faderift | [open] and when i wake up you'll be here

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[open] and when i wake up you'll be here

WHO: Clarisse
WHAT: Arrival + some quarantine stuff
WHEN: Now, ig
WHERE: Ferelden somewhere + the Gallows
NOTES: n/a

Arrival

Weird dreams are a near nightly thing for demigods, so Clarisse doesn't bat an eye when she finds herself waiting for the elevator at the top of the Empire State Building in her basketball uniform, other than to wonder what kind of weird symbolism it is and hope that it's not going to interfere with her midterms. Even when the doors open and she steps in and lands on nothing but empty air, she manages not to scream. It all happens too fast, anyway.

Clarisse only has time to think, oh shit, and then she hits the dirt hard. The breath gets punched out of her chest and she wheezes pitifully, wondering since when her dreams are realistic enough to hurt. She rolls onto her back, wipes at the dirt on her chin, and finds herself staring up at something she can't comprehend, much less identify. The air looks... torn open, and through the jagged green split, she can see patches of concrete and red rocks.

The view is interrupted by something moving—something humanoid but elongated, with a grin that spreads too far in each direction. That's comprehendible. She's not sure what she's looking at, specifically, but she knows bad news when she sees it. Clarisse pushes off the ground at a run, angling herself away from the whatever-the-fuck-that-thing-is and trying to put some distance between her and it.

Quarantine - Dining Hall

At least the food here looks... pretty normal. She should be thankful for that.

Clarisse is in the dining hall, sitting straight backed and uncomfortable and pushing a piece of beef (probably?) around with a fork. She looks a little bit miserable, but what else is new? Push, push, push. The fork never seems to actually make it to her mouth.

Finally, she can't stand it anymore, and says to whoever's nearby: "Is there a place around here I can make an offering?"

Quarantine - Training Yard

Maybe she'd been slacking off on training a little bit, before she'd fallen out of the fucking sky, but that's over. If anything, the practice gives Clarisse a sense of familiarity, even while she's stuck in a place that's the complete opposite. She knows the moves. She's done them almost every day, for years. Doesn't matter where she is.

For anyone who happens to walk by and see her, it's clear that Clarisse is no beginner with the spear. She handles it with practiced ease, and it seems like she'd have no problem showing anybody else what it's like to be on the other end of Maimer's barbed tip. But when she does notice somebody watching, Clarisse only gives them a terse nod.

"You waiting for the space?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ellie takes the pick with her bad hand, rubbing the other along the mare's flanks. She's shuddering her coat irritably, lifting her hoof like she wants to stamp again.

"You serious?" Ellie asks, asking for the mare's hoof again by running her hand down her leg, giving a tug. Denied. She butts her shoulder against the mare's side, insisting. No dice.

"Are you heckling me?"

"You asking me or the horse?" Yeah, she's heckling.

Clarisse walks closer and lifts a hand for the horse to sniff, butting its velvet soft nose against her palm. It's been a while since she made it a point to spend time in a stable, but she remembers the easy routine of it, the way she and Silena used to hang out and talk while they did barn chores, with sunlight and dust motes drifting in the air. Good memories. "Is she yours?"

Ellie makes a rude noise.

She considers telling the interloper that she's killed people messily with similar instruments to this hoof pick, but decides to try to be nice. Whoever this is, if she's in Riftwatch's stables, she's part of Riftwatch. And the help is mostly too afraid to sass her.

(If she weren't frustrated she'd be more inclined to be better about being teased, but she's feeling kind of prickly over this.)

She can practically hear Jesse's voice in her ear, telling her to stop getting in her own damn way.

And thankfully, the mare does settle with a little bit of attention away from her sore hoof, and Ellie scoops said hoof up, slipping the tip in between the horseshoe and the lip of the hoof, slowly coaxing it out.

"No... This girl's rider didn't come back. I don't know who it was. It's been more than a week before somebody took her on an actual ride, so."

Ellie did, but that's the closest she'll get to saying it. She's pretty sure the mare blames her for the stone in her hoof.

"And then she picked up this little- rock- bastard- c'mon-"

There's a clicking noise and finally the jagged little fuck falls into the stall floor. "Yes."

Edited 2022-08-07 04:53 (UTC)

Clarisse pauses as she pulls her hand back from the mare's nose, fingertips still close enough to feel the hot breath on them.

"What, like they died?" Didn't come back sounds exactly like the vague-yet-morbid way she'd say it, but maybe Ellie just means they fucked off to some other town or something. Either way, it's kind of sad, and a big reason why she'd never had any kind of pet at home. Just in case.

Turns out it'd been the right call, considering where she is now.

"I guess they could have defected?" That's not better, exactly. A cold comfort because yeah, no. They're probably dead.

The mare noses again at Clarisse's hand, hoping for any trace of treats, or maybe a scratch.

"Either way, this girl needs more people to ride her."

Ellie gently puts down her foot, feeling along her leg for any further signs of tenderness, then gives her neck a pat. Digs her fingers into her mane for a good scratch.

Now that she's up straight and properly visible: here's Ellie. A tangle of reddish-brown hair, lots of freckles and scars, two missing fingers on her left hand. An anchor shard shining in her palm.

Ellie pushes her sweaty hair out of her face to give Clarisse a proper look.

"You new?"

Clarisse breathes out a long sigh as she gives in and strokes the mare's nose again (no treats, sorry). Her feelings on defection versus death are... complicated. It's kind of a relief when Ellie stands up and changes the subject, actually.

"Yeah. Came in a few weeks ago."

She gives Ellie a once over, expression steady. She's taller than Ellie, and bulkier, in combat boots and a worse for wear hoodie with old blood stains on it. Born to wear Greek battle armor, Percy'd described her as once. "I'm Clarisse."

She's hot. She's hot in bloodstains and a torn old hoodie and it's distracting and kind of pisses her off, thanks.

Ellie presses her lips together, nods to herself, and reaches for a curry comb.

"I'm Ellie. Scouting. Rifted in about a year ago."

She tosses the curry comb to her, underhanded, and picks up another. She doesn't ask, and that's on purpose. Instead she just goes to work on the horse's coat, brushing out the road dust and the sweaty part where the saddle rested.

"Did the bloodstains come in with you, or did a demon hitch a ride on your Rift?"

Nobody but Rifters wear hoodies around here, thanks.

Almost like she can sense what Ellie's thinking, Clarisse gives her a little raise of the eyebrows. She doesn't say anything, though, just catches the brush and starts to go over the mare's side with it. Circular motions, the way Silena used to. Brisk, efficient.

"Demon," she says. "Monsters where I'm from don't bleed red." They'd also, apart from a few brief encounters, been leaving her alone since she moved back to Arizona. It had been a nice break, for a few weeks, but then it had just been boring.

Not that that matters, here. Ellie got stuck here a whole fucking year ago, after all. Clarisse blows some hair out of her face, annoyed with herself, and keeps moving.

"I'm in Forces. Scouting would've been my second choice." She would have been really, really bad at it, but she's not saying that part out loud.

Ellie grumbles to herself but doesn't otherwise comment. If there's anything worse than being distracted by a hot girl, it's when the girl knows she's distracting.

(But, moving on.)

A fine down of horse hair rains to the stall floor, along with road dust. The mare blows happily, content to be fussed over from either side.

"Forces would've been my second choice," Ellie nods to where her bow is propped in the corner neck to her pack- it's nice, clearly well-made and probably custom-built, if the fade-touched crystals or the tooled-leather quiver are any indication. It looks astronomically nicer than anything Ellie's actually wearing.

But Ellie comes back to that interesting tidbit, frowning at her over the mare's withers.

"Your monsters don't bleed red?"

"Well. I guess they bleed some, but once they die they fade away into dust."

Clarisse sounds distracted, though; her hand's slowed where she's been brushing the horse, and she's staring over its back at the bow in the corner. It's extremely cool, and she's itching to pick it up and feel it out, inspect some of those crystals. You just don't touch somebody else's weapon, though. She'd rip a person's head off if they strolled over and grabbed Maimer without her say so.

"I'm not much of a ranged weapons girl," she admits. "But that's nice work. What's it called?"

"Nice and clean."

Ellie sounds wistful. "The ones where I'm from just bleed." Because they used to be people, but now's not the time to get into it. It's rarely the time to get into it. Not a great first or even tenth conversation to have with someone.

But she can see Clarisse admiring her bow, she she steps away to go get it, pass it over so she can take a closer look. She's not going to get in the way of someone wanting to admire the work.

The crystals are are a deep green, and they shimmer faintly where they're embedded into the dark wood. If Clarisse pays close attention, she might realize it's close to the shade of green of the Shard in her hand. The design is simple but beautiful, and not flashy enough to attract thieves.

"It's a... bow."

New to the concept of naming weapons, is Ellie.

"I closed a Rift out on the Storm Coast, saved some of the crystal stuff that came out of it. It seemed right to get something made with it."

Clarisse pauses in the middle of holding the bow (gods, it's really freaking cool; kind of making her wish she used a bow and arrow more often) out in front of her, the way she would if she were about to use it—for someone who just said they're not a "ranged weapons girl" she seems to know exactly what she's doing with it—to give Ellie a completely devastating stare.

"I know what a fucking bow is. I meant what did you name it."

The fact that Ellie might not have named it anything doesn't seem to have occurred to her? It's just... what you do, right?

"Are you f-"

Ellie cuts herself off, looking deeply offended, thanks. And she doesn't miss that Clarisse knows her way around a weapon, because of course she does. She moves like somebody who knows how to punch someone to death.

(Less common out here in Thedas.)

"What, like... Excalibur or something?" she scoffs aloud, but eyes the bow. Most of her other weapons have been a little interchangeable, with the exception of her knife.

... unfortunately, Ellie's exactly nerdy enough for this to appeal. She mashes her lower lip between her teeth, thinking.

Edited 2022-08-18 23:48 (UTC)

Excalibur is a sword, though. A bow has a totally different vibe.

"Like Air Strike, or Skullpiercer, or Kairos, or Agonistes—" Look, she has a dumb list of names for any kind of weapon, and not all of them are completely terrible, except she finishes with "or... Marshmallow Roaster." It's a joke, but she's pretty sure a few of her brothers would actually go for it.

Anyway. She hands Ellie back her bow before she gets too hyped up. "My spear's called Maimer. I'll show you sometime." Because fair is fair.

Ugh, and all her bow names are cool and now she can't pick any of them.

Ellie snorts aloud, reaching out to take her bow back, set it back into place. (Don't touch the arrows, some are poison actually.)

"... Maimer."

She tries to sound incredulous, but okay. She's a little impressed. "You hunt monsters with a spear?"

Clarisse nods. "Been using one since I was, like, eleven. A spear's a great weapon. You get extra reach, it can cut shit, it stabs things, you can use it to beat the shit out of someone, you can even throw it."

Look, maybe she's a little bit defensive about it. The spear was a gift from her dad. If people think it's a lame weapon, aren't they sort of also saying they think he's lame?

"Besides," she adds. "Mine is electric. So." So it's even cooler.

Defensive as she is, she absolutely doesn't need to be. Ellie's firmly in the camp of that sounding fucking awesome, actually.

"No, it's just. Most people don't know how to fight with one."

It's something that actually takes skill, like a sword, and-

(Quick, don't imagine a spear with an amp.)

"Like magic?"

The question gets a little of the tension to leave Clarisse's shoulders, and she grins.

"Yeah, like magic. I'm a demigod. Sometimes we get a special gift from our parent if they're feeling extra generous." You know, to make up for all the years of abandonment and shit. They're not always weapons—Annabeth has that invisibility hat, and supposedly Hermes is fond of handing out all kinds of random stuff—but Ares' gifts usually are.

"Weirdly, you're not my first demigod," Ellie grins back, feeling it sneak over her face. She wouldn't call Clarisse's grin infectious, but it's something.

"But most of 'em don't seem like they're in touch with their parents."

But Ellie pauses again, interested. "So does it like- shoot lightning? Or is it like a taser?"

"Taser," Clarisse says, but she's more focused on the other thing Ellie'd said. Weirdly, you're not my first demigod. She fixes her face, carefully moderating her expression so that it doesn't look too hopeful. It's been practically beaten into her never to get her hopes up too much—but her heart's beating faster all the same.

"You've met others? Are they here?"

"Loki? Sure. He's all right."

She regularly breaks into his house as a form of affection, don't worry about it.

Ellie notices the way Clarisse is almost too casual about it, so she matches that. "He lives over in Hightown, but he comes around sometimes. If you want, you can ask for him on the crystals. He'll probably answer."

And Loki loves talking about himself, so make that a definitely.

"Oh." Not Greek, or even Roman. She should've expected that, and it's stupid to feel disappointed, she tells herself. Like she could actually turn a corner here and run into someone she knows. It was dumb to even ask.

"Yeah, maybe I will." The more words she says, the more normal her voice sounds. "That's Norse, right? It's not my pantheon. I'm Greek."

"I only know all the Roman gods because they named a bunch of stuff in space after them," Ellie admits, shrugging apologetically.

But she frowns, chewing her lip.

"What god are you?"

Demigod, Ellie.

"I'm not a god," Clarisse says. "I'm a girl." It's not like they're mutually exclusive, but whatever, it gets her point across. "My father is Ares, the god of war."

Another person might leave it at that, but she can't resist getting a dig in at the Romans. "By the way, the Romans totally stole everything from the Greeks. They just gave all our shit a different name and called it a day." She's not bitter or anything! Who cares.

"Pretty sure NASA named moons and shit after the Greeks, though," she adds. "Like Charon. And Phobos and Deimos."

So Mars? Ellie wants to say, but she won't, because she's finally started to grow a few braincells. She thinks it, though.

"Shit. You're right.

"Okay, so your dad is some souped-up wargod. What's that mean for you?"

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