week 11, wednesday night

[socloverit]

[She's made a sort of routine of this—force the robots to haul her from her room late in the day, early in the night; find the places no one cares about this late when most of the last few residents of the ship are off to bed so she can be alone until the day comes and she can retreat back into her room while everyone else starts to stir. She's like a moth, drawn to the lights in the fuel reserve room again and again, but it's nothing especially complex. Clover just likes shiny things.

Tonight's no different; she's sat at the end of the bridge, scythe in one hand, datapad in her lap, but the volume for Furry Passing muted so she can hear what's going on around her.]

Comments

[erythristic]

[when the haze had cleared from her - strong talk and surrounding herself with garden plants and sewing herself back together emotionally - she had thought it over. surely, there were some parts she could not, would not apologize for. what Lady Alice had done for her couldn't be understood by anyone else, and she would bleed for her if it was needed. but there are other parts of it that a sensible person would undoubtedly see to.

in the end, it's thinking about Ann, and what she'd think about it all that propels her to go look for Clover. it might be dangerous to move around the ship on your own, but Grell is armed always, and she doesn't think anyone would be foolish enough to target her on a day that wasn't Thursday. it would be too noticeable with the company she keeps.

eventually, Cloverquest concludes with Grell stepping into the fuel reserve room. for a moment she does nothing but look at it - magic, she thinks, a beautiful thing that works in ways she can't comprehend - until she turns her gaze back down to the girl at the opposite end of the bridge.]

I was looking for you, Clover.

[with everything quiet, even normal voices can be heard clearly. and unlike the frost of the conference room, Grell sounds subdued. the voice someone has at the end of a very long day.]

[socloverit]

[Clover hears footsteps and turns to look over her shoulder, and she's already starting to stand when Grell speaks. It isn't that she thinks Grell will attack her, even though Clover's always ready for the possibility. Clover comes here when she wants to be alone (which, granted, is always), and right now, Grell is one of the people least welcome to disturb that.

At least Grell can take a hint; Clover stands the scythe next to her and props her other hand on her hip, but thoughts of her Alice and yesterday evening and Light, her outburst and Adrien and how much she doesn't sleep anymore, have already left her too tired to give it the fire she'd like.]

You found me. [But her voice is sharp and curt; Clover is ready to see this bridge burned so whatever Grell has to say better be important.]

[erythristic]

[her hands are in front of her to show that they carry no weapon, letting Clover have that advantage. distance and weaponry, and she has more than Grell does. (she's always armed, always, but she just keeps it out of sight so no one has to worry)

but Clover wants answers, and she wants them quickly. so she'll get them.]

I wanted to apologize for what happened.

[no overblown dramatics, or begging for forgiveness. this is quiet, and it's as genuine as Grell can be in this place.]

I shouldn't have said those things to you. I didn't have the right to put his name in my mouth. And I don't now.

[she'd lost that privilege, she knows. she lost it the moment she didn't stop herself. and she has said publicly several times that if she's wrong, she will admit it without holding back. she had to be prepared for it - this is one of those times, isn't it?]

I don't ask you to forgive me, that would presume far too much. But...I'm sorry.

[socloverit]

[Really, Clover isn't sure what she's expecting, but it's...not that. For a moment she freezes up, her grip on the scythe too tight, trying to gauge Grell's sincerity.]

...You shouldn't have. You didn't and you don't.

[But—her brother is dead and one of her best friends is dead and the other still is at risk on the Nuwa and she keeps losing people here and she has listened to the audio files sent to her Furry Passing inbox last night again and again and again like she expects to lose them too. She's tired, she's so tired, and she wants the words to sound vicious but she doesn't have it in her to be angry anymore, not right now.]

Noted.

[It isn't forgiveness, and Clover won't give it to her, especially when she doesn't think it's the only thing Grell has to apologize for. But she won't apologize, either. Arumat and Machias were her friends, too, and as far as she's concerned, nothing she said about the AI's hand in their deaths was wrong. But her grip on the scythe eases up and lowers, almost lazy and casual, hand falling from her hip, and instead of sharp edges and spite Clover is just slumped and sullen.]

[erythristic]

[it's as much as she could ever hope for. she leans against one of the railings, quiet for a moment, absorbing the orb's light. it's the closest thing they have in this place to the sun, and maybe that's what's making her sentimental, or it's the sleep schedule that means she's constantly tired in her bones, or just how one was never acutely aware of how much loneliness sinks into them until they are given the briefest respite from it.

maybe she wants an admission to convince Clover how seriously she's taking this. maybe she wants Clover to understand, someone to. maybe she only wants to say it to keep herself from falling apart entirely.]

...the woman on the Nuwa. She deserves a better person to see than me, someone who'd be worth it. She deserves to be resting instead of yanked from her afterlife to a place like this.

But, even so...is it foolish, to hope she survives?

[socloverit]

[She doesn't like that Grell is here making herself comfortable on the railing, making conversation or trying to explain herself or—or whatever it is that she's doing. But when Clover answers, she doesn't sound dismissive despite her words.]

I dunno. [Her answer is solemn instead, and she thinks maybe there's no good way to convey as much if she leaves it like that, so Clover continues.] I mean, I dunno why you're asking me. It sounds like common sense that if you care about someone, you want them to live.

[She draws her arms in, unable to fold them like she tends to without putting down the scythe, but her free hand grips her opposite arm instead.]

If there's anything else to it, it doesn't have anything to do with me.

[It isn't dismissal—it's that Clover can't see her place in this, can't see the point in asking her opinion or what Grell wants from it.]