Time changes things. [ time changes people. clarisse is no longer the angry spitfire who bites at anything that merely tries to push her. she seems patient now, calmer, if it were possible. she's here, with him, rather than allowing her fist to collide with his jaw one more time and walk away with him nursing the sore and bruised bone. that particular dance has become tiresome; a part of luke wonders if she's determined to learn a new step. where's the glory in repeating what others have done? what is there left to gain in performing the same actions over and over again? ]
[ he keeps the pace up along the street, maneuvering them between people who stand on the outskirts of the sidewalk. they linger, almost in the centre, as roadblocks for the two of them. but luke has always pummelled his way through those, never quite taking any time to think maybe i can't push my way through. with clarisse by his side, there's no doubt that he'll be able to smash through the thickest of walls (even though, she, herself, is an impenetrable wall). ]
[ when he's merely an apartment away from his own, he slips his arm out from clarisse's. he seems to run up the steps. rather than pull a key from his pocket, he merely allows his hand to hover over the lock. ] Gift from Hermes. [ he says, devoid of his usual tone of contempt when it comes to speaking of his father; he's simply tossing it over his shoulder, loud enough for her to hear. the apartment is merely a gift from his father, an apology for never quite providing him the home that luke had always longed for. luke doesn't particularly want hermes' pity, but it's a step. he can't rebuff a man's attempt to right the wrongs. isn't that what he's trying to do? ]
[ he concentrates on the lock, can feel and hear it click and move — and even picture it in his mind. he carries a key, but he much prefers to do this. it drains him, just a little, but he's had practice, the time to perfect this particular skill, and it is almost as easy as breathing. ]
[ the lock clicks out of place and luke pushes open the door. it opens inside, rather than out, and so he stands against the door, waiting across the threshold, one foot in and one foot out, and looks to clarisse. he doesn't gesture for her to follow, nor does he tell her to come in. his face is blank, no longer smiling. she can still leave, if she likes. his apartment is clean, except for the television with the xbox, where games are piled and not shelved away and his controllers sit in a tangle on the floor; he has nothing to hide, nor anything to be ashamed of, but he wonders if she'll feel comfortable entering what many would call the lion's den. ]
no subject
[ he keeps the pace up along the street, maneuvering them between people who stand on the outskirts of the sidewalk. they linger, almost in the centre, as roadblocks for the two of them. but luke has always pummelled his way through those, never quite taking any time to think maybe i can't push my way through. with clarisse by his side, there's no doubt that he'll be able to smash through the thickest of walls (even though, she, herself, is an impenetrable wall). ]
[ when he's merely an apartment away from his own, he slips his arm out from clarisse's. he seems to run up the steps. rather than pull a key from his pocket, he merely allows his hand to hover over the lock. ] Gift from Hermes. [ he says, devoid of his usual tone of contempt when it comes to speaking of his father; he's simply tossing it over his shoulder, loud enough for her to hear. the apartment is merely a gift from his father, an apology for never quite providing him the home that luke had always longed for. luke doesn't particularly want hermes' pity, but it's a step. he can't rebuff a man's attempt to right the wrongs. isn't that what he's trying to do? ]
[ he concentrates on the lock, can feel and hear it click and move — and even picture it in his mind. he carries a key, but he much prefers to do this. it drains him, just a little, but he's had practice, the time to perfect this particular skill, and it is almost as easy as breathing. ]
[ the lock clicks out of place and luke pushes open the door. it opens inside, rather than out, and so he stands against the door, waiting across the threshold, one foot in and one foot out, and looks to clarisse. he doesn't gesture for her to follow, nor does he tell her to come in. his face is blank, no longer smiling. she can still leave, if she likes. his apartment is clean, except for the television with the xbox, where games are piled and not shelved away and his controllers sit in a tangle on the floor; he has nothing to hide, nor anything to be ashamed of, but he wonders if she'll feel comfortable entering what many would call the lion's den. ]