come_sailaway | ( may open post ) this that hot girl bummer anthem

Entry tags:

( may open post ) this that hot girl bummer anthem

Who: clarke griffin + you!
What: dissociative hot girl summer is go! (she's fine, y'all.)
Where: everywhere!
When: post labyrinth through june
Warnings: really bad coping techniques, weed use in bobby b's prompt, needles mentioned in infirmary prompt (for tattooing). will add more as needed

i. i swear she had a man but shit hits different when it's thursday night ( meta )

( the dreamers wake, and the nightare never ends. instead clarke gets to go from preemptively mourning all their deaths to just mourning one, and does a terrible job of it. she snaps at her friends in the crew cabins, then finds herself too distracted to speak up and help anyone when they gather beneath the bridge for the culmination of the world's most unsatisfactory witch hunt. after fio and the captain wake, and sparkles cries like an infant who's run out of the energy required to stay mad, people just begin peeling off and filtering back to their comfort spots like everything's been so neat and tidily wrapped up just because their tormentor's proven to have more emotional range than simple cruelty.

the sand from the hour glasses feels like it sticks in hair and under fingernails for days afterwards. the vision of natsuno yuuki beheaded and well past dead flashes every other time she closes her eyes. the cut from putting her arm through glass doesn't require stitches, but is slow to heal. it's amazing that, even after having been locked in a room with the haunting trophies of dead loved ones heads, that doesn't even feel like the main blow to her heart anymore. all in all, the first week back from the maze, the serena eterna feels like a proper ghost ship. not just a ship staffed by ghosts, or built off the backs of thousands of dead passengers — but a ship full of people who just sort of drift around the halls, taking the time to put themselves back together and nurse the most recent wounds. some bounce back immediately, some take a few days. some pretend, some lash out, others just ignore it. and as for clarke, she'd... really like to cry. had woken up with tear tracks staining down her face in the glass tube, but just couldn't get her tear ducts to cooperate since. the swell of emotion is her chest is so big it hurts, it suffocates, and yet there's no cathartic outlet.

one night, when everything's quiet and she's laying in her couch bed, it feels like it's time. clarke can't sleep, and catches herself wishing, begging, practically praying for palamedes sextus to just magically manifest at her side. to tell her off, to try bossing her around, to read to her until her eyelids actually got heavy and the tension melted from her limbs; or to just awkwardly scramble onto the cushions and hold her, like he'd always done — every other hard moment on the ship had at least been bookended by pal speaking soft, rational truths until all her hackles went down. i just want him, she thinks. i need him, i miss him, i never told him — and, ah, there's that familiar burning behind her eyes, a lump in her throat. and yet when she pushes her face into a pillow to spare her roommate from waking, it's not heartfelt sobs that make their way past her teeth. it's a deep, wet sort of laughter. it's wrong. it feels wrong.

and yet she laughs and laughs — chortles, giggles, wheezes, hiccups — until her ribs hurt. because it's a little funny, right? this was always how it was going to end. it's how it always did. and, hey, a lucky break. at least this time she'd had an opportunity to say goodbye.

—

the next morning, she starts bringing ruby coffee in bed. one cream, five sugars. and it becomes a regular occurance, right alongside her new willingness to smile at everyone and everything. )

ii. this that hot girl bummer two-step

( the usual war boots and gun belt are no where to be found. and in sharp contrast, clarke can be found a little bit of everywhere. so find her —

( a. ) basking pool side is a bit of a new thing. previously she'd gone swimming maybe one whole time, but was no stranger to pulling up a deck chair to join natsuno on movie nights. only now she's seemingly a regular during peak daytime hours, posted up in an orchid and leaf patterned bikini top, and garish pink sunglasses. there's a book next to her, but it goes absolutely untouched as she lays int he fully reclined deck chair and seemingly stares at the sun. the beginnings of a sunburn works its way across her nose and shoulders, and — maybe she just fell asleep? it's been an awful long time since she'd moved. (also, is that natsuno in the pool, floating by on an awful inflatable swan? probably.)

( b. ) meanwhile, in the arcade, even if no one ever sees her, her presence is noted. slowly but surely, the initials CKS start to creep up the leaderboards on all the first person shooter games. actually, the first four entries on the jurassic park game belong to her, but she falls humbly to seventh place on the racing games. meanwhile air hockey is a two person sport, and if the fabricated stars of this reality ever align for another person to be around next time she eyes up the game table, clarke will smile and wave the white striker in their general direction.

beam and beckon. ) Wanna play?

( ( c. ) things have changed on the ship, but the old haunts are still familiar enough it takes her two weeks to realize the signage has updated. bobby b's is a stupid name, and she's always going to call this place tauva. there are... fond memories to be found in the leather chairs and general low ambiance. and while she assumes the cigarette vending machine won't sell to her — never tries it, honestly hates the smell —it's still her preferred smoking section on the ship. before he'd disappeared, steve harrington had gifted her leftovers from the weed party. and so, on a very inconsequential and quiet night on board the serena eterna, clarke can be found here.

drowning in a too-big skeleton onesie. laying on her back across the bar, feet planted and knees up. staring inquisitively up at the ceiling, as if the lines in the wood are the makings of a map yet to be deciphered. and about a fourth of the way through a very, very stale joint.

and ( d. ) all the places she hasn't ever really dedicated the time to exploring? the new ones that just cropped up? yeah, it's time to indulge. one can catch clarke exiting the cheese shop one day, with her shirt gathered up like an impromptu bindle and absolutely weighed down with individually wrapped baybel cheeses. apocalyptic hoarding tendancies might be generally muted after more than a year on board, with endless food, drinking water, showers, and medicine. but one can't ignore their surroundings so completely to have not noticed the dining inconsistencies of late.

the bowling alley catches her attention, too. all the lights, the smell of pepperoni and cheese grease, the noisy clatter of hard polyester balls against hardwood pins. the first time clarke tries to bowl, she absolutely eats shit and falls squarely on her ass, because she'd negelected to stop by the shoe rental and ran up too far on the track. that sure smarts, but give her a minute to nurse her wounds and then you can witness her crawling on hands and knees down the lane. just a little curious about the mechanics behind the pin resetting, it's nothing to be alarmed about, shhh.

and as for the kitchen... well. hope no one left anything to simmer on the stove. because she sure did acquire a wooden mixing spoon, and is staring at the pots and bowls like costco patrons stare at the free sample tables. absolutely nothing is sacred, and nothing is safe if it smells good. )

iii. one more line i'm superhuman ( infirmary )

( dissociation can only carry on with the highs for so long before it dips into some very, very familiar lows. one day, near the end of may, clarke more or less takes over the infirmary like she owns the place. it's never a very busy place, and she assumes most people are like her and have already squirreled away any basic wound care necessities in their rooms. she sets up at one of the counters; a small field notebook open, several full size pages of intricate loops and whorls splayed out alongside it. there's a whole pack of sharpies ripped open, two of them uncapped and discarded on the floor. there's a lighter, several different types of needles ranging from archaic to modern; a box of latex gloves, a travel sized tub of vaseline. two beakers of what look like black ink, but only one of them is (iykyk). clarke's got both sleeves rolled up, and is diligently completing the outline of filigrie on her arm, constantly referencing her notes.

(palamedes' old blood samples are still somewhere in the corner fridge, and she's dutifully not looking that way.)

and if or when anyone dares enter this very public space, she whips her head around with a look of absolute vitriol, and a sharp edge in her voice to match when snapping: )

Unless you're actively dying right now - get. out.

iv. and you want me to change? fuck you.

( wildcard option! throw whatever you want at me, tweak original prompts, or hit me up on plurk or discord to plot! ♥ )

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[The pizza is disgusting, but the bowling alley is a nice novelty. He sits on a chair by the lanes, nibbling on bad fries while watching Clarke make a fool of herself. It's nothing dangerous, so Natsuno merely snorts at the display and offers no help.

Crawling on the lane, though, is more questionable.]

If there's a mechanism, [It's captain-made, so Natsuno can't be sure] you could get seriously injured.

( correction, falling on the bowling lane is incredibly dangerous — to her tailbone specifically, which is still smarting something awful even as she crawls. clarke had clocked natsuno sitting courtside to her antics, but he's dogged her shadow enough that his presence is more a comforting foot note than anything that needs to be called out or acknowledged. objectively, she knows why he's here.

ultimately? she's a little in her own world, bundled back deep in her own mind and didn't even consider he'd object until he does. her knees make a weird squeaking noise against the over polished bowling lane when she pauses and looks back at him. )

Okay. Then I'll be very careful.

( this is... probably not a response that inspires a whole lot of confidence, tbh. )

[It sure isn't. Natsuno considers for a moment before he gets up to join her on the lane - still holding his fries.]

Fine. Just remember that dying to a bowling alley would definitely count as "really stupid".

[You don't want to lose the other kidney, do you!!]

( first thought? let them have my wisdom teeth, then.

second thought? more along the lines of recognizing the stupidity tax isn't something to make light of. not when it left her down one organ a year ago, and robbed natsuno of the faces of his parents. normally, the side dish of guilt would be enough to get her to sit up on her knees and really reassess what she was doing here. how it might upset the ship, and more importantly, her friends. but same time, the bowling alley is a new and shiny mystery, and might be just the thing to sink her teeth into in an effort to feel anything.

that's a bright enough beacon she's willing to humiliate herself by crawling down the lane. maybe not die for, but they don't even know if it's actually dangerous, do they? can't see any spike pits from here! )

So... Are you coming? Or just going to spectate from there?

Coming, coming.

[He strolls up next to her. She can keep crawling like an idiot if she wants, Natsuno is staying upright.]

But I'm not pulling your hand out of there if it gets eaten.

[Because he's gonna stick HIS hand there before Clarke gets the chance.]

( and clarke rolls her eyes, because she feels pretty confident in reading natsuno's subtext here. )

No one's hand is getting eaten today, god.

( her tailbone is still smarting something horrible, so yeah, she's content to stay on hands and knees and just set about diligently crawling towards the pins again. walking in the gutter is a solid option, but clarke's already committed, and what's another thirty seconds of debasing herself if it answered any of the mysteries about this new establishment. )

[Natsuno strolls next to her, eating his fried with deliberate indifference that probably fools no one. He crouches by the pins, hands on his knees, but doesn't look inside just yet.]

I'm saying... solid wall. Or a mechanical hand that slaps you.

( about five feet behind him, still diligently crawling: )

My money's on "basic mechanics that lead nowhere". But solid wall's a good bet too.

( and the main train of thought that's led her to make this trek down the lane and investigate: ) This place just sprang up out of nowhere, when none of the food's restocking as it should. Kinda makes me wonder if this magic is finished, or if it's just another slapdash illusion.

The new kitchen seems finished enough.

[He wasn't going to talk about the ship's new situation, committing instead to join Clarke's dissociative episode. But since she brings it up, he might as well spitball some ideas.]

Food needs to be replenished, but you don't consume the bowling pins. Maybe it takes less energy to maintain this place than the restaurants.

( clarke hums a nice little agreeing hmmm at his hypothesis, because it makes total sense. then again, the two elevators on the ship probably took equal or less energy to maintain than multiple bowling lanes, and someone (she still doesn't know it was crabb) got under them enough to mess with load-bearing sigil structures. )

Do you think we need to worry about the water supply next? That could get uglier than food shortages.

( and by now they're at the end of the lane. the pins have been reset, and clarke remains on her hands and knees for a second before flattening to her belly completely to try and see past them. it just looks like a basic machinery backdrop — the gears of a pin elevator and a slanted reservoir to funnel the ball somewhere off screen.

experimentally she reaches out to take the front most pin, and she prods the rest until they all fall down. this absolutely counts as cheating the game, but it's also her first strike! something above dings in victory. )

I think he'd transform the ocean into drinking water before it becomes ugly. But maybe that will have to come at expanse of electricity...

[Clarke lies flat and knocks down the pins. As the screen announces a strike - complete with cheesy animation neither of them can appreciate - the mechanical arm goes down to clear the pins. Natsuno sidles closer, telling himself he'll yeet her like a rag doll if anything goes wrong.]

Well? Are they going anywhere?

( a sweeper bar comes out of the side of the lane and corrals the pins into a sort of slide at the very end of the lane. they disappear pretty quickly into unknown darkness and machinery, but she can hear them clanking the whole way down. a little bold, clarke crawls a foot or so further and stretches, twisting around to try to get a look at where more pins might be coming from. )

Not... that I... can see...

( and she's squinting hard, but it's all just basic machinery that looks as dated as this whole bowling alley. and beyond that, darkness that doesn't give any hints as to if it were endless, or just a vanta black paint job. there's only so long she can spend looking, however, because with a metallic squeal, the resetter is descending rapidly. which, yanno, if you spend your formative years around heavy machinery, the contraption lowering the new rack of pins immediately looks dangerous.

so cue the graceless back pedaling. )

[Natsuno can't see the resetter, but he can hear the whirring metallic sounds and of course, see Clarke scramble back like she tries to run away.]

I told you -

[He grabs Clarke by the ankles and pulls. Enjoy being dragged down the lane!]

( what started as fear becomes an absolutely indignant squeak as she's ankle-snatched, and subsequently hauled down the bowling lane like a child pitching a fit in the grocery store is dragged over tile. clarke reasons she probably got well out of the range of that heavy machinery herself, and this further assisted retreat is just mortifying.

or would be mortifying, if she had the breadth to care what any other bowlers thought about her.

still, it's uncomfortable. her shirt rides up, and the polished planks of the lane promises wood-burn. so expect a little resistance when she eventually starts trying to pull her leg out of his grasp. ) Okay, okay! You told me.

[He lets go when she starts resisting and not a second earlier.]

So are you ready for another round, or planning to go to the new kitchen and shove your hand down the garbage disposal?

( this drag of shame suddenly stops, and clarke sighs for a second against polished wood paneling. then heaves herself over onto her back, and props herself up on elbows. the look she levels natsuno with is half reproachful, half cattily sarcastic. and — )

You never know. There could be something down in the drains.

( it's mostly a joke. tinged by you just dragged me twenty feet and i'm a tad salty about it vibes. but there's no lasting vehemence, this is her best friend after all. pushing herself into a proper seated position and fixing any clothing that got displaced in the graceless drag: )

Did you ever go bowling back home?

Yeah. My parents took me a few times when I was little, and sometimes I'd go with Tohru-chan and his siblings after school.

[Masao was probably there too, annoying as usual, but Natsuno would tune him off. There's an uncomfortable pang in his chest as he recalls those evenings. Tohru goofing around, Tamotsu shouting playful insults, Aoi laughing... he hadn't thought about Tohru's siblings in a long time.]

( whether she acknowledges it or not, clarke feels the slightest shift in the air between them. registers the scent of homesickness. experiences of a flicker of sympathy between her rib bones, and then forces the conversation onwards so neither of them have to truly deal with it. not this time. they cannot always be clawing at each others weak points; sometimes it's better just to move past. )

I'm hearing you'd probably beat me soundly if we played. Just based on experience.

Obviously.

[Message recieved: moving on. Natsuno grins, not quite at the shittalking stage yet.]

But when did you ever let that stop you?

Fair point.

( half begrudging, half smirking as she reaches a hand out for him to help her to her feet. )

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( may open post ) this that hot girl bummer anthem

double tap for bowling

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