come_sailaway | ( january open post ) hello, hello, hello

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( january open post ) hello, hello, hello

Who: clarke griffin & you!
What: Sometimes couples therapy is you, your ex, and the person you both befriended.
When: (gestures vaguely at mid-late january)
Where: all over, like her own personal "welcome back" tour!
Warnings: none of note, will add as needed

i. i'm waking up at the start of the end of the world ( meta )

( something something falling in love is like falling asleep; slowly, and then all at once. except the last time clarke griffin remembers falling either in love or asleep, it'd been more akin to running five miles while already exhausted and promptly crashing on the first viable surface. waking up is easier, gentler. for the first time in a long time she hadn't been dreaming of bleeding out on sandy grass, or melting into the floor with grief in the middle of the labyrinth, or burning alive, or (insert ship or canon based trauma here). in fact, she hadn't been dreaming about anything. it's honestly quite refreshing.

the scratch of the couch is familiar. the ceiling in every single one of these identical cabins is familiar. and as she shifts and stretches with a slight groan it doesn't even register that the far wall is missing the carefully curated murder-board plastered above the desk. and that there's not a dozen prepacked go-bags stacked in every inch of extra space. and that she maybe isn't alone, or at least isn't alone with ruby rose. but give her a few seconds to blink the sleep out of her eyes and really focus, and the mask of relaxation that almost makes her look her age will vanish in favor of those well-worn worry lines.

then comes the "all at once", because clarke's sitting up. then immediately trying to stand up, only to discover her legs are the consistency of jelly from disuse, and thus collapsing gracelessly between the couch and the coffee table. absolutely donks her elbow pretty good on the edge of the table and now has to deal with the violent sensory feedback of the funny bone nerves running haywire across her stale spinal cord while trying to get her bearings as well. in the end, with a swell of disorientation that sounds a lot like waves crashing against her ear drum, she makes a rather graceless exit. )

ii. but it's feeling just like every other morning before ( cabins | closed )

a. natsuno yuuki
( immediately outside the cabin she pauses to read the number plaque beside the door frame. 113? what an odd place to end up; she can't even remember who occupied that room, the active list of ship occupants somewhat abandoned months (and months) ago. but it's not that far from what she'd still (begrudgingly) consider home. it's just a few paces, and slipping through the side hall between laundry and elevators to be back on the side with even cabin numbers. there's an initial instinct that demands she not be seen in this harried state of confusion and mild distress that has clarke keeping her head low and footsteps swift. at the door of 108 she's fishing out her shiptalk phone and scanning it against the lock, not even waiting for the telltale sound of the lock unlatching. just immediately reaching for the handle and coming up short when it rattles but doesn't give way.

what the hell?

but it's okay. it will be okay. and she's got a near immediate secondary plan of action.

back past the laundry and elevators, and raising a fist to hammer impatiently on the door of cabin 109, clarke swallows any embarrassment that flares up at the idea of recounting hey i woke up in a strange room and can't get into my own, help as she waits for natsuno to answer the door. she fidgets, bouncing on the balls of her feet in preparation to take off down the hall and hunt him down if he doesn't answer at all. )

b. rita mordio
( and after being clued in the fact that she's been locked out of her room because she'd been gone for four months, a lot of things shift around inside her skull. a new perspective forms, patchwork and full of holes; so much could happen in four months. eventually she'll extricate herself from natsuno, promising (promising) to see him again later. and most of her attention is diverted to making a mental list of items to immediately shop & pilfer the infirmary for, as this new segment of life on board the serena eterna means starting over essentially from scratch. thus far the list goes: sundries, bric n brac, also breakfast i'm so damn hungry right now. and then, maybe belatedly, oh, my other friends.

oh, rita.

rita who is right here, just across the hall from 109.

when raising her fist to knock on the other girls door, clarke briefly remembers how early it must be. there are no windows in the hallway to clue her in on if the sun has risen or not yet, but any other time she'd died the wakeup call had been a rude 6:00am. it's maybe 7 by now? is vanishing akin to dying? who even knows, and yeah, kinda feels like it. but there's not even enough time to properly descend into the mental depths of why did i come back and not some of the others — before the door slides open and she's preemptively holding up both palms. )

Okay, don't freak out but apparently I'm ba—

iii. now i wonder what my life is gonna mean if it's gone ( so open!!! )

( past tearful, high pitched reunions, clarke slots right back into well trodden pathways throughout the ship, head swimming. a good chunk of the people she's met in life both here and on earth would likely give a kidney to "start over", but in this reality she's found that building ones life from scratch is a major headache. there's a rolling list of places to visit, things to get, people to avoid or passively greet. there's the whole idea of reestablishing herself in a place that feels like it's worked into her bloodstream; such a familiar cage, now gone dusty in her absence. so much can change in four months, but! rusty survival skills prevail.

out of the corner of your eye, you may spot a familiar head of blonde hair darting among:

( a. ) the shops!! all of them get a pretty immediate visit from one clarke griffin as she seeks to remake her emergency stash go bags. she can be found on the floor. she can be seen in bric n brac, pulling a handful of novelty tote and drawstring bags off the hangers. or kneeling on the floor just past the checkout counter in sundries, shoving travel sized amenities and snacks into aforementioned bags. the infinite tommy bahama gets a visit too, where handfuls of socks and underwear meet the same fate as toiletries and she's haphazardly draped athletic gear over her shoulder for personal use.

(the infirmary gets robbed too, but she's in and out so fast — scalpels, a bone saw, gauze, needles, drugs — that it isn't a great spot to catch her. not even really worth the mention, unless you're fast.)

( b. ) or else playback, which is admittedly an entirely self serving, nostalgic stop. apparently there's a new addition to the teen area, and she spends more than a few seconds surveying the build-a-bear stuffing machine before systematically stepping on the pedal and wrapping rolls upon rolls of high grade polyester fiber around her knuckles. these could probably be useful.

another few careful, lengthy moments are spent at various arson sites from back on launch day, surveying the scorch marks like they're great works of art. and in whatever hallway maximilien had open fired on ari, clarke can briefly be found slotting fingers into the pitted bullet holes in the wall.

and then —

( c. ) she's been absolutely starving since she woke up, but had shoved that gnarled hunger to the back burner until later in the day, when it absolutely demands to be acknowledged. clarke takes a late 1pm lunch in stellar. it's a calculated choice, she can't remember ever seeing people flood to the fine dining area during its specified meal times. and she picks a table far off in the corner, shadows allowing the illusion of privacy whilst absolutely stuffing her face.

( d. ) it takes a bit of time to work herself up to visiting the memorial, but gritted teeth and the mental reminder she's done harder things in life means clarke doesn't allow herself to avoid the spot just because of the difficult emotions it might bring to the surface. she tries hard not to look at too many of the tokens placed in remembrance of the fallen. plenty of those who disappeared never came back, but the jury is out on if coming back is a gift or a dragged out curse.

but regardless of deeper meaning, clarke still feels resolutely naked without a weapon at her side. and as she hadn't asked where her gun and knife had ended up. maybe??? it'd be among the offerings here? (and if not, it's not as if she's above grave robbing but hopefully it doesn't come to that.) a great deal of effort is put into not focusing on the various artifacts spread around; a self imposed set of blinders settling over her eyes which only really alights upon a friendship bracelet stapled to a sketch page. when recognition hits, she rips that from the paper without much ceremony and spends an odd amount of time just running the pad of her thumb over the gently fraying fibers.

somewhat belatedly, and as a last act before vacating the scene like she'd just committed a crime, a remnant of hippo breath is also snatched up and plunged deep in the confines of a pocket. don't ask why, clarke genuinely has no explanation other than it called to her. )

iv. now it's over for me and it's over for you ( bridge | meta )

( even before her little impromptu, nonconsensual vacation it'd been a long time since clarke had hiked the stairwell all the way to the very top and parked herself outside that immovable door. what feels like ages ago, it'd been one of the first places on board the serena eterna she'd ever visited, and had kept a semi-constant vigil in those early days until it became obvious the captain was never going to open up and let them talk. maybe for others he'd materialize out front, and for even fewer select passengers (skulduggery pleasant and gal friday) they could step inside. but for clarke griffin the wheel had never turned, and it'd eventually been more a place to find silence and solitude than any real answers.

would things have played out differently if the captain had ever entertained her hostile negotiation intentions?

given everything, probably not.

whatever.

today it's a picnic venue. still so, so hungry after reawakening, clarke settles criss cross applesauce against the far wall and pulls out the freshly hoarded supply of sundries snacks from an inner pocket of her coat. pops pre-packaged trail mix while running through learned blood sigils just to make sure they were still fresh in the memory, or else humming to herself between chews of beef jerky. artificial evening eventually begins to color the sky... )

v. i believe the world is burning to the ground ( library )

a. open
( the last stop on this days venture is the one she'd purposefully avoided for as long as possible. the stacks still smell like thick pressed paper, leather bindings and leather armchairs, and the musk of mildly stale air. any signs of previous ship-wide vandalism are minimal, pretty much everything seems in good working condition, and...

and the chairs she and palamedes sextus spent so many hours occupying in quiet, mutual thought are unoccupied. they almost beckon, as much as any inanimate object can. and clarke's previous avoidance is well validated, as nothing seems as inviting in the moment as picking up a new book and curling into one of those chairs. she's heckin' tired after this full day of reacquainting herself with the world, and deposits various bags of acquired goods on the floor with a solid thump before taking up residence in a far corner chair. turns out being assigned a new cabin to sleep in was the worst shipwide betrayal of all, and — exhausted, but — with currently no plans to return to cabin 113 tonight she slinks down low and settles in. )

b. steve harrington
( clarke is halfway to dozing, huddled over a table and using her forearms as pillows when the sound of human life (footfalls, breathing, the rummaging through shelves) grates against the animal instinct dwelling in the back of her brain, and jerks her into an upright sitting position. one hand drops to her beltline but grasps at nothing — i still need to find a gun. never mind, there's still steak knives stolen from the dining areas stashed down by her ankles. but in the time it takes to reach for those implements of self defense, the cloud of sleep clears; the low lights of the library in its evening shroud still illuminate enough features, and her thoughts right themselves enough that recognition can works its way through surprise.

the shock comes in at last place, and has her half-rising — the scrape of chair legs against the floor high pitched and grating. )

I — Harrington?

( why is it so much more astounding to see this previously lost passenger back on board than to grasp the fact she'd been gone for a number of months herself? well, introspection on that bit requires a deep dive into how little one clarke griffin values her own importance. but also snakes back around to the fact it feels like a literal minute since she'd last been on board, and the several months he'd been gone take precedence.

also, maybe it's a little nice not to focus on her own vanishing for a second. maybe it's a little nice to see a familiar, non-hostile face. maybe, belatedly, a mild swell of hope will bloom in her chest that he won't be the only one. )

vi. oh well, i guess we're gonna find out ( ari )

( there's nothing quite like being laid up under witness protection, healing from grievous wounds and suddenly being texted by a ghost, is there? )

I'd like to speak with you.

vii. let's see how far we've come ( wild card )

( hit me, bitches. the girl is back, i'm hype for endgame, hmu for any specific plottings you'd like and let's dive back in! )

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Hmmm... ( yeah, she can't quite disagree, can she... ) I did clock him with a book after the island...

( but whatever, it's another classic case of "do as i say, not as i do" advice. and also doesn't really matter.

what little space they've allowed themselves to drift apart in order to converse is closed again in a sudden all encompassing hug. this time clarke's initiating, just one more tight squeeze — real, tangible, solid and warm — before taking a full and proper step back. )

So. Tell me everything I missed. From your perspective.

[Ha. See? She finally manages an almost-triumphant snort as the emotional rollercoaster starts to calm down--or so she thinks, because now she's getting bundled into a bear hug, and--dammit, that's not fair, don't just do that and then step back!! Rita stands there awkwardly a moment after Clarke disengages, but finally satisfied she's not going to cry like a baby again, motions to the couch. Not that it's a long story, though...]

From my perspective... You already heard from Natsuno, right? It was about the same as always, just...you know... [Without her, and without Jade, and therefore events always had that extra shroud of misery hanging over them. Missing their friends, and wondering when it would be their turn... Anyway, pretending everything was all very casual, she quickly summarizes.] We went on one of those excursions, it was about as expected, and we launched a rocket outside the barrier. There wasn't anything else to miss.

( following the unspoken invitation, clarke crosses to the couch and settles in with ears perked and eyes bright. and yeah, she's heard all of this before and was honestly hoping for something a little more in-depth and revealing — maybe they'd turned over more stones, maybe they'd discovered more secrets, maybe somebody had fucked up sigils again or they'd learned something new about the captain and sparkles — but it's still good just to catch up.

her and natsuno had talked about a lot, and in the end most of it hadn't had to do with the ship. )

Okay, well — tell me more about the rocket?

[The only sigil "incidents" Rita's aware of were in fact her own genius, so Clarke may yet get to hear about them if Rita remembers. For now, though, she sits cross-legged at the other end of the couch.]

Hmm... Apparently Sparkles found it somewhere, though I heard it was originally something else--like a probe launched for gathering data? Anyway, I guess it would normally have been attached to and launched by the type of rocket you're probably familiar with, but we designed magic propulsion to send it off instead. Then it was just a matter of making sure Friday and the Captain were distracted enough so it could get through.

( rita says probe and clarke's brow furrows for a second — did voyager turn into a space probe? is the little boy okay? — but figures that would have been mentioned in more detail had it been the case. there is still a healthy distrust of sparkles so like, not completely written off, but if it could transform them into inanimate objects that probably would have been the go-to instead of the labyrinth, right? moving on — )

How'd you guys manage that?

[Luckily(?) Rita doesn't know it was actually Voyager's corpse or she'd be feeling far different about the probe (ie, creeped and grossed out!!), but yes, some healthy hesitation over working with Sparkles was definitely had, even as it did ultimately help them get the whole thing done.]

The distraction? Oh, they staged a pretend mutiny--there were posters and everything encouraging people to go wild, so... [A hint of guilt makes Rita pause, remembering the state Friday was in. They may have overdone it...] And...you don't want to know the rest.

[Nevermind that Clarke will find out about skulcap sex details before the day is out, but anyway.]

( she actually really does want to know the rest! or at least thinks she does, same as future rita thinks she wants a full blown explanation of a strap-on only to regret it mid-sentence. ah well, another time for mutually assured trauma. )

That's really all it took? ( idle, thoughtful, parsing through the serena eterna they knew upon first awakening and the state the ship is in now. clarke raises her eyebrows, then lowers them into a concentrated furrow. ) This place really is breaking down...

[Curiosity is such a curse sometimes.]

When you put it that way... [It does sound so simple, it's almost ridiculous.] But they only had to be distracted for a few seconds, really. Once it was gone, it's not like there was anything they could do.

[She huffs and leans back against the back of the couch, though--not a very triumphant gesture at all. After all, the response received was...not really something she wants to put her belief in. (Does she want to just sit here and do nothing, though? She hates that, too...)]

( clarke thinks for a moment, curled up on herself ever so slightly and chewing the inside of her cheek. not really looking at rita as she recounts her own lived experiences on the boat, and trying to visualize the rocket launch in her minds eye like a movie. the story alone is great, but man. she would have really liked to see it.

to help.

to stand on the deck and look towards the bridge, finally knowing they'd gotten a leg up on the captain in a way that actually meant anything. but, she hadn't. her soul had given up a little, some may say, but still gotten snagged on sentiment before being swallowed by whatever replaced the nothing. and now she was back, eager, energized, rested and... behind.

another beat and then clarke drags her eyes back to rita's face and smiles softly. )

Well, for whatever it's worth, I'm really proud of you.

All of you. You remember when we first got here, and everything seemed so strange and we never knew if we'd ever be able to break through the barrier? But you guys actually did.

Huh? Ah...

[Trust Clarke to always make everything so...dramatic. Rita's face reddens, because that kind of outright genuine sentiment is never not embarrassing, and tries to wave a dismissive hand, downplaying things.]

Sure, but--in the end, it just took luck and opportunity, right? Besides, it might not even reach anyone willing to help...

( there will be no downplaying of this moment! get that waving hand out of the way, rita, just accept the delighted pride of an older sister figure and deal with it. clarke does lean back a bit to mull over the possibility the s.o.s never reaches anyone's ears, and finds she still can't be entirely demoralized. )

Sometimes luck and opportunity is all you have. And if it doesn't work we'll try again, or try something different — case and point being we'll try.

[Not that it doesn't make her a little happy deep down, but--it's also just so embarrassing!! Still, that moment passes quickly, and Rita nods in agreement.]

Well--that goes without saying, of course. [And she takes that we very much to heart. Of course they'll be working together, trying together. She's glad Clarke's back.] Anyway, so...what else do want to know? Oh--you have to see this one-

[A mischievous grin suddenly lights up Rita's face as she retrieves her phone and shuffles across the couch to lean closer to Clarke, showing her a picture of Peter Starr with glorious, bushy eyebrows.]

( clarke crowds in to look at rita's phone screen and immediately — immediately — full body snorts.

oh. oh that's not a good look peter. )

Oh my god, what is this? What happened to him?

( swear this man's had the least flattering insults passed around in ship history. let's never forget the stede bonnet flyer debacle. he's just so usually stoic, it's so easy... )

[Now there's an improvement to the mood so she can avoid thinking about red strings for a little while. Rita's grin widens at Clarke's reaction, satisfied as a cat that caught a canary.]

A little magic improvement, thanks to yours truly. But for some reason, he couldn't appreciate the genius.

( jury is out on improvement, but there's sure some genius at work here. )

Did he piss you off or something?

[Still grinning, she blinks curiously at the question.]

Huh? No, nothing like that. I was being generous, don't you think?

[She was also, important to the context, incredibly stoned at the time.]

There's such a thing as over-generous.

( but for the sake of this thread, generous and hilarious are a perfect rhyme. )

Is he still walking around like that?

If only!

[Rita snickers, finally tugging the phone back and taking another look at the picture. Ah, it never gets old...unlike Peter Starr.]

My magic effects aren't permanent. Oh, but it did stick around for longer than I thought--a couple weeks, maybe? So did Catsuno's tail-

[Oops, was that a slip of the tongue? Ahem.]

( ... sorry, what the actually fuck did she just hear?

clarke visibly perks up, like a bulldog with a treat dangled in front of their face and preemptively salivating — i mean blinking expectantly. )

Whose tail?

[Oh, Clarke sure is staring very expectantly, and Rita's cheeks immediately go pink.]

Just, you know... Ca--I mean, Natsuno. He just had a tail for a little while.

...And maybe some ears.

[As in kitty ears, because obviously he always has regular ears.]

...interesting.

( completely and utterly straight faced follow-up question incoming here: )

Did he meow?

........It--it was cute.

[So...yeah that's not a no.]

( clarke brain go brrrr. for a solid five, very silent seconds.

then she very cautiously lifts up a single hand and curls her fingers in, canting her wrist like a paw and asking: )

Like — mrrow?

( FULL ON MEOW? HE MEOWED? DID HE PURR — actually fuck no she doesn't want to know that much. in the unlikely event she ever needed to blackmail the hell out of natsuno, this alone feels like more than enough ammunition. and the caliber stamped on the bottom of this proverbial shell casing reads: if we survive long enough that these two ever get married, i'm absolutely including it in my speech. )

[Unaware of just what kind of embarrassingly heartfelt event Clarke's potentially saving this for, an unbidden grin comes to Rita's face at Clarke pairing the meow with a matching gesture.]

Hmm...not bad, but--no offense, his was cuter. I mean, I'm not giving you ear skritches for that.

[This is all surely adding to future Clarke's eventual brain short-circuit at being asked about strap-ons later this very same day...]

Oh, of course not, I wouldn't want to overstep any boundaries.

( i'll take "weird maybe-sex things i didn't want to know about" for 500, alex. )

And — totally fine that I don't make a particularly cute cat.

( a pause, a minor ripple of something that might be laughter but looking a lot more like she's having a minor stroke, then — )

Do you ever stop and realize just how many weird sentences you've said in this place? Or is it different because you came from a world that already had magic?

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