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( open post! ) voicetest → luke castellan!
what do:
→ drop a prompt (images work best for me!) or a previously written scenario.
→ completely up to date (but if you throw hoo at me I will have to rely on you and Google).
→ i'm gonna be slow because i'm possessed. (what else is new?)
no subject
if you don't like this i will punch you.
[ the thing with luke is, he's not really dead. all those years ago, he didn't really die. he doesn't die like he's meant to. instead, the gods decide to give him a second chance — something about how he deserves it, since he had simply been a product of his father's mistreatment, of misunderstandings and misplaced callousness. it's the least they can do for taking his mother away. he had never been given a fair chance, they say, but hadn't none of the demigod children been dealt a fair chance? ]
[ rather than returning to camp half-blood, he chooses to live his life freely. and that's how he ends up in new york, the city where it simultaneously ended and began for him. living a life free of kronos isn't difficult, but luke castellan can't rid himself of his past. it visits him every night, lingers in the shadows during the day, and he knows it continues to follow those who play the hero — literally — and are battling monsters he refuses to chase. he's not a hero — never has been, never will be. ]
[ it's been a month and a bit since he's bumped into clarisse la rue. he can't say each time has been pleasant, either — she looks at him as though he's still the lost boy who had tried to pull the world inside out. he doesn't try to correct her, either. their meetings are short — she's forever full of fire while he's full of ice. she wants to start another war while he simply wants to diffuse it. he's tired of fighting — of running, of living a life full of hate. it's fine if she hates him — he hates himself, too. ]
[ he bumps into her — literally — on fifth avenue. ] Sorry. [ he turns and stops. his mouth pulls into a line, a slight smile, but it's not one of happiness at seeing her. ] Oh. La Rue.
[ he thinks the fates are cruel. ]
wow how rude I LOVE IT OK no need for punchings!!
the only reason she ends up on fifth avenue at all is there's a particularly good record store that always has the best vintage vinyl. she's on her way there, actually wearing a dress silena bought for her — to honor her memory, clarisse has been trying to upgrade her wardrobe, starting with occasionally wearing a dress or a skirt or something other than camo and cargo and military boots. she's still nowhere as fashionable as her friend was and she never will be, but she at least tries sometimes when she goes out in public.
when someone bumps into her, she's about ready to let out a string of curses telling them to watch where they're going, but the voice that comes with it stops her dead in her tracks. of all people, it had to be him. of course. there's a spark of fire in her eyes as she turns toward luke, glowering. she doesn't even have the energy to fight him anymore. he's not worth it. the first time they ran into each other? sure. she decked him as hard as she could. but now? what would she really get out of it? she's already had the satisfaction of kicking his ass. ]
Luke. Don't you have anything better to be doing than wasting my time?
i still want to punch you tho, maybe in the heart
[ but today, she looks like something else. ]
[ if she were to punch him right now, he doubts he would really fight it. he wonders if clarisse is even underneath that dress. every time he runs into her (as it seems that the fates would have him run into her almost every time they were in the city — or within the same block) she looks like she's about to deck him — and, sometimes, she does. ]
[ but luke can't help but be amused. ] Hey, you bumped into me. If anyone's wasting their time here, it's not you.
[ and, oh boy, is he not really talking about her. there really is no point in seeking atonement when no one's prepared to give it to him, is there? percy had only called him a hero out of pity — what else are you meant to do when someone's dying right in front of you? but clarisse likes to remind him with her presence that he pulled multiple dick moves that lead to the deaths of people he had once called his friends. a few kids from apollo, his own brothers, charlie, silena; a day never passes when he doesn't think about what his desire for revenge had cost him. he walks alone in the city — it's as clear as day the price he paid. ]
[ but his gaze does fall back to her dress. and it looks like he's about to laugh, but he's not, really. he's a little taken aback. clarisse looks almost like a girl. they'd been counsellors together, spent time ribbing each other over capture the flag, but he never really saw her as anything but the daughter of ares who was a pain in his ass and a good adverary. to see her as a girl, though ... he almost feels as though he's fourteen again, living day to day as it comes with annabeth and thalia in tow, and him realising that thalia was a girl, too. ]
how dare you
her eyes are like dying embers as she regards him while he speaks. his amusement at the situation annoys her, but luke always did have an interesting sense of humor. it comes with being a child of hermes, she thinks. she sees the family resemblance to chris the stoll twins in his laugh, but there isn't much heart left in luke's. it's jaded, dark and ironic, lost its sense of purpose. chris' laugh is contagious, while luke's... it almost makes her sad. almost maker her pity him. ]
So is this what you do now? Roam the streets for demigods to piss off?
[ she doesn't particularly like the way he's looking at her, but she can't help looking back, eying him with her usual dislike; behind the embers, though, there's a spark of curiosity. just a spark. she never noticed how similar his jawline is to chris'. they're half-brothers, of course they'd share some of the same distinct hermes features. she can see it in his eyes, too; there's a certain playfulness there, though it hardly seems sincere anymore.
she notices there are flecks of gold in his eyes, scattered like shattered glass around his normally blue irises, remnants of the titan lord kronos. she doesn't feel any sympathy for luke, never has. it was his choice, all of it, everything, and if this is the price he pays, so be it. she'd rather he rot in tartarus, but the gods decided differently. if this was his fate from the beginning, nothing clarisse can say or do will change that. she just won't pretend to forgive him when she doesn't.
the longer she looks at him, the tighter her chest feels. he's a living reminder of everything she's lost that was ever important to her: silena, her best friend, the friend he might as well have murdered; and chris... she doesn't even know where she stands with chris anymore. things started to fall apart shortly after the battle of new york. they were in two different places emotionally and they just haven't found that common ground again. she still loves him, but they just aren't right for each other right now. luke's existence is like a stab in the chest, a reminder that, yet again, she's alone. ]
i am not scared of you.
[ the dress reminds him of a particular cabin. he's befriended and known many children of aphrodite, but he doesn't need to think too hard on who has had a big influence on clarisse's choice of wardrobe. he remembers her, even if clarisse would like to think he doesn't. he feels bad for charlie — he had hoped that percy being percy, he'd have been able to save him. he hadn't expected silena to get caught in the crossfire. if anything, he hadn't thought silena would be caught at all. she'd been so good, so levelheaded, and so beautiful that luke doubted anyone would suspect the daughter of aphrodite, a girl who transcended the stereotype of the cabin when one bothered to look closely, would feel the loneliness that many others felt. he had wanted to give her a purpose (he had wanted to use her for his own ends, of course — something he wouldn't be able to blame on anyone but himself), but luke had wanted to, in some way, make her feel less alone. ]
[ everyone suspected he had been born evil — destined to be it and nothing more — but luke had fought kronos all the way, had begun to feel unsteady and uneasy by the titan lord's plans and intense need for revenge; him coming to silena had been of split reasons. all he had wanted was to belong — properly — and be someone with a purpose. repeating old god's quests meant he was a part of the machine, some faceless kid who hermes would someday forget. wasn't that the reason why his father had never come to see him before his mother had become completely lost to him? he was nothing but a blip. ]
[ luke holds his hands up, amused smile still in place — but he looks slightly tired. ] I was just going for a walk, La Rue. Relax.
[ he holds them up there for a few seconds before his arms drop to cross over his chest. but it shouldn't surprise him that she suspects him to be up to a trick — he is the child of hermes, and while he never particularly made it a point to strive to be like his father, luke had always thought of himself as a good jokester. hadn't he and chris pulled so many pranks on the campers over their years of growing up? clarisse had been the target of a few — chris always had a soft spot for the spitfire. ]
Though, something tells me that no matter what I do, you'll still be pissed. [ and rightfully so, he thinks. she's the child of war. she's always looking for a fight. he's the child of hermes — he's always looking to take something from someone. but what he wants to take from clarisse is something she's not ready to ever really give him — and luke's kind of glad for it. perhaps his stagnancy has been brought upon by himself — he can't forgive himself for losing control, of losing sight, and bringing harm to the only family he's ever really had. his family forgives him — hadn't percy said as much on olympus? — clarisse does not. ]
[ clarisse used to be a part of that family, whether she likes to think so or not. ]
you should be oh how mighty men have fallen at my hand
things at camp haven't been easy. she's always on edge, and the other campers have noticed. even the more seasoned campers stay away from her. she's slipped back into her old aggressive habits, dishing out attitude more than is strictly necessary. everything is a battle to her, every day, every conversation, everything. she doesn't care if people hate her; she'd rather they did. it's better they hate her than try to get close to her. she embodies war — and with that the casualties of war. she's suffered enough casualties by her hand. pushing people away, closing herself off — it's the only way to keep them safe from herself.
luke is different. the same courtesy doesn't apply to him. if anything, they're more alike than she'd like to admit. hadn't he just been trying to save them all from himself, in the end? it angers her to think that she's anything like luke, that underneath all the hatred she harbors for him, she might actually understand him. she keeps telling herself she doesn't care why he did it, just that he did, but it's not that easy anymore. making peace with luke would mean making peace with herself — the one battle she isn't willing to face yet. ]
Astute as always. I wonder what gave you that idea?
[ luke really did have so much potential, clarisse thinks. he could've done so much more. she almost wonders what it would've been like if he hadn't gone rogue. they were never friends, not really, but they were allies. sometimes. more like rivals, if anything. but together... they could have achieved great things without betraying the gods. proven to them that they're worthy of more than petty quests and fighting other people's battles. clarisse proved that to her father.
she shudders to think what the war would've been like with luke on their side. the fates would have chosen someone else to do kronos' bidding, naturally. what if it had been chris? would she still habor these same feelings of disgust and hate if it had been someone she loved instead? she doesn't pretend to be anything like annabeth, but annabeth had feelings for luke once. forgiveness of a friend is one thing, but to forgive someone you love — clarisse can't imagine how much harder that must be.
for an instant, she sees chris in luke and almost wants to punch him. her arm tenses, hand balling into a fist, but she restrains herself. they're nothing alike, she tries to convince herself. chris would have never... but it's the doubt that he would have that enrages her more than anything. it's so much easier to hate luke, to blame him for everything, than to forgive him and face the fact that she was wrong, that she too played a part in everything she blames him for. ]
yes, well, this mighty man is very, very mighty!
[ his gaze drifts downward to her hands. he sees it, the tension balling her fingers into a tight, powerful fist. he knows that if he pushes her — in any direction, it seems — that she'll throw all her strength into the muscles of her arm and knock his jaw straight from his skeleton. a part of him wants to do just that — push. but another part of him wants to see if this dance can change its steps. they always end with her hand smashing into his jaw. ]
[ man, she's always angry. he has to wonder if she's softer with chris — is she even capable of soft? of blurring all her hard edges into something that feels and looks less like a blade? luke knows chris, and he thinks that, like him, his half-brother would've enjoyed the rush. clarisse may be predictable, as she's always quick to anger, but she makes things a little interesting. ]
[ he purses his lips, as if thinking about it. ] Sometimes I wonder if the fatal flaw of the Ares kids is holding personal grudges.
[ he smirks, like it's the good old days. ribbing clarisse had always been one of his favourite pastimes — seeing the smoke fume from her ears and the fire light in her eyes had always given him a bit of an adrenaline rush. if he ever wanted a fight, to rid himself of the anger or restlessness he felt, he knew he could always depend on her. ]
You never really did get over the fact I beat you all the time. [ at everything is left unsaid. but clarisse had beaten him at a few things, too — things that actually mattered, like living a life one could be proud of, and being a friend until the very bitter end. ]
he's mighty mighty lettin' it all hang out
Yeah, well, your fatal flaw was existing, apparently.
[ does he even have a fatal flaw anymore? he's still technically a demigod, but he might as well be a mortal the way he lives like an outcast. he certainly isn't a hero. why did he deserve a second chance but silena didn't? it's almost like the fates are laughing in her face. luke nearly destroyed the whole universe and silena died trying to stop him and he gets to play round two?
clarisse should be happy. not for luke, but for silena. she died a hero, clarisse truly believes that. there's no way she didn't get into elysium. part of her wishes she'd opted for rebirth, but she knows why silena didn't. it hurts when she thinks about how happy silena and beckendorf must be in the afterlife — and how miserable she is on the mortal plain. she knows it's selfish to want silena back, and she hates herself a little for being jealous of beckendorf. of course he was more important to silena; of course silena chose him over clarisse.
it only hurts more when she stares at luke. he was the one using silena, filling her head with lies, with promises he could never keep. clarisse doesn't blame silena for listening; she blames luke for talking. ultimately, she blames him for the decision silena faced in death; the fact that she had to die at all.
she sneers at his accusation. ]
Those are dangerous words, Castellan. Are you challenging me or threatening me?
[ either way, this time she will beat you. ]
covers face in hands, there are children about!
[ he's become adjusted to the ways life works outside of camp — the routines he imposes are up to him, not mr d or chiron. his apartment is lonely and silent, whereas his cabin had always been filled to the brim with voices and bodies. luke's never really been alone in his life — he's always had his mother, even if she went off the deep-end because of the gods, and he had always had thalia and annabeth, before the gods took thalia away from them both, and his anger at the gods had driven a wedge between him and annabeth. he had the support of some of his family during kronos' reign. he had always been with someone. ]
[ there's no one waiting for luke in elysium, just as there's no one waiting for him in the world of the gods. he's wondered why he's the one who gets a second chance, too. when compared to those who have been lost, he has to wonder why me? he's done nothing but cause pain and destruction, burdened many who he called friends with grief and conflict amongst themselves — and, yet, here he is, living a life he was never destined to live. the life of a demigod was a short one. luke had always been surprised when he passed the age of sixteen. ]
[ and now he lives in isolation, just as he had when he was nine. he wonders if that's the price he has to pay for what he has done. ]
Just stating a fact. [ he thinks to hold his hands up in surrender again, but even if he waved a white flag, clarisse wouldn't accept it for the gesture that it was. it'd be like waving red in front of her — she'll charge, no matter what he tries to do to diffuse the situation. ] I forgot how uptight you were. Always looking for a fight … [ he narrows his eyes and tilts his head, smirking. ] Ever think maybe there wasn't one?
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Ever think maybe I don't care?
[ she really doesn't, not at this point in their relationship. if it can even be called a relationship. it's more of a relationshit. or maybe a casual pain in her ass every few months. nothing ever changes between them, it's the same song and dance every time; she can practically taste the stagnancy in the air. part of her hopes he'll do something different. as unpredictable and aggravating as he used to be, that's what made things interesting.
the man that stands before her now is just an empty shell of the luke she used to know. the luke that maybe she actually kind of cared for at one point. never like annabeth or thalia, but there was camaraderie between them. it wasn't necessarily a rivalry like she has with percy; she and luke understood each other, once. she understands him now, racked with the guilt of his actions — but just as she can't forgive herself, she can't forgive him, either.
so here they are, locked in a stalemate, waging an endless war between each other. clarisse almost wants to call a truce just to end things, but that's not her style. it's so, so much easier to hold onto the guilt and pass the blame than it is to let go and call it even. ]
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Then why are you still here?
[ a question for a question. he's not even purposefully trying to rib her into a spurt of anger. if she doesn't care, then why is she here? why does she make such big spectacles whenever the two of them are thrown together in this shitty city? everyone else ignores him — even the gods, and, for once, he's kind of grateful for it. he wonders what would happen if they remembered he was here, of what he had been capable of, of how far his anger had stretched. he sometimes wishes they would notice him. ]
[ but clarisse just wants a fight, as always. she's as predictable as she is unpredictable. he doesn't know if she'll fight with her fists or fight with her words — either way, they're always fighting about something. luke used to find it thrilling, having someone to spar with, verbally and physically, and he used to look forward to talking shit at the ares cabin. but now? with the years stretched between them — and the things they've both said and done, and haven't, as well, he's a little tired of the childish games. spinning around in those circles had been fun when he was sixteen, seventeen, eighteen … but now, at an age he can't remember? ]
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why is she still here? why does she do anything anymore? she's lost the two most important people in her life, and it's not like her dad really pays any more attention to her now than he ever did, even after all she's achieved. she still doesn't feel good enough, even though she's long since proved her worth to her father. maybe she's just bitter there's a new child of war out there and she's no longer daddy's favorite. he barely recognized her even when she was his favorite, but now it just feels as if he's moved on to other conquests; why should he make time for his daughter when he has a new son?
all of this reels through her head with that one simple question. why is she still here? maybe it just feels better to be in the company of someone you hate but who recognizes you for who you are and what you've accomplished than to be in the company of those who you consider friends but who have replaced you with someone else they consider more worthy of being a hero. maybe she understands him now more than she ever did, more than she ever wanted to, and it keeps her here, tied to him by an invisible thread. maybe it's the fact that she sees chris in him and it makes her curious (what he feels like, what he tastes like). maybe it's just nothing. ]
I don't know. Maybe you should ask yourself the same question.
[ they both could have walked away ages ago, but they're both still here. clarisse wonders if maybe that means something, if she's destined to spend the rest of her life being tormented by luke castellan. if it's true, he'll have to spend the rest of his life tormented by her, so at least they can call it even. ]
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[ it's redemption. the bigger question: why's he here, in manhattan? it's to remember the power of anger, the vulnerability of it, too. his rage had blinded him to the power of kronos, and it had made him susceptible to his every whim. his desire to belong and to mean something had kept him pliable, content beneath the thumb that was too calloused and hardened by vengeance against sons he should've loved, rather than despised. ]
[ on the smaller scale, he's here, in front of clarisse, for just a slip of feeling like he's human again. she punishes him for things he has and hasn't done, punishes him for things she can't bear to see wide open on her own face when she looks in the mirror. on his own, he's able to hide and not see the anger in her every movement and every word. he's able to forget, to shed that skin, and start anew. but luke doesn't want that. in a way, he sticks around and bumps into clarisse, engaging in a battle of very stupid wits, because she needs it in order to wake up to herself. ]
[ annabeth had helped him wake up. maybe it's his turn to do one small thing for someone else. ]
And unlike you, I know the answer.
[ luke ducks his head. with a deep breath in, he pulls his mouth into a thin line, and almost says see you around before he decides to step around her and begin his leisurely walk back to his own apartment. she doesn't want him around, fine. wish come true. ]
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Then show me.
[ she's not sure why she doesn't say tell me, because that seems like the obvious response, it's just... show me somehow felt more appropriate. she's always been more hands on, a visual learner who learns by example and practice; she knows she doesn't listen. listening isn't one of her strong suits. everything's always in one ear and out the other. but if he shows her...
she doesn't even know what he'd show her exactly. she doesn't know what to expect from any of this. why would she want anything from him after everything he did? part of her thinks maybe she deserves it, that maybe this is her retribution for letting her friend die. she never did say she was sorry, couldn't bear to, not even as silena lay dying in her arms. she never told her she loved her, either.
then she went and fucked things up with chris, the only other person who meant anything to her. she's always been too stubborn to admit she was wrong, never apologizes for anything. it's pushed people out of her life, gotten her friends killed, and now... now, here she is, asking luke castellan, of all people, for help. he used to be her friend once; he used to be someone she respected, looked up to. he might have even been considered a role model, a mentor at some point, someone to strive to be like. percy certainly used to think so. clarisse always thought he was at least impressive with a sword.
it's a complicated mess inside her head, so many different feelings she doesn't want to face swimming around at full speed. she's angry at herself for whatever it is she's doing, whatever this thing with luke means — she's angry she can't just let go. but she's giving him a chance she never thought she would, and maybe that's already a step in the right direction. ]
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[ he expects her to simply let him go, possibly toss a remark at his back about how it's good riddance he's leaving her alone. he doesn't expect her to reach out, to demand from him an answer he can't give her. whatever clarisse's damage is, it's her own to deal with. but maybe he's a part of the process of her learning what it is. ]
[ he should rip his arm from her grip and walk away, leave her standing where she is, repating the dance they always do with one watching the other walk away. (usually he's the one seeing her back, her head held high, those long legs of hers moving with such power and ferocity the entire earth shakes.) but he doesn't. he's not sure why. maybe it's the ghost of her that makes him stay, wanting to help, wanting to reform a friendship that wasn't quite as volatile as it is now. luke stays because he has nowhere else to go. he can't go back to his mom's — it's too painful, to think of what she's gone through, what she's seen, what she's felt because of his abandonment and fear and misunderstanding of everything she had done to try and better herself and the life of her child's. he can't go back to camp half-blood. the only place that accepts him is manhattan, the city he had tried to tear apart. clarisse is a reminder of all of it, but she's also something so separate from it, too. ]
[ she's here, always. trying to beat him down into a pulp. there's no one else — no thalia, no annabeth, not even the great hero, percy. ]
[ he's quiet for a few moments. quietly, with his sword drawn and his defenses down: ] I'll walk you back to your apartment.
[ he doesn't smile, doesn't offer her a hand, simply stands there. the look on his face isn't of happiness or amusement or sadness — it's blank, a little vulnerable, his mouth in a line and his eyes a little defeated. ]
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she isn't sure she's ready to have luke castellan in her sanctuary away from camp, anyway. it would be almost intimate, walking not into the shared ares cabin for inspection, but into her own personal haven, custom tailored to her interests and not necessarily the interests of her brothers. of course there's overlap here and there, but to bare herself like that to him — she isn't sure she can do that.
she can defend herself with amour and shields, battles of wit and sarcasm, leave nothing on display except the face of war and the casualties it brings — but her apartment has no defenses. she'd be bringing in an enemy into defenseless territory where everything is on display for him, where every little thing — every poster, every mug, everything — has meaning. one less piece of the clarisse la rue puzzle left to be solved. ]
No. Yours.
[ it's a command. years of commanding her fellow campers on the front line has instilled her with such a high sense of authority, it's only natural it comes out from time to time. he'd been going that direction, anyway, right? if they're going to do anything, it's going to be on her terms. he has no defense left, nothing left to hide. and even if she enters the deepest pits of tartarus, she'll still have her pride. ]
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[ and maybe he never will get it. luke doesn't have much when it comes to belongings and things he treasures, anyway. it only bothers him that she'll know where he is if she plans on exacting revenge on him for something he did in the past and can't change. but it doesn't matter to him if she knows where he is — at least someone will. he has nothing to hide. he'd been hiding behind a guise that had turned him to stone and had hardened him to those he cared about. ]
It's a few blocks away. Hope you're up for a bit of a walk.
[ luke gives her one last look before he begins to walk in the direction he'd been going in before her hand had abruptly pulled him to a pause. ]
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she mostly keeps her gaze held high, keeping an eye on luke in front of her (though sometimes her eyes wander to his lower back, the way his hips move as he walks, with legs long enough to rival her own), but also sending threatening glares to anyone who tries to look at her funny. street harassment usually isn't an issue with her because she usually looks like a boy, but today she's gotten catcalled at least twice. it isn't something she'd accustomed to dealing with, so when it happens again, she glowers at the boy in question and her fist makes a detour into his face. she grabs him by his collar and shoves him into the nearest wall. ]
You feelin' lucky, punk?
[ he whimpers like a scared puppy and shakes his head, attempting to shrink himself out of her grip. she sneers at him and shoves him once more before releasing him to run off like the coward he is. she doesn't have time for this shit today. ]
Didn't think so.
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[ the last thing he needs is for her to be cuffed by the new york police department. he doesn't doubt that that won't go down very well, either. clarisse la rue is a fire that can't be tamed, not even by the presence of authority. but he doesn't particularly want to deal with those kinds of mortals. he doesn't exactly have a record, but he doesn't doubt that someone out there still has information on a missing luke castellan (if his mother had been able to pull herself together to file a missing persons report). ]
[ he grabs her wrist and gives her a gentle tug. ] Come on, La Rue. If you beat up every street urchin in the city, we're going to be out here for longer than a day.
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He deserved it.
[ she doesn't even bother to break luke's grip. maybe it's better she has a leash right now — everything seems to be setting her off. everything... except luke, oddly enough. maybe it's just the fact that they're both so tired of fighting with each other, the spark isn't really there anymore. but dumb kids with no respect for women? that's just fuel for the fire. her fire with luke went out a long time ago, but the embers remain, and that's really all that's left. sad, dying sparks of a once mighty flame.
his hand on her wrist actually seems to placate her, and despite not wanting to be seen with him in public like this, she allows him to tug her away and lead her on. his hand is rougher than chris', though it has the smoothness of rebirth — the callouses from year-round training are no longer there, but she can almost feel where kronos had burned through his skin even now that it's been repaired. it almost unnerves her to think that this same hand had been the one that held the knife that destroyed the mighty titan lord.
sometimes she forgets luke's sacrifice, probably because she doesn't want it to mean anything. if it meant something, redemption of all things, she wouldn't have any reason to blame him for all the terrible things he did. silena sacrificed herself for the good of others — for camp, for her family — but what did luke sacrifice himself for except the chance at elysium? or the chance to be reborn and try again? even sacrifice doesn't erase the pain and suffering he caused.
clarisse clings to the past as luke clings to the future, but something tells her that the direction they're going in now is leading them to somewhere in the middle. ]
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[ he gets it — why she does it, all the violence and anger. there's no disrespecting clarisse la rue. she can stand up for herself, knock down guys taller than him and bulkier than the both of them combined. it's one of the things he's always admired about her, that fire, that rage she channels to make the world a better place. some think she's a hot head, simply a stereotypical kid of ares, but luke thinks he knows better. she dislikes disrespect, just like her old man, but she dislikes it when it's aimed at people other than herself. as self-centred as she can be, clarisse is different from ares — she gives a damn about other people, sometimes even before herself. ]
[ he sometimes wishes he had had that, back when things had turned bleak. he'd severed too many ties over the years of trying to appease himself and a lord who was only using him as a tool, not as someone who was equally as hurt and angry as him. luke had sacrificed himself for family, in the end. in the beginning, it was the same reasoning — he had wanted a family, someone to love him, somewhere to belong, someone to matter to. but he'd gotten all twisted up on the inside, letting anger and resentment shape him into a person he could never recognise in the mirror. elysium had never been a motivating factor for shoving that blade into his achilles heel. he had more or less expected to be thrown into the pits of tartarus to rot with kronos' spirit. but the lord of the dead and the gods had taken pity on him, more pity than he deserved. ]
[ he doesn't let go of her wrist as he leads them to a set of traffic lights. his grip is loose, almost as if he's trying to break contact — of flesh on flesh — but without losing her in the process. stopping behind a group of people waiting to cross, he glances at her, then. ]
The next guy who whistles, you can deck him in an alley. Not out in the street where anyone can see.
[ i'll even help. it's not how it used to be, but he thinks it's pretty damn close. ]
[ the sign for pedestrian crossing flashes — ] C'mon. [ — and he tugs her across the crossing, pulling her a little closer to him in order to not lose her in the throng of mortals. ]
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she doesn't say anything, just nods. she's about to take her wrist back, but something about the way his eyes say he's on her side for this one makes her reconsider. it's a glimpse into something they used to have that isn't there anymore, but it's another reminder than people can change. she still hasn't fully accepted this new luke, a ghost of who he used to be, but she likes to think that she's done a little growing up since the fall of kronos. she's still stubborn as a mule and gratitude doesn't come easily from her, but she's willing to let go of that for just a moment, just enough to take his hand and squeeze it, a silent offering of her thanks for being the one person who understands — even if he's the last person she wants to understand.
the gesture doesn't last long, a momentary show of vulnerability she'd rather not linger on once they've emerged on the other side of the intersection, no longer surrounded by unfamiliar mortals. she finds something else to do with her hands — the skull ring on other hand suddenly becoming a lot more interesting. she tries not to dwell on the fact that for a moment, just a moment (and nothing more), she felt comfortable with luke. he isn't chris, she has to keep telling herself, and he never will be. ]
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[ his fingers had remained loose and weightless. he hadn't dared do anything while she had initiated and controlled the hand hold. but once they've made it to the pathway, his fingers curl around hers of their own accord. he takes a step in front of her, and remains ahead of her, pulling her through the smaller sea of people. walking side by side is possible, but it's a hindrance. if he wants to ensure clarisse remains on her best behaviour, it's best to walk at a speed that rivals that of any travelling god in the vicinity. it so happens that walking, almost in single file, works. but he's bent slightly back, shoulder knocking into people, as he makes his way to another set of lights. ]
[ and rather than stop when it begins counting down, getting closer to when the pedestrians will have to stop, luke breaks into a bit of a jog, his fingers intertwining even more with hers, and pulls clarisse along for the ride. ]
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she knows she should pull her hand away and resume following him at a less friendly proximity, just in case anyone is around, but he's walking so fast she barely has time to think about the way their hands are entwined. she always knew hermes kids were fast on their feet — battle reflexes rivaling only hers — it's just been a while since she's been in a situation where she's had to follow one. chris always kept close to her, anyway, always tucked under her shoulder with his arm hugging her waist. it felt good being the taller one, the stronger one, the one he looked to for protection and safe haven — in return, he was the one she went to when she felt her weakest. she thinks now maybe she hadn't given him enough.
she'd never really noticed how long luke's fingers were until this very moment, the moment in which she's being pulled along through another intersection just before the light changes, leaving less reckless and annoyed pedestrians in their wake as they cross over to the other side. his fingers are strong as they are long, locking their hands together in a way that almost makes her blush, while the sudden burst of speed to avoid impatient cars is nearly exhilarating. not as exhilarating as sparring with him used to be, or as exhilarating as the heat of battle, but it's something. it's something that gets her heart racing in more ways than she'd like to admit.
so, of course, once they're safely on the other side, she finally tugs her hand free of his and shoots him a half-hearted glare. there isn't much passion in it because she's not actually mad — she's frustrated that she might have enjoyed that little stunt, that she might have enjoyed holding hands with him at all, and most importantly that she doesn't really have a good reason to be mad at him because she'd started it. she can't even say she regrets it, which annoys her even more. ]
Idiot. You could've gotten us killed.
[ she's projecting and she knows it, but she doesn't know what else to do with these feelings. pinning it on him narrowly managing to avoid them getting run over by new york traffic seems like the best option at the moment. ]
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and then i tagged this instead
i resisted for a few hours.