Clara Oswald (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bossily) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ximilialog2021-12-04 07:27 pm
bossily) wrote in ximilialog2021-12-04 07:27 pm
open
CHARACTERS: Clara & OPEN
LOCATION: kitchen, sunlight room, common area, sleeping quarters
DATE: First half of December
CONTENT: General catch all for December.
WARNINGS: nothing yet, will update as needed!
Kitchen
I am the boss.
[Clara's voice chimes out in the otherwise quiet kitchen. She's tall enough to see over the counter maybe, but not so tall that she isn't almost nearly eye to eye with a jar. With one arm in a sling and the other on her hip, she's scowling over at the jar with every ounce of sass she can muster toward an inanimate object.]
I am the boss, and because I'm the boss here, you're going to do as I say.
[She reaches over with her one good hand and tries to open the lid. Tries and tries again, failing each time. There's something close to a frustrated huff as she finally pushes the jar away.]
Fine, be that way. I didn't want to eat you anyway. It's not like I haven't eaten all day. Not that you would care.
[Yes, she is looking and sounding petulant while talking to a jar in the middle of the kitchen. Don't mind her.]
Sunlight Room
[Some evenings she wanders into the sunlight room with her tattered notebook and pencils. She can lose track of time sitting in the grass off somewhere and waiting for her stars to appear. They're not real, she knows this. But they're beautiful to her all the same, and she's captivated by the sight of them no matter how many times her insomnia leads to her being here alone.
There's snow on the ground now, and she likely isn't properly bundled up for it. But she takes the time to find a decent enough rock to sit on.
She has her notebook open and sitting before her, the map of the simulated stars drawn out with loving care. She's still working on it even now, her good hand put to use sketching slowly. She's so focused on her star maps and writing names for each star and made up constellation that she doesn't notice someone approach.
Whether they stand nearby or sit right near her, her attention isn't torn away so quickly. It takes a moment before she glances over. Her eyes are so dark in the lighting in the room that they seem to reflect the stars she can't pry her gaze off of. ]
Give me a name. Any name, quick as you like.
Common Area
[Clara's managed to obtain a small book collection from the random things that come in from the drops. She's a book nerd at heart, and her English teacher side is missing academic discussion. So she heads to the common area and makes herself comfortable, setting out her small collection of books like a lure meant to pull people in for conversation.
Of course, she's just as content curling up in a chair and reading beside someone for a while. You don't have to talk to have a good time, especially when you can go on and on about the things you've just read once quiet time is over.
She also wouldn't mind taking the time to set aside her very worn and ancient copy of Pride & Prejudice in order to discuss her many high opinions of Jane Austen. And if she so happens to mention that Jane is a fantastic kisser, it's only for the sake of keeping the conversation going.
Reluctant engagers that she spots looking her way when she glances up over the top of her book earn a quiet cough, and a shove of one of the books down along the couch in a silent invitation.]
Bedroom; closed to close CR
[Clara's making an effort to be present around the station, to be out and about despite her injury. It's not a major one, and Bones did a brilliant job patching her up. She'll be good as new eventually. But for now she fluctuates between good days and ones where she's easily frustrated and in pain. Those days get fewer and far between as the month wears on. But the first days back see her retreating back to her room after attempts to act like everything is fine out and about with the others.
For those that know her best, it's easy to see the exhaustion in her eyes, even as she acts bubbly and chipper with everyone around her. She didn't have any control over whether or not she hurt her arm. She still doesn't even remember how it happened. But what she can control is her attitude after the mission, and she's determined to make this down period be as good as she possibly can.
Which means occasional catnaps or hiding away in her room to sort through the assortment of hats and belongings that the Doctors are starting to pile up. She organizes things into whatever containers she can find, labeling each box simply with Doctor and leaving them to figure out the proper owner. Her bowtied Doctor's hats are arranged in a neat little row on his bed. She's not even going to get into the weird bed beef or brick she found that presumably belong to her other Doctor. They're just left where they are, like a dirty secret she'll never bring up and hope he never wants to talk about. And her own few belongings are meticulously re-organized as if she actually had left anything a mess. She may have a broken arm but that isn't any excuse to have a messy room.
Her door is always open to those close to her, without their needing to knock or ask if it's okay for them to pop by. When anyone does happen to stop by, she's quick to offer them a dimpled grin and toss them one of her dresses that she's just picked up off the floor. Yeah, she's just about done here.]
On a scale of Clara, you're an organization genius; and how sad you're rooming with a hoarder, how do things look? Be honest.
Wildcard
[the choose your own adventure & write your own starter option]
LOCATION: kitchen, sunlight room, common area, sleeping quarters
DATE: First half of December
CONTENT: General catch all for December.
WARNINGS: nothing yet, will update as needed!
Kitchen
I am the boss.
[Clara's voice chimes out in the otherwise quiet kitchen. She's tall enough to see over the counter maybe, but not so tall that she isn't almost nearly eye to eye with a jar. With one arm in a sling and the other on her hip, she's scowling over at the jar with every ounce of sass she can muster toward an inanimate object.]
I am the boss, and because I'm the boss here, you're going to do as I say.
[She reaches over with her one good hand and tries to open the lid. Tries and tries again, failing each time. There's something close to a frustrated huff as she finally pushes the jar away.]
Fine, be that way. I didn't want to eat you anyway. It's not like I haven't eaten all day. Not that you would care.
[Yes, she is looking and sounding petulant while talking to a jar in the middle of the kitchen. Don't mind her.]
Sunlight Room
[Some evenings she wanders into the sunlight room with her tattered notebook and pencils. She can lose track of time sitting in the grass off somewhere and waiting for her stars to appear. They're not real, she knows this. But they're beautiful to her all the same, and she's captivated by the sight of them no matter how many times her insomnia leads to her being here alone.
There's snow on the ground now, and she likely isn't properly bundled up for it. But she takes the time to find a decent enough rock to sit on.
She has her notebook open and sitting before her, the map of the simulated stars drawn out with loving care. She's still working on it even now, her good hand put to use sketching slowly. She's so focused on her star maps and writing names for each star and made up constellation that she doesn't notice someone approach.
Whether they stand nearby or sit right near her, her attention isn't torn away so quickly. It takes a moment before she glances over. Her eyes are so dark in the lighting in the room that they seem to reflect the stars she can't pry her gaze off of. ]
Give me a name. Any name, quick as you like.
Common Area
[Clara's managed to obtain a small book collection from the random things that come in from the drops. She's a book nerd at heart, and her English teacher side is missing academic discussion. So she heads to the common area and makes herself comfortable, setting out her small collection of books like a lure meant to pull people in for conversation.
Of course, she's just as content curling up in a chair and reading beside someone for a while. You don't have to talk to have a good time, especially when you can go on and on about the things you've just read once quiet time is over.
She also wouldn't mind taking the time to set aside her very worn and ancient copy of Pride & Prejudice in order to discuss her many high opinions of Jane Austen. And if she so happens to mention that Jane is a fantastic kisser, it's only for the sake of keeping the conversation going.
Reluctant engagers that she spots looking her way when she glances up over the top of her book earn a quiet cough, and a shove of one of the books down along the couch in a silent invitation.]
Bedroom; closed to close CR
[Clara's making an effort to be present around the station, to be out and about despite her injury. It's not a major one, and Bones did a brilliant job patching her up. She'll be good as new eventually. But for now she fluctuates between good days and ones where she's easily frustrated and in pain. Those days get fewer and far between as the month wears on. But the first days back see her retreating back to her room after attempts to act like everything is fine out and about with the others.
For those that know her best, it's easy to see the exhaustion in her eyes, even as she acts bubbly and chipper with everyone around her. She didn't have any control over whether or not she hurt her arm. She still doesn't even remember how it happened. But what she can control is her attitude after the mission, and she's determined to make this down period be as good as she possibly can.
Which means occasional catnaps or hiding away in her room to sort through the assortment of hats and belongings that the Doctors are starting to pile up. She organizes things into whatever containers she can find, labeling each box simply with Doctor and leaving them to figure out the proper owner. Her bowtied Doctor's hats are arranged in a neat little row on his bed. She's not even going to get into the weird bed beef or brick she found that presumably belong to her other Doctor. They're just left where they are, like a dirty secret she'll never bring up and hope he never wants to talk about. And her own few belongings are meticulously re-organized as if she actually had left anything a mess. She may have a broken arm but that isn't any excuse to have a messy room.
Her door is always open to those close to her, without their needing to knock or ask if it's okay for them to pop by. When anyone does happen to stop by, she's quick to offer them a dimpled grin and toss them one of her dresses that she's just picked up off the floor. Yeah, she's just about done here.]
On a scale of Clara, you're an organization genius; and how sad you're rooming with a hoarder, how do things look? Be honest.
Wildcard
[the choose your own adventure & write your own starter option]
no subject
[Something about his measured, level-headed approach to this is soothing. He's almost indifferent to the problem. Though she supposes that comes from his not really knowing her. It's comforting in a way.]
What's important is that we completed the mission in the end. Even dreamscapes couldn't get in the way of that.
no subject
he does fetch sugar and whatever passes for cream here — though he notably leaves it nearer to her, and does not use any himself.
he takes a seat opposite her on one of those rather alarmingly high chairs (why does no one sit properly to eat here? a mystery) drawing one foot up to hook on the crossbar so he can wrap his arm around his knee. his nailpolish seems to swallow the light in its chipped and half-grown-out glory as he reaches for his cup. ）
We have several very determined individuals in our midst.
（ his tone is wry — more than a few martyrs, too — but at least, as she said, they succeeded. ）
no subject
[She jokes, arching an eyebrow. She's been called determined enough times in her life to know exactly what he's implying right now.
But he's been kind enough as to prepare this tea for them, so she goes about getting her cup perfect. Since he's brought everything out she decides to just make use out of it all, even if it isn't always how she cares to take her tea.
When she brings the cup to her mouth and takes her first sip, she seems to visibly relax. Her shoulders lose their tension and a smile graces her face.]
Some of us are best described as reckless.
[Herself included.]
no subject
I imagine not many people would accept the word of a disembodied entity promising the changing of one's history in exchange for （ a vague gesture at their surroundings with the flick of one hand ） this.
（ it's okay, he is also reckless. he's just playing 5d chess about it. at all times. since he was like, seven years old. #justninjathings. ）
no subject
Either way, she's now invested in this place and the orbs. She guesses that makes her a bigger reckless idiot than she first thought.]
Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to underestimate the power of promising to fix someone's regret. Changing the past holds a pull over most anyone, I wager.
no subject
（ it's a sound of soft, mild neutrality. she isn't wrong — it's the one thing that draws them all together here, and the one thing that makes them all vulnerable and susceptible to manipulation. he sets his cup down and folds his hands neatly, his ring glinting in the low light. ）
No. But having things one wishes to change is not the same as accepting an offer to do so.
（ there would be many, many more individuals here with this mission in mind if it were that simple. ）
no subject
[She nods as she takes a sip from her tea. Her eyes are focused in on the ring on his hand, after catching it shining in the light. She's close to asking him about it, just to steer the topic away from things like regrets.]
But sometimes I think not everyone that shows up here fully understands what they're agreeing to. And others question their decision and wind up wanting to leave. Or maybe the orbs malfunction and send them away.
[There's more questions than answers when it comes to the deals they all make, and how some of them wind up disappearing during and after missions. Or some of them just up and vanish from the station like she did not long ago.]
no subject
That is possible. It seems too as if the majority of individuals here are human, despite a wide-ranging variety of worlds and cultures. Perhaps the human consciousness is easier to ensnare.
no subject
There's more planets out there than we could possibly keep track of. Humans aren't on most of them. The fact it's majority human here...something about it bothers me. I'm just not sure why at the moment.
[But she can't ignore that instinctive unsettled feeling she gets whenever she thinks on it too long, like they are now.]
no subject
These facilities are built to accommodate humans. Viveca-san seems inclined to take a human visage. It is possible that whoever built the Ximilia was human — or at least resembled them closely enough as to make little difference. In this case, it would make sense that the majority of us would appear likewise. Supporting sentient creatures with vastly different physiology may be beyond the resources here.
no subject
You're making a simple mistake.
[She takes another sip from her tea before continuing.]
Humans are prone to thinking everything out there looks like us. When really, we came about far later than other species that look remarkably similar. But the facilities here could've been built by a human. The odds aren't likely, but there's no way to know for sure. At least not yet.
no subject
I have no assumption about how closely other species' do or do not resemble us. I was speaking more generally — the oxygen blend of the artificial atmosphere, the doors and the sleeping and cooking facilities seem best suited to accommodate creatures with similar tolerances and dimensions to what I understand to be human.
（ he cocks his head to one side and, in a tone that's faintly teasing: ）
I would say that it may also be a mistake to assume humanity came about in the same manner in every possible universe as well.
（ he's perhaps a little out of practice at... banter, but the an Attempt has been made. ）
no subject
I've been to the birth of a universe. And seen the death of more than one planet. The only thing that's the same in every universe is that nothing is ever the same.
[Which is a riddle of a response, really. Particularly with the almost whimsical lilt in her voice.
She doesn't feel the need to round back to the point of his speaking in generalities. She agrees with him on many points about the station. But it still leaves more questions than she can find answers to, and it's best not to think on that too hard for now.]
no subject
Do you not think the fact that we can find common ground amongst ourselves is not an indication of the universality of some things? Or is our sample group merely too small to make larger determinations?
（ nothing he has encountered here has been surprising, as far as the nature of sentient things goes. people wish to speak, to bond, to protect one another. even though he is largely cynical, he understands that these are common behaviours in times that can afford to foster them. ）
no subject
I think that only time will tell what sort of determinations we can make about universality.
[Finally she speaks, relenting a bit.]
Get back to me after our next mission, and maybe I'll have a better idea for an answer.
no subject
（ he's. he's gonna take that literally, clara. sorry??? however, he has gotten through the majority of his tea, and he isn't exactly one to sit around chatting. so, he stands, tidies the kitchen neatly without seeming to pay her much mind. is it a lack of manners or just the social graces of a brick, we don't know.
once he's finished, he gives her a polite bow. ）
I should be returning to my training. Thank you for the company. Please feel free to call on me if you require additional assistance with your arm.
（ and, unless stopped, he's going to ollie out. sometimes it do be like that. ）