“Hey Clarisse, look at that man."
"Is he wounded?"
"Non."
"Then he can wait."
Looking up towards the other woman, a fellow nurse named Abigail, Clarisse brushed her blonde hair back from her face to reveal the seriousness. In the midst of this makeshift hospital, she had no time to endure distractions. There were innocent lives on the line. A moment's distraction could cost someone their life and for the vampire, that wasn't a chance she was willing to take. She wasn't going to be swayed from the task at hand. These soldiers were dying and it was only a matter of time before they did so. Some were close to death. Others were teetering back and forth. Brushing a few tendrils back from her forehead, she moved to wash her hands. They were stained with blood. A young man had come in with his arm nearly blown off and his superior officer hanging over his shoulder. She'd been unable to save his arm but had assisted in the amputation. She'd been vexed by the doctor not cauterizing the wound and dismissing her words altogether. "It will staunch the bleeding, if not stop it entirely," she had protested. "It will keep the tissue from dying and in the long run help him survive." It would not save his arm, true, but it would prevent infection. Infection was one of the top killers on the field.
The arrogance of the men sometimes astounded her. If he weren't the only doctor there, she might have punched him in the jaw. However, she simply deferred to his 'wisdom'. Most of the nurses did that; smiled, nodded, cursed the rampant sexism under their breaths, and continued on doing whatever it was they were doing anyway.
She had served in this capacity in several different wars. The American Civil War, the first World War. Now, this one. She was more than aware of what she was doing, even though she couldn't exactly explain that. She sighed as she took a few moments to clean up more since it was quiet for a moment. She hadn't quite realized that she was covered up to her elbows in dried blood. Her shoes pinched her toes, her clothes were in desperate need of a good scrub--or maybe to be burned and something new put on. She was in desperate need of sustenance herself, but so were the other nurses and resistance fighters. Thus, she dared not complain. But, she had to clean up and she would later. She would have a day off and on the day, she'd procure clothes and clean the old ones. She didn't want to be the cause of a wound getting infected. Clarisse knew the other women looked to her. She had to be a good example.
The irony of a vampire doing good and being an example was not lost on her. However, she had never followed the norm. And as she stood cleaning up, she squared her shoulders. Overhead an Allied bomber went by and she blessed herself, hoping that they would continue to fly and not end up in the small hospital. But she looked up, realizing that she had lost herself in her thoughts again.
That a curious villager was meandering around was of no importance. "Assess if he's a danger if he is not; leave him be." She concluded before pushing her hair back out of her face again. She noted the half-moons below her eyes and she sighed, pinching her pale cheeks to give them some color. She mustn't show that she was tired as well.
Death was quietly lurking about, she knew this. Waiting to usher some of these poor souls to their next chapter. Still, she wouldn't leave them until it was truly their time. She moved from where she stood and got back into the swing of things. She sat with them, talking if they had the strength, writing letters for them and she even prayed with one young man. There were a few who lay dying but wanted to speak, to dictate a letter. Entering their minds, she gently prodded them to release the words, all the while sharing her energy as best she could until they had finished. Her hand seemingly flew over the paper as she took all of the words down and committed them there. Once they had gotten their words out, their passing was peaceful as she dosed them with a bit of morphine. They hadn't had a lot of it, but she had persuaded a dying German medic to give her what he had. Her power of persuasion had been to let her features change; fangs fully extended and her eyes a deep crimson. It was no wonder that he'd been willing to oblige. She'd counted herself lucky he hadn't thrown a grenade at her.
The war had brought out the secretive side of her again; a side she thought was gone after the horror of the first world war and the civil war before that. She spied for the French occasionally but she preferred the resistance work. Patrolling with other women and protecting small towns and villages brought her pleasure. For once, she was not the monster. She was just someone who saw wrong and tried to right it. When the resistance had met with trouble and had been forced to retreat for a night, then she had allowed that dark side of herself to come out. She had feasted upon a battalion of German soldiers, leaving nothing but the husks of what were once living men. She had drunk of them and had rather savagely drawn their hearts and entrails out with her fist. She had stolen their ammo, their medicine, and their intelligence, sending it to the Allied soldiers who were in the next town over. Every once in a great while, one would see a headline about bodies found that were exsanguinated. The other women joked about it but Clarisse was smart enough to keep her trap shut for fear of giving herself away. She also found it remarkable that she had not gotten one drop of blood on her clothes in the attack either. She had stopped by a creek to wash up, cleaning her arms and face.
She loathed war, truly. Yet, she did enjoy the feeling of being productive. Helping in hospitals was something she particularly liked. She couldn't place it but assumed it was the same reason--feeling hopeful and useful. Besides, if she went home...there would be no one there. Of course, that was her own fault. She could still be home. Payne too. Though, he might be there by now. His face flashed across her mind, her long time lover. Reaching to the necklace she wore, a locket with his picture and a curl of his hair rested within. She pushed him from her mind. They were only supposed to have been apart for two weeks. They were going on two years now. If things had gone to plan..Antoinette would be two years old now--no! She wasn't doing this now. She refused.
She missed the jovial nature she was known for. She was tired of being hard and serious. She hated being fearful of the bombs that never seemed to stop falling. She was tired of seeing civilians being forced from their homes. She was tired of wondering how her friends were, of waking up alone. Of rationing everything. Soap, for God's sake. They rationed soap. She wanted a good, long bath.
A few hours later, Clarisse stepped out and she stretched out. She had saved enough soap for a good span in a tub. There was a fireplace in the small flat she was staying in, she could boil the water so it would be hot. Whilst most complained about these things, she had grown up in a time where to bathe in hot water, it had to be boiled. It was frustrating to some and yet, she almost felt like she had been drawn back in time. The hot water would loosen up the tightness throughout her frame. She'd been grabbed, shot at, and just had endured the hell that was war. Clarisse raised her hand to her neck, rubbing it before she stood erect once more. Sleep sounded even better than a bath right now, to be honest.
Hearing an unexpected noise, she raised her gun instantly, ready to shoot. She stood her ground, narrowing her eyes and readying to shoot if needs be. Her finger rested on the trigger, the hammer already cocked back. It was a German gun; an MP40 9mm. She'd knicked it off of one when she'd been rooting about for ammunition. "State your business," she barked out but received no answer. Sighing, she dismissed it as her nerves being on edge and tried to relax. She smiled as Abigail joined her and the pair walked towards the fountain about ten feet away from the hospital’s front doors.
Settling down with her on the corner of the fountain, the two sat silently when the other woman produced a flask. "Here, you need this," the woman chuckled and Clarisse took a sip in agreement. After the day they’d had, she didn’t mind indulging and sipping on whatever this was. It did not take her long, however, to realize this wasn't alcohol. Her eyes widened in horror as she looked over at the woman beside her. She grasped at her throat, the burning sensation agonizing as it burned all the way down. Clarisse’s nails dug into her flesh as if she were trying to claw out her own throat. Weakness coursed through her and her normally pallid skin turned ashen, with her veins protruding noticeably. She continued to gasp for breath as she dropped the flask. "Wh--why?!"
Vervain.
As if that weren't in bad enough, she winced as something suddenly hit her. Looking down, it was a stake protruding from her chest. Clearly, he’d meant to miss her heart, but she was immobilized now for the most part, save for being able to wiggle her fingers. She couldn't even manage to speak when a male joined Abigail, the two speaking in rapid German. She gathered that the Germans had found out about just how many of their number she’d taken out and that ‘das fuhrer’ was very curious about the occult and the supernatural. To have her in his number? They’d be heroes! Some heroes. If she could regain her strength...she’d kill them all. But she had a suspicion...she was in for a hell of a time. They weren’t going to kill her. She’d be useless then. She gripped the stake weakly, trying to pull it from her chest. It was a futile attempt. At least her blood was marking where she last stood.
As they dragged her off, Clarisse was able to wiggle her finger just enough to allow her daylight ring to slide off of her finger. Her daylight ring. It hadn’t left her finger since the day it had been put there. It was the one thing she had that would alert others. The other nurses knew to reach out to Peggy Carter. The only question was...would they? And would Peg reach out for help from one of the few people in the world who would know how? She didn't know about Payne, Clarisse had kept that quiet. She didn't want him to worry and chase after her.
Clarisse’s mind went to Damon Salvatore, whom she knew was somewhere in Sicily, and she hoped he was safe and to her adoptive father, Elijah Mikaelson. She had a letter from him in her personal belongings that she had been aiming to respond to. She had been busy at night, going through battlefields, helping the wounded, and sending the dying off to their next life. He’d always chided her about her safety and her apparent lack of care for herself. If she could, she would have grimaced at the lecture he would give her eventually. It would be one of many; she knew Damon would give her a hard time too. Payne as well. There were many in her life who would give her a hard time. Though...if she were alive to hear it?
She’d listen.
The Next Day.
Walking into the office of the SSR, Margaret Carter approached Howard Stark. Normally, she had her hair done, lipstick applied and make-up on. Today, she was in her uniform and she rushed into the makeshift office.
"Pegs, you look as sad as the day I told you Jarvis makes better chocolate cake than you," Howard spoke. She knew he was trying to cheer her up, but news had come in overnight and it was personal. She gave him a look before finally speaking.
"You need to reach out to Elijah Mikaelson," she told him, her tone low. She never knew where he was, but Howard did. She also didn’t want anyone to listen in on their conversation Elijah’s life could be endangered if anyone found out things.
"I'm not going to reach out unl--"
Peggy held out a small silver ring with a striking lapis lazuli stone in the center. Howard turned it around in his fingers, noticing the small engraved text on the underside: -A.C '01 Mx. CdV.- “Aleister Crowley, Mexico, 1901. Clarisse du Volde.” Peggy murmured. “If we have it, it’s because she’s been captured. Intel tells us that a nurse named Abigail was sharing a drink with her. After that, all they found was this ring, blood on the ground, and her gun. Abigail, whomever she is, is German. Whether she's going after Clarisse because she's a vampire, or because she's spied for us, is unclear. She might even be a target because of her closeness to Elijah. You know the supernatural community--secrets get out.”
“Christ. I’ll get him, Peg. This is going to be bad, isn't it?" Howard asked, looking over to his friend, laying a hand on her shoulder.
"That's his adopted daughter. It's going to be worse than bad. Just be glad he’s on our side," Peggy finished before raising her mirror and adjusting her hair. "The minute you reach him, please let me know. We have our work cut out for us--unless the little imp gets away from them. And since they'll go to any length to keep a vampire? Even I have to doubt her for once."
