faderift | open (like hermione's heart)

Clarisse has chilled out a lot since her days of leading the Ares cabin in drills every morning, so these morning runs with Hermione involve a lot less barking orders than one might expect. She figures there are worse people she could be hanging around this early in the day; at least Hermione doesn't complain, and she more or less keeps up with Clarisse.

She wouldn't use the word "soothing" to describe the way she feels when she gets up early to train, but she is soothed nonetheless.

Hearing Hermione's footsteps approach as she picks up the pace, Clarisse glances over her shoulder, then turns and jogs backwards for a bit so she can call out, "Next we can do the tower stairs." A pointing finger in the direction of the tower. "Up to the eyrie and back as many times as we can."

She's saved this info for mid-run because everyone knows that the stairmaster is the worst, and she didn't want Hermione to bail before they even got started.

Well, if Clarisse is expecting her to moan about the workout being too much of a workout, she'll have to keep waiting. This is a physical challenge, and Hermione is going to excel in it even if it kills her. Which it might, her thighs are already burning.

"Sure," she breathes out with a grim little smile. "I don't see why we wouldn't want to." Someone sounds a hint hysterical in her mid-run windedness. And again, "Many times!"

Well, that was much easier than she expected. Clarisse is actually a bit disappointed not to get even a little argument out of it, but—oh well.

"Once," she says, as a show of goodwill, because Hermione is doing what she wants without complaint, "I carried Captain Baudin up and down the stairs on a dare."

Clarisse is pretty sure that Gwenaëlle just likes being carried around, dare or no dare.

Laughing at the mental image? Hermione? It's more likely than you think! Of course, she's immediately regretting it, because laughter and running don't mix well, and her lungs are burning from the effort.

Damnit, not. She's getting good grades in P.E., for once in her life.

"Ha - good, good to know you can." Between careful breaths while jogging. Very dignified. "This means you can carry me if I pass out mid-staircase?"

"Yeah, I could. Right to the infirmary."

How embarrassing would that be for Hermione? Getting dumped unconscious in the infirmary because she passed out climbing the stairs? Clarisse laughs to herself thinking about it.

"That would be mortifying," she grouses, and so they're going to take the bloody stairs and she is going to be good at them.

"You could just let me have a nap at the top of the stairs. Or the bottom!"

Clarisse considers this—or, more accurately, considers the plan. After a few moments, she concedes, "We can take a break before the stairs, if you need to."

Even she wouldn't mind taking a rest first. She's a demigod, not a robot. She could do the stairs without stopping first, but she'd be tired.

"Amazing, yes." She rushed to say that one, with just the tiniest hint of desperation. "We can - we should have some water, at least."

"Okay, okay." Clarisse turns, intending to head back to the tower. "Let's get a drink first."

They jog back in silence for several moments. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she adds, "You did good."

She has not grown out of her need for approval, so the words shoot through her like a warm ray of sun. Makes the early rising worth it. It makes the muscle fever days worth it, too.

She's grinning now, the curls of her ponytail bouncing with optimism.

"Have I? Am I your least whiny cadet?" What else could this be about? ( :) )

Least whiny? Clarisse has to think about that, but honestly, Hermione is up there. The thing about the stairs is especially impressive.

"Yeah, one of them. I actually haven't trained that many people. Here," she amends. "Mostly just at home."

Chin up, Hermione hasn't been trained back home at all! Unless you count one year of introduction to flying that she absolutely hated (because eleven year old bullies are the worst).

"Fellow demigods? What sort of training did you do back home?"

"Mm. There's a special camp for us. And we did all kinds—swords and spears, archery, rock climbing, fighting monsters, war games."

Clarisse stretches her arms over her head, letting the muscles relax. "They split us into cabins based on who our godly parent is, and the oldest kid is in charge of the others. I was in charge of the other Ares kids from when I was twelve until I left for college, so I was used to training them."

And bossing them around, of course, like every eldest sibling has the right to do.

She opens her mouth, ready to just ask the question, before she changes her mind and snaps it closed again.

She's connected the dots. On second thought, she's going to just say it.

"You were divided into houses based on who your godly parent was? So you...trained your siblings, then?"

"Yeah." To both. "It's not as weird as it sounds, 'cause most demigods have similar interests depending on their godly parent. So the cabins mostly got along, you know, internally. Except Hermes, which took all the unclaimed kids too. They got all types."

But the occasional brawl was far from unheard of at camp, and it's not like anyone gave a shit. That's what happens when you let children raise children. Or children, one ancient centaur, and one insanely disinterested god, if you want to get specific.

"In Hogwarts we had Houses," she says, explaining without needing to be asked for an explanation first. "And only four of them. We were divided based on, well - I imagine personality types? Character traits? It happened when we were eleven, most of us, and rationally everyone's personality remains unchanged from the time they are eleven."

The sarcasm and dryness of her tone that is dripping right there. She doesn't roll her eyes be pure miracle. (Maybe she is capable of diplomacy after all?) There have been some Thoughts about the sorting system in Hogwarts, about some of her professors and their behaviours, about the wizarding world at large.

It's easier to have those thoughts when you've been outside that world for close to four years now. It happens, because people give her these looks whenever she's describing Hogwarts, and - well, they have a point.

Hmm.

"Maybe it was never about your character traits, and that's just what they told you," Clarisse suggests. "Group people together and tell them, oh, you have this thing in common, and they're more likely to feel connected. You said they divided you. Did they make you compete too?"

She doesn't sound like she's judging the school, or the choice to split kids that way, but it's something she's thought about a lot since leaving camp. Hermione sounds like she could be describing what's essentially a big color war, exactly the kind of thing they have cabins do... at summer camp.

"That's what we did," she says. "We had these weekly war games where we pitted cabins against each other and the winners would get special privileges."

So it sounds familiar. That's all.

They truly do have that shared ~~YA novel~~ life experience, don't they? She is somehow both exasperated to find out, and nostalgic. And fond of Hogwarts - it was home, for a very long time, after all.

"Sports, and academic competition," she answers. "We'd be given or docked points based on answers in class, or misbehaviour in or outside the classrooms. And at the end of the year, the House with most points would win the House Cup, which..." Come to think of it.

"...was kind of a whole lot of nothing? Just some banners for like the day we were going to leave for summer break anyway!"

"Just a bunch of bullshit," Clarisse agrees, "to distract everyone from what's really going on."

Her own feelings about camp are complicated. She has plenty of good memories, and believes that it truly did save her life, but she often wonders if that makes up for the rest of it. What's done is done, though. And she shouldn't be foisting her feelings about CHB onto Hermione's fucky-named school anyway.

"Fun, though, right?" Competing, she means.

She lets out a little laugh, the admission bursting out quickly: "Oh yes, so much fun." There's barely enough pause there before she adds, "I'm sure you'll find it shocking to find out I am competitive."

"Um..." Clarisse reaches up and pushes a sweaty piece of hair out of her eyes. "Not really."

That's why they get along. Right?

She rolls her eyes, huffing - but it's a fond thing, because yes. They get along. "Yes, well, now you know better than to challenge me to do something. Like punch you."

"Maybe I like being punched."

No, that sounds wrong, and also in a fucked up way like she's flirting. Clarisse's ears go red and she corrects herself, "I just like fighting."

Maybe it does sound wrong, but for some reason Hermione's ears also go red, the blush blossoming on her cheeks as well. "Not sure that's a good thing," she says, just to fill the awkward silence that threatens to overtake - oh thank god, Clarisse corrects herself.

"Have you always liked it?" Or did she grow to like it by necessity, at her Camp.

Good, moving on from... that.

"Yeah, I guess you could say it's in my blood," she says, with an almost self-deprecating smile. "My father and all."

It's hard to say exactly how much of it's innate in her and how much of it came from the constant reinforcement once she got to camp and then, especially, once she made it into the Ares cabin. But she can't deny that even before she made her way to New York, she was getting into fights on a pretty regular basis.

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