westwhere | the snow falls down, it's a magnificent signt

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the snow falls down, it's a magnificent signt

WHO: Clara and you + any closed starters as requested
WHEN: December
WHERE: Around the inn and the grounds
WHAT: Shenanigans, direwolves, bathhouses, and more
WARNINGS: Will change if needed, but for now none

❅ 𝐵𝑢𝑠𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠

Once Clara finds a routine at the inn, a fair amount of time is spent in the kitchen. It's the warmest there, and she promises to go out and gather things for their meals. A sudden influx of people is no small thing, and Clara's nothing if not helpful. Keeping busy helps her thoughts stay focused instead of wandering toward feelings about her time with the Doctor. She never wanted him to know how he died, but at least Red's assured her that he shouldn't remember. That's enough to keep Clara from worrying the Doctor might try and do something to stop her from saving his life, because she knows he would if he could.

In the kitchen most mornings because it's easiest to gauge what might be needed, she's glancing over the list and hums, calling out to the last person to add something.

"I don't see a number on the black trumpet mushrooms. How many, or should I forage with my heart?"

❅ 𝐵𝑢𝑠𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝐼𝐼

Red-cheeked from being outside, Clara bounds into the kitchen with her basket overflowing, setting it on the counter to let the cooks pick through. There's a hearth with a fire and a stool which seems quite cozy, so she helps herself. A bucket of beans is thrust at her and she's asked to shell, so she does, happily. Some of her favorite memories with her mum were in their kitchen, and Clara starts humming a tune to herself from home, a random one she used to sing to Artie to help him sleep.

There's a second stool for company and she doesn't hesitate to smile softly when someone drops by.

"Feel sort of like a happier, better-taken care of Cinderella, sitting here." She knows it's 50-50 on if the story is known or not, but she's happy to tell it.

❅ 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑠

Clara's found the wooliest of scarves and borrowed it for her trips out during the day. She's vaguely aware of the danger of wolves, but she has her new sword with her—not that she knows how to use it properly—and it's tucked in her pocket. She didn't understand at first, but it's convenient that it's only large when she puts the hilt of it in her hand. The rest of the time, it's pocket-sized.

When she hears the crunch of snow behind her, Clara stops and turns her head to the side, listening.

"Hello?"

If it's wolves, her plan is to just sort of...run, but she's also betting wolves aren't so loud if hunting. Fingers crossed.

❅ 𝑏𝑎𝑡ℎℎ𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑒

Quietly thanking the ancient Romans and Greeks for this idea, Clara sinks into the warmer waters of the bathhouse after taking a quick dip in the cold. It's the first time she's truly relaxed since before she was even pulled into this place. She'd begged for the Doctor's life, been granted her wish for him to live, and after a few minutes of relief, the man she knew was gone. A new face, a new set of rules that included pushing her as far away as possible without actually telling her to go. Then Clara was here, no time to breathe in between. River's assured her it gets better in time, but if people really don't remember anything about this world when they go back to their own, then what? She'll lose the hope she has now.

It's much easier not to think about it, though her aura's a little more hued toward a pastel blue, just the slightest tinge of sadness. So much happened in Serthica that her mind wants to shut it all out, box it up and ignore it.

Hair messily pulled up in a ponytail, she's up to her neck in the water when she hears footsteps and opens her eyes. Finally, her chance.

"Do you know they charge an insane amount of money to use the bathhouse in Lancashire? Of course, they call it a 'spa' and offer massages, but still. It's water. No need to try and make it something fancier than it is."

❅ 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑙𝑎𝑘𝑒

Has she ever been great at skating? No. Is she attempting it anyway? Yes. She's not wobbly, but she isn't that fast either, taking her time making loops around the hard ice. The last time she'd skated was with an ex who'd literally skated away after she'd dumped Clara. It's funny now, in hindsight—she can't even remember why they broke up it was so long ago.

She's smiling at the memory when she's suddenly knocked off her feet, not by someone bumping into her, but because something hit her feet from below. Struggling to get up, her eyes widen in alarm as through the opaque ice she just barely sees a shadow.

"No, not today."

She absolutely is not getting involved with anything terrifying, but she can't quite get her feet under her again. Managing to make it to her hands and knees, she doesn't look up; instead, she's still staring at the ice as the shadow continues, making her wonder how big, exactly, it is.

❅ 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒

Clara didn't even have a chance to register what was happening before it was, pulled in by a group she doesn't know and given very loose rules for a drinking game. 'Where's the water?' is new to her, shot glasses full of clear spirits, and some with water. It takes her a few tries to pull out a convincing lie, but by then her throat is numb anyway. After four shots, she's pleasantly warm, and her laughter cuts through the air. Her eyes light up and she reaches out to pull in someone simply walking by, a light touch on a wrist, dimpled smile beaming upward.

"Can you bluff, and can you bluff well?"

❅ 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑑

[ ooc: hmu with anything your heart desires. CR comment is here. I'll match prose or brackets, whatever you're comfortable with. Reach out on discord @ lifewasawillow#5524 or PM! Quite willing to do a ton more, but if I keep writing prompts you'll all have a novel to pick through, whoops. ]

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Clara sinks down into the water up to her chin and closes her eyes.

"It's sometimes hard to guess because we spent a lot of that time on different planets, in different times." Opening her eyes, she smiles just a little sadly.

"Perils of being a time traveler. Can't ever keep anything straight." When she's gone from Earth long enough—how long was she on Tenzelore with him, and then in the TARDIS floating in the time vortex?—she loses track.

"But enough. Enough that it hurts."

"At least he's come around."

Caitlyn doesn't know what football is or who Queen Elizabeth is, but 'dutiful and bored' just about hits the nail on the head.

"I'm sure my parents will too, eventually. They may kick up a fuss about it, but I've no intention of marrying someone based on whether or not they approve of her."

"Good for you. You shouldn't. And neither do I. If you spend all your life trying to make others happy, they'll be pleased and you'll be miserable. Can't have that, you're too kind. At leas you were to me, and I think you deserve to be happy."

Everyone does, but she's in passionate drunk mode now, and there's no stopping her.

"You're strong, and very smart, and anyone would be lucky to have you."

Caitlyn isn't accustomed to this sort of effusive praise. And it doesn't help that not everyone would agree with what Clara's saying.

Clara may be tipsy, but she seems like she has experience with relationships. Moreso than Caitlyn, in any case. So, with an awkward little fidget of her fingers against her glass, Caitlyn works up the courage to ask for advice on romance.

"Can I ask you a question?" She lowers her voice and leans closer to Clara, as though the attempt to be discreet will work when they're surrounded.

Edited 2022-12-24 23:33 (UTC)

[ Clara isn't the first person to notice, but Vanessa actually considers a response beyond dismissal for reasons beyond her connections to the Doctor. Vanessa does wonder if he's told Clara anything, but in truth she's noticed the woman's singular persistence in checking on the health of others. There's a sincerity to it that Vanessa hasn't seen often in her life, and even if she rarely offers much of an answer, she knows that can't continue if she doesn't want Clara to give up and flee.

Perhaps she's also a little inspired by the Doctor's own hopeful influence since her return. ]

I don't mean to weigh you down, if that is the case. I suppose it's taking me some time to...find myself again. [ A pause as she realizes Clara might not even know. ] Since traveling through the beacon.

I asked.

[ Clara gently reminds her of that with a soft smile that fades at Vanessa's words. She went through the beacon, and suddenly she has so many questions. And she knows what it is to not know who she is anymore. But none of that matters right now, so she pushes it all to the side. ]

You won't be weighing me down, but I also know the value of having someone to keep your mind off of unpleasant things. I can do that, too.

That will work on most animals who are not habitual predators for humans. Most of them would rather avoid us, really.

[He'll give the sword a twirl, and then hold it out back to her, hilt first.]

Another good tip when it comes to weapons : don't take it out unless you're actually ready to use it.

[ No matter what Clara says, Vanessa feels that 'heavy' is exactly what describes her footfalls on this new path. They drag, even, when the Doctor isn't there to take her hand and spin her into the clouds.

To admit as much to anyone isn't something she can manage, but there are other ways to share in struggles without utterly locking the other person out of your heart. She doesn't think Clara is the type of person to ever knowingly abuse another's heart, but she's also said things that have left Vanessa with her breath suspended—an unease never forgotten.

She's felt the same about most of her closest friends. Every one has carried a dangerous secret. Vanessa wanted to hold their hand, all the same. ]

Through activities like ice skating, you mean? I never did learn.

Edited 2022-12-26 20:51 (UTC)

Anduin frowns.

"I'm sorry," he says, softly. He wonders if it would make things better or worse to tell her that Wrathion had not remembered their time together, when he had returned home, and decides against it. Instead...

"I do not know if it will help ease your mind at all," he says at last, "but -- my friend and I. When we tried to go home, through the beacons, in Taravast. They malfunctioned. He was able to go through, but then they spit him back out here again, and when they did, he -- time had passed for him, back at home."

"Sounds good to me."

Allison gets up to follow Clara out to the porch, taking a deep breath of fresh air. She smirks as she goes to drop into one of the seats, letting her eyes scan the horizon.

"Those brides are really giving everyone a run for their money. But it's good to have some fun every once in a while."

Clara matches Caitlyn's tone. In the relationship category, she's had her fair share, and she's happy to disperse some drunken wisdom.

"'Course you can. Anything." And she means it; she does like Caitlyn a lot, she was one of the first people she went through something with when she arrived, and since then, she's tried (and mostly failed) to check in with her every now and again.

[ Clara watches him twirl the sword effortlessly, a small smile forming on her lips before she takes it back from him. When she does, adjusts to her size, and when she points it downward, it shrinks enough to put safely in her pocket. ]

That's pretty easy advice to follow. No one will even know I have a sword until I draw it and point it at them, which I'm gonna call an advantage.

[ Clara smiles just a touch, but glances back at the lake well behind them now and out of sight. ]

I might've tried teaching you what little I can before I knew there was something lurking under the ice. Now I don't want to take my chances. [ She's amazed that others are, they can't be the only two who've felt it, but people are still having their fun. ]

Barring that, I like stories. Real ones, made-up ones. Both listening and telling. Reading is actually what I really like to do, and from there it's easy to make up stories. I used to memorize short stories or poems and recite them for my family like a proper narcissist. As if they wanted to see a pre-teen dramatically recite 'The Raven.'

[ Clara smiles again, then titls her head as she looks at Vanessa. ] What year is it for you again? Do you know Edgar Allan Poe's work yet?

Clara goes quiet at that, thinking. She almost repeats it, but then realizes that wouldn't be helpful. The information turns over in her head a few times, which results in a lapse of silence until she finally takes a deep breath and lets it out.

"That'd be helpful. It's—there's some he knows, but a lot that he doesn't. If he did know, I'm not sure how it would make him feel, but not carrying around secrets, that'd be nice. This planet doesn't seem to like us having them."

She hadn't bothered with cups and in hindsight, maybe she should've. That tones down the class a little, but she uncorks a half-empty bottle of wine and passes it over.

"I haven't been to a hen night in a long time. Something like...eleven years ago?" Whenever it was Sabine got married, before she popped off to Lancashire and started having babies.

"I did like that though, and you did sell that remarkably well. An actress, you said?"

That's not what I meant.

[He's actually grown a bit serious here, because he feels it's important.]

A blade is a weapon. Its sole purpose is to take lives. Every time you draw it, you must be prepared for the possibility that you will take a life, whether you intend to or not. And the life taken might be yours, too. If you're not prepared for that, do not draw the blade.

[ Clara stills and listens intently, sobering and letting the words take root. She's been thinking mostly about protecting herself, others if needed, and not considering what the end result is of successfully doing so.

Looking at the now small weapon in her hand, she knows she would never brandish it unwarranted. Meeting his eyes again, she nods at Beitang in understanding. ]

This isn't sport, we aren't fencing. If I kill something here, I have to be able to live with that. [ The sword will be her last resort, brandished only when she knows there isn't another option. And if she dies, she'll die fighting for herself or others. ]

The year of— [ our Lord, a pause, barely noticeable, before her graveled murmur continues on. ] ...eighteen ninety-two.

[ Vanessa's patience for hearing stories isn't what it once was, but she can understand the sentiment. For reading, she has a certain fondness, and the suggestion that she somehow hasn't heard of Poe might be insulting if she hadn't had to illustrate the year of her arrival. Departure?

The thought of Clara carrying on reciting poetry to others in a fashion that Vanessa herself is fond of is a bit comforting, and not something she should be surprised by. Clara's shown poetic leanings before now. ]

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, and the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

[ Her gaze stays ahead, one hand in her coat pocket while the other lets the small carcass hang at her side, the limp creature gently bumping her dark skirts when they take a steeper incline. ]

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor...shall be lifted—nevermore.

[ Clara's eyes light up and she grins. She remembers thinking once while watching something that she was pretty sure all women were required at one point to memorize poetry. Why, she can only guess, probably to keep gathering from being dull, she isn't sure. But she'd always thought it was an interesting talent, and she loves it. ]

Brilliant. I love teaching that one around the beginning of autumn, it fits with the season. It's always easiest to kick start a semester of poetry with something that keeps them on the edge of their seats. Learned my lesson, never start with the "boring" first.

[ She uses air quotes, because never would she find any of what she teaches boring. ]

You won't know this one quite yet, Frost didn't gain traction until the later part of your decade, but this one seems appropriate for now. [ She gives it a moment, not shy at all, but unsure about reciting the whole thing. That thought doesn't stop her, of course. ]

Whose woods are these I think I know. His house is in the village though; he will not see me stopping here, to watch his woods fill up with snow. [ She recites the poem in its entirety; it was made into a song she had to sing once in school choir for a holiday program, though she hardly remembers how the tune went. Still, it helped her remember the words. ]

"Yep. Or I used to be, a long time ago."

It feels like forever ago, now, given that there have been three apocalypses in the time since. But she was quite good at it. It's always easier to pretend to be someone else when you're an expert at lying to yourself.

She takes the bottle and goes for a swig. "I also was married twice, but my bachelorettes didn't feel that fun." Possibly because she's not really known for having female friends.

Exactly. Remember it.

[But from her expression, he can tell his words have hit the mark. This is a smart young woman.]

If you're finished with your gathering, I'll escort you back. You won't have to worry about using just yet like this.

Caitlyn leans in a little closer, ducking her head down and raising a hand to block the others' view of her face. In case they can read lips. Or something.

"There's. Someone. A girl." She frowns miserably for a moment before pressing on. She's never actually told anybody about her feelings before, but Clara seems both kind and trustworthy in addition to experienced. "I... care for her a great deal, and I think she cares for me too, but. She said she wasn't interested, that we were too different, and I don't want to push her for any sort of relationship she doesn't truly want." She sighs. "I can't stop thinking about her, though, and I've no idea what to do."

"Never got very far reciting Poe, but my students think I'm dramatic," she says with a soft laugh, letting out a breath.

"Only got close to getting married once but wow was I young. Something made me end it before we made it too far in the process." And she's pretty sure it was a grief reaction anyway. Her mum was killed, someone comforted her, and Clara had let herself get pulled along. At least she'd snapped out of it.

"Ever wanna get married again?" Clara asks curiously.

[ Clara looks down into her basket and nods letting out a breath after tucking the pocket-sized sword away. ]

Yeah, thanks. And the longer I can avoid having to use it the better, but this place? I doubt it'll be that long. Highly.

[ She doesn't think that's necessarily negative of her, more realistic. ]

Are you enjoying the semi-break? [ There are still ghosts, after all. And something under the frozen lake. ]

Clara's eyes widen. "A girl," she breathes out in excitement before listening intently. Her expression is serious and she nods along, thinking. It's been so long since Sabine died, she forgot how fun having these sorts of talks could be. Fun and helpful.

"What about you is different? And do you feel like it's too big a difference?"

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the snow falls down, it's a magnificent signt

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the season was too much for my rp brain, sorry for my slowness!

the holidays murdered my brain i apologize for the slow!

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no worries!

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