divided | ( open post! ) voicetest → luke castellan!

( 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?)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ relax isn't a word clarisse fully understands. not really. not since silena died and she broke up with chris — or did he break up with her? it hardly matters anymore. the only thing she knows how to do to get her mind off things is fight. train until her hands bleed, until she's so exhausted she can't feel anything anymore. not feeling is better than feeling the overwhelming guilt that lodges itself in her gut when she least expects it.

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. ]

[ it's most likely rhetorical, but luke decides to respond anyway — after all, hadn't he made it his goal to always annoy clarisse la rue? he'd been younger then, carefree and childish — and always ready to live in the moment. ]

[ 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. ]

Edited 2014-03-22 02:34 (UTC)

[ clarisse has always wondered what her fatal flaw is, ever since the quest for the golden fleece all those years ago. luke might be right, it might be holding personal grudges. but it could be her temper, her arrogance, her stubbornness. whatever it is, she knows that's what got silena killed. she knows it, but she won't admit it, and that makes her want to punch luke even harder. ]

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. ]

[ luke rolls his eyes. to him, this feels like camp — petty insults thrown at one another, ribbing the other to the point where the only way to prove that one was superior was to win a game on one of the courts of camp half-blood. but this is the real world — and the real world doesn't work the same way the camp did. ]

[ 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?

[ to be honest, this is one of the most exhausting conversations clarisse has ever been apart of, and she deals with percy jackson on a regular basis. she should just walk away. just say "whatever" and walk away. but there's something keeping her here. something about him, something that keeps drawing her in, making her blood boil and her face hot. and she hates it. she hates every single part of him and she hates herself even more for rising to the taunt of his existence. he riles her in the best and worst ways and she really would punch him if he gave her more to work off of than petty insults. ]

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. ]

[ the fight leaves him. he no longer wants to toy with her, no longer wants to reminisce on how things used to be. he doesn't fit into those converse shoes anymore. and neither does she, in her combat ones. ]

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? ]

[ then why are you still here? it's a good question, one clarisse isn't sure she has an answer to. she's not even sure she has a sarcastic response for it, either. it resonates in her mind, to the very core of her being. for once, since the time she stood in front of the oracle to hear her prophecy for her quest, she feels shaken. and she doesn't like it. she feels vulnerable in his presence suddenly, and not in the fun way.

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. ]

I have.

[ 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. ]

[ it's always gotten under her skin when people know things she feels like she should know but doesn't. maybe that's why she stares at him with a look of frustrated curiosity when he tells her he knows the answer to his own stupid question. maybe that's why she doesn't punch him, but reaches out for his arm, her iron grip strong enough to keep him from getting far. she knows her own strength; it's not enough to hurt him, but he'd probably like it if it did. ]

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. ]

[ when she grabs him, he stops. it's a thing one has to do when a child of ares reaches out and stops one from moving forward. he looks back at her, but he's no longer putting on the facade of the camp counsellor he used to be — smirking, arrogant, amused. he had donned that mask a few moments ago, but rather poorly, it sitting oddly on his own skeleton. it's a ghost from the past, just like she is, but clarisse no longer fits the girl who remains in his memory. all those sharp edges she had thought were on display, moons ago, are there, now, permanent fixtures attached to her skin. ]

[ 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. ]

[ it's his answer that gets her to let go. she jerks her hand away from his arm, almost spits on him like touching him was offensive, and suddenly her defenses are back up. it was a stupid idea, stupid words from a stupid girl — what is coming back with her to her apartment going to accomplish? they don't have anything to talk about, they have nothing in common. (except, of course, the fact that they have too much in common.)

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. ]

[ for a moment, luke doesn't get it. walking her back to her apartment was meant to show her that he didn't mean her any harm, not like he had in the past. it was a quiet offering of a truce, one where they could maybe coexist, perhaps stop with the childish bickering and empty threats and all the violence and goading. he stays to reform and find out who he truly is, beneath all the anger and self-loathing, and him offering to walk clarisse back to hers had been nothing but him simply walking an ex-friend home. ]

[ 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. ]

[ it's a little strange walking behind luke, close enough to follow, but far enough behind him that she doesn't feel like she's being escorted. she certainly wouldn't want to walk next to him and give any passersby ideas — just in case one of them happens to be someone she knows. if she can run into luke like this, someone else from camp is bound to run into them eventually. (maybe she's a little paranoid it might be chris.)

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.

[ it takes luke a moment to realise he's lost clarisse. he stops and takes a few steps back to see clarisse push a guy up against the wall with a strength that's not too kind. he thinks of pulling her away — there's no need to make a scene, and people are beginning to turn their heads in her direction as they shuffle by — but it's over before any real damage is to be made. (and it's not damage done to her that he's worried about.) ]

[ 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.

[ she almost yanks her wrist out of luke's grip for another detour into a well-deserving face, but part of her knows he's right. she overreacted, and the streets of new york are not a fun place to get arrested. she'd like to avoid getting arrested at all, really. chiron and mr. d would definitely not be happy about getting a phone call from the nypd. clarisse might have a violent track at the schools she attended before she was brought to camp half-blood, but so far her criminal record is somehow still squeaky clean. she'd like to keep it that way. ]

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. ]

Yeah, I know.

[ 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. ]

Edited (fixing a typo: this is why i should not tag at 2am ;o;) 2014-04-06 23:48 (UTC)

[ clarisse feels an odd sense of solidarity with luke in the moment he looks at her and affirms her actions rather than chide her for acting out like that in public. she's so used to percy and annabeth and every other damn person she knows getting onto her or rolling their eyes or sighing exasperatedly like she's a child they can't control and feel obligated to apologize for. luke does neither of those things, and when she returns his gaze, there's a hint of genuine surprise (and almost gratitude) in her eyes.

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. ]

[ when he feels her hand shift into his, and then the pressure of her fingers — a pressure that, otherwise, should be blinding and painful — luke can't quite keep his gaze forward as they cross. he glances at her, brows pulled together, confused, quizzical — he doesn't quite understand her. a person bumps into him as he loses focus, just for a moment, but luke doesn't push them back. on the surface, she operates on a bull-sees-red-bull-attacks sort of mode, but beneath it all, she's different. he's not the type to say she's hard on the outside and soft and gooey on the inside, but there's something to the way clarisse reacts when she sees red that's different to when she reacts when she should be seeing red, but happens to spot a different colour entirely. ]

[ 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. ]

[ clarisse doesn't expect him to return the gesture. what she was expecting was for it to all be over and done with in a matter of seconds — but instead it turns into something else. something she can't quite ignore but forces herself to because if she starts to think about it, it will only end badly. she's treading in dangerous waters here, and if she ends up any deeper, she's going to drown.

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. ]

[ when he's free of her hand, he crosses his arms against his chest. he glances at her, seeing her glare, and it sparks some anger inside of him. it's like no matter what he does, she has some bone to pick with him. he pulls her across the street when they still have the right of way, and she has to bite his head off. he doesn't want to spend half the day abiding by the rules of this mortal society. standing on the sidewalk having her have a go at him for something that makes no sense to him isn't his ideal way for spending time. ]

[ nor will it be if they ever make it to his apartment. while he still has nothing to hide from her, he doesn't particularly want to try and give her a peace offering she'll simply toss to the ground and stomp on. it's hard for him, letting her in, despite how easy it is for him to guide her through the throng of people along this long and narrow street. ]

[ he turns to face her, brows furrowed, and annoyance clear in his tone: ] I didn't. [ believe it or not, he doesn't have any plans on killing anyone any time soon. luke breathes in deeply. rather than telling her to follow, he starts walking again. ]

[ it's even more frustrating that he gets mad at her for getting mad at him for almost endangering their lives. but they're not doing this again, she's not going to bite back. she knows she's getting mad over something stupid just because she's afraid to act like she doesn't completely hate him for more than five minutes. it's hard, this strange process of starting to rekindle whatever relationship they had. she huffs and tries to figure out how to apologize without really apologizing. ]

I know. I just... [ she swallows whatever else she was about to say, whatever words of apology were about to come out of her mouth, and makes a grumbling noise instead. ] Whatever.

[ the fact that she's still following him should be more than enough to prove that something has changed, that she's being defensive of things entirely unrelated to the past as a whole and entirely related to the past five minutes.

she hates how much she wants to reach out and grab his hand again, just to feel his fingers against hers. she hates that she can't just say i'm sorry. it's not that easy. sometimes she's not even entirely sure she knows how to apologize — or forgive. nothing about war is about forgiveness or saying you're sorry, it's about making sure people remember. it's about proving a point. it's about dominance and fighting for what you believe in.

but war comes at a cost, and it comes with scars. luke's lived with a scar all his life — maybe even his whole life was the a scar; clarisse is only just now learning how to heal. and maybe she's learning how to forgive, too. ]

Glad we got that sorted. [ he says it, sarcastically, loud enough for her to hear, if she chooses to do so. he shakes his head. clarisse is a whirlwind he can't quite get control of. one moment, she's soft and pliable, and the next, she's making demands of him. she's confusing, more than she had been at camp. there were lines drawn there. all the cabins had friendly rivalries, always wanting to be the best, always wanting bragging rights. it doesn't set anyone up for the real world. out here, there's nothing like that. there's no home, there's no familiarity, there's no warm hearth to sit around and laugh at dumb jokes and campfire stories. ]

[ they'd been in their own safe little bubble at camp half-blood. the real world is one big, scary place. and luke wonders if he has ever been truly ready for it. ]

We've got to make a left. [ rather than take hold of her hand, as he's sure she'll snap it right off with how angry she simply is around him right now, he chooses to verbalise it. it'd be easier if he could just guide her, with a hand to the small of her back or an arm looped through hers. but touching clarisse is like touching fire. he's not beckendorf, who can work at the forges and withstand the heat; he'll get burned. ]

[ he comes to stop at the end of the sidewalk, waiting at the traffic lights. he glances in her direction to make sure she's near him — beside him, behind him, just near him — for when the pedestrian sign pops on, he's walking. ]

[ normally, she would've had something to say to that sarcastic remark, but she lets it linger in the air. she rolls her eyes, attempting to douse the flames of annoyance that still burn there. he's doing that thing that percy does sometimes when they get into their stupid fights over nothing. she forgets sometimes how similar percy and luke used to be, how percy used to look up to him, idolize him. she never really understood it, still doesn't, really, but she and luke have known each other a lot longer — not as long as thalia or annabeth, but long enough that she knows there's nothing worth idolizing. he's just as frustrating as every other boy on this planet.

in her annoyance — and partially because of his; she can't be sure, but she swears he'd started walking faster — she's fallen behind, and has to run to catch up to him at the next light, latching onto his arm just to keep him tethered so he won't fly off like those stupid shoes he used to have. she's still upset but not angry; the fire has died from her eyes and she looks more conflicted now than anything. she almost apologizes for yelling earlier, but again it gets caught in her throat before she can say it and something else entirely comes out. ]

You walk too fast.

[ it's not even meant to be an insult, she's just stating the facts. it doesn't help that his legs are impossibly long, and even being as tall as she is for a girl, she has a hard time keeping up — especially considering he's a son of hermes. honestly, it's a miracle she didn't get lost in the crowd. ]

[ out of all the biting remarks, clarisse says that. luke can't help but look back at her with a wide grin, laughing. reflexively, he pulls his arm, the one she's attached to, in a bid to keep her close. if he loses her in the sea of people, then the pain in his ass from the moment they bumped into each other would be all for nought. ] Sorry. [ except, he really isn't. she could've turned this into a war, him walking at a pace that feels natural to him but is unnatural for her, but she doesn't. she almost acts … she's almost normal, natural, like she's a little comfortable with him — even if she still wants to rip his head off and pull every limb from his torso. ]

[ it's a nice change of pace. one he knows, if he thinks about it too hard, he won't be able to work with without stumbling over his own feet. so, he doesn't think about it, and simply reacts, unguarded, without holding himself back. ]

[ he smiles, gaze drifting from the people in front of him and back to her. ] You want me to slow it down to a grandma pace?

[ it's weird to hear him laugh like that, like everything is back to normal like nothing ever happened, and for a moment it's actually kind of nice. it's not something she'd ever thought she'd feel around luke again, but the sudden familiarity of it all is enough for her to elbow him in the ribs without it being violent. she'd forgotten how much of a playful little shit he could be before he went and became the world's biggest douchebag. ]

No you're not.

[ she rolls her eyes at him, but there's a hint of a smile there, too. she just hopes there's no one around to see any of this, because it probably looks really weird. luke castellan and clarisse la rue walking down the street arm in arm and... smiling at one another. it's best that she doesn't think about it, or she might flip out again, and that didn't end so well last time. it's not even really that she's trying to avoid hurting his feelings, she's trying to avoid getting hers hurt. she has enough guilt to deal with already, she doesn't need it from some petty arguments. ]

Shut up, Castellan, just keep walking.

you should be oh how mighty men have fallen at my hand

yes, well, this mighty man is very, very mighty!

he's mighty mighty lettin' it all hang out

covers face in hands, there are children about!

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