( 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]

I'll take it under advisement.

[ hadn't he said that once to her before? she feels it's only fair to repeat it back to him, that playful smirk still tugging at her lips. she has no intentions of taking it off, not right now, not when it's still so warm from the heat of passion, and she fully intends to turn this shirt into a tradition, an emblem, a battle flag. only they will know what it means; isn't that all that matters? it might have started as a joke, but now she wears it with pride; she's made it her own as much it's simply become theirs. ]

Are you going to let me take it home or are you going to make me change back into that dress?

[ she'd really rather not have to put the dress back on, not after she'd gone through so much trouble to take it off. even without his fingers touching her skin, she can still feel his knuckles dragging down her spine. she could probably get off on just that if she thought about it long enough. ]

[marred]

I kind of liked the dress. [ the smirk spreads slowly across his face as he makes it a show of leering at her bare legs. it's not her, though. even though the years have changed her, clarisse la rue is still as tough as the day he last remembers ever taking her on. she's calloused and rough, fit for combat boots and pants, not that of a pretty dress she feels she needs to shed the moment she can. but he breaks his stare with a laugh. his fingers continue to play with the edge of the shirt absently. ]

[ it's not lost on him what she says. she hasn't said for when he takes her home — there's still a barrier there, he thinks, a wall she's constructed to not let him in. it's fine — luke expects nothing from this, except he expects everything simultaneously. her taking home his shirt means something. luke doesn't have much to his apartment — it's barely lived in as it is — but he knows the same can't be said for clarisse's. he wonders what it looks like, if it's as rough as her, or if it's bright pink and girly, like the woman she's trying to force her shape into being. let me take it, she says, not when you take me. she doesn't trust him — and why would she? a tumble in the sheets doesn't immediately build a bridge of trusting the other to not let the other fall. ]

[ despite the disappointment that settles in his chest like rocks, luke keeps smirking, mirth in his gaze. ] But I seriously doubt Manhattan's capable of handling another storm brought on by a demigod. [ one that's definitely less destructive than the one brought by his hand, but he thinks clarisse knows what he's implying without him needing to say it. it's not something he wants to say, anyway, in fear of shifting the mood into a dangerous alleyway where they're no end in sight. ] If you're going to go out with just that on, I might have to take it back.

[rues]

Only because you got to take it off. Don't lie to me, Castellan, I can see it in your eyes.

[ and it's so much easier reading him this close, even though reading luke castellan is like reading pig latin to her sometimes — it's already a mess of letters she can't decipher without focusing more energy than it's worth in an order made even more confusing for someone who can barely read english as it is. if only people were written in ancient greek instead of feelings and facial expressions and given the ability to mask all of that with a smirk and a few choice words, she'd be able to understand them better.

she laughs with him, finding it more contagious the more she's around him. maybe it's a hermes thing. chris was always exceptionally good at making her laugh, but luke has always had that same kind of sense of humor, even if it was always more jaded, hardened by the world around him. clarisse finds she's more susceptible to that kind of humor now, anyway — after all, isn't the world pretty shitty? even in the heart of war — or whatever this shit is with the romans — sometimes a good laugh is all it takes to boost morale, to find the strength to keep going. it's why sarcasm is part of her natural defenses; if she can find it in her to make fun of someone else, she can find it in her to trudge past all the other shit that stands in her way.

she figures if he liked that dress, though, she could find something else in her closet he might like. she doesn't own much lingerie, and she wouldn't be caught dead in anything like it unless it was for a very special occasion — but she figures luke himself is already a special occasion. honestly, it's been buried away in her closet with the rest of her guilt because every time she thinks about it she thinks of silena — there's no way in hell she'd have ever bought any kind of lingerie without silena's keen eye for fashion and her gentle goading. chris doesn't even know she has it; she never could bring herself to wear it even for him. it was too soon after everything had happened, and then things just fell apart. now she feels like she's finally picking up the pieces of herself, letting the ghosts out of her closet, and maybe, finally, finding some kind of peace in the war she's been waging against herself and luke for so long. ]

But then I wouldn't be wearing anything, and then what would you do?

[ she's missing the point on purpose, trying to goad him into... something. she's not even quite sure what that something is, she just doesn't want to put that damn dress back on. ]

[marred]

[ he doesn't think to respond. maybe he's transparent, maybe she's just perceptive, but luke had liked that dress on clarisse because he got to take it off. it wasn't something he ever associated with her. in his own words, she looked pretty hot in it, but he knew it wasn't her. so, he thought himself a doer of good, helping her shed the sheepskin she wore over her wolf's form. the girl in his shirt is clarisse, all sharp angles and anger and battle on her mind. the girl in the dress had been someone holding onto ghosts, of either the past or future, he doesn't know, but that isn't the clarisse he had always been fond of. a part of him hopes to be able to shed her of that faux skin again. ]

[ luke chooses to pick himself up from lying on his stomach, leaning on his side for only a moment. ] I'd do this. [ he launches himself at her, rolling them over so she's splayed on top of him. one hand cradles her waist while the other pushes back the hair from her forehead. ]

[ he'd do something else, too. he'd been meaning to follow it up with touching her — a hand drifting between her legs or perhaps pressing him against her thigh — but he finds himself simply just wanting this. any desire to rile her up again in a dance that he thinks has always been theirs dies the moment he feels her weight press against him. he feels more grounded to the earth than he has in years — being given a second chance had left him feeling as light as a feather. he suspected he could drift away at a moment's notice. but with clarisse on top of him, effectively anchoring him to the bedsheets and thus the world, he finds himself a stone against wind, unmovable. ]

and then i tagged this instead

[rues]

[ clarisse feels like her world has literally turned upside down. never in a million years did she ever think her life would come to this, lying on top of luke castellan and actually wanting to be there. the last time they'd encountered each other, it had ended with sharp glares and the even sharper slap of her hand across his cheek. she touches his face now with such amazement, and a tenderness she hasn't shown anyone in a long time. in just a few hours they've both shown each other parts of themselves she wasn't entirely sure still existed, even if she still has no idea how it came to this so suddenly. it's like the moment he took her hand on the street caused an avalanche and everything snowballed from there until they found themselves here, in the wake of the storm that consumed both of them. ]

I think I have a better idea. [ she pushes herself up to sit back on her legs, shrugging his shirt back over her shoulders as she does so. her hands find his and she threads their fingers together in an attempt to drag him with her while she crawls over him and off the bed. her fingers slip from his once she feels the floor beneath her feet again, but she motions him toward her as if her fingers are curling around a rope attached to his abdomen. ] C'mon. [ she nods back toward the en suite, the indication clear on her face and the way the takes a few slow, careful steps backward, her hand still outstretched for him to take and follow her lead. ]

i resisted for a few hours.

[marred]

[ luke pulls himself up, but doesn't so much as shift until that invisible rope tugs him forward. he looks dazed, brows creased slightly, as he wonders what clarisse la rue has up her sleeve. what could be better than lying in the aftermath of a war? luke hadn't had the opportunity to feel reprieve that a storm had ceased, the dark clouds rolling away to reveal a bright, clear sky up above. he'd managed to find himself in a pocket of darkness, until he had awoken, to find the world was still as dreary as the day he had left it, but he had missed the opportunity to see it shift, ever so slightly, because of his actions, both terrible and sacrificial. it's doubt that he clings to, uncertain if he should follow clarisse, where he would've done so, years ago, if it were within the woods of the camp, with him on her heels, and her promise of danger and adventure lingering on her lips. but with the nod of her head toward the en suite, luke crab walks toward the end of the bed, feet crashing to the floor, before he places his hand in hers without hesitation. ]

[ his voice is hoarse. ] What are we doing? [ it's useless to even ask, but luke looks down at her, eyes glazed slightly, and lids half-lidded, as he glances, briefly, to the doorframe. his other hand comes to fiddle with the collar of his shirt, straightening it, as he follows her step for step toward his bathroom. ]