entrancelogs | I'm trying not to sleep

Entry tags:

I'm trying not to sleep

Who: Clara & anyone! (totally open)
Where: Around the mansion
When: The week after the shadow event
Rating: TBA
Summary: When you have a terrible shadow event, it's time to stay busy to forget about it
The Story: Clara is beyond humiliated.

She's lost a great deal of her pride, she's fractured almost every single relationship she's formed in her time here, and she's at a loss as to what she needs to do to make herself feel better. So the best solution in her mind is simply not to think about it and stay busy. She can't act like any of the things her shadow said never happened, of course, but she doesn't have to linger on it. There's too much hurt there for her, and it's best to just build up some walls on the inside and close it off and away. And sleep? Forget about it, there's way too much time to have thoughts loiter on everything that went wrong, or have pesky dreams slip in, and that's definitely not something she wants to have happen.

On Tuesday, she has plans with both Luke and Owen, and despite not being up to her usual spirited nature she's grateful for the chance to interact with the both of them without shadows present.

On Wednesday, she thinks she has self-defense lessons but also spends a good portion of the day sprawled out in the sun at the beach. She's not usually a beach dweller and she doesn't usually sunbathe, but she thinks it's the perfect place to read through some Jules Verne. Journey to the Center of the Earth was a childhood favorite, and it makes her feel safe and nostalgic so she's grateful that the library has a copy on hand just waiting for her.

On Thursday, she spends her time out in the gardens, working on both drawing and painting. Her lessons with Whale have left her eager to continue practicing, working on a drawing of white roses which she has every intention of painting red by the end of the day. If someone happens across her, she's more than likely to grab hold of them and convince them to pose for her so she can attempt a more complicated subject.

Friday finds Clara holed up in the library, a stack of books on space piled up around her. She's sitting cross legged on the floor, and the pile of books towers above her, constantly wobbling as if they're about to topple at any given second. There's fiction, non-fiction, and even some picture books at her side. She started the day out reading for research but now has an old, worn copy of The Little Prince in hand. It brings back memories of her mother, and those are always good to hold onto when she's having a difficult time.

The rest of the weekend is spent either at the swimming pool or her room. The pool she's never really used before, so it's nice to just float around and stare up at nothing in particular. It's a funny feeling, just aimlessly floating, doing nothing for hours on end. She almost feels guilty for it, but it's a nice break from being cooped up in the library. When she's in her room she's working on painting her walls, trying to complete constellations for the night sky she's painted across every single wall. She's not much of an artist, but this has given her something to do in her time here, and the project is almost complete. There's even a little TARDIS painted right up above her bed.

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She's surprised to see him, and even more shocked that he's actually speaking to her. So she peers up at him over the book with wide eyes, trying to sort out his motivation for doing this. But then again, it's an apology, does there have to be a motivation for that? When she smiles, it's something cautious and guarded, and it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"You didn't do anything wrong." She eventually insists, glancing back down at her book briefly before closing it and sitting it down on her lap.

"You've read this?" Pleased by that fact, there's slight warmth to her smile now, and a soft chuckle to accompany it. "I should be the one apologizing, I think. My shadow wasn't exactly easy to deal with." And she is sorry that he had to deal with it at all, especially in the way that he had.

Back to square one, then. D'Artagnan's figured as much. He doesn't really have a motivation, other than he feels like a jerk and he'd like that feeling to go away sometime soon. He takes a seat in the chair across from her, pushing some books to the side.

"I did enough," he says, begin generally vague about it all. Seems appropriate. "No one's shadow was easy to deal with. Did you encounter Buckingham's?" He shudders with the memories. Too many mental images. Too many crude jokes. On the plus side, he'll probably laugh every time he sees Buckingham from now on.

Clara tenses up at the mention of that particular shadow, and looks entirely freaked out. "I did run into his shadow, yes." Remembering the shadow gives her a chill and she wrinkles up her nose, shaking her head. She's glad the shadows are gone, because no, she doesn't want a repeat performance of anyone's she ran into. Especially her own.

"I'm glad the actual duke is decent to be around and kind. And not out to get me to...ride him." That last part is said in a whisper, her hand brought up to muffle the words.

She realizes then that D'Artagnan also just shuddered, so she's very curious if the same thing might have happened to him too. She can't bring herself to ask, though, she's afraid she'll dissolve into a fit of laughter right in front of his face.

D'Artagnan frowns as her demeanor changes. He hadn't intended to bring up bad memories. Though he has to snort at the thought of the real Buckingham being anywhere near decent. But there's no need to discuss that. He'll give the girl her impressions. He's ruined enough things between them lately as it is.

"Yes, I've had bad luck with his shadow in the past, seems this time was no different," he says, giving her a grin. It fades, though, into an awkward sort of silence.

His smile pulls one out of her, something unguarded in the moment. But as the silence settles between then, it quickly evaporates and she's left looking unsure of what she's doing. Her fingers drum against the edge of the table as she sits in awkward silence, and her mind races for something to say.

"So," She stops her drumming as she looks over at him.

"What happened, it wasn't your fault. You had something whispering in your ear. And my shadow was right, I should've been more open from the start. Even if I wasn't sure what you thought or wanted."

Her hands press together, almost as if she's praying for her blurted words to go over well with him, and for a repeat performance from the previous weekend not to happen.

D'Artagnan hasn't felt like this since Constance, and even then it'd been a diluted version of this. The up and down and constantly wanting to kiss her but not knowing if it was okay and it's just all very stressful, liking a girl. And with the added stress of his shadow, well, it's no surprise that it all exploded like it did.

He looks at her, and reaches across the table to put a hand on top of hers, lightly. She can pull away if she wants. He'll understand. "That doesn't make it your fault either. I could have handled all of it better than I did." And not made you cry. "So I'm sorry for that, at least."

Her smile grows to it's usual warmth and intensity as he reaches out to touch her hand, and she turns her own so their palms are touching. "We can both be sorry, then. But do you, though? Want..." And of course, they're right in the middle of the library, which isn't exactly the best place to discuss personal matters.

"Okay, I dunno what I'm trying to ask. I'll be honest and say I have no idea what I'm doing. Right now, or in general."

Ah, no, the library really isn't ideal for this sort of conversation, but D'Artagnan's hit on women in the middle of fighting forty men, so he supposes he'll take what privacy he can get. He lets his hand settle on top of hers and then wrap around it, smiling at the warmth.

"Clara, I'll be honest and say that I'd like to do any number of things with you." Or to you, but that's beside the point. He adds, in a smaller voice, "But I'm not sure what I'm doing either."

Don't make too much fun of him. He's very delicate, you know.

Honest is good. She likes honest, she's usually so good at being blunt and honest. But the past few weeks here, she hasn't been all that great at it. She's gotten caught up in things, in feelings, and now she's gotten herself into a situation that she doesn't quite know how to handle because she's never let herself fancy two men at the same time. It's not fair to either of them, or to her, and she's ashamed of herself for all of it.

"The thing is, I'm not the kind of girl that gets into situations like this. I never have before. I mean, I've been with someone before, but I've never had two people interested at once. It's all very new."

She glances down, looking as ashamed and confused as she's currently feeling. She knows that this is going to eventually dissolve into a situation where she needs to follow her heart and not her mind, and go with that. She feels her heart thumping in her ears, and realizes that it's racing. She's getting worked up over something that he might find laughable now that there's no shadow whispering in his ear.

D'Artagnan smiles at her, but his heart's not in it. It's a smile you give someone when you're all out of ideas. He takes his hand back and taps on the table, lightly. The thing is, just because his shadow's gone doesn't mean the thoughts are. Sure, the actual physical shadow whispering them into his ear made them that more prominent, but it's not as if they disappeared with their yellow-eyed friend.

Usually, how he'd react would be to brush it off, make an arrogant comment and then maybe challenge whoever he's in competition with to a duel. But he doesn't want to fight in a duel (that's a first), especially if there's no guarantee he'll get the girl anyway. He clears his throat.

"Well, I can't imagine my way of solving things would be ideal, so I suppose we'll have to figure something else out."

With his hand taken away, she stares down at her own, frowning at it. Her fingers curl in against her palm, and she retracts the hand back to her chest, clutching it there. She doesn't hold it against him though, she would do the same thing if she was in his shoes. So she forces herself to look up, to make eye contact with him.

"I need to figure this out. And I will. Soon." It's a promise, one that she feels uncomfortable making. But she knows that she needs to.

"But I want you to know, that all the time we've spent together has been perfect. It wasn't a game, not to me."

He gives her another tight smile. "You can take whatever time you need, I'm not going anywhere," he says, shrugging. Its true; this place won't let him leave, and it's not as if his feelings are fleeting. Well, hopefully they aren't. They don't feel fleeting, at least. But that's another issue for another time.

D'Artagnan nods, unable to do or to say anything else. He doesn't know what to say. It's not as if he's good at this sort of thing. He's the one who was fully prepared to choose his country over the girl he loved.

She isn't sure what to say either, she's caught somewhere between upset and embarrassment. "You might. Or I might. We don't know what's going to happen." She pushes to stand up, her hands grip hold of the edge of the table. Her knuckles turn white as she thinks it over, trying to figure out something else to say.

"We should go on a walk." It's not a question, it's a decision. They can't keep having this conversation inside the library, anyone could be lurking and listening.

D'Artagnan jerks back when she stands, caught off guard. "I-- All right, we could do that," he says slowly, standing to join her. She didn't make it sound like much of a suggestion, but he's not going to argue with her and disrupt the fragile peace they have.

"Where to, then?"

"Outside." She quickly decides, and grabs hold of her little prince book to shove it into her red satchel. She grabs hold of her bag and secures it before leading the way out, motioning with a sweep of her head for him to follow. She waits until they're out and in the halls before speaking, trying her best to make things feel the same as they used to.

"I've been practicing with my sword." She admits, a way to make conversation and talk about a common interest. "It's still a work in progress, but I think I'm improving."

"All right." He feels a bit as though they're going on some sort of secret mission, but that definitely can't be the case. He follows her out, staying silent until she speaks again. He laughs at her admission. Not in a mean way. More surprised than anything else.

"Have you? I'll have to test you one day," he says, smiling, and oh, it does feel good to smile with her again.

"That's what I'm counting on." She grins, knowing that she just might have a few tricks up her sleeve that surprise him. She picked up a book in the library on technique with a sword, and that combined with his lessons have ensured that she's far from hopeless. In fact, with enough work, she just might stand a chance of being actually decent.

She takes the lead and heads downstairs and out the front doors in a rush, excited to get out into the open air and walk the gardens. "You have to promise not to be offended if I pass your test with flying colors, though."

He wouldn't be entirely surprised if she turned out to be adept at it. It's not difficult, really, if you have any amount of grace or coordination, and you always improve with practice. He laughs, puts a hand to his chest.

"I'll try, but I can't promise anything." Not that he'd feel anything except proud if she did well. He taught her, after all.

"Have you gotten the chance to go riding yet?"

At his laugh, she can't help but grin wildly. It's nice, to fall back into this rhythm, to not feel uncertain in the moment. "I've only been riding with the duke. Buckingham, that is. It feels like it was so long ago." It's funny to her how time moves here in the mansion, everything's starting to blur together and make it difficult to tell just how long ago something really happened.

She turns her bright smile in his direction, both hands reaching up to grab hold of his upper arm as if she's about to tug him off toward the stables. "Why? Are you inviting me to go?"

D'Artagnan's eyebrows raise, and a thought-- a horrific thought-- occurs to him. If D'Artagnan's interested in her....romantically, who's the other person? She's mentioned Buckingham a few times now, and-- and-- oh no. He needs to ask, but he can't-- it'd be much too awkward. But he also can't go on if the answer is what he thinks it is. He stops walking, putting a hand over one of hers.

"I-- Yes, we could go, if you like, but Clara, I...need to ask you something." He doesn't want to bring it up, especially since they've just had a nice moment, but--

"Is... you mentioned two men being interested in you. Is Buckingham also vying for your affection?" Please say no. Please say no. You don't understand, he's too young to turn into Athos.

The second the words are out of his mouth, she looks horrified. Not because the duke is a terrible person or disgusting, but because she's not romantically interested in him at all. "Of course not!" She sounds almost offended and in disbelief that his mind jumps right to that conclusion, but she supposes she can't blame him for doing it.

"If he's vying for my affection, I'm not aware of it. His shadow was a bit forward, but I doubt he's interested." She looks bewildered now, as she tries to imagine just what Buckingham would act like if he was interested in her. It's mind boggling, really it is. So mind boggling that her mouth moves and makes words before she has time to think about the best way to deliver them.

"Owen. It's Owen. He's definitely not Buckingham." She hisses this out in a raised whisper, a hand reaching up to brush hair behind her ear. Oh, this is so awkward. And after a perfectly wonderful moment, too.

"I'm sorry, I just-- I had to make sure!" He says, putting his hands up in surrender. He's trying to be... well, someone not from the 17th century, because he's heard women don't appreciate that kind of treatment. They don't want to be fought over. Or something. (The thought never occurred to D'Artagnan, truly.) He knows how he'd deal with this. Plain and simple.

He snorts. "He's vying for everyone's attentions, all the time, but you wouldn't--" And he makes himself shut up. She clearly likes Buckingham, for whatever that's worth, so he supposes he should ruin things more.

"Owen? The doctor?" Huh. He taught him to sword fight just the other day. Week? Time passes so strangely here... Anyway.

"The one who hits on other men's girlfriends in bars?" That's...all he remembers, besides the fact that Owen's a doctor. Oops.

"Yes, the doctor." She huffs a bit, because D'Artagnan jumps straight to the side of Owen that's the public image. Of course Owen tells everyone about these things, why wouldn't he? With a sigh, she reaches up to rub at the bridge of her nose. "Don't think he actually does that, by the way. Least...not anymore. It's complicated."

She's not about to get into how Owen told her he's different now, he wants to be someone else here in this place. It's not her business to tell him, and everything they discussed during the shadow event she wants to keep between them. So she's left feeling exasperated, and mostly still embarrassed that D'Artagnan had even thought it was the duke in the first place.

Again, D'Artagnan's hands go up in defense. "Look, I don't know much about him. We trained together, and he told me a bit about his life before.... this place. I don't care what he does or what he did--" Though he'd care if Owen made some sort of promise to Clara and then hurt her, but he doesn't feel the need to mention that.

"I'm sure he must be at least somewhat decent for you to be interested in him," he says, waving a hand in the air. He's feeling pretty exasperated himself.

"He's - "

She realizes that she doesn't really know Owen, beyond the terrible things his shadow's said, and the few times they've actually had meaningful conversation. Owen himself has tried to warn her, and she's the type of person that thinks everyone deserves a second chance.

"I'm getting to know him. The same as I am with you." And that's really all she can say about it now, because she's confused and embarrassed.

"If he isn't decent, at least I've been trained with a word, yeah?"

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