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(no subject)

Who: Owen & Clara
Where: Owen's room
When: Friday morning, 8/16
Rating: R
Summary: Owen and Clara wake up in bed together. Things do not end well.
The Story:
Owen isn't surprised to wake up next to someone - here in Wonderland, taking someone back to his room is more likely than a quick fumble in a dark corner, something he's more accustomed to back in London. There are pros and cons to each situation, of course, and one of the pros is a nice quickie in the morning. He casts an appraising eye over his bedmate; she's a bit plainer than some, not as curvy as he might like, but she'll do well enough. He has to think for a moment to remember her name - Claire? Clara? Something like that.

He shifts closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back against him as he nuzzles her neck. "Morning, sweetheart," he murmurs in her ear, kissing her earlobe. This close to him, it ought to be quite clear what his intentions are right now.

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"What the fuck?" he sputters as she launches her assault. Her first punches hit him squarely - one in the jaw, one to his arm - and he takes a few more blows on his chest before he manages to grab hold of her wrists. "It isn't as if I wasn't going to return the favour, you know." And he's certainly never had any complaints about his technique, and more than a few compliments.

"You're bloody mental, you are," he adds, shaking his head. Not like he's going to shag her again now, not even if she begged - although he has to admit, she is kind of cute when she's pissed off. Not nearly cute enough, though.

She really isn't sure if she should be offended or amused by him. So she decides for a slight bit amused that he'd jump to her being mental, and mostly offended that he'd say so out loud. She shoots him a glare as she moves off the bed, stalking around the room to gather her clothes off the floor. The more seconds that tick by, the more displeased she looks, until her pout is entirely comical.

"You deserved that. And I don't want any favours returned by you, not now!"

She just wants her clothes, except...none seem to be strewn about on the floor as they would be after a careless fling. They're nowhere to be found. Which is puzzling, and only makes her pout more.

At least she's not punching him anymore, and that's all that matters. He rubs his sore jaw, frowning slightly at the pain. He's used to getting hit by people, but that doesn't mean he likes it, and it usually doesn't happen after he's already shagged someone.

"Whatever." He waves his free hand vaguely, not particularly caring at this point. Maybe he can have one off once she leaves, though she's quite spoilt his mood by now. "Doesn't make any difference to me, love."

"Sorry, bit confused. Where're my clothes?" She turns to face him, looking all kinds of hesitant and horrified. She's now secretly worried he's the type that gets up in the middle of the night to steal a girl's knickers to hold onto them and do God knows what with them later. So her first thought is to go straight to the closet, which really leads to quite the surprise as she's faced with a neat row of dresses, all ones she's definitely sure she'd wear.

Her head tips as she drags her fingers along them, and chooses not to take any of them, and instead gets the magical closet to give her another.

"For someone that probably doesn't even know my name, you do quite a good job at hanging onto dresses I've worn."

Yeah, he's definitely a perverted man that steals a girl's clothes. She slides the dress she's picked out over her head, feeling so much better now that her naked body isn't revealed to his prying eyes anymore.

Okay, that is seriously fucking weird. "I've never even seen those before," he protests. "Swear to god, that was full of my clothes yesterday." At least, that's how he remembers it, and he doesn't understand why it's different now. The mansion pulls all sorts of weird things on them, but switching clothes around seems entirely too tame.

"And I'm pretty sure it's Clara. Unless it's Claire. Something like that, anyway. Definitely a Cl- name." Why should he care what her name is, anyway? He's certainly not going to sleep with her ever again.

Huh.

She's impressed he remembers the first letters of her name, much less the entire thing. She tries not to show it though, and simply shrugs. "Right, then. Figure I ought to get back where I belong. You just -"

She pauses, unable to think of anything decent to end that sentence with. So she doesn't. Instead, she awkwardly heads to the door, mentally preparing herself for a lovely walk of shame.

"Suppose I'll see you around." Not if she can prevent it, of course.

Hey, he's not always completely terrible with names - he can usually remember them once he's bothered to ask them in the first place (which isn't too often). Besides, there's only so many people in the mansion. Not that he cares much about any of them, but he's still managed to pick up a few names here and there; there isn't much else to do.

Owen flops back against the pillows as she heads to the door. "Yeah, sure you will." His tone is sarcastic; he knows perfectly well she has every intention of avoiding him in the future, and the feeling is quite mutual.

She squints a little, opening her mouth to retort. But she thinks better of it and clamps her jaw shut, eyes going wide as she realizes she's actually about to step foot out of this room looking entirely unkempt and ridiculous. She swallows, and reassures herself by repeating a mantra of how she's been through much worse than something as foolish as this before.

"Never know what might happen. Part of the charm of this place, don't you think?"

She tries wiping the horrified look off her face, but the damage to her pride's already been done. And so she gives out a shaky breath to steady herself, and gives him a final glance of disapproval before slipping out and hurrying back toward her own room.

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