The Poultice Pact

[swiftargyros]

Characters: Amara, Pietro
Date&Time: September ___
Setting: The Mansion
Summary: Physician, heal thyself
Rating: PG-13
Status: Open to Amara and her pagan healing.

Comments

[swiftargyros]

Of course he was expected. Had he really thought Erik would send him off to roam an unfamiliar museum in search of a woman who had no idea who he was or what he wanted? That would have been a lovely little scenario, inadvertently sneaking up on a complete stranger when he looked like he'd come off a late shift at the diner on the corner of Hell and Purgatory (even if, again, he was barely injured at all beyond the cosmetic.) It would have ended in another wallop to the face, most likely, and then he'd never hear the end of it from Wanda.

Pietro smiled as broadly as he could, crooked but still warm, and gave her hand a firm shake. She was a golden gleam of a girl, tiny but with a strength in the way she held herself that told the tale of hard work or concentrated skill, probably both. The charms on his bracelet tinkled lyrically when they shook and Pietro liked her right away.

He nodded. "Da, hello. Meeting you is very nice, although it would be better with different circumstances."

At her invitation to come in he did so, stepping through the threshold after her and glancing about with polite curiosity. Almost immediately his eyes were drawn to the altar and Pietro stilled, something like surprise spilling across his face. It wasn't a custom that they held to back home but there was a sacredness to it that he responded to as a dowsing rod to water, the familiar tokens and the tapestry upon which they rested pulling at the foundation of trust that bracketed his bones. Pietro raised a subtle fist to his forehead, pressing his knuckles there and then drawing them down to his lips to kiss his twined thumb and index finger quick and light as hummingbird wings.

"For your Gods, yes?" Pietro asked, gesturing to the altar as he sat down on the chair. He hoped he was meant to, although he couldn't imagine why else it would have been so deliberately place.

[eagleonfire]

His smile was soft and welcome, soft as it could be given how much his face had to be hurting him, and she appreciated the effort. He spoke like Piotr, she noticed right away, the accent a little different, but the cadence spoke of a language that ordered things differently. She waved her hand a little bit through the air, an indication that she didn't mind meeting him like this. "Meetings happen as they are supposed to. This is how it was meant to be," she replied with a shrug, kneeling down next to the chair, eyes tilted over to her altar with a smile.

"Oh, yes. Venus, who has blessed me with so much," she answered, closing her eyes ever so briefly in prayer to her. She turned back to Pietro, inching up towards him, but still keeping back so as not to invade space he hadn't welcomed her into. "Do you mind if I press a bit to assess the damage," she asked, one hand lifting so he could see, the other resting on the still closed chest.

[swiftargyros]

Pietro waved a dismissive hand at his face and shrugged. "Please, it is yours. It looks much worse than it is, I told this to Wanda - uh, that is my friend - and Erik already but they are both...admirably persistent," he grinned again, shyly scratching at his scalp that hadn't stopped itching since they'd died his hair. "Me? I am for peace. And so, we are here."

He leaned a bit in the chair, pressing his shoulders against the wood back and tipping his face up to better catch the light. "Venera," Pietro said, eyes glancing over at the altar again. "That is what we call her. There is a...festival? I don't know much about it, only the women celebrate. We have a lot of the similar things, I think. Your medicine, too."

[eagleonfire]

She gave him a quick nod before shifting upwards, her fingers pressing lightly at his skin, feeling for breaks, most of the damage seemingly just bruises and swelling, although there might have been a small fracture underneath his cheek, but it was nothing a little time, a compress and some tea wouldn't fix. "Mauris...sorry," she murmured, remembering the English a moment too late, as she pressed a little harder than she intended against his cheek, pulling away to give him a moment. "I keep to myself as well. I don't...I don't trust it. It's not something I've made myself and I can't see where it comes from, and besides, like you said, it always looks worse than it is."

She nodded, opening the chest, revealing an array of bottled herbs, clean cloth, some cups and a well used mortar and pestle, fingers deftly pulling out little corked bottles, emptying out varying amounts into the mortar, easily grinding it out with a practiced hand. "Vinalia Urbana and Vinalia Rustica are our two main festivals to her, but of course, there are many more throughout the year," she replied as she worked, standing up briefly to fetch water from the attached bathroom, heating the mugs up in her hands as she settled back in front of him, steam starting to rise from them as she set them down. She added the deftly ground herbs into one mug of water, letting it steep as they spoke. She continued working, wiping out the mortar and grinding a new herb down, adding it to the clear mug, giving that one time to steep and cool as well, the sodden herbs sinking to the bottom as they worked.

The first mug, now done steeping, she used to dip cloth into, the bright white turning an odd sort of yellow as it took on the mixture, and she pressed that softly to his face, the warmth helping as much as the mixture did. "No one really believes in this anymore, simple remedies for simple things, everything so complicated."

[swiftargyros]

There was magic in Amara's hands. Pietro could tell by the graceful way they moved, like birds flying toward warmer horizons. It was not impolite to stare at them, he thought. That rule was only for faces and only if you weren't actually trying to think of something intelligent to say. At least, that was how his dorm mate Basil had put it, a flaxen-haired pole vaulter who had taken it as his personal mission to educate Pietro in the ways of proper upper class etiquette the moment they'd been assigned a room together. It had something to do with his being born and bred blue blood and Pietro dangling on the lower rungs and the pair of them equally representing England. It didn't matter that he'd tried to explain that in the camps it was rude not to look at people, even if you were only watching them for the sake of seeing.

Pietro gave a sharp hiss when those hands tended too deftly to a quavering bit of cheek that was guardedly tender, his face jerking away instinctively to protect it from further assault. He winced and gently cupped his hand over the mottled skin. Warmth from his palm slowly seeped into the battered landscape, comforting in it's simple presence.

Watching Amara sift through her supplies was comforting too, and a distraction from the throbbing in his face. That magic that he'd seen ran very deep, as became clear when the water in the mugs went from still to steaming simply by being hugged in her grasp. A bolt of startled excitement flooded Pietro; he still wasn't used to seeing so many powers, so openly displayed.

"People have forgotten how to hear their bodies, let them say what is wrong and what will help," he nodded, eyes closing briefly as she dabbed the damp cloth on his face. There was heat in it, not just the residual temperature but a warmth that fizzled just under his skin and absorbed the dull ache there, burning it away like chaff. "I think it is easier for us. Not just you and I, who know about these things. But for our kind, mutantni. We all have to work so much harder with our gifts, it becomes easier to listen to the other things being said, yes? Where are you from, Amara? There is something different in your voice."

[eagleonfire]

She didn't mind that he stared, his eyes always watching her hands, and they way they moved through the motions of putting together poultices and teas with ease, the knowledge deep in the muscle there, occurring simply by habit and no real effort on her part. They didn't even think about warming up the water anymore. She'd gotten so used to taking care of her own scrapes and bruises that accumulated here, whether from training or from other more pleasurable activities, that it was just habit to warm her own water. He didn't seem to mind, though, more curious than nervous about it, so she let it fall from her mind.

She continued to press the cloth to his face slowly and softly, trying to make sure each bruise was taken care of, each spot of swollen skin having a chance to take in the warmth and the good that would come from the mixture she'd made. Her eyes glanced to the side, checking on the tea, letting it have a few more moments before she presented it to him. "I think so as well. I have hopes that because our powers makes us look so closely at ourselves, we'll be able to become more in tune with what we need...and what we don't.

"Ah, yes," she replied with a small smile. "Most aren't used to hearing the Latinum Vulgare, so it just comes across as almost familiar but with something strange behind it. I was raised in a...secret colony of Rome, in the jungles of Brazil." She shrugged a little, because she knew the story was strange for most she encountered and explaining it had become...odd, as she tried to adjust for what she thought would be the understanding of the listener.

[swiftargyros]

Pietro's face brightened suddenly, illuminating as though someone had turned a switch on. "I have been there!" he said delightedly as he accepted the tea. Their eyes glanced off each other and the Serbian elaborated. "Not to any secrets but to Brazil, yes. I went many places; Porto Velho, Iguaçu Falls, Jericoacoara to fish. Rio, of course, but it was very loud and crowded for my tastes and I did not like that giant man on the hill. But your country is very beautiful and the people, they all smile like it is their last chance to do so," Pietro nodded, rolling around in the memories for a moment before he sighed happily. "That was a very good day."

The mug cupped in his palms had cooled enough that it wasn't a tentative act to sip it. Pietro sniffed it, trying to see if he could recognize anything from it, but found that his untrained olfactory senses were just too broad to pick apart the fine threads of herbs. It all smelled pleasantly earthy though, just like remedies from home, so he merely gave Amara a little salute with the cup and took a sip. It wasn't anything that he would have brewed up for pleasure but it was far from the worst medicinal concoction he'd ever sucked back. It reminded Pietro a little of anise root, just a bit of a pull at the end of each sip.

"Growing up in such a warm place must have been nice," he commented. "And it explains why your skin still looks like it carries the sun. Is this how you have heated the water?" Pietro tapped the side of his mug.

[eagleonfire]

There was an almost stilled shock to her face, because if he had been through her home it had to have been recently, and he might have news about her parents, but once his eyes met hers and he elaborated, she realized he'd simply meant Brazil, and in lots of places she'd never been. "I've never been to Rio, but I've heard it's beautiful in the foothills. I'm glad you enjoyed my country, though. The people...they are beautiful." Not that she'd interacted with the local populations in the cities much, her encounters much more localized to the tribal populations who would breeze through the encampment, on their way to the hunting grounds.

"It was very different than here. I lived in Miami for almost a year before I came here, and I've only been here a few short months, so this cold...I do not like it." She pulled her hand away from his face finally, satisfied that she'd gotten to each spot, and now it was up to his body to heal as it would.

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. "No, no. I don't get my powers from the sun. The earth, actually, the fires at the center of it," she explained, holding her free hand out, letting it warm and smoke, barest hint of yellow flame licking at her fingers before cooling and fading back to her normal temperature.

[swiftargyros]

The cold was something that felt like home to Pietro, who had grown up in the rural banks of Eastern Serbia. In the autumn his family had devoted many of the daylight hours to splitting and storing firewood and drying herbs to use to flavour stews later, when the forest would be still and slumbering. In the winter everything had been hushed, frozen into a stupor. The browns and greens of the wood were transformed, blanketed in thick snow and adorned with ice that hung in beautiful, deadly picks from the branches of creaking trees.

And then had come England, with it's cold of a different sort. Not dry and stinging upon the skin but damp, clammy. It leeched into the bones and for the first time since he'd been a young boy, Pietro's joints had ached. They were miserable days, grey and dreary and best survived with a rug in front of a fire.

So cold was nothing that he could not handle. But having seen where Amara had come up, having felt that kiss of heat on his skin and the swelter of air so thick it felt like breathing water, Pietro could sympathize with the adjustment that something as seemingly benign as the weather could be.

Her power must have been a comfort. For as different as he was sure the earth felt here (just as the air felt different when he ran across varied borders), at least at the heart it was all the same. And the fact that she was so connected to that spirit, that sacred force, only made her all the more endearing. Pietro watched her hand with quiet awe as it came alive with an ancient sorcery, blooming in fired hues. When it faded he held one of his hands out, glancing at her for permission before he gently took her hand, turning it over and tracing the lines of her palm. No burns. None at all.

"То је тако кул. То је више од снаге, то је алхемија," Pietro praised. He seemed unaware of his momentary drifting into Serbian, for he continued breezily in English with little explanation, "Really, this is very cool. Thank you for showing me, and for fixing my face. Uh, I don't have much money but please, you must allow me to make a trade," Pietro nodded eagerly and set his tea aside. "Perhaps there is something from Brazil that you miss? I could go and get it for you."

[eagleonfire]

She gave him a quick nod as he held out his hand, letting him take hers into his own, pressing at it, feeling for heat and burns most likely, but there was nothing. She wasn't quite sure how it worked, not really, how her skin would transform with the heat, her whole body igniting and becoming something else and she certainly didn't understand how her powers worked in relation to the earth, now that she'd been trying to force herself to heal. But she didn't feel like she had to know, only that she could do so and was thankful for the gifts she had been given.

She pulled her hand back with a smile, starting to put away the bottles, corking them and slipping back into the places she'd designated for them, her own system that didn't seem to make much sense but worked for her. She paused when he slipped into what was probably his native tongue, and she was corrected when she'd compared him to Piotr earlier, but he switched to English easy enough that she didn't say anything. She assumed it was the same thing, not able to know that he'd been mentioning something else.

Her brow furrowed in confusion as she wondered what he meant, given that she didn't know anyone that would be willing to take the long trip back to Brazil, simply because they'd been given a little medicinal aid. "I don't...you don't have to go all that way, just for this. I'm sure there's something closer to ho...something here that we could arrange."

[swiftargyros]

Pietro gave a dismissive shrug and shook his head. "Really, it's okay. It's not very far and I already know the way, so there is no hardship with it. Please, you must allow me. Debt is not something that I can live with. This is perhaps the fourth worst kind of bad luck."

And really, he didn't see the problem here. Certainly New York was a bit farther from Brazil than Cambridge was but the difference was negligible in the long run. It was a day's journey, round-trip, and if he left in the morning he'd be back in time for dinner. That was if he didn't linger for a few days, of course. It might be nice to lie in the sun and allow his bruises to melt away into a golden tan. There were rumours of new swimwear styles, too, and Pietro had not yet found a better place to scout out the truth in such whispers than the beaches along the Brazilian coast.

Raising his brows to prompt an answer, it suddenly struck Pietro that of course it might seem a bit of a grand gesture without context. He slapped his knee and laughed. "О паклу, где је мој ум данас? Морате мислити да сам луд," the Serbian chuckled again and leaned forward. "Amara, this is what I do. Running, yes? Very quickly, tschew!" Pietro's hand shot off his leg and into the air like a rocket launched from a platform. "Across the water, no problem. They think I will win medals in your people's game races, and that is when I am going so slow I think I might fall asleep in the middle of it."

[eagleonfire]

She still didn't see why he was so willing to travel so far for her (and despite what he said, she knew it was not a short distance). But before she could protest, he rattled off again in a language she couldn't understand, but quickly switched, explaining his power to her. Her eyes widened a little bit, finally understanding that for him, it really wasn't that far away. If he could run fast enough that he could get across water, it must have been a very short trip for him. She was almost envious that his power was so much more...useful. "Oh! That makes so much more sense, although I still don't understand half of what you're saying. But if it really won't be too much trouble for you, and truly, I don't want you to go out of your way to do this."

She settled back on her heels, closing up the chest, finally standing up and moving to the small little dresser that was in all the rooms, pulling open the drawer and taking out a sketchbook. She brought it over to him, sitting down on the chest so he could see. She opened it to a certain page, a picture of an aging man drawn out carefully in pencil, hard lines visible on his face, but there was a kindness she'd tried to express in his eyes. She pulled out a map from the back, worn from being opened and folded one too many times, the lines starting to fray and coming apart. "Here, along the river," she pointed out, one finger tracing a small section of land along the Amazon where it met the Madiera. "Outside of Manaus. That's where we live. Find this man and give him something for me." She stood up again, pulling a pen out from the drawer as well, coming back and finding a blank page, scrawling something down hastily, tearing out the page and handing it to him. "I'll accept a response back as our trade."

[swiftargyros]

Pietro took the sketchbook and held it up, peering at it closely. The map he gave a nod to, for that was easier to store in his mind, but the drawing was what really snared his attention. Each sloped line and painstaking feature was scrutinized and made note of; Pietro close his eyes several times, murmuring under his breath as he corrected some perceived flaw in his remembrance, and only when he done this several times, opening his eyes to compare and closing them again, did he seem satisfied. He set it down and took the message from her, folding the paper in half without looking at the words written there. It didn't matter if they were in a language he could understand or not, they were not intended for his eyes. Eye. Whichever.

"Tomorrow I will do this," Pietro promised, tucking the folded page into the inner pocket of his vest, right near his heart. He patted his chest with a conspiratorial palm. "There is also a god for this, I think. In my university there is a painting of him on a wall near the Great Court. Mercury. For you, I shall be him and when I return we shall be settled. This is great."

Pietro clapped his hands eagerly. "And now I will teach you, we must say 'dosta gras' when this has been done. That is a sign that we have come to a happiness from both sides. My Papa told me when I was young that to not celebrate such agreements is to spit on life."

[eagleonfire]

Amara watched him study the drawing she'd taken weeks to complete, every line of it being taken in by him, memorized and remembered. She hoped it would do him justice and she wouldn't have to try and figure out who he was by the face she'd given him. She smiled at him when he folded away her message, just a short little sentence that her father would understand. She only hoped that nothing drastic would happen in the colony, but since Pietro was a fast runner, he could get away without harm. They might have been exclusive but they had never been xenophobic.

"Yes, Mercury would be an accurate descriptor. Messenger on winged feet," she granted him, nodding. She repeated the phrase he shared with her quietly after him, the flow of it not completely unfamiliar on her tongue, but still different than any language she currently spoke. "Alright. Thank you. I don't...this doesn't seem like a fair trade, something so simple for you and something that would mean so much to me," she admitted, with a small shrug.

[swiftargyros]

Ah, relativity was an amazing concept. That Amara saw this as an unequal exchange was amusing, for here was Pietro in the same breath thinking that it was the very least that he could offer her as repayment. That was the way of things, though. What was easy for one soul was miraculous to another, and thus a currency was born.

Lips quirking, Pietro gestured to his face. "Amara, are you saying that my face is not valuable?" he schooled his features into a pained expression, clutching at his heart dramatically. "Oh, you have wounded me, truly. I think my face is worth saving but this is not something that I am able to do. For you? This is simple. So how can I give my thanks for this great thing when all I can offer is something that for me is so easy?"

He shrugged as if to say, it`s been settled. "You see? We are both giving much to the other and taking only a little from ourselves."

[eagleonfire]

She giggled softly at his theatrics, nodding along with him. What he said was true, after all. Working with herbs, healing as best she could, that was easy for her, all muscle memory and quick fingers. Running across the globe in a moment was something she'd never achieve, so it was best that they had their own talents and ways of sharing their gifts. "You're right, of course. I apologize for trying to minimize our efforts."

She glanced down at the closed chest, wondering if she could have gotten some of the tea out for him. "If the tea helps, make sure you let me know and I'll prepare some for you to take back to your room."