[ Imagining writing down his questions hits like an odd-angled strike to his elbow, wringing out a jolt of dark, unhappy humour.
He'd rather have her here. Not just for that someday conversation, but now. He wants to be able to read her expression, settle her down on the couch, get her a glass of water. Do something with the twist of helpless care that wells up at her off-handed recognition. ]
On top of my charming personality and sparkling wit?
[ His eyes slide off the cigarettes and survey his sparse apartment. It's a functional space, his clutter maintained within reasonable limits. When he superimposes her over it, he doesn't picture her disapproving, but he doesn't know if she'd be put at ease, either -
He clears his throat and sits up, running his fingers through his hair and leaving it a rumpled, unobserved mess. ]
Definitely not for my sense of tact. I - [ a flutter of hesitation ] - it's a shitty fucking club to have membership in, huh? The people who get it.
Maybe. But, better than being surrounded by idiots in denial.
( she doesn't mean the ark here, the line of vitriol that leaks into her tone is a direct result of spending two interim years between earth and etraya on the eterna. where there'd been enough of them discontent with the idea of a punishing, grueling existence as a djinn's personal suffering battery that there'd been uproar — but it'd always tended to be drowned out by the voices claiming they should be content and sympathetic. two years, the eterna on the brink of destruction, and still they'd waffled.
she'd acted, though. in the end. a small number of them in concert to trap the captain, only to learn there were worse fates than death dangling above their necks. then, zwoop — she'd left. where the erda'd deigned to deposit her on the ship in the first place, echo had decided they needed another pawn in a grander scheme; dragged along most of her people she cared for, in what either was a validation of her feelings that they were worth it all, or a pacifying move. and how many had she left in her wake this time? that's two worlds abandoned as they burned to ashes, how many lives ruined was it?
— that's a dangerously depressing road to venture down. and emotionally limber under the effects of moonshine, clarke simply decides she doesn't want to think about it right now. locks back in to the computer for all of twenty seconds before she is approached by another companion bot and this time nearly snaps at it — )
I said I'm fine, just looking.
( then on her left, with the rudest jumpscare possible, a holographic projection of aurora manifests in the brief moment she'd taken to address the bot. there is an audible jump; a sharp inhale through teeth that hits the back of her throat a little too hard, dredging out a barely perceptible squeak. and clarke goes as still as the statue of the woman pouring from a jug in the labyrinth.
loud enough for krouse to hear on his end of things, aurora says something to the effect of: "you seem like you could benefit from a nap, clarke." with no malice, no anger, no sense of caught you; just as simply shallow and pleasantly robotic as ever. that somehow makes it all the more intimidating. )
[ It's a tone he knows as well as he knows how it is, another manifestation of the same kind of scar tissue. The frustration of dealing with all the people in the world who prefers denial over reality, whatever it costs them to close their eyes and cover their ears for the sake of not rocking the boat.
What's uncomfortable isn't that, or the brittle snap of her rebuffing another companion bot. It's the twist in his gut at knowing he's closer to being on the wrong side of that line between the people who act and the people who don't than he ever expected he would be.
Aurora's interruption comes just as he's turning that over, her calm, empty voice ricocheting off those raw nerves. He starts forward, tensed on the edge of the couch, as incapable of doing anything now as he has been throughout the conversation. Hedging his bets, playing it safe, not crossing the ever-present fucking lines - and that he couldn't do anything if he was there doesn't matter. His absence still feels like an abandonment, in the moment. ]
Or you could translate your fucking files.
[ An inane retort to spit into the open channel, but he has to assume Aurora hears it. He has to assume that it's noted somewhere in that sprawling database, his behavioural parameters adjusted for this burst of futile resentment.
But there's no clench of anticipatory regret. Only a clean, bright spark of satisfaction, however temporary and meaningless it is. ]
( this time around it isn't the moonshine that distracts clarke so completely that for a long moment she manages to forget she's on a call. it's fear. plain and simple, that spike of adrenaline that rockets down her spine like lighting, paralyzing in its wake. panic that manifests in the form of a fist, sinking into her stomach and driving all the air out of her lungs. dread that diverts all the blood in her body to her extremities until her legs lock up in preparation to bolt and her fingers tingle where they're poised over the computer screen. and she flinches preemptively, ready for some harsher lashing to follow the deceptively gentle suggestion.
but two things happen. aurora doesn't move a single projected digital square, doesn't summon the companion bots that have been humming around the room to converge and abandon their polite shuffling. and krouse chimes directly into the shell of her ear with topical vitriol.
and clarke laughs.
or rather, snorts. unseen to him, curls her lips in between her teeth and licks at the cracks starting to carve themselves out with recent dehydration. she rebels against the idea of a nap, but would definitely like some water and to get the hell out of here now she's been actively caught. lightly, casually — )
Maybe you're right. Sorry.
( not at all sorry, but cue a measured retreat back to the base of the stairs, audible in the slap of her shoe soles against absolutely spotless tile. )
[ That tiny snort followed by the soft, shuffling absence of calamity is one of the best things he's ever heard. His heartbeat unstitches from the roof of his mouth and drops back into his chest as Clarke walks away.
He waits until he hears stairs to breathe out, conspicuously steady and slow. It doubles him over his knees, folding into a half-crumpled buckle of relief. That's when he laughs, as shaky as glasses rattling in a poorly packed crate. ]
Shit.
[ Krouse laces his fingers loosely over his mouth, caging his half-smile. ]
Looks like we found a tolerance limit. [ A silver lining, sort of. ] You headed back?
( shit, krouse wheezes out around the sharp edges of glass shattered within its transportation crate, and clarke acknowledges with a simple, honest — ) That was a little bit scary.
( but she feels a fraction too giddy in the aftermath, tone light and airy as tension melts from her body preemptively. she reaches the top of the stairs uninterrupted, and takes it as a sign she's found the right button to push. and escaping unscathed? that's just a bonus. she will be back.
you headed back? to where? )
To the bar? Gods no. ( natsuno probably isn't there anymore. he'd seemed inclined to ring up rita when clarke had taken her leave, and she'd been happy for him but has absolutely no designs to continue drinking alone. no. no, she'd spit-balled the plan this far and will continue doing so now. thinking aloud: )
I'm going to walk to the diner, have a cup of coffee, and just sit there until my legs stop shaking.
( out of the basement, and it's only a few turns down a sterile hallway until she's pushing through the hospital doors and stepping out into the relative calm of late night in etraya. the air is crisp and bright, the stars shine brightly; if she squints she can spot the slightly over-illuminated patch on a distant planet that they've come to know as other subjects. )
[ There's a slight difference between the hush of the hospital and the muted murmurs of the outdoors that tells Krouse which doors she's finally through. She's no safer out there than she is anywhere else in this rat maze, but it's one more sign she's been allowed to get away with this for now.
He doesn't count on that luck holding. Luck never does. But they'll deal with that when it happens. ]
Probably not the time to drink up any more plans, no.
[ For now, he'll take the reprieve, voice lilting giddily at confirmation of some lingering suspicions. It's funny in the way everything is funny after a near miss. ]
A cup of coffee sounds good, though. [ He sits back up, flexing his hands to work out his own shakes. ] I don't think either of us are getting much sleep.
( no, they're probably not getting much sleep tonight, are they? not if both were already unreasonably awake at 2 — now 3am. and not in the wake of the massive adrenaline dump that helps the outdoors solidify into crisp focus and nearly evaporates the alcohol in her system; turns it to straight fumes, providing a solid and gait with which to beeline for the diner. )
[ Krouse stands up into a stretch, loosening the muscles drawn taut between his shoulders. ]
If you're asking...
[ As if that wasn't exactly what he was hoping she'd say to spare him having to ask. He crosses over to the window to retrieve his cigarettes and lighter, remembers how her nose wrinkled the last time he lit up in front of her, and puts them back. He's pretty sure he has half a pack of gum in his jacket, which he confirms when he tugs it on. ]
Try not to dismantle the waiter before I show up. [ He provokes, one last time, as the door to his apartment shuts behind him. ] Be there soon.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He'd rather have her here. Not just for that someday conversation, but now. He wants to be able to read her expression, settle her down on the couch, get her a glass of water. Do something with the twist of helpless care that wells up at her off-handed recognition. ]
On top of my charming personality and sparkling wit?
[ His eyes slide off the cigarettes and survey his sparse apartment. It's a functional space, his clutter maintained within reasonable limits. When he superimposes her over it, he doesn't picture her disapproving, but he doesn't know if she'd be put at ease, either -
He clears his throat and sits up, running his fingers through his hair and leaving it a rumpled, unobserved mess. ]
Definitely not for my sense of tact. I - [ a flutter of hesitation ] - it's a shitty fucking club to have membership in, huh? The people who get it.
no subject
( she doesn't mean the ark here, the line of vitriol that leaks into her tone is a direct result of spending two interim years between earth and etraya on the eterna. where there'd been enough of them discontent with the idea of a punishing, grueling existence as a djinn's personal suffering battery that there'd been uproar — but it'd always tended to be drowned out by the voices claiming they should be content and sympathetic. two years, the eterna on the brink of destruction, and still they'd waffled.
she'd acted, though. in the end. a small number of them in concert to trap the captain, only to learn there were worse fates than death dangling above their necks. then, zwoop — she'd left. where the erda'd deigned to deposit her on the ship in the first place, echo had decided they needed another pawn in a grander scheme; dragged along most of her people she cared for, in what either was a validation of her feelings that they were worth it all, or a pacifying move. and how many had she left in her wake this time? that's two worlds abandoned as they burned to ashes, how many lives ruined was it?
— that's a dangerously depressing road to venture down. and emotionally limber under the effects of moonshine, clarke simply decides she doesn't want to think about it right now. locks back in to the computer for all of twenty seconds before she is approached by another companion bot and this time nearly snaps at it — )
I said I'm fine, just looking.
( then on her left, with the rudest jumpscare possible, a holographic projection of aurora manifests in the brief moment she'd taken to address the bot. there is an audible jump; a sharp inhale through teeth that hits the back of her throat a little too hard, dredging out a barely perceptible squeak. and clarke goes as still as the statue of the woman pouring from a jug in the labyrinth.
loud enough for krouse to hear on his end of things, aurora says something to the effect of: "you seem like you could benefit from a nap, clarke." with no malice, no anger, no sense of caught you; just as simply shallow and pleasantly robotic as ever. that somehow makes it all the more intimidating. )
no subject
What's uncomfortable isn't that, or the brittle snap of her rebuffing another companion bot. It's the twist in his gut at knowing he's closer to being on the wrong side of that line between the people who act and the people who don't than he ever expected he would be.
Aurora's interruption comes just as he's turning that over, her calm, empty voice ricocheting off those raw nerves. He starts forward, tensed on the edge of the couch, as incapable of doing anything now as he has been throughout the conversation. Hedging his bets, playing it safe, not crossing the ever-present fucking lines - and that he couldn't do anything if he was there doesn't matter. His absence still feels like an abandonment, in the moment. ]
Or you could translate your fucking files.
[ An inane retort to spit into the open channel, but he has to assume Aurora hears it. He has to assume that it's noted somewhere in that sprawling database, his behavioural parameters adjusted for this burst of futile resentment.
But there's no clench of anticipatory regret. Only a clean, bright spark of satisfaction, however temporary and meaningless it is. ]
no subject
but two things happen. aurora doesn't move a single projected digital square, doesn't summon the companion bots that have been humming around the room to converge and abandon their polite shuffling. and krouse chimes directly into the shell of her ear with topical vitriol.
and clarke laughs.
or rather, snorts. unseen to him, curls her lips in between her teeth and licks at the cracks starting to carve themselves out with recent dehydration. she rebels against the idea of a nap, but would definitely like some water and to get the hell out of here now she's been actively caught. lightly, casually — )
Maybe you're right. Sorry.
( not at all sorry, but cue a measured retreat back to the base of the stairs, audible in the slap of her shoe soles against absolutely spotless tile. )
no subject
He waits until he hears stairs to breathe out, conspicuously steady and slow. It doubles him over his knees, folding into a half-crumpled buckle of relief. That's when he laughs, as shaky as glasses rattling in a poorly packed crate. ]
Shit.
[ Krouse laces his fingers loosely over his mouth, caging his half-smile. ]
Looks like we found a tolerance limit. [ A silver lining, sort of. ] You headed back?
no subject
( but she feels a fraction too giddy in the aftermath, tone light and airy as tension melts from her body preemptively. she reaches the top of the stairs uninterrupted, and takes it as a sign she's found the right button to push. and escaping unscathed? that's just a bonus. she will be back.
you headed back? to where? )
To the bar? Gods no. ( natsuno probably isn't there anymore. he'd seemed inclined to ring up rita when clarke had taken her leave, and she'd been happy for him but has absolutely no designs to continue drinking alone. no. no, she'd spit-balled the plan this far and will continue doing so now. thinking aloud: )
I'm going to walk to the diner, have a cup of coffee, and just sit there until my legs stop shaking.
( out of the basement, and it's only a few turns down a sterile hallway until she's pushing through the hospital doors and stepping out into the relative calm of late night in etraya. the air is crisp and bright, the stars shine brightly; if she squints she can spot the slightly over-illuminated patch on a distant planet that they've come to know as other subjects. )
no subject
He doesn't count on that luck holding. Luck never does. But they'll deal with that when it happens. ]
Probably not the time to drink up any more plans, no.
[ For now, he'll take the reprieve, voice lilting giddily at confirmation of some lingering suspicions. It's funny in the way everything is funny after a near miss. ]
A cup of coffee sounds good, though. [ He sits back up, flexing his hands to work out his own shakes. ] I don't think either of us are getting much sleep.
no subject
Do you want to come join me?
no subject
If you're asking...
[ As if that wasn't exactly what he was hoping she'd say to spare him having to ask. He crosses over to the window to retrieve his cigarettes and lighter, remembers how her nose wrinkled the last time he lit up in front of her, and puts them back. He's pretty sure he has half a pack of gum in his jacket, which he confirms when he tugs it on. ]
Try not to dismantle the waiter before I show up. [ He provokes, one last time, as the door to his apartment shuts behind him. ] Be there soon.