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
there's no chance here. not when he'd already lost everything long ago, not when he doesn't know the first thing about being happy. even here, when he's given a chance to make a change, he's decided that his past is too fucked up to even touch, that it's much more worth giving whatever little he has to saving someone else, someone more deserving — someone like clara.
but then her fingers graze to his cheek, a soft touch that slides to his nose, his lips. the latter parts almost wanting to press a kiss to them, exhaling the heat of his breath before she redirects her touch to his neck. his eyes peer up to her then, the realization lingering through this mind of what he's come to want, of the selfish inkling that's threatening to burst in his chest.
all it takes is a touch and he can feel her peeling at his skin, layer by layer, like he can't hide from it, like her gaze can see past every pore and he swallows, his fingers back on her hip, holding her gently, wanting to hold her closer. ]
When you look in my eyes — [ his voice is quiet, a hushed whisper. ] What do you see?
[ he's asked someone before, the answer reminding him that he's in the wrong skin, the wrong life, that he'll have to hand it all back, that everything he does is in exchange for someone else. but right now, the only answer he cares to hear is hers. ]
no subject
I see a boy that lost everything so young. One that's incredibly brave. And stronger than he seems. And is kinder than he or anyone else believes.
[It's easy to see the boy she had seen in his dream. His eyes aren't physically the same, obviously. But they're still exactly the same to her.]
And don't you dare tell me I couldn't possibly still see him in you, Takeshi Kovacs. You can change your face, change your body. Get a different voice. But you can't hide who you are beneath all that. Not from me. I see you.
[His soul, she means. She sees the part of him that really matters. The part of him that draws her in with its light, no matter how dim he thinks it may be glowing.]
There's darkness there. But I can still find my way to you even through it. And I'd find my way and know it was you no matter what eyes you end up with.
[Because they may change. Everything changes. But this here, whatever they have, it doesn't have to. Not unless they both want it.]
no subject
he should really stop her from looking in to him so closely, but he knows it's too late. she'd seen a peek at his demons in those dreams at the castle, knows so much of the weight that he carries, and even despite everything he still has yet to tell her — quell, especially — it's almost like she doesn't even need to know. because her words prick at him beneath his skin, saying all the things she shouldn't say but that he's almost been so longing to hear. ]
How do you see me? [ he asks quietly, although the question remains rhetorical, almost like he's just asking out loud from uncertainty, like he isn't sure how it is that she's been able to see him so closely, or more importantly — why would she want to?
despite the ask, he won't give her a chance to answer, because his own fingers are rising now, brushing light against her lips, like this time he's the one focused on looking her over. with his fingers sliding to her chin, he gently coaxes her closer, enough for him to lean up with his lips close to hers.
without kissing her immediately, he lets their noses brush, exhaling deeply, his breath meant to mingle with hers, steady and warm. how could clara oswald be dead? how could she be anything but alive when he feels her like this, when he's the one who's been dead nearly two hundred and fifty years and yet she's making his heart beat again.
he takes his time before he finally presses his mouth firmly to hers, slow in the initial contact before he brings an arm around her back to tuck her closer to his body, kissing her with fervor of the unspoken words he can't bring himself to say. ]
no subject
She isn't passive but yields to him this time, letting him be the one in control. Her body is tucked in close, so close that he surely can feel the way her heart is racing. The sound of it thunders in her ears, but he keeps her centered. Her entire universe is him, on this bed, in this tiny room. A groan of approval catches in her throat and dies off as she shifts to climb upward, resting on her knees as she straddles his legs.
It's so easy to get lost in him, to be caught up in these stolen moments together. It's with kiss swollen lips and heavy breath that she breaks away. Her head turns, nose brushing against his. Their warm breath mingles, Clara's injured hand slipping up to lightly touch at his cheek once more. As her thumb grazes against the edge of his lips she just rests there for a moment.
He's warm and solid against her, and has her heart beating fast. She can feel the way her chest rapidly rises and falls in time with his. As her eyes close, she thanks her lucky stars that she's alive and has a second chance. And that this is where it's led her.]
I'll always see you, Tak. [She whispers to him, her nose bumping against his. It's a promise. One that she can make, even if his words fail him.]
no subject
this is how it had all started too, with a spontaneous kiss, with hunger lips seeking distraction and taste, but it feels different than it had been when she'd first kissed him in his room, when they shied away from truths that she had yet to fully share with him. she knows them now, and even more surprisingly, is that she knows things about him he never expected to say, things he hadn't even realized he had hoped to keep shielding away from her.
but she sees him, right past elias ryker's sleeve, right past eyes not his own, to see the takeshi kovacs within — the boy inside the man.
he's breathless, wanting her still as she climbs up to press closer to him, his palms grazing over her hips, rounding back to wrap around her back, sliding his touch up across her spine. when she draws back, he doesn't move, remaining close even as his breath shakes with the gentle touch she presents at his cheek.
what she says, he doesn't realize how much he needs those words until they're out there, until he breathes in her voice saying them right to him. his lips press to her cheek, shifting to kiss the other, before he moves to her nose, up and up to her brow, gentle and lingering with each peck. each one voicing the silence of his appreciation.
reeling back, he gets another look at her, a longer stare of those eyes just entranced by her, reaching up with his fingers to brush back her hair before he comes in again for her mouth, hungry and wanting. ]
no subject
A groan catches in her throat as she loses herself in him, a heat and desperation to her kiss that echoes his need for her. She always wants him, finds herself craving him when she least expects it. It's like he's taken root within her, the connection steadily and surely growing as he makes her feel like she's made of sunlight.
This isn't just sex, she knows. It's fueled by emotion and this consuming connection they share. In the back of her mind, she realizes this could be dangerous. They're both diving into this without looking back, not thinking of the consequences. When they're this close and he can make her feel this alive, consequences can be damned.]
We should -
[She manages to get out the words, her lips still against his. The hand on her broken arm touches lightly at his chest, just so she can check and make sure if she's getting his heart racing as well as he's doing with hers. Even the anticipation alone is enough to leave her wanting.]
My bed.
[If they're going to keep going, they should probably relocate over to her side of the room.]
no subject
when he finally nods, he draws back, peering down at her broken arm against his chest. taking her other arm, he lifts it to wrap around his neck, urging it to hold tight before he reaches his palms beneath her thighs, lifting her up as he stands on his feet. with his support and strength, she won't need to us both arms to hold on, nothing but one just to keep herself from tilting back. it isn't a far walk anyhow, just a short walk to the other side of the room, and far from the first time he's lifted her.
it's similar only to that first time with how he carries her, with how the intentions of what they plan to do is obvious; everything else feels like they're miles ahead from where they were then, his emotions pulsing with a different kind of frantic beat for her, like he knows there isn't anyone on this station he'd rather be with right now than with her. ]