Mysterious Injuries

Characters: Klavdiya Vasiliev (Ohkhotnik), Adrien Agreste (Chat Noir)
Rated: PG (No significant violence or other themes)
Summary: Adrien is injured, and he's stumbling his way home when he comes past a homeless woman who takes pity on him and tries to help.
OOC Date: 2017-12-13 - 2017-12-16
IC Date: 2017-12-13
Where: Hell's Kitchen and the Upper East Side, Manhattan, NYC

The wrong side of town is where Klavdiya Vasiliev lives. Quite literally. She is homeless, and has been for years. That's just how it works out. The one major difference between this particular homeless vet and others of the same ilk - that one can tell by looking, anyway - is that she makes a point of getting involved when others are in trouble.%r%rShe helps.%r%rCatching wind, first, of the approach of the young man, the dingy ashen blonde woman in the 'seen tons of better days' army olive drab and dull desert tan clothing is already looking up, eyes glinting slightly amber behind their natural green as the young blonde man comes around the corner towards the alleyway where she is resting.

He moves like he is hurt. Diya looks around, listens, scents carefully, making sure stepping up right now isn't going to bring danger down upon the other homeless here in her alley, and then comes smoothly, cleanly to her feet, making her way down the alley towards the boy, remaining keenly - paranoiacly - aware.

"You need help." There's no doubt in the woman's voice, though she speaks softly, mush-mouthed, sanding off the razor-sharp edges of her natural Russian accent, preferring to sound like she can't enunciate worth a damn rather than sounding obviously Russian. She doesn't reach out to the boy, but stands close, stating what she perceives as a fact. And waits. She herself is not one for being touched; she treats the rest of the world as if they might have the same issue.

He hadn't heard Diya's approach, but seemed too fatigued or pained to tense at the sound of her voice. Soft green eyes look up, and his brows pull in slightly while he deciphers the mush-mouthed speech.%r%r"A little, maybe, yes," he replies softly. His words carry an obvious french accent, though rounded over by a few years here in America. %r%r"I just need a few moments, to catch my breath?" he says, sounding unsure. He shifts to lean more fully on the dirty wall, light grey leather jacket no doubt getting covered in the grime. His eyes flutter a moment, in that way of someone with a concussion, before he forces them back open to peer at Diya again. He looks torn in action, as if upbringing demand he extend in his right hand in greeting, but pain keeps it against his midsection.

Only the tiniest glimmers of amber show behind Diya's own green eyes as she looks down at the young man. "Where you going?" she asks, apparently not caring that he doesn't offer her his hand. "Where you need to go?" she ammends, considering that asking the way she did the first time might sound threatening, which is not her intent. But when one puts out the aura she does, a lot of people take words as threats that were never intended that way. It's the baseborn instincts of fear and uneasiness engendered in others by her nature as a lethal predator.

It is taken as the tiniest threat. His head pulls back slightly, attitude shifting to that of prey feeling vulnerable and weak. Her correction helps a bit, but still he puts his back to the wall, closes his right hand aginst his stomach and sets his left over it. %r%r"Just… to my apartment. I'll.. be on my way," he stammers slightly.

"Pah." the homeless woman offers. Then she bends her knees, lowering her center just a bit, and reaches out, sliding an arm under his knees, another under his shoulders, all on the opposite side from his obvious injury. "You tell where. We go." Just that simple, and unless he pushes her away, Diya scoops him up with seemingly contemptuous ease, and stands ready to walk, almost as if he weighed nothing at all.

Being reached for, Adrien squeaks faintly. His frame is long and lanky, thinner than perhaps it should be for a six foot something young man in his twenties, but his clothes fit impeccably. Perhaps, he might have struggled, but the shift leaves him dizzy. %r%r"Ehh.. I can… I can walk? Apartment in… Upper East Side." Figures: rich floofy floofy neighborhood.

"No." Diya offers, softly, and she starts walking. Again, she moves as if Adrian ways nothing at all. She cradles him quite gently and is very careful of bumping him - any part of him - against anyone or anything, as she turns towards uptown and continues. "You need doctor. You hurt." She's guessing there's a reason he hasn't called a damned ambulance, but she has to start somewhere.

"I'm fine," Adrien lies. Out and out lies, and he tenses to try to get set down. %r%r"Just.. I'll walk. Nothing terribly wrong. I'm fine," he's saying, as if it's convincing.

"No." Diya answers, as she continues walking, setting up a very smooth gait and an incredibly ground-eating loose-limbed pace. "You not fine. I walk." Honestly, it's horribly unfair of her to just hold onto him like this; he has the right not to be touched without permission. But she is just ignoring that to help him, to in effect save him from himself. "Was medic. Can help you." she murmurs. It's his choice. She's no doctor, but she'll do what she can if he'll let her.

When it's clear that she won't set him down and he won't be able to get down, Adrien sighs and tries reason? %r%r"I have to be let down. I'll manage. Please," he asks, frame tense and growing more so as the alley's entrance looms closer. "I'll let you help, just put me down."

"You hurt. No walk good. Slow. I can carry. Carry all the way. Promise, I keep safe." the homeless woman answers. But she stops her progress, stepping into another alley. She doesn't want to fight him, she doesn't want him to hurt himself further. All she's trying to do is help. But it seems like he doesn't want her help. That seems stupid … but she has certainly turned down the offer of help from others in her time. She doesn't get to argue the point. Not really.

"I know. And thank you. But.. I can't have people seeing me being carried. Really. Just give me a few minutes and I'll call a taxi and I'll be fine," Adrien says, relieved that she stopped, but still tense that she's still carrying him. Though, he's denying the help, his eyes are kind about it, and his gaze seems almost… remoseful?

"Can hide you. Get you there unseen." Diya offers, softly, even as she tilts her shoulders, setting his feet gently upon the ground, supporting him as she gets him vertical again, watching pensively.

She… can do that? Adrien's green eyes widen slightly, head tilting faintly. He settles to his feet, keeping a grip of her shoulder with his left hand, the right staying against his midesction.

"What.. dd you have in mind?" he asks, slightly pensive, but determined

"No look up." the woman answers, honestly. Flatly. Apparently flowering speeches are not in her repertoire.

Look.. up? Confused, Adrien does so.

As Chat, his night vision is su-purrr-b. As Adrien, not so much.

"I…don't understand."

"They no look up." Diya offers, and she extends her arms once more, ready to scoop up Adrien. But only if he accepts, if he allows.

They…no.. OH! Realization dawns on Adrien's face. Out of his transformation, the rooftops were the last thing on his mind. If Plagg still had the power to fuel the Miraculous, Adrien would have just taken them all the way 'home'.

The blonde nods and accepts the scoop this time. It is not the first time he's been carrie slike this. What a princess!

Diya scoops up the boy, careful again of his injury, steady without being too tight. And then she runs up the alley, leaps at a wall, bounces off of that to the one opposite, and so forth up to the roof. Within fifteen seconds, she is standing on the roof of one of the two buildings that made up the alley, having proven to have far, far more strength and agility than she has any right to. And she's not winded at all.

What follows, then, is probably about twenty minutes of jogging, loping along at incredible ground-eating pace, bounding effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop, and still Diya holds Adrien steady and protected. To be fair, the one thing she can't do a thing about is that she's not super clean, nor does she smell April Spring fresh. But he already leaned against alley walls near dumpsters.

"Close now." Diya comments. "You know from up here?"

Wow. The woman moves like… Ladybug and I do. Adrien buries the thought a moment later, and he just waits out the ride in silence.

"Yes. That building. There's a rooftop garden on the other side that leads into my apartment, and there aren't cameras there," he says, as if experienced with sneaking out and in via that location.

The one difference might be that this woman … isn't winded. She's not tired. She has done all of this while carrying Adrien, feats of strength paired with car and speed and agility. It's a pretty heady combo. And at moments it has seemed as if her eyes sort of glowed, am amber hint behind her green.

Given Adrien's instructions, Diya comes around the building, leaps into the rooftop garden, and approaches the apartment, taking direction as she gets him inside and finds a place to lay him down. "You down now. Safe. I promised. Look wound now?" Diya breathes deeply, just once, drinking in the scents here, identifying who is present now, and who belongs here or is here often.

The apartment is devoid of any scents but the boy's own. The few others that linger are clearly not here for long, moving into the area then out again. Cleaning staff by the richness of the apartment.

The apartment smells clean and perfect with the pungent underaroma of ..camembert cheese.

"Really. It's fine. I'll just take a shower and go to sleep. I'll be fine by morning," lies the blonde from where Diya put him on the modern-style sofa.

"Stinky cheese no heal wound." Diya offers. She isn't going to just shred his shirt to check the wound. But he did promise to let her help, and here she is, trying to help. "Look at wound, now." Yep. She can hear and smell the lie in him. So unfair!

"Stinky….?" Adrien starts, but stops with a faint jerk of his upper body. When she repeats her plea, he straightens up to slowly get his jacket off. The left sleeve is not an issue. The right one is, but after some effort his arm is free and… looks completely fine.

Diya shrugs a little, taking a knee beside the sofa. "Cheese. I smell it." She sees that there are no signs of Adrien's injury on his jacket - nor on his shirt - and she is rather curious. She's guessing it's likely blunt force trauma. Possibly a short rib or two broken. "Can lift shirt?" she asks, as fingers very lightly graze the fabric, but nothing more, waiting for his word.

"Um.. yeah. I have some… on occassion," Is all he says of the cheese. Asked about his shirt, he sighs lightly then nods. He pulls his arm away so Diya can pull up his shirt but, no nothing there either. And by the way he's moving it's the arm, from elbow to fingers. ONly the right arm, where his silver ring is.

Realizing she was wrong about where he was hurt, Diya frowns. "Alright." Then she reaches out, gently plucking at the shirt sleeve, lifting it, examining the hand, wrist and arm, up to the elbow, looking for any signs of injury with gentle palpations with her fingers.

Movement and pressure have the boy hissing and wincing and generally fighting NOT to pull his arm away from her. Eyes tearing up, Adrien nevertheless submits to the 'examination', though he's pale and shakey. The pain is worse in his hand and goes clear up past his elbow, though without swelling or bruising or any other phsycial reason for the pain.

Diya is as gentle as she can be, but apparently nothing can be gentle enough. When she finishes the examination, she gently draws down the sleeve of the shirt and sits back on her heels, looking at Adrien curiously. "Can tell hurts. But no injuries. No toxins. Not at all sure why." Except for the tickle in her nose at that ring. She just doesn't know what that tickle means, so she's clueless here.

With the examination done, Adrien settles back, sweating and exhausted. His face is pale.

"It's fine. I just need some rest. I'll be fine. I promise. Thank you," he says. His voice is exhausted, but the smile genuine.

Diya frowns a bit more, but shrugs. "Don't want make you mad." she murmurs, still mush-mouthing for all she's worth to sand off the razor edges of what would otherwise be a lethally sharp Russian accent. "Wanted to help. Don't understand what wrong." It's all so weird, and she's so confused. If she knew how to reach the sorceress any other way than hunting down the pretty overpriced store in the East Village, she'd call her, even if she had to stop mumbling to do it. But she doesn't, she can't. And that's life for a woman hiding from the world as best she can.

"You aren't. Honest. You did help me. I could have gotten here, but it would have taken me so much longer and I probably would have been much more tired than I am now. So, thank you," Adrien replies, voice kind despite the fatigue and the pain lacing through it. Of what is wrong, he'll just skip that part. After all, he knows exactly what's wrong, and that it's going to take at least a month to heal up on its own and by then… well… He'll deal with that when he gets there.

"Are you safe here?" Diya questions, before she finally allows herself to rise from her knees. She doesn't want to leave him alone, but if there's nothing she can do, the least she can do is take her stinky unclean self the heck out of here and let the poor boy rest as much as he can. Right? People who hurt children should be dealt with. Permanently, whenever possible.

"I am," Adrien assures Diya, arm coming back to his midsection. His smile is as reassuring as he can make it, warm and honest as only Adrien can be. He starts to push himself up.

"I'll see you out," he's saying, pain in his french accented tones again.

And one hand splays over his chest, pushing until he is flat on his back again. "No. Stay." Diya offers. "Know what out." That said, she sighs and rights herself once more, then walks towards the door that leads out to the garden.

Soon enough, the strange homeless woman with such mysterious abilities and a truly screwed up accent is gone.

Darned stinky cheese.

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