have survived worse. All of us," she says gently. "You never have to concern yourself with thanking me for aid I provide you. Big or small. You know me, oui?"

    She's smiling, hands folded on her lap, legs crossed at the ankles. She's a surprisingly gentle soul, but only in moments shared with certain company. "Let me know if you wish me to re-wrap you as well."

Peggy Carter has posed:
While there's generally no modesty between women who have been to war, there are still some things that Peggy has some old fashion sensibilities about. It's simply respectful. So, she lets the robe pool around her hips and uses the towel to just slightly cover her chest, so Ariah can get at her ribs without everything being out in the open. "That would... probably be wise. Or I'll wake up having rolled over and shifted them all and be... quite cross with myself." Peggy admits with quietest of little laughs.

She still clearly trusts the woman with her life, moving a bit closer and lifting her elbows so it's easier to wrap that tape around angry sides and torso. "As for... that life, it might not be necessary? Whatever that serum was they gave me when... When the Winter Soldier nearly ended things, it seems to have been mostly effective. The genetic damage that occured from it wearing off... SHIELD was able to seemingly fix. It's still experimental, the technology they used... I can't even admit to understand it. But I seem quite in one piece and as young as I ever was. Just... not quite so... Durable as the lot of you." A frustration of her's clearly. She can't totally hide it from her voice.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Despite wandering eyes, Ariah does generally maintain proper decorum. She can't help what she is. Either it's the beat of Peggy's heart and the scent of a living, breathing person, or just the normal attraction she has, she can't help it. Her hands are far, far easier to tame than her glances, however, and she sets to work as professionally as ever, setting the tape where needed, even if she needs to be a little ungentle sometimes. "Painkillers and tea will be on the menu, of course, for when you awaken," she adds quietly when she speaks of aggrevating injuries overnight. "And I will remain close should you have need of something in the night."

    She also listens, dutifully, taking in the things Peggy says, lips curving in a slight frown at the laments she has over her human condition. "A team makes up for shortcomings with diversity. Your leadership skills alone..." she says quietly. Ariah is good at following orders. And the rest of the group might as well be a bunch of loose cannons, Cap notwithstanding. "Your tenacy sees you through, anyone else would have succumbed to these injuries hours, if not days ago. Do give yourself more credit, oui?"

Peggy Carter has posed:
If Peggy catches Ariah looking, she doesn't comment on it. She does smile a bit, though, amused and charmed as much as anything. She's normally better to look at, but four fights in barely twice as many days means the chassis is a little dinged up. Still, she leans close into Ariah's touch, moving as the smaller woman needs her to make it a bit easier to get those tension bandages across her ribs. This near, she smells *very* much like herself, that familiar, feminine touch of sweat, the layers of her vanilla and rose perfume that still very faintly linger on her skin, and then a dusting of Ariah's soap from the shower. Her breath and the quiet beat of her heart are calm. Completely trusting. Her forehead sinks forward to rest on Ariah's shoulder, partly bracing herself against the worst of the bandaging, partly just exhausted.

"You are... incredibly too kind to me, Ariah, but I'll take the pep talk. I have managed to keep most of us alive through the worst of it." While they lost Steve and Bucky, there was a whole team of Howling Commandos Peggy saw through to the end of the war. "And I am *not* taking your bed from you. It's plenty big. We can both bed down here. We've slept in far worse and far tighter quarters."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    And yet, 'normally better to look at' is subjective. The two of them have been covered in blood, mud, soot, and who knows what else during wartime. A few bruises are nothing. Ariah may still find this 'dinged up' chassis to be lovely. As far as the head resting on her shoulder, the witch is soft, surprisingly so. The muscles beneath are there, defined, but something about her being a vampire has done things to her skin. Creatures of night and seduction they are meant to be after all. And those scents. So close. Ariah's senses sharper now, the mixture on Peggy's form would have her heart quickening if it were beating.

    "I am only as kind as you deserve, Peggy," she says quietly. "We have been through much together," she repeats quietly. "And yes, your leadership has done much for us. This is a fraction of the repayment, of a debt I will never be able to fulfill. And..." she pauses, even though she's just about done. "..if you wish to share the bed, I will not object.." she says quietly. Are her cheeks faintly pink from that? It's probably just a trick of the light. Her hands still manage to finish their work, even after the brief interrupt.

Peggy Carter has posed:
Once the work is done, Peggy manages to pick her head back up from the other woman's shoulder, but it's a fight. She's exhausted. She probably could have fallen asleep right there. "... Mmm, if you really want to repay me, don't tell Logan what happened when we see him. He'll just be cross about it and grumble." She's only half joking with that, a wry smile crossing her split lip.

She then pulls back enough to shift her shoulders back into that robe. Towel no longer needed, she gingerly shifts herself back up off the bed and towards the bathroom, so she can take her hair out of the other towel with her left hand and hang them both up. Soon enough, she's returning to the room, in just that robe and those bandages she'll sleep in. She arches a brow, uncertain if it's a trick of the very dim light or the woman is actually blushing. "...I... I don't want to share the bed if it will bother you, but... we're both exhausted. Or so I think. Maybe you don't even need to sleep these days?"

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    "I have no reason to share the full details of our evening," Ariah says quietly. "We did work, bloody work, and that is all," she states with a polite nod. She's good at secrets. She also very gingerly helps Peggy get upright again.

    Of course, she watches as her old friend moves to finish up her night business, ahir and towels and all, and sits on the bed, staying in place. The way Peggy stammers makes it clear that she -is- blushing, a brighter hint of red crossing her pale cheeks, the blood still somewhat fresh in her system making it easier.

    "Non, no bother. I largely have no need for rest, but I find the time taken to relax does me a boon, giving my mind time to unwind. And... it has been very pleasant being by your side again, and I would be pleased to do so here." She never was the best with words, her statements a little awkward, maybe tinted by her feelings, while her accent does her even fewer favors.

Peggy Carter has posed:
<<Is French easier? I'm a touch out of practice, but all the more reason to use it...>> Peggy offers, her French barely accented in the least. She trained to blend in as a native when they very first met, it was part of the assignment. Very occasionally she misses a word, especially since she hasn't actively used it in years, but lanugages come naturally to her.

She gives that blush a bit of a look, both brows lofting as if to say that yes, Ariah's been caught, but Peggy isn't going to bother her about it. It's more endearing than anything. She pads her barefoot, sore way back to the other side of the bed, sinking down into the sheets she abandoned earlier. <<Then we shall rest. We both need it and I'm... I'm just going to get more frustrated with theses bruises and embarrassed that I passed out in the car, so sleep will help with both those things.>>

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Ariah's eyes go wide, but then her expression softens. Hearing her mother tongue, and even with some slight hitches, does wonders for her. If there was any tension in Ariah, it fades and she slumps her shoulders a little, but the pink on her cheeks remains. <<I apologize. I should not be so flustered, but to be in your presence again and able to render aid, fills my heart with gladness. It has been far too many years and I care for you,>> she rattles off, a little quickly.

    She scoots her way up the bed, towards the pillows, and starts to slide under them, pulling Peggy's side open further to make it easier for her. <<You passed out because you felt safe enough to do so, and that speaks volumes to me. I am glad I found you. Yes, we both need to rest.>> A big reason the witch needs the rest is to unpack the rush of feelings she's dealing with. Some are about Hydra, though most are about the agent in her bed.

Peggy Carter has posed:
The help is accepted, even if normally Peggy would be gruff and inistent she could do it on her own. There was no reason to stand on pride with Ariah. She sinks down into the horribly soft bed, pulling her legs up to slide beneath the sheets and just fully stretching out as much as her aching body will allow. <<You know you can speak your mother tongue with me any time, Ariah. It's just like when we started...>> Peggy offers, fond nostalgia behind her voice.

But settling down now, the pain killers starting to kick in, and in a place where she feels utterly safe? Her eyes are growing heavy already. She settles her damp head back into the pillow, eyes sinking closed. <<Sweet dreams, Ariah. I'll always be safe when you're at my side. Made a good team before, and we will again.>> With that, Peggy's breath settles out and more even. She'll be asleep in minutes.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    It really is a horribly soft bed. Warm, comfortable, and plush. One could hibernate in it when the snows set in and not have a single worry. The clean sheets smell like Ariah and her soap, too. She stretches a little as well, toes making little travelling lumps in the covers until she curls up on her side and just watches Peggy start to drift away. <<I will endeavor to be by your side as much as we can manage,>> she offers, conceding that they both often have duties beyond their power. It's the best, most realistic promise that can be made, despite the romantic undertones filling her words. <<And I will be here by your side when you wake.>>

Peggy Carter has posed:
A half asleep smile dares across Peggy's lips, head turning in Ariah's direction, though her eyes don't reopen. Thinking in French when she's falling asleep is a challenge, but she manages a few words, the statement in mixed French and English as codeswitching just completely fails in her brain. "We'll manage enough to clean up...the messes we have left to fix. We always did... See you in the morning." And that's the last bit of consciousness she had in her, breath completely evening out, pulse that slow, steady thrum of a deeply sleeping body.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    It's a unique luxury for Ariah. Falling asleep next to a living person. A living, breathing person. Nights with her Sire don't include a pulse. A heartbeat. The gentle rush of blood and breath. The vampiress can hear it. Feel it. So close to her. That warm hreath coming from Peggy drifting over to her, faint wisps of heat on her face. She has to slip in closer, the little witch curling up easily within arm's reach of one of her oldest living friend. She takes in the mixed scents again, so close, so warm, and gently brushes her cheek over the other woman's shoulder before curling up in her own space, still within reach.

    It's that heartbeat that lulls her to sleep, that constant, steady rhythm, no other noises around. Tomorrow is another day, to tackle problems, mend injuries, and deal with hurts. But at this moment and for a few hours more, there is only peace.