( open post! ) voicetest → luke castellan!

[marred]

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?)

Comments

[rues]

[ 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. ]

[marred]

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. ]

[rues]

[ 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. ]

[marred]

[ 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. ]

[rues]

[ 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. ]

[marred]

[ 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. ]

[rues]

[ 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. ]

[marred]

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. ]

[rues]

[ 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. ]

[marred]

[ 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?

[rues]

[ 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.

[marred]

[ he laughs even harder, but he pulls her along all the same. the weight of her arm against his almost throws him off balance. he's not used to touch, not like this, not for a long time. but he doesn't think of how easy she's being, allowing him to lead, rather than fighting him in a bid for control. what this must mean for her … he's not sure why she lets him, when, each and every time they meet, all she ever expresses is contempt and hatred for him. ]

[ but she's right. he's not sorry. not when her lips curve up rather than downward and her dark eyes show amusement rather than dislike. it's greedy of him, selfish, even, to like this, to try and manipulate it out of her by being light and friendly. he can't fall back into the guy she remembers from camp halfblood, but he sure as hell is close to the guy he wishes to be. ]

One more traffic light and we're there.

[ it almost feels like the old days, where he'd goad her, call her chicken, imply as much, and she'd rise to the bait each and every time. he looks down at her, which isn't much of a bend for his neck, as clarisse has always been one of the tallest girls at camp. ] You sure you don't want to turn around and run back home? [ he raises his eyebrows in a challenge. ]

[rues]

[ the bundled rage inside her melts away easily when luke laughs like that. it reminds her of chris, honestly, which almost makes her sad, but at the same time reminds her of all the good times they had. she'd had good times with luke, too, though chris always could get her to laugh when no one else could. maybe it's a hermes thing, the ability to calm the raging bull. usually luke only does the opposite, but maybe it's just because she'd never given him a chance to do anything else.

she raises an eyebrow at him in return, questioning his challenge merely with her expression. ]

You of all people should know I never run from anything.

[ as he may recall, she attempted to taunt the titan lord into facing her in battle after she'd slayed his nasty little pet. also as he may recall, the pet that killed her best friend. she's still bitter about it and she still harbors a deep-seeded hatred for the one responsible, but she might be more willing to redirect her blame of luke fully to kronos. she still needs time to process her own guilt before she tries to process anything else.

it helps being able to banter with him like this again, without the underlying threat of violence. it helps her forget just as it helps her remember. luke castellan is the last person she ever thought she could be friendly with again, but she once thought the same thing about chris right after she'd learned of his betrayal. it wasn't surprising that he'd gone to luke's side — they were brothers. she tries to imagine if one of her brothers had been in luke's place, if she would have betrayed her family to support his cause. she can't say for sure, and hypotheticals seem irrelevant at this point, anyway.

the point is, she forgave chris, she let him in and she loved him. sure, he hadn't tried to bring about the destruction of an entire pantheon, but he'd defected to luke's command — he probably still would've been at luke's side if the labyrinth hadn't driven him mad. (if luke had cared more.) if chris can forgive him, she should too, right? she trusts his judgement more than anyone else's, more than annabeth's or thalia's. she's giving him a second chance just by letting her guard down like this, and that's at least a start. ]

[marred]

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. ]

[rues]

[ clarisse always thought the lock trick was cool, though chris has always been unlike his brothers in terms of trickery and thieving. he's never been like the twins, constantly playing pranks on people and stealing random shit for the hell of it, but he's never been as cunning as luke, either. if he hadn't been claimed by hermes, she honestly would've thought he was a son of hephaestus or apollo. he's never really seemed the hermes type, except for his excellent sense of humor.

she regards luke with a raise of her brow while he sets about opening the door. even if it only takes a few seconds, and gods know how many times he's done this before, she can't help but feel like he's showing off. he always did have an arrogant streak — and maybe, she might admit, with good reason. he'd been one of the oldest, most seasoned campers while, and she'll be damned if she doesn't admit that he was pretty impressive with a sword. she almost wishes they could spar again, just for the thrill of it, the rush of adrenaline that fuels the fight. it was always a challenge with luke, even if she hardly ever bested him in swordplay. it was something she could respect about him, though most of her respect for him is gone now. he tossed that out the window a long time ago, and it's going to take a lot more than just sparring to get it back.

she glances into his apartment from the bottom step, her one last chance to decide if she really wants to do this. honestly, she thinks, why the hell not? she's long since forgotten the real reason she came to the city, has found herself so caught up in luke castellan that she doesn't quite know what else to do with herself. it's hard to keep up with a child of hermes sometimes, on foot or in anything else they do. just as it's hard to keep up with a child of ares in the heat of battle, it's hard to keep track of hermes children. she thought she'd lost track of luke years ago, but the fates keep throwing her back into the castellan whirlwind. it's like they think this is funny, watching them crash and burn and then start all over again. clarisse never has liked the fates, so if this is an act of defiance, she'll do it gladly. anything to send a big fuck you to the old hags who try to rule their lives.

it's that defiance that has her walking up the steps to luke's apartment. it's not so much about him as it is about her. stepping over the threshold feels like the beginning of something new, something she's been searching for but never could put her finger on until now. despite having just stepped into the lion's den, she feels like she can shed her skin here and no one will ever know. it doesn't mean she trusts luke in any capacity, but they can work on that. she doesn't feel obligated to be the defensive clarisse la rue she is on the streets and at camp with prying eyes everywhere; she can let down her hair a little, even in the company of someone she still considers a traitor.

she could say a lot of things about the state of his apartment, from scathing to only slightly sarcastic, but instead she settles on something vague and generic that may or may not be accurately representative of her opinion — honestly, she doesn't really have an opinion, she just wants to break the awkward silence. ]

Nice place.

[marred]

[ luke shuts the door and moves past her. with a lift of his shoulders, he shrugs off her compliment and any self-deprecating thing he wants to say. (it's a mess. i'm in the middle of redecorating.) but he lingers, like she is, uncertain of what to do in his very own home. ]

[ it's clean and sparse. he doesn't have much in terms of personal items. he lacks in photographs and the vast collection of shit he used to hang on his wall back at the hermes cabin. it's clean and it's neat and it's entirely unlike luke that not even he sometimes recognises his own apartment. it's as though he's afraid of making a mark on the world, just in case it's another scorching one that leaves people burned for years, if not for the rest, of their lives. ]

[ the thing about clarisse is that she throws him off guard. she had never really done that before, throwing him. she's always been predictable; press this button and you get this violent reaction, say this and you get called punk. but with her so willing to spend time with him, when all they've been doing is getting comfortable with the dance of punching and nursing a bruise … luke falls short on what the next step is. and he's the guy with the plans — he knows what he wants to do, knows how to get it, and knows how to work with it once he's accomplished it. clarisse's offering of … it's not friendship, necessarily, nor is it forgiveness, but her attempting to try is something he had never planned for. he had never thought he'd get it, her warmthness, her ability to break out of a vicious cycle of punishing him for crimes both she and he and the world had been at fault for. ]

[ he shifts on his feet. his gaze flickers to her, then to the wall behind her. ] You want something to drink? [ and it sounds so dumb. he wants to wince, but it's the normal thing to say — the mortal thing to say. ]

[ even a friendly thing to say. ]

[rues]

[ it's easy falling back into whatever this is, but there's still so much left unsaid, left undone, that it probably won't ever be the same. neither of them quite knows how to act around one another anymore now that the age-old hostility is gone — there was a certain tiresome familiarity in it, but now it's been replaced with something entirely unfamiliar to both of them.

clarisse has never been good at making small talk. she's good at throwing insults and lashing attitude, not talking about the weather or the state of someone's affairs. she's honestly rather shoot herself than listen to people drone on about irrelevant and useless topics. that's one thing about mortals she doesn't envy — after living a life of nearly getting killed just for existing, living on the thrill of danger, she can't imagine what it must be like to live such a dull existence where the most interesting topic of conversation every day is if it's going to rain or not.

she almost laughs at luke's question, because it does sound dumb. all of this is dumb, really. but it's... kind of a nice dumb. not a percy dumb that she'd like to throttle, just... a normal, everyday, mundane kind of dumb and maybe both of them could use a little of that. forget for five seconds that they're the son and daughter of greek gods, forget prophecies and curses and fates — just, for a moment, maybe they can forget everything. ]

Yeah, sure, whatever you got is fine. [ she hesitates, playing with the ring on her finger absently. ] Actually... do you... [ mind if i change. but she can't exactly say that because she didn't bring anything to change into and, well, they're at luke's place so it's not like he really has anything she can wear. it would be weird, anyway, wearing his clothes. she frowns, suddenly frustrated with herself for even attempting to bring up the subject and embarrassed that she wants to do it anyway. stupid, clarisse. ] Nevermind. I'll just... [ wait on the couch? follow him into the kitchen? what the hell is she supposed to do now. her unsure expression finishes her sentence while her words fail her. ]

[marred]

[ luke's turned around when she begins asking her question. he swivels on his heel and turns to her, eyebrows raised. it's awkward between them, but if she's about to suggest something that'll make it feel a little more familiar, he's all ears. ]

[ there's not much in his fridge aside from diet coke and some fanta, and leftover takeout food that's all for one. for a guy who is in his twenties, his bachelor pad is subpar. a part of him kind of wants to leave his apartment. he thought it'd make him feel more comfortable and balanced while in her presence, but it's done nothing to serve his favour. ]

What? [ rather than saying okay, he's going to stand there, eyebrows raised, a little hopeful that the daughter of ares has a better idea on how to cut the awkwardness with a knife than the son of hermes who only knows how to destroy the things in his path. while he thinks of himself as a pretty decent strategist, she's the one who had been born with battle plans already formed in her head. does she want to leave? does she want him to walk her back home? he doubts she wants a round of xbox. ]

[ the expression on her face makes him press. it's not one he's ever really seen her wear before. his eyes dip up, then down, wondering, concerned a little, at the way she's broken her thought apart before letting it blossom. ] What is it?

[rues]

[ clarisse almost gets angry. almost. she holds it back because she's trying not to fall back into bad habits, snapping at every little thing, at anyone who tries to question her even when they have a legitimate right to. no, she swallows it down and tries to ignore the heat rising to her face, tries to shake it off with swift movement of her head. it's nothing, she almost bites out. it takes a lot of restraint to keep her from blowing up all over luke again.

she takes a deep breath to calm herself, trying to find the words. she may have the plans and strategies in her head, but verbalizing them has never been her forte. words don't come easily for her as they do for, say, annabeth, who always has too many words. clarisse can't even count how many rants about architecture she's drowned out over the years.

she doesn't know how to avoid the subject without sounding defensive, and the fact that he's even pressing the issue at all is making her flustered in a way she hasn't felt in a long time. she's angry and embarrassed all at once, and she can barely think, let alone try to lie, so she eventually just ends up with the truth. or, at least, a truth. she isn't exactly blurting out the whole truth. ]

Nothing. I've just been in this stupid thing all day.

[ she figures he can figure out what she meant. if luke was anything, he was never stupid, at least not when it came to figuring out how things fit together. besides, it'll make her feel better if he actually suggests what she's getting at, as opposed to her actually having to say it. or neither of them has to say anything, he just has to understand. she's fairly confident he will. ]

[marred]

… Oh.

[ it's then that he remembers that she's wearing a dress. she looks like clarisse, but a clarisse who has grown up — one that most likely doesn't have a place for luke, the old luke, the new luke, the luke that's not so chewed up with anger and resentment, that luke, in her life. at the realisation that she's no longer in her usual combats and pants, his eyes drop down her form. ]

[ again. he'd gotten so caught up in the bubble that they were in to even think of making a remark of the skirt she's opted for. ]

I don't have anything of Chris'. [ it's the wrong thing to say, he knows it. chris is his brother, just as he is something special to clarisse, and whatever the hell has happened between them most likely hasn't changed the fact that it might sting to hear his name. but luke figures if clarisse wants to change, it's into something familiar. ]

[ but he honestly tries to rectify it. he glances over his shoulder to where his room his, brows furrowed slightly, but the thought doesn't occur to him. ]

Did you want to go home? [ his eyes lift back up to hers. ]

[ it doesn't exactly occur to him to ask her if she wants anything of his to wear. they're not friends, they're not even acquaintances — the thought doesn't come forth because clarisse la rue detests everything about luke castellan, even his shirts. wearing someone else's crap usually means something intimate. ]

[rues]

[ she crosses her arms in front of her in an attempt to hide the fact that she's wearing a dress at all, not that it really accomplishes anything. it's a defensive strategy, one that doesn't involve words, and she can't help but furrow her brows at the way luke is looking at her. it's not that she feels threatened, she just feels... a little more vulnerable than usual. no one's really looked at her like that in a while, not since...

chris. yeah, it does sting, hearing his name coming from luke. she wonders if he did it on purpose — she wouldn't put it past him — and for just a second she almost reconsiders this whole thing. she should go home, get out of luke's apartment and never come back, and forget that any of this ever happened. but she's already here; she might as well stay. she thinks chris would probably want her to — or, at least, he'd be proud of her if she did. it's progress. so, really, she's doing this for him. and for herself.

she's not even thinking about the intimacy behind wearing someone else's clothes. she's just thinking about how she's more comfortable in pants and a t-shirt than she is in a dress, regardless of whose pants and shirt they are. she'd wear percy's clothes if she had no other choice — hell, she'd even wear one of mr. d's stupid ass tiger-striped shirts if it meant getting the fuck out of this dress. at least luke's will fit better and will be less humiliating than looking like a safari tourist.

she grumbles and rolls her eyes, like this is the easiest concept in the world and why isn't he getting it. ]

No.

[ she doesn't mean to say it so harshly, and it shows on her face, the way she recoils slightly. she's frustrated that he's being so frustrating, and she can't tell if he's doing it to get a rise out of her or not.

she hesitates, trying to find words that won't sound mean. mean is her default setting; it's hard to find anything else, especially around luke, who she's only just now starting to learn she can be friendly with. it's nothing like the old days, but this luke isn't the old luke — this luke isn't even the same luke that betrayed his family and nearly destroyed the world. both of those lukes are dead, died a long time ago, and now... clarisse has no idea who this luke is at all. all she has the past, when, really, the present is what speaks the loudest. ]

Can I just... borrow something?

[ and it sounds so stupid out loud she almost does want to just leave. this is beyond embarrassing — if she'd just thought it through before jumping to insist on his place, she wouldn't be in this situation. her stubborn refusal to back down from her own decision is making things worse. ]

[marred]

[ luke's mind has been a whirlwind of thoughts — he doesn't deserve to be here, he doesn't deserve forgiveness, he doesn't even deserve elysium but he would take that over any other choice, if he were given a choice. sometimes luke wonders if his curse had been to be born with hate already curling deep within his chest. did he ever stand a chance? or had he been designed from the beginning to try and tear the world asunder? his thoughts don't particularly stretch as far as to be accommodating to clarisse's discomfort — her happiness isn't his priority, nor has it ever been; they've never been the type where he understands, without her so much as hitting him squarely in the jaw with it, of what she really needs. that's always been chris. he gets her in ways no one else does. and if luke had been in camp, being a regular kid, rather than ageing too fast and twisting into an ugly shell of himself, he would've seen it uncurl before him. ]

[ but it takes her having to bite at him for him to realise what she needs. luke may have been a popular kid, the golden apple of camp half-blood once upon a time, but he had never been one to completely understand the needs of others. if he did, he never would've left his mother, he never would've abandoned thalia, he never would've left annabeth to grow up thinking promises meant nothing to those who vowed to keep them. but luke is a selfish thing, sometimes, and he stares at clarisse like she's grown a third head — for she has, because isn't she the one who punches him and bites at him and burns him for simply being within the same block as her? to think she wants to wear his clothes, that his things will make her comfortable … he can't help but look upon her like as though she's a stranger. ]

[ and she is. he has never quite known clarisse, for all the years they've spent together, he doesn't know anything outside of what's in the how to be a demigod for dumb punks. he doesn't know if she likes jokes or the colour blue or if she even likes diet coke, even though he's seen her drink it. he thinks of chris, of how he'd be more useful and less of a stumbling newborn horse, in this particular scenario. ]

[ luke's still. he takes a few beats too long to even reply — let alone think up one. he's meant to ask her why she wants his crap when she can barely stand him? why she wants to borrow his things? does he really make her that uncomfortable that she has to shed her newly found girly skin? he could turn this into something it's not — a joke, a jest, something old and ancient that sits in the wheels of time between them, but he is not that luke and she is not that clarisse. so he goes for the lame thing. ] Yeah.

[ he glances away. and then he begins moving to his room. the apartment isn't too big — it's bigger than the houses at camp, but it's not as big as an aphrodite kid would like it to be. he crosses the foyer to his door within seconds, his long legs quite a big help, and disappears through the doorframe, not waiting to see if she's following like a shadow. he opens one of his closet doors and starts rifling through his shit. ]

[rues]

[ clarisse half expects him to make a sarcastic pass at her, to say something about how she wants to borrow something of his — but he doesn't, and she's actually kind of relieved. he just goes with it, and she might actually thank him if she weren't still in the process of figuring out who he really is and how she and him fit together, if they even fit together at all. she and percy clash, but eventually they find common ground; she wonders if she'll ever be able to do that with luke, or if she even wants to. part of her must, since she's here and he's giving her his clothes, and that means...

she's not really sure what that means. or what it says about their relationship, whatever that actually is. they aren't much of anything except two ghosts of people they used to be bumping around in the dark and only ever finding each other for company. as far as they've come today, she can't particularly say she doesn't like his company. she doesn't particularly dislike it, either, it just simply is. it's company. it's something that fills the void of loneliness she's been feeling. he isn't chris, but no one else is. she knows she can't replace him, wouldn't dream of it, but she needs something.

despite the danger luke presents in the way she doesn't know him, he's safe because she doesn't know him, not anymore. sometimes she can hardly stand to be around percy and annabeth, or even her cabinmates, always trying to deconstruct her and figure her out, convince her that her feelings aren't worth feeling anymore because the designated mourning period is over and now angst it out of style. they always seem so tired of her, like she's just a fad they're waiting to die out, but she's tired of them too. it's probably better she's not off on their stupid quest — the likelihood of her killing someone not on the opposing side is higher now than it ever has been.

she doesn't follow him immediately, watches him disappear into his room before she strides forward, almost like an afterthought in his wake. she doesn't feel comfortable enough following him all the way into his room, so she leans herself against the doorframe — not quite in, not quite out — and peers in, watching him from behind. ]

[marred]

[ luke hears her move, belatedly, after him. it surprises him that she doesn't simply barge into his room and claim it as her own, as she always had back at camp. but this is unfamiliar territory for more than just him, and maybe clarisse la rue, the drakon slayer, is feeling as unsteady on her feet as he is. ]

[ he glances at her, sizing her up, unsure of what exactly it is he's meant to give her. if it were anybody else … if it were thalia, he'd give her the very first shirt on the shelf. hell, he'd give her the shirt off of his own back if it'd make her smile and forgive him for all the reckless shit he's done over the years. but clarisse is different, and baring himself to her in such a manner is something unthinkable. he may have let her into his apartment, closer than any demigod has ever reached, but he's not stupid enough to think that her claws are blunt. ]

[ he's grabbed track pants that will hopefully fit her hips if she adjusts the tie around them. his jeans are out; they won't fit to her form, despite how the pant legs would. dropping down to his knees, he decides to make a mess of his shelf and dig for something else. he doesn't know why it comes to his head, this idea to make her … her happiness isn't his priority, nor is her comfort, but luke feels as though he owes her for something he can't quite vocalise. for something she won't let him, either. ]

[ in his hands is a checkered red button up. it's bunched, a mess, something he doesn't wear, but he'd bought once, because a girl with dark hair like her, but with brighter and friendlier eyes, had said he'd look good in it. it'd been one of the only nice things to happen to him since his rebirth; call him a sucker, but luke's always been a little desperate for love and approval. pulling himself up to his feet, he crosses the distance and holds it out. ]

[ uselessly: ] Here. [ with amusement and an upward curve to his mouth: ] You'd make a nice picnic table.

[rues]

[ clarisse really should punch him for that. not a violent, ruthless punch like the ones she normally delivers, just a friendly one. one that fellow comrades give each other when they're horsing around and ripping on each other for fun. luke isn't a fellow comrade, though — she hardly even considers him a fellow anything. demigod? maybe, but only in the sense that he's hermes' son, not in the sense that she would lay down her sword or even her life for him. friend? definitely not. she's simply asking a favor from a stranger with a familiar face and a familiar existence — a stranger she doesn't quite feel uncomfortable around anymore, but still remains cautious. trust is a hard thing to win back from a child of ares.

she rolls her eyes at his comment, a faint hint of amusement in the way the corner of her mouth twitches upward rather downward. she takes the clothes from his hands, their fingers brushing again for only a second. it makes her heart jump, the familiar contact, even if just briefly, and for a moment she can't think of anything to say. she always has a comeback, but she's finding herself at a loss for words, distracted by his proximity again and the strangely warm feeling she gets from being this close. there's only one thing that falls out of her mouth. ]

Thanks.

[ it's not quite sarcastic, but it's not quite genuine either. she obviously isn't thanking him for calling her a picnic table, and it's not like he really deserves her gratitude. it's more of an empty thank you, said out of obligation rather than having any real weight to it, which is probably why it sounds so awkward. ]

I'm assuming you have a bathroom.

[ she's not going to change in his room, that's for sure. ]