open | your name is on a lot of quotes in this book

[nineteenfortyfive]

Who: Claire Fraser (nineteenfortyfive) & you
What: May things, lots of moping Claire... forgive me.
When: May
Where: Olympia
Warning(s): General Outlander warnings.



I. THE MARKET

[Her marriage is in an unpleasant place and she doesn't know how to fix it. Percy is in stasis. Ramsay is back. Theon was, for a brief moment, back in stasis as well, but only returned in a worse state than he was. It's been a lot to contend with on top of being so recently tortured (her her hands remain in gloves as her nails grow back, the last of the damage left), and one afternoon as Claire's in the market, standing before a fruit stand, it all catches up to her.

For someone who urges others to confide in someone, anyone, often herself, she doesn't follow her own advice.

She pushes other shoppers out of the way as she suddenly finds it hard to breathe, hard to keep her eyes from welling with tears, and if she slams into anyone there's no apology as she stumbles out and away.

She stops when she comes to a fountain, gasping and sobbing, a hand clutching at her neck as if there's something suffocating her, chest heaving rapidly. No, nothing physical, just an overwhelming sense of sadness. A sadness that turns into more of a frustrated panic as she tries to calm herself, leaning over the water.]

II. THE TRAIN/FLONA COVE

[Percy did have an affinity for water.

Claire knows she can't watch over Theon 24/7. He needs to stand on his own, and he can, and so Claire takes some hours for herself and heads to the beach. She's always enjoyed train rides. Perhaps she's even in the mood for conversation with whoever happens to sit by her.

At the beach, instead of collapsing on the sand and considering letting the waves wash her away, she takes a stroll, skirts tied up over her knees so she can walk in the small waves without getting drenched.

Now and then she stops to pick up a shell. By the end of it, she's got a hefty collection held in her skirt, and dumps her prizes where she's left her shoes.

Well. Now what to do with them?]

III. STASIS

[She spends more time here than she'd ever admit. She makes it sound like her visits are brief. They're not. On leave from the Sanctuary, she's had a lot of time to simply be.

Today, she stands before her daughter's pod. What she'd give to be able to touch her red hair, or at least feel her skin, make sure it's warm. All she can so is press her hands against the glass.]

Sometimes I think you're luckier, in there. Though you'd probably throw a fit at me saying that. I know you'd rather be here, too. I know.

[[ooc: pls choose your flavor of sad mom, or hit me with a wildcard! Oooooor send me a PM if you'd like me to whip up a starter, and I'd be happy to.]]

Comments

MAXIMUS

[nineteenfortyfive]

[She imagines he's not the most pleased at her inviting herself to stay.

So, she tries to make peace. They didn't get off on the right foot, and anything since has been curt, but she thinks that for everyone's sake they need to try a little more. And so, once Theon has his own meal, she makes something that actually requires chewing for herself, and some extra for Max.

Stepping over to his bedroom, she knocks on the door.]

Max? If you're hungry, I made some food.

[ininhuman]

[ No, he's not pleased at all. He's too distrustful a person, too much about control to be fine with someone stepping into a place that is his own. Claire's presence throws his routine out of order and it makes him anxious.

He keeps to himself more than before. He spends more time with his plants, grooming them and making his trades, finding people to carry him rarities from Wyver. At home, when he speaks to Theon, it's in quiet tones and often away from Claire or when she's out. Maximus goes little out of his way to acknowledge her presence - but he is very, very keenly aware of it. ]

Congratulations.

[ He huffs out a breath from his nose and looks at the door. Right, he thinks. What harm can she do? It's not as if she's trying to poison him. He opens the door and meets her, face to face. ]

You didn't have to go through the trouble for me.

SANSA

[nineteenfortyfive]

[A brief stop home has Claire updating Sansa, talking as she plucks some bottles out of the tiny apothecary she's been growing in the kitchen. She reads the labels, her handwriting on each one, before placing them into her medicine box.]

He's doing as well as can be expected, given the horrors he must have experienced. I believe, in time, he can be much better. Live a decent life. It's just going to take persistence... and no one else getting their bloody hands on him.

[Ramsay. She means Ramsay. The next bottle clinks against the others as she sets it in the box with a little more force than necessary.]

It'd be so much easier if he'd just move back in.

[unprays]

[ she won't admit as much, but she's been anxiously waiting for Claire for any news, good or bad, her nails digging half-moons into her palms. when Claire finally comes back, Sansa clings to her every word, tries to feel some semblance of hope instead of the cold, sharp anger that is slowly frosting over her lungs, her throat.

(but Claire seems to feel some of that, too, judging by her words.) ]

... I remember what he was like, in Winterfell. When I first came there. It wasn't — it wasn't like this, but... it was bad, then, too. It took Myranda trying to kill me for him to start remembering who he was. Is.

[ she sighs. ] But Jon tells me he got better. Not... much, but a little. So there's hope. There has to be.

[ finally, she moves her gaze away from her clenched hands, and looks at Claire. ] It'll be nothing short of a miracle, to get him to agree to that.

RUMLOW

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Claire might not be the strongest, quickest, or most graceful of women, but she's a determined learner. A secretive one, too. As promised, she's not uttered a word about her meetings with Rumlow. There's been progress to be sure, but she's clearly distracted today.]

Say... someone comes at me with a knife. [A rather common scenario.] What do I do so that I'm not taking a blade to the gut or throat?

[ukase]

[Rumlow had no problem meeting someone he had once worked for in private to teach her a thing or two about weapons. She was quick and secretive, both aspects that made her worthwhile teaching. Plus, she was more than willing to deliver a tongue-lashing to him if he toed any of the lines he otherwise would run over with anyone else.

He balanced his knife in hand and stepped in front of her. He performed a slashing motion.] If they come at you like this, you drop back and drop down. Hit them in key areas like the genitals. [He performed a quick and neat forward stabbing motion.] Like this, you move to one side or the other and make a grab for the wrist. Control the wrist, you control the knife. However, you can force them to drop the knife if you dig your fingers into the tendons like you mean to destroy them.

[And then he shrugged.] And if you have to take a knife, take one to the extremities. Sacrifice your off hand, the back of your arm, even your back if you must. Protect the vitals.

JAMIE

[nineteenfortyfive]

[In a terrible way, she knows Theon is an excuse. After telling Jamie about Willie, about Bree, and all that meant, things have been strained. She could have chosen better, kinder words. Calling your husband a ghost that's been haunting you isn't the nicest thing to say. But she'd been emotional, upset, and so out came the words.

Nothing to do about that now but try and make amends. Try to make this work. She can't do that when she's not with him.

She comes home to grab a pair of gloves whose owner has long been in stasis, and after looking down at them for some time, she knows she can't leave without saying some things. So, she steps into the room with Jamie, taking a breath before speaking.]

The problem isn't you. It's me, and I'm sorry. I know I've made you feel like... like you are a ghost. You're not. You're my husband, and I know this situation isn't ideal, but... truth be told, it's never been ideal with us. We both know that.

[She was forced to marry a man with a price on his head. Forced to marry when she was already wed. When has it ever been easy?]

It's not your fault. I've always known that.

[stripebacked]

[ He finds the most difficult thing is that he doesn't feel like he has a leg to stand on. He doesn't believe he can properly be angry with her. Is he allowed? After everything he doesn't think he could really tell her not to go take care of the boy. He needs her likely. Given what she's told him about how stubborn he is he doesn't doubt that he's likely not going to let just anyone look after him. He would have liked to have had time with her on his birthday, but it wasn't her fault. She was needed elsewhere. Truly needed.

When she returns he's not sure why. He doesn't imagine she'll stay for very long. Not when she's needed. Maybe they'll fix what's sprung up between them or maybe it'll remain like this until he goes back into stasis to gather whatever memories he hasn't yet. To push him forward into a future where he doesn't get to be a father. Not once. Nor does he get to really be a husband for the next twenty years. A shell he assumes.

Her voice surprises him, but he doesn't let that show. He remains quiet. He's reading or attempting to. Really the last couple of days he's done more reading than drinking. But he has no drink yet. Just silence.

She is right. It's never been ideal. Certainly not for Claire. She was forced into all of this. Pushed by Dougal and circumstance. It's a wonder she didn't wind up hating him with every fiber of her being. He certainly wouldn't blame her. Yet it went another way. ]

Never ideal, but we've always found our way. Together. Though now it's as if ye dinnae want us t' find a way.

PRIOR

[nineteenfortyfive]

How's wine today? I feel like we could do with a good red. Or at least what passes as one for this place.

[Whisky to wine? Something must be wrong. Claire takes her usual seat, and without waiting for any sort of confirmation, begins to pour two glasses.]

I don't know about you, but I've had one hell of a week.

Stasis

[song_of_ice]

[After seeing Theon and how gruesome his appearance had become (the evidence of Ramsay's brutality), it was difficult for Jon not to consider Claire and how she might be responding to this. It was something Jon was used to, as he had seen Theon at Dragonstone, but this would be a shock for someone who cared for him as deeply as Claire cared for Theon.

It didn't take long to track her down. He only needed to consider what someone would do in this situation. The easiest answer was to retreat to the one place they could see their loved ones, the people that made them feel safe.

He was careful in his approach, not wanting to eavesdrop or surprise her. He cleared his throat and waited for her to turn to look at him.]

Are you all right?

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Claire wishes it was a new sight for her. She's seen men maimed, tortured, and while Theon's is to a heartbreaking degree, it only hurts her so much because she'd come to care for him much like she's come to care for Jon. A young man lacking something, a parent, that sort of acceptance, and her always with room to spare for one more boy. So, she's pleased to see Jon, turning around and mustering up a smile the fools no one.

If she was all right, she wouldn't be here.]

I've been better. [It was rough, learning Theon was gone, but there had been a relief with it. He was so unhappy, so conflicted. Now, he's worse.]

You've seen him?

[She knows he has.]

market!! FLEXES

[ghettobatman]

[ for be it for george murdock to ever turn his back on a person who needs help -- let alone claire, who's saved his life and helped him out on more than one occasion. as she crumples to the ground, within seconds the blind man has found his way over to her side, a hand on her shoulder. how did he do that so fast? it's a mystery. ]

Claire. It's alright --- try to take a few deep breaths.

[ he's kneeling by her, speaking gently and waving off curious onlookers (though he's more just assuming they're there and waving in a general direction --- he's blind it's the thought that counts, probably.) ]

GEORGIE BOY

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Strange for her to be on this end of it all. Claire's only vaguely aware of the man beside her, even with the hand on her shoulder, but the words make sense. Breathing--she has to breathe, but it's so difficult with the tears blinding her and the knot in her throat.

It's funny how grief can manifest as a physical hurt.

It hurts a hell of a lot, now, and she sobs even as she seems to try and breathe a little easier, hand reaching out to grab his arm.]

II

[doomedtheworld]

[It's her second time seeing this beach, her second time seeing a beach at all really. And under much different circumstances than the last time she'd visited. Briefly, her eyes stray in the direction of the rocks surrounding the fight pit, where she'd spent her first night here... and where somebody else had spent his last.

But now she's nowhere near there, instead just sitting on the beach. She'd gotten herself some clothes that match the style of Olympia, a simple blouse and a skirt. She's not quite going anywhere near the water though, just sitting back to watch the ocean when she catches sight of the woman walking through the water. Vin watches for awhile curiously as she stops now and then to collect something or other from the waves. For awhile, she stays quiet until the woman passes close by enough and she can't contain her curiosity.]

What are you doing?

[nineteenfortyfive]

[That is actually a very good question. Claire looks surprised by it, and then, suddenly, she laughs. It feels like ages since she last chuckled.]

I... have no idea. Collecting shells, I suppose.

[She shakes the sizable collection gathered in her skirts, the shells tinkling against one another.]

I don't know what else to do down here.

i

[seeingscarlet]

[Wanda knows a panic attack when she sees one, even if she doesn't recognize the woman who just shoved her aside. It's easy enough to follow in her wake, but wary of startling her, Wanda carefully lays a light hand on her shoulder.]

Try to breathe. You're going to be all right.

[nineteenfortyfive]

[She's had her share of panic attacks before, being tossed from one war into another, but this is different. Heavier, somehow. It always is, when it's about the people you love. Blindly, Claire reaches out to put an arm on whoever is touching her, trying to steady herself.]

I need--[To try and breathe, like she said, or to sit. Probably sit.]

[dorzalta]

Hard to believe it's been months since she last set foot in Olympia. The city seems... lighter, thanks to the change in weather and the formation of the council. She wears the ring from Wyver on a chain around her neck, the only real indication that she is other in this city she'd once briefly lived in. The colors she wears--well, the rich blue fabric, embroidered in a way to appear like dragon scales is homage to her time in Essos, when travel and conquering were her constant companions. It's not so different in this world.

But neither are on her mind as she walks the streets of Olympia. Having broken off from the caravan, she left Jon to find his sister. As eager as she is to see Sansa, that would come later. There's someone else she wished to see. A woman she shares much in common with, and one who must be feeling very...

Well, it's difficult to think about Percy in stasis. Even harder to consider Theon there, as well. So she doesn't. She pushes forward, past vaguely familiar buildings until she reaches the Stark-Fraiser house.

And then she knocks.

[nineteenfortyfive]

Claire Fraser is tired.

She's more tired than she can remember being, even after being kidnapped and tortured. She supposes that says something, but she's too worn to delve into it too much. I can bear pain myself, but I could not bear yours, Jamie once said. It's always resonated with her. Her own pain was manageable. Theon's? There's only so much she can do, and to see him suffer these days has been a consistent weight on her heart. It's a weight that makes every step heavier, every breath harder to catch, and so when she hears someone at the door she considers pretending she's not home.

But it could be someone that needs her, and she's not a woman to abandon her duties as a friend or as a healer. So, she pushes herself up from the sofa, and scrubs a hand through her loose curls before opening the door.

"Oh! Hello," Claire finds herself saying with a laugh, sincerely surprised to see Daenerys at her doorstep. "What are you doing here, Daenerys?"

stasis

[almaredemptoris]

[Jean Valjean passes more time in the company of the catatonic above than in the company of anyone awakened below. It is less a conscious choice and more a necessity that tugs at the core of his being: such is the violence with which he misses Cosette. For six years she has been the light that keeps warm his soul, but how dim the light seems when she is not at his side. His days are too quiet, his meals and walks too solitary. Put simply, at sixty years of age he has learned loneliness for the first time in his life. He is learning too the faces of those who line the route to the pod containing his daughter. These serene but piteous visages find their way into his prayers each evening. Sometimes he finds another living soul among the rows of the sleeping, and they are like mourners come to a cemetery, such as now when he sees a familiar figure up ahead. Jean Valjean slows in his step as he catches the end of Claire's lament. He does not wish to intrude on so private a moment, but if he must walk by then she would realize soon enough that she has company. And so, he announces his presence with a polite greeting.] Madame Fraser, hello. I hope you have been well since last we spoke.

[nineteenfortyfive]

[There's some expectation that mourning here is not entirely private. It's almost a labyrinth with all the stasis pods, but it's always easy to find someone awake, looking in on their loved ones. So, Claire isn't too surprised, and smiles politely at the familiar face.]

Hello. [Has she been well? Not at all, though that's a lot to dump on an acquaintance. Alcohol would be required.] I have been. Yourself, Fauchelevent?

ii

[pebblestone]

[ There are no beaches in Ylisse, at least not within easy riding distance of Ylisstol, and while Frederick has no particular feelings about beaches, positive or negative or otherwise, it would be a disservice to his sleeping lord and lady if he did not at the very least explore the area and make note of what it had to offer.

So he hops aboard the train, rides it all the way to Flona Cave before taking his exit, and proceeds to bumble down to the beach until he can get a good look at the sea. There's a lot else to see: seagulls, soaring through the skies as well as guzzling down stray bits of food here and there, children shrieking in delight as they race through the water, a woman with a pile of shells spilled all around her.

How odd. He blinks, frowning slightly because that's the only expression he knows how to make. ]

That's quite a number of shells you've collected there. [ No judgement in his voice, only mild curiosity. ] Were you planning on stringing them together to make a necklace?

[ Or....many necklaces, given the sheer quantity of shell at her disposal. ]

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Claire looks up from her spot where she's plopped down on the sand, shielding her eyes against the sun. There's nothing in mind for these shells, but he's rather helpful in suggesting that idea. She'll take it.]

I might. I could use a new hobby. [And one lends into another. She has a lot of needles and a lot of thread.] I got a little carried away, I'm afraid. Find one that looks nice, and then there happens to be a second that's pretty, and so on and so forth...

[Until you're probably endangering some sort of creature by disturbing its habitat.]

Feel free to take some, if you're so inclined to make your own necklaces.

[It's a joke. He doesn't look the sort.]

W I L D C A R D

[veneries]

[The Olympian markets are busy, but Ramsay enjoys the bustle and life around him. He enjoys picking out people to befriend, mostly young women out doing the shopping. He enjoys the idea that the effort will pay back one day, in entertaining ways.

Today he feels lucky- spotting a familiar face carrying some things away from the market. He hurries to catch her, falling into step.]

Why don't I carry that for you? [His tone is mocking, even if his grin is generally innocent. (Alison trotts along at his heels, ignoring Claire.]

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Spending a few fleeting moments with Maximus hasn't done a thing to prepare her for an unexpected encounter with Ramsay. Of course she would run into the bastard while picking up some things for Theon. Of fucking course. So much for heading back that way, and she's not about to steer him towards the Stark-Fraser house, and so Claire decides then and there that they're going to be walking in circles around the market. Less likely to get stabbed in public, and maybe if she is there will be someone heroic around to pound Ramsay into the ground.

Until then--she actually hands over the cloth bag she's been carrying. Nothing of value in there but food.

Food that she can easily mash for a mouth with shards of broken teeth, thanks to Ramsay. Possibly not this Ramsay, she realizes, but she can't really bring herself to care enough to differentiate.

Claire's jaw tightens as she reels in that urge to lunge at him. He frightened her before, but now she can feel a chill run down her spine as her heart beats uncomfortably fast.]

Generous of you.