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. ]
no subject
"I can't say I've ever been in a bathhouse, but I do know about missing home. Good or bad in the end, this inn is the first place we've had to really think; all I could do before was try to survive and make sure my friends were alright."
If she knew him better, she might reach out, but instead, she offers another smile. "Tell me about home?"
no subject
"Itβs called Azeroth," he says, after a pause to think. "The world that I come from. It isβ¦ A world of magic. Of danger and beauty. History and new beginnings." He flashes her another smile, understanding that all sounds a bit melodramatic before he continues on.
"This inn reminds me of a place that isβ¦special to me. Itβs not really anything like where I grew up, but I spent a good amount of time there when I was younger. I was β injured, you see, and the Tavern in the Mists was a peaceful place for me to rest and get my strength back." His lips quirk as he adds, "And make new and interesting friends with my fellow travelers. A young Wrathion among them."
Perhaps he is taking for granted the fact that she might know of him among their number but. Wrathion is, as he ever was, rather hard to miss or ignore.
no subject
"Wrathion, we've met. Actually, he helped explain a ton about Serthica. And he let me stay with him when I was literally chased to his door by mannequins." She doesn't know him, know him, but their conversations had helpful.
"How long have you known him now?" she asks with a small upturn of her lips, shifting a little in the water, wondering if she's ever going to feel ready to get out, because this is the most relaxed her body has been since before she arrived.
no subject
Might it bother him that they are talking about him now? Perhaps. But Anduin isn't planning on revealing anything too personal about his companion. Or about himself, necessarily.
"For... Five? Six years now?" he replies, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he considers it. "Our friendship has been -- rocky, at times." Like that one point where Wrathion had released a war criminal and thus started off a cascade of events that resulted in a demon invasion, Anduin's father's death, and him inheriting the throne. "But we have both been through quite a lot, over the years since. And grown from it."
He flicks a glance aside at her, his smile widening slightly as he continues, "I can tell you with confidence that he always has had a flair for the dramatics. If anything, it has probably tempered itself over the years, if you can imagine." Likely as Wrathion's decisions came back to bite him and he learned the hard way what he should and should not do.
no subject
"Does he remember everything between you? Are you from the same time, I mean. Those rocky moments and all of your favorite time spent with him."
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He raises his eyes to meet her own, his light blue eyes soft and terribly knowing. There could only be one reason she would ask such a thing, after all.
"He did not, at first," Anduin replies. "He was... There was a great evil we had faced, where we came from. That he would face. When I first came here, he did not know. That he would survive. And I did. Because I had already lived through it."
no subject
"Did you tell him?" She asks it as she looks up again, and it's clear from her own expression that this isn't hypothetical anymore. She needs to know how she's supposed to navigate all of this, and so far, Anduin's the only person who seems to truly understand.
no subject
"I did," he says. "I -- did not wish to lie to him. So when he asked, I told him the truth. As much as I felt I could."
He wonders whether it's crossing some unwritten rule to admit that he recognizes she is asking for herself, and decides he's going to do so anyway.
"How much time is missing?" he asks, gently.
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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."