clara "why are you booing me i'm right" oswald (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
makemeasong) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
westwhere2022-12-10 07:36 am
makemeasong) wrote in westwhere2022-12-10 07:36 am
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
β π΅π’π π¦ π‘βπ βππππ
β π΅π’π π¦ π‘βπ βππππ πΌπΌ
β π‘βπππ’πβ π‘βπ π€ππππ
β πππ‘ββππ’π π
β ππ¦π π‘πππ¦ ππππ
β ππππππππ ππππ
β π€πππππππ
WHEN: December
WHERE: Around the inn and the grounds
WHAT: Shenanigans, direwolves, bathhouses, and more
WARNINGS: Will change if needed, but for now none
β π΅π’π π¦ π‘βπ βππππ
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?"
β π΅π’π π¦ π‘βπ βππππ πΌπΌ
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.
β π‘βπππ’πβ π‘βπ π€ππππ
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.
β πππ‘ββππ’π π
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."
β ππ¦π π‘πππ¦ ππππ
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.
β ππππππππ ππππ
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?"
β π€πππππππ
[ 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. ]
drinking game
"I used to be an actress?"
Also she spends so much of her time lying to herself about how she feels and her priorities, does that count?
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Giving her a one dimpled grin, she pushes hair back behind her ear. "I'm Clara, and I'm only semi-loosing this game."
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She takes a sniff at the liquor and nods because she's got this. If there's anything that Hargreeves can do, it's drink. She gives her new friend a smirk before knocking the shot back with the casualness that says it might as well have just been water.
Which probably says more about her than it does about the booze, honestly.
"Refreshing."
no subject
Nah, she didn't react at all which means it's alcohol.
But that's a trick, she wants us to think it's water, so then we think it's alcohol, but it's water.
Drunk, all of them, and when they settle on water, Clara looks at Allison with a grin.
"Let the people know." Her eyes are sparkling, and she gives Allison an up-and-down glance because she's only human.
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Allison reaches for the bottle and pours a line of shots for the bachelorettes, before leaning back with a grin. Honestly, this is almost fun, and if she has a few more shots, she might just get there.
"Drink up ladies. We're turning this game around."
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"I dunno about you, but I happen to think we make an amazing team. A-plus at drinking games."
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And as long as she doesn't swing too far to the Klaus side of things, she figures she's doing okay. Granted, there's an entire canyon between what some people would consider normal alcohol use and where Klaus prefers to live, and she's just about climbing up the other side.
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There's only one shot left, but between them they've easily won, and one of the women in the bridal party downs the final glass.
"Think I've had my fill of games for now. How about a real drink, something a little less...chaotic? A bottle of something on the porch?" That way, they can make it inside before the doors lock. Alcohol and snow and moonlight seem nice. "No pressure, but I think it'd be better with company."
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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."
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"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?"
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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.
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"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.
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Especially after Patrick. Getting married to another man was not on her agenda. In fact, all she cared about was getting her daughter back and finding a way to screw him over massively. Landing in the sixties didn't really help those feelings, when all she wanted was to get home.
But then she met Ray.
"But then you meet someone who makes you go...maybe it won't be so bad this time around."
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"Was it? Better, I mean. I've heard people get divorced for all sorts of reasons that haven't got anything to do with not loving one another."
She takes another pull from the bottle, enjoying the moment away from the party to have what feels like a normal conversation. Everything revolved around Serthica for so long, so this is a nice change.
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Part of her had hoped that he would still be alive in 2019, but she had missed that too. Went back to her own time and had no home, no daughter and no husband. Lila isn't wrong when she said she lost all her anchors.
"We both were in different places, you know?" Yeah. That's a light way of putting that she had to time travel fifty years into the future to find her daughter.
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"There's someone I—well. I love him. But our timing was off in the worst way. It can't work anyway, he's immortal, I'm not. The age difference is astounding," Clara tries to joke.
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"Well, I'd say age ain't nothing but a number but men use that to be gross so ... I won't." Allison leans back, making a face. Technically Ray is sixty-one years her senior, even if they were physically the same age when they met. She tries not to think about it that way, but it's true. "Technically my husband was sixty-one when I was born, but time travel got involved, and we both met in our thirties."
She knows that might not be Clara's situation though. "I guess ... in my opinion, if you both are in the same place, and are both ready to take on what that relationship means, then why not shoot your shot. I think that happiness gets squandered when people get too focused on the logistics. And in my opinion, that's one of the worst things you can do. Waste your happiness because you're too focused on something else. It's too rare as it is."
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Clara sighs softly and leans against the railing after taking another swig of alcohol. "You're not wrong. But if you die for someone and they still don't get it, then what?" She pauses and looks over at Allison.
"I'm not dead anymore. I mean, he brought me back. But what else does a girl gotta do?" she jokes.
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"I hate to say it, but if that didn't move him, maybe he's just not that into you."
Which is unfortunate, given the things that Clara has sacrificed for him. A strong friendship, maybe, but not love. She's been on both sides, and both of them suck.
wtf was I drunk when I wrote Clara's comment? if you didn't understand dw b/c ME EITHER
Shaking her head, she sighs and rubs a hand over her face. "Those feelings feel silly now. There are plenty of people on Earth, and I had to go and pick the literal alien." She doesn't mean to be a downer and her head tilts toward Allison.
"I swear I'm not usually this bleak. Spent most of my fun tryin' to keep up with the ladies inside." The cold has done a good job of sobering her up, despite the continued small sips of wine.
lmao no worries
So Allison knows bleak. And she's not afraid of the weirder stuff either.
"But maybe we should call it a night for tonight. And if you need to chat about the bleak stuff again, I'll help you find the booze."
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"I like to think I'm a good listener too. If you ever need anything, booze or not, I'll be around." Using the banister as support, she hauls herself up and then huffs out a breath and tosses a smile Allison's way.
"It was fun totally destroying at a drinking game with you."
/wrap?
But with that, she will wait to make sure Clara gets back inside okay, before returning to her room herself to sleep off her buzz.