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Realistic or Modern Phantom Voices | ellarose & Syntra

Well, duh. Of fucking course that this wasn’t real! No more than Santa Claus, well-adjusted alcoholics or banks that didn’t fucking try to rip you off the second you fell for their lies about ‘no fees’ and ‘customer-friendly politics’. Yeah, yeah, Thea’s relationship with reality may have been a complicated affair, but she, at least understood that a) memories didn’t fucking leak into the future, b) supernatural shit suddenly happening out of nowhere usually meant you were either asleep, high as fuck, or combination of both. The thing about usually, though? It didn’t mean always, and the events of this night had tried their goddamn best to convince her that it actually translated into never. (Just, sue her, man. You try living with a literal demon in your head, and see just how far your definition of ‘not entirely implausible’ would stretch! But, okay, okay. No need to take this personally, right? Only basic bitches did that, and while Thea may have been a lot of things, she sure as fuck wasn’t that. Besides, Clara was just trying to help, wasn’t she? …not to mention that, hehehe, she would get to hold her hand this way. Which, score! In these dark times, you had to mind your priorities, and holding a pretty girl’s hand basically amounted to winning in life. So, even if Thea was about to kick the bucket here? She would do so with a smile, accompanied by a victorious soundtrack!)

“Okay. I mean, why not? It’s not like we actually have anything to lose here… aside from, like, our fucking dignity, but I am pretty sure that that ship has sailed already.” See? See how cool Thea was playing this? Never before had she considered this kind of career, but maybe she should become an actress-- you know, once the whole murder thing inevitably got swept under the carpet, along with other unsolved cases. (According to her intel, that should probably happen soon enough? Like, only taxes were less popular than the nurse she had offed had been, so Thea couldn’t imagine anyone in their right mind would unironically search for her killer. If anything, they were probably only doing it to send her a fucking gift basket! ‘Thank you, Thea, for your sacrifice,’ the card would say. ‘Just stay out of the public eye for the next three years, and then you’re in the clear.’)

So, um. Her imagination? A pretty fucking colorful place, in case you hadn’t noticed yet, and while that usually wasn’t the worst thing in the world, she should probably fucking snap out of this now. Focus, love! We’ve got a work to do. Blah blah blah, the power of painting pictures with your mind, blah blah blah, chakras teeming with energy. Was she doing this right? Probably not, or at least that was what her mother dearest would have said, but, surprise, bitch! Her mother wasn’t fucking there, which was honestly one of the few good things about this place. (The other good thing? That was, um, secret. Definitely not Clara, though! Hahaha.. haha.. ha…) Anyway, now that Thea was free of her inane judgments, she could actually, you see, do things? Without feeling as if a bomb was ticking just behind her back, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock? Wow, what a concept! For once in her life, the brunette decided to take her task more or less seriously, too, and… whoosh. There was some kind of movement, wasn’t there? If nothing else, she could feel the wind on her skin, plus some other things that were hard to describe, which… screw this, she was opening her eyes! And a good thing that she had, too, because that way, Thea got to notice they were actually standing below the belfry.

"Well fuck me, it actually worked? I half-expected for us to... uh, nevermind. Good job, I guess. I'm officially giving you the title of Knower of Arcane things. I suppose we should follow the rest of the plan, then?" Once again, she grabbed Clara's hands, and envisioned Lizzie's ashen face-- the way she had walked, like a prisoner to the gallows, all alone and so, so tiny. (Man, how fucked up that was! The girl may have choked her, yeah, but weirdly enough, that didn't actually have a big effect on her empathy. ...possibly because her """loved ones""" had done worse to her? Well, either that, or some part of her recognized that being stuck with suspicious demon worshipers probably didn't make for the best childhood, and that becoming a little bit unhinged because of it was a totally valid choice. Sure, sure, Lizzie probably would not have been nice per se, at least judging by her schoolyard bully tactics, except that many bullies grew out of their tendencies, you know? They'd become relatively normal citizens, with some old shame to agonize over. And Lizzie... Lizzie had never gotten to do that. Hell, she'd missed a shitload of things! Embarrassing prom photos, for one, and tragic episodes with this really cheap hair dye, and also hiding your bad grades from your parents and running from home in a fit of panic after your teacher, the traitorous snake, actually fucking called them. ...there had been no first kiss for her, either. The last thing she'd ever wanted was to become Thea's friend, which had backfired, too, and-- and it had been her fault, okay?! Never in her life had she promised anything to Lizzie, so she wasn't like, contractually obliged to kiss her fucking shoes. Her popular girl reputation changed n o t h i n g about that, too! And yet, yet Thea found herself overcome with grief, with tears streaming down her face. It was and wasn't about Lizzie, really. None of this should have happened to any of them, you see? And so she cried, cried and cried, for Clara and Lizzie and herself as well, just as she cried for the kids whose names were buried somewhere in her shit-tier memory. Then there was suddenly a weight on her arms that hadn't been there before, and when she looked up? Lizzie who had somehow landed exactly where she was meant to was smiling, presumably at both of them. "You came for me! I knew that the guy was lying, I knew, I knew, I knew. I knew I wasn't alone. Thank you. Thank you, for remembering."

The metaphoric curtain fell, then, and before Thea could comprehend what was happening, she and Clara were back in that decrepit school. Which, awesome! Just the place where she wanted to return, truly. Man, the universe's """rewards""" really fucking-- but, no, wait, actually. Something felt different about this...? That something, of course, being that the school was just a school, old and ugly and uninspired, but also normal. Without, you know, faceless abominations. "Wow. I think we may have made it?" Still, still was she holding Clara's hand, and she made no attempt to change that. (Again, Thea did love her priorities.) "I can't... shit, I can't fucking believe that. What now, though?" Would Clara want to... uh, go home or something? For some reason, the idea just felt wrong-- you didn't fucking thwart a demon's plans after discovering you shared a mysterious destiny with a hot chick only to be like "ok bye, I gotta go feed my hamster" afterwards.
 
Clara kept her eyes closed through it all, knowing that breaking her concentration at a pivotal time like this could ruin it. This was her theory, after all, and she needed to believe in it if they were going to succeed. (What would it say about her if a sudden bout of self-doubt cost them everything? It was either commit or give up at this point and she certainly wasn't inclined to just give up after the night they had. Moreover, she owed it to Lizzie. As nonsensical as it seemed at times, a picture accompanied the puzzle pieces she'd been tossing them all night. Following Lizzie's advice was crucial. And this is the conclusion her advice led to. For once, they weren't working against each other. They were working together, like they probably should have all those years ago.) For a few agonizing moments, all she had were her vehement thoughts and the warmth of Thea's hands in her own. She imagined the bars becoming more and more transparent before evaporating entirely. And not too long after that she felt the whoosh of a breeze tickling her skin. Was she imagining that as well, or--? She didn't dare open her eyes to check. She might break her immersion that way, you know? Instead, she let herself be buoyed by Thea's remarks. It worked? Yes, it worked! Thank goodness. ('Good job'-- good grief-- the way those simple words flooded her with pride was utterly ridiculous. Equally ridiculous? That title she came up with. 'Knower of Arcane Things'? Seriously? Clara might have laughed had their situation not been what it was. And maybe, maybe she refused to acknowledge that the title, ridiculous as it was, also caused her heart to flutter. The validation for her efforts was... nice, okay?) Recollecting herself, she gripped Thea's hands tighter and nodded when she asked if they should continue.

Clara thought about Lizzie, then, and inwardly gave her the apology she probably should have given her before. Had she actually listened to Thea's advice back then-- well, there was no point in thinking about what might have been. Now, she absolutely wasn't sorry for lying to save Thea's life. Not even slightly. But she was sorry that, in some twisted way, her choice had undoubtably sealed Lizzie's fate. It was challenging not to feel guilty, living where others had died. To be forced to watch, no less, to have the horrific scene engraved in her mind. It was probably human nature to assign some amount of blame to herself. Thea must have carried a similar burden on her own shoulders. But Clara would never blame Thea for any of this, now would she? Because neither of them were responsible for killing anyone. They were children. Children locked up in a freaking cage, no less. You couldn't get more helpless and pathetic than that. Clara's fingers tingled. Lizzie's blood was on the hands of their captors, plain and simple. And for once, she wasn't pointing an accusatory finger at them. She saw things for what they were and she wanted them to see it that way as well. More than that, she wanted them to remember.) That in mind, Clara also apologized for forgetting. She swore she wouldn't let herself forget again.

...And then, just like that, it was over. Clara breathed out, lightheaded with relief. She might have collapsed with it if not for the fact that--

Ah. Thea's hands in hers. The realization somehow made her even more lightheaded than before. A beat passed. And then another. And then Clara gingerly pulled her hands away, ignoring the stupid little pang of loneliness that followed. "Yeah. Looks like it." She sighed. The exhaustion she'd been fighting all evening kicked back in and she nearly yawned before... there was a ping. Oh. Her phone. She hadn't heard it go off all night. Then again, maybe cell service just didn't work in spooky ghost-land? (Listen... she'd come up with a proper name for it later. Right now, though, tiredness swished all of her thoughts around in a misty haze.) Unearthing her decrepit flip phone from her bag, she scrolled through a wall of worried texts from Raoul and cursed under her breath. No sooner than she tapped out and sent a 'Yes, I'm alive' message in reply did her phone start ringing. Looking from her dinosaur of a phone to Thea, she winced. "...Don't judge. Excuse me for a second."

Clara picked up and knowingly held the phone a good eight inches away from her ear when her brother's voice erupted through the speaker, loud enough for anyone to hear. “What the fuck, Clara!?”

“Sorry. Phone died.” Clara lied without batting an eyelash. Then, deciding her eardrums would be safe by now, pressed the speaker against her ear. “You worry too much. You're going to get wrinkles.”

“You don’t get to tell me how much I’m allowed to worry, young lady.” Raoul put on his stern 'fatherly' voice.

“Okay, dad.” Clara teased. It was impossible not to feel a twinge of guilt behind it, though. But she'd probably give him a heart attack just by mentioning her axe-wielding stalker-- and that wasn't even covering half of what happened. Besides, Raoul was traveling. He wouldn't be able to get back home within a day or so, even if he wanted to.

“Where are you? I know you’re not with Beth. And I know you’re not at home. Noah’s downstairs and hasn’t seen you walk in.” Well, of course he would have a watchdog waiting around to give him updates. They were chock full of backup plans in case their lives went to hell again, weren't they?

“I’m out with…" Clara glimpsed Thea for a moment and quickly looked away when her heart pounded a bit too fast. (Who gave it permission to do that? Certainly not her.) "A friend. Tell Noah to go to bed.”

“Noah insisted on waiting up until you make it back safely. Don’t be mean to him, Clara. He’s a nice guy.”

“Then why don’t you date him?” Clara sniped. Sure, maybe the concern was warranted if some creepy organization wanted-- and still wanted-- her head. But she was tired of this. When the protective measures got to be downright intrusive. Like, say, meddling to make sure she wasn't a total outcast. “Anyway, my friend was just about to walk me home. I’ll text you when I get there, okay?”

Clara snapped her phone shut and realized Thea was, of course, still standing there. She also recognized the promise she had just seemingly made for her. “Oh. You don’t have to walk me home, by the way.” She shifted on her feet, nervously picking at a loose thread on her satchel's strap. “Or, I mean, you can. If you want to. You could even stay over—” Shoot. Those words carried connotations, didn't they? Connotations that colored her cheeks with a warm, flowery pink that made her genuinely thankful for the darkness that cast shadows all over their faces now. She was so tired at this point that her brain has probably fried. All she needed was a good night’s sleep to reset herself to her usual form of cool and collected. Sleep! Sleep would solve everything. Words wouldn't be dashed to awkward stutters and slips around Thea in the morning! Ah. The idea of waking up next to Thea in her bed, though, with the sunlight splashing her sheets, her skin and the tips of her brown hair with gold-- yikes! Vivid, much? The pictures her brain painted nearly made her choke on air. “If you need a place to crash tonight, that is. To sleep. Just sleep." Yes, of course. She had to make that fact crystal clear. "Because it’s late and… and I guess being alone after all that might be... well, you know.”

Ah. Clara averted her eyes and noticed it. Shining like a beacon of hope in the distance was the glow of the tritium exit sign towards the back of the library. The alternative exit they needed, in other words, which would lead her one step closer to her bed. Her bed which was suddenly evoking some very complicated thoughts. Stop it. Stop it, Clara. "What do you think?"
 
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Okay, okay, okay-- no fear, because Thea's galaxy-sized brain was here! A lot of things may have been a foreign concept to her, mainly because you didn't pick up many new skills while tied to a fucking hospital bed, but there was one area in which she simply excelled. Now, as for what it was? Why, coming up with ridiculous excuses in order to solve non-existent problems! (Her current mission: to stop Clara from abandoning her. Her resolve: unbreakable. Her weapons: her... pretty smile? The way she could bat her eyelashes when she really, really fucking wanted something? Look, don't fucking judge! Thea was a master improviser, not a master planner, and considering she was still alive even after Night in HellTM, the approach was clearly working. Only those bound by ridiculous conventions ever resorted to shit like 'schedules,' 'forethought,' and 'weighing pros and cons'-- all of those only deterred you from what was truly important in life, ie. kicking ass. So, what Thea was getting at here? That she'd discover the optimal approach at some point, duh! For now, she'd simply open her mouth and talk and talk and talk, with the frequency of a fucking jackhammer. Her mommy, you see, had always used to say that an exhausted enemy was the route to victory! ...or had it been Sun Tzu? It may not have been anyone at all, honestly, but Thea liked the quote, and pretending that someone important had said it first gave it this air of... hmm, elegance. Either way, Clara may not have known about this, but she didn't stand a fucking chance. When faced with Thea, the Great Persuader, people more resilient than hers had... ah. Wait, what?)

Ah, a call from a concerned relative. How cute! Honestly, she'd kinda forgotten those were a thing-- not that her parents hadn't tried to call, mind you, but those efforts did very little when the person you wanted to speak with didn't pick up the goddamn phone. Which, spoiler alert, was what Thea had done! (No, she hadn't wanted to talk about how the voices weren't going away, and about just how fucking stupid the therapy was. The last time she'd tried that? 'Thea,' her mother had frowned, 'do you have any idea how much this is costing us? We can only afford to keep you in this institution because your father found a second job.' ...the 'so hurry up and get better, bitch,' had always been implicit, but she had sensed it, right behind that treacherous not-smile her mommy had been so fucking good at wearing. You know, the one that could easily mean both 'have a nice day' and 'go die in a ditch, motherfucker.' What a total fucking mystery that her daughter didn't feel like communicating with her anymore, huh? The greatest minds of this era were working on solving the riddle in this very moment!)

Anyway, Clara's Male Relative 1# kinda sounded like a bro-- not that Thea was trying eavesdrop, of course, but the guy really didn't care about his sister's (?) privacy. ...still, it seemed like she was kept on a short leash, too. Man oh man, such a goddamn travesty! A girl should be allowed to spread her wings and soar, and maybe kill a few randos standing in her way, which... oh. Had Clara just referred to her as her friend? And implied she'd walk her home? Alert, alert, this was not a fucking drill! (Yeah, yeah, being stuck in the friendzone wasn't ideal, but a) it was still an improvement from a total fucking stranger, b) only cowards thought this position to be final. If anything, it was the ideal stepping stone! Just, friends-to-lovers romances were the best, man. The """accidental""" touches, the growing tensions, the 'what are we' questions asked in the dead of the night, the existential crises-- 10/10, most definitely. ...and, yes, Thea may have been inventing 354455 new romantic scenarios featuring herself and Clara per second. Why do you ask?)

'Ugh,' the demon sighed. 'Your mind is a perilous, perilous place, little crow. Do you know how difficult it is, having to spend most of my time there? That I haven't destroyed this pathetic planet after witnessing the worst humanity has to offer is a testament to my self-control.'

'More like testament to your incompetence. Less talking, more doing, bitch! C'mon, burn this place to cinders already and leave me the fuck alo--'

"Uh?" the brunette raised her eyebrow when Clara... uh, invited her to sleep in her house. To sleep with her. "Right," she smiled a big, dumb smile, "only sleep. Roger that, ma'am. I will try to keep my irresistible charm in check. Should you come onto me, I will reject you-- with a heavy heart, of course." ...what? After this night that very well may have lasted a few fucking years, Thea felt that she deserved some innocent flirting, as a treat. (And duh, it was beyond obvious that this wasn't about sleep only. Like, why else draw attention to not-sleeping activities? Clearly, Clara was doing one of those wink wink nudge nudge things, and Thea was going to play by her rules.)

"But," she gave her a bright smile, "thanks. I don't actually have anywhere to go. I'm on the run, you see? Having escaped from a reputable institution and everything. I wouldn't want to drag you down with me," Thea covered her eyes dramatically, like an opera actress might have done, "but I guess one night might be okay. Plus, I need to, like, make sure that no axe-wielding murderers will get you on your way back. You seem to have the worst fucking luck ever, you know? And being murdered by someone that mundane after everything we've been through would be the definition of anti-climax." After everything we've been through, huh? Yeah, 'we' was apt, Thea guessed-- surviving faceless abominations really made the heart grow fonder, apparently, and also, technically they'd known each other for ages. Somehow.

Without further ado, they walked into the night, and Thea drew in the fresh night air with the gusto of a starved man who had just been invited to a feast. "So, where is it that you live? And, um, what do you make of," she made a wild gesture with her hand, "all of this? Like, shit, man. I don't even know how to call it, and I'm usually very good at naming things."
 
“Apartment complex. Just a few blocks away.” Clara answered, a bit preoccupied with ascertaining their surroundings. From what she could see, there were no more vans, no more axe-wielding murderers, no more zombies. Ah, what a relief. No one was waiting around to ambush them outside. (Surely, though, if they found them tonight they would find them again. And though the thought was an unwelcome one after the exhaustion brought on by all of this, she decided it was something they ought to discuss once they were in the clear.) For now, home was only a few minutes of walking away and she relished that with a deep, deep breath. Surviving had a way of exhilarating the senses, didn't it? It brought with it a sort of hyper awareness to the air she was drawing into her lungs, the sensation of her feet striking the concrete, and the way her heart fluttered like a startled bird when Thea smiled at her like that-- wait, what? Anxious to give her hands something to do, she pulled her ponytail free and shook it loose around her shoulders. She'd pulled it up in case she had to get her hands dirty, after all... and while she would have done it for Lizzie, she was also relieved that they wouldn't have to physically bury her body out in that graveyard. Who knew who would discover it later and what that could lead to? “And… I’m hardly a master of articulation myself.” Really. If Clara had a quota for the words she spoke in a single day, she hit it long before they started creating fairytales for Cerberus. And the fact that was an actual sentence she just thought was a testament to just how inexplicable their entire evening was, wasn't it?

Clara fixed the sidewalk with a pensive stare. There was so much to process. Too much, really. Between their captors, the demon and their oh-so secret mission? And they were presumably still coming after them, even to this day? The attack tonight hit far too close to home. That alone was worrying enough. Goodness-- there was also the matter of the planes between the afterlife and this one, the ghostly illusions, the memories-- not to mention all the past revelations. Then there was Thea's existence altogether. That they both shared this experience and heard voices in their heads. (And the fact that she told her she heard voices altogether. It was a pretty big deal for her, okay? Considering it was a secret she had kept ever since... ever since they parted ways as children, presumably.) And her brain couldn't help comparing where she and Thea started versus where they were now. They had known each other back then, they were even close and so many years had passed by. It left them with lots of catching up to do. On top of everything else, they both had forgotten exactly what had happened to them back then. And several pages from that chapter of her life were still completely blacked out. Had that demon stolen all their memories away by force, or had they both been desperate to bury them ten feet under the ground?

Either way, they were hardly the same children they were back then. And of course they wouldn't be. The trauma they suffered had to have impacted Thea's life just as it had her own. Maybe that was why she didn't bring up the matter of the... 'reputable institution?' Sure, she was inviting Thea into her house. Knowing more about her background would probably... no, definitely be wise. But if this whirlwind of a night proved anything to her, it was that her chances of survival went up when they stayed together. Besides. Clara could connect some of the dots, you know? She was just assuming, really, and therefore couldn't accept her assumption as the full truth. But it could have easily had to do with confiding in other people about the voices in her head, right? Confiding in them only to have her to have her words doubted and her trust betrayed. (...Because this was one of Clara's own worst fears, you see. It was why she'd kept the voices to herself for so long. Why she hid the pages of her personal sketchbook, where she made tireless efforts to capture that formless creature's likeness. She had these skeletons piled high in her closet and she worried that someday someone might open that door and see everything. And the efforts she took to hide it all away, to hide herself away, were excruciating.) It filled her with such a profound sense of sadness that she had to change the subject.

That Thea was asking her for her thoughts alone was... new. For so long, Clara had no one to confide in that she genuinely wasn't sure where to start.

“...It was a clusterfuck.” Clara said decisively, feeling bold. And, okay. She wasn't usually a swearer. At a certain point, she knew that forcing it into her everyday vocabulary to sound 'cool' would only cause her to feel vaguely uncomfortable. However, there were some circumstances-- such as facing an axe murderer, a haunted school and her traumatic past-- when swears were perfectly acceptable. When they were warranted, even. And when these exceptions arose, her lips formed curses like songs. Silken and savage, if need be. Yes, clusterfuck surely was not the answer an English teacher would praise her for. But it seemed exactly like the sort of word Thea here would approve of. And as far as she was concerned, they were officially saying good riddance to creepy, faceless teachers as every step they took them farther and farther away from that cursed school. "Can we leave it at that and get back to it in the morning? It’s been a long night.”

Moreover, Clara needed to consider what state her apartment was in right now. She went over her mental checklist. The place was spotless. More so than usual, actually, since Raoul was away. (Although she would have to check and see if the oil paint on the canvas in her room had dried yet... and then stash it away in her closet. The product of yet another nightmare, the picture she created was, um, unsettling, to say the least?) She vacuumed earlier. This had become a daily chore after she adopted Spooks, who shed everywhere. Ah, right. Spooks. Did Thea like dogs? Oh, she hoped she liked dogs. Hm. There was little to no food in the fridge right now, save for some toaster waffles, carrots and... perhaps some leftover pizza? She would have to do the grocery shopping tomorrow. There was also the matter of digging out the first aid kit--

"Did you want to shower tonight or in the morning?" Clara asked. Then, realizing how that might have sounded, she blinked and flushed red. "S-sorry. I'm thinking ahead. I want to take care of your arm before anything else, so... um, I have plenty of clothes you could borrow, too." She swallowed. Change the subject! "...Also, are you okay around dogs? Mine's a bit suspicious around strangers, but she won't bite."
 
Ah, man, did night air feel good! Cold, but not cold enough to be like, cold cold, and after spending the entire evening in a building that could probably win an award for being a fucking dust magnet, Thea breathed it in with the gusto of a sommelier appreciating an especially nice brand of wine. (The stars, too, were nice. They were all shiny and twinkling, and illuminated their path-- like, had she been more of a romantic, this moment would have inspired her to write roughly 54553584 fanfics with this AestheticTM. No, just think about it! It was an absolute goldmine, and those who didn’t see its potential must have had their soul surgically removed from their fucking body. Two girls walking home, after narrowly avoiding death; the spookiness of their surroundings, complete with the old school and the fireflies and the shroud of the night; the inevitable conversations where they’d be honest, probably more than they’d otherwise been, and reveal all those juicy secrets that would later pave the path for, uh… Exciting Developments. Again, had she been a romantic, which Thea most definitely was not, she likely would have carved all the little details into her memory so that she could speak about this night at their wedding later. But, hahaha!!! Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Her pragmatic and serious personality saved her from such a silly, silly thing, and that was probably for the best. …what color were Clara’s shoelaces, again? Asking for a friend, of course! Totally not because she lowkey planned to bring that up at the wedding reception later to impress everyone, nuh uh.)

“A clusterfuck,” she chuckled. “That’s some insightful fucking analysis you’ve got there, Clara. And like, I’m not even being sarcastic here. It really is a good summary. Then again, we survived, didn’t we? Which, in my book, means we’ve passed this lesson. Do you think I could write ‘Passed Supernatural Bullshit 101’ on my CV?” Not that her CV wasn’t entirely fucked as it was, mind you, so Thea probably could get away with that. Why did it matter whether she didn’t get the job because of her, hmmm, extensive experience with various asylums, or because she also confirmed the negative stereotypes associated with it with her whole chest? Just, details, bitch! Besides, if they were going to consider her a crazy anyway, then she might as well reap the benefits of that, too.

‘Hmmm, hmmm! A fun mindset you’ve got there, little crow. Have you ever considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe you’re doing this to yourself?’ Cranky, wasn’t he? Like, even more than usual.

‘Have you ever considered, hmm, I dunno, not sticking your ugly nose where it doesn’t fucking belong?’

But, no, Thea wasn’t going to waste more of her energy on talking to a brick wall-- no matter what she said to him, she knew, he would continue being a goddamn nuisance. “I guess,” the brunette agreed easily. “I just hope that the demon that lives rent-free in our head doesn’t have, like, a GPS in his ass. ‘Cause, let me tell you, I don’t think this is the last time we’re gonna hear about him and his unhinged troupe of buddies. They seemed weirdly invested, didn’t they? Not that I don’t understand why, as I’m just so charming,” she ran her hand through her hair and, uh, winked at Clara, “buuut I sure as hell would have preferred at least slightly more normal fanboys.” Then there was the matter of the other kids, too. Not to be a party pooper, of course, but… it wasn’t that likely that the bastards would just let them go home after all of that, right? Especially not after what they’d done to Lizzie! Just, patterns, man. (Did that mean they were waiting in some creepy-ass abandoned place, too? Waiting for… what? Them? Oh, shit. The job may have sounded cool on paper, but Thea had approximately zero interested in playing the fucking ghostbuster! She didn’t have the time, for one-- in fact, instead of staying over at Clara’s, she probably should be heading to the closest borders in this very moment. Because, spoiler alert: the police usually didn’t take too kindly to a fucking murder! …then again, restful sleep was important, and she likely wouldn’t be able to enjoy much of that while on the run. Plus, driving in this condition? That would be just asking for trouble, man. Like, causing a car accident and then getting arrested when the cops decided to check her ID would be the most anticlimactic end to her journey she could imagine!)

“Oh?” Thea raised her eyebrow. “I’m not too picky, to be honest. Why are you asking? Wanna barge into the bathroom accidentally while I’m in there, or something? No need to resort to such underhanded means, Clara! Though if that’s what you’re into, I guess I won’t stop you. Far it be from me to judge. Should I, like, feign surprise for immersion?” …what? Thea was going to have fun with this weird situation if it was going to be the last thing she did, dammit. It had been scientifically proved that those who didn’t laugh enough died prematurely, and she had to stay alive for as long as she could specifically to piss off all of her haters!

“No, no, I kid,” the brunette raised her hands defensively. “Don’t kick me out, please. I couldn’t handle the life on the streets. Or maybe the life on the streets wouldn’t handle me? Eh, same difference, I guess.” When Clara mentioned that she had a dog, though? A living breathing pupper? Immediately, there were sparks in Thea’s yes. “Dude, I love dogs. I’ve never had one,” because, a) a dog would inevitably ruin mommy dearest’s precious blankets, b) asylums generally didn’t allow pets aside from the occasional canistherapy for the luckier patients, “but I’m sure I’ll get along with yours just fine. Should I bribe her with something?” Every god, after all, required an offering, and Thea didn’t see why that should be different for their canine overlords. “Love can be reached through one’s stomach, my granny used to say,” she nodded sagely. “That being said, want me to cook or something? In exchange for letting me stay there.” And, speaking of how things were going to be done…

“Also!” she beamed, in this peculiar way that usually signified trouble. “I think we should sleep together. Like, there is no telling when the enemy tries to trap us in some illusory version of reality again, is there? So, it would make sense for us not to separate, if we can. For purely strategic reasons. And as for the guy that is guarding you,” Noah, was it? “I can pose as your girlfriend, I guess. That would make it not weird!” And that it would make about ten million other things very weird? Pshhh! Yet another problem for Thea’s future self.
 
"Fresh towels. I want to make sure there're enough and..." Clara almost choked. An amalgam of embarrassment and annoyance warmed her cheeks. All she wanted was to be a good host-- did she deserve to have her heart stopped like that? No. The answer was no. Her withering glare must've communicated her feelings succinctly enough, because Thea was already apologizing. Good! As she should. "Anyway, you should probably take one tonight. In case you haven't noticed, you still have ice cream in your hair." (So did she, honestly, but Thea had gone out and played in it. So her situation was quite a bit more dire.) Anyway, it was fortunate for them both that the conversation moved on to dogs. Imagining two kittens chasing a ball of yarn, or a dog panting while waiting for a belly rub, or any animal in general tended to thaw her like ice in the sunshine. The fact that Thea confirmed to love them too? Well, that made it all the better. And thinking about Spooks in particular made her unknowingly wear the smallest of smiles. "Treats will suffice. I don't make a habit of giving her scraps from the table, since it upsets her stomach." She could have gone on about the fact that she was a rescue with one eye and that her depth-perception was off, but Thea's mention of cooking snagged her attention. "You can cook?" Okay, she didn't mean to sound so surprised. But it was a surprise, you know? (And another attribute to put on her pros list. That is if she were to ever make such a list. Not that she was considering it! But if she did, it'd go right underneath that stupid, dazzling smile of hers. And, um, the fact that she was fully capable of taking creepy zombies down with an axe.) Regardless, color her impressed. "Unless you can magically conjure something up with carrots and leftover pizza, I don't think that'll be possible." Unfortunately. "...But if you make a list I'll go shopping for ingredients in the morning."

Talking to Thea, Clara concluded, was like riding a roller-coaster with a blindfold on. Little did she know that Thea's animated chatter was inching her up to the edge of a steep slope, which then plummeted her down at a hundred miles per hour when she suddenly ran her fingers through her hair, or winked, or wore that smile. And then when the pace slowed enough to lure her into a false sense of security, she would say or do something else to get her heart pumping again. It was vaguely infuriating, really, how she could just stroll into her life and put her poker face to the ultimate test like it was as easy for her as breathing. (Uninvited images flashed. Red lips pulled into a cocksure grin, clouds of cigarette smoke in her face. Which was sufficiently gross, but she'd been the fool wearing those rose-tinted glasses. Not that she wasn't a lost cause, as bad breath had been on the top of her cons list. You know, until being a manipulative cheat promptly replaced it.) Ah. Nothing soured the sweetness of a newfound crush like having your childish notions of romance crushed and ground down into the dirt. Not that she was about to typecast Thea as the kind of person who would callously treat her like a toy. No. These flirtations gave the impression of being rather harmless, as if it just came naturally to her. It was Clara's own fault if she fell too hard and fast over nothing. Thea was just, uh, a rather charming individual. And she would just have to learn to calm her heart and cope with it. Like, you know, not blushing or batting an eyelash when these suggestions came up. Girlfriend. Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend. The word echoed in her head, the sound both soft and frightening.

"Guarding me?" Clara scoffed. So Thea heard that. She leveled her eyes with the sky, wishing on all the stars hanging up there that her heart would chill out already. At this point, it'd be more comfortable to switch the subject back over to the zombies, ghosts, and demons.

'Ask and you shall receive, dove. Would you like me to provide a distraction for a while? I could use one, too. If only you could see the inside of crow's mind!'

Clara flinched with a start and almost tripped on the curb. That truly would've been an anticlimactic death, huh? Well, great. He'd been so quiet there that she almost allowed herself to hope that he perished when Lizzie's ghost disappeared. Lo and behold, he was here to stay. After that initial shock wore off, his presence irritated her more than ever. She was rarely in a chatty mood to begin with, you know, and now knowing a detailed context of his position as the ringleader of this mess did nothing to help his case. Thea had her antics, sure, but Clara would continue to choose her every time. It was a no brainer! Because Thea was her ally. She always was, a tiny voice confirmed in the back of her head.

'...The classic silent treatment. I see. I suppose you need a little more space.' The demon chuckled. 'I'll save our rendezvous for tonight, then. Sweet dreams, dove.'

"If anything, he'll be guarding the staircase." Clara softened, appropriately unnerved by the voice in her head. Connotations aside, Thea had a valid point about sleeping in the same room. She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her forearms. The chill in the air felt colder, but that was probably just her imagination. Maybe she ought to explain the situation a little better? "Noah lives down the hall. Won't be an issue once we're inside, so we don't need to explain anything to him. He's not entitled to know my business."

"You have a point though. About sleeping in the same room. I..." Clara swallowed, failing to put her feelings into words. Well, the words were there. She just didn't know how to say them. I don't want to be alone. When had she ever brought herself to say those words aloud? Never. Never, never, never. They were near enough now that she could see the gate to the complex down the road. Thankful to have a reason to be preoccupied with something other than her words, she drew her hand inside her satchel to find her key card. Which was tricker than normal, considering all of her things had been jostled around in the night's excitement. She nearly suffered a stabbing epiphany of 'oh god, what if I dropped it in the haunted school?' before she finally found and closed her fingers around it. Thank. Freaking. Goodness. Belatedly realizing she trailed off, she continued. "Sorry. Lost my train of thought. We're almost there... just down the street, see?"
 
Alert, alert! Stop the fucking presses, because Thea had an observation to make. And, that observation? Clara's smile was cute, man. It didn't really fit her Ice Queen AestheticsTM, but who cared about consistency in cases like this, right? Plus, if you wanted to, like, justify it, you could always invent some vaguely romantic bullshit about flowers sleeping under the snow, or something-- blah blah blah, the duality of life and death, of winter and spring. And, again, the cuteness principle overrode everything! (Privately, Thea vowed to make Clara smile more often. There wasn't anything weird about it, okay? More smiles = better morale, and they sure as fuck needed more of that if they were to face more undead horror. Also, if their friends-to-lovers plot were to happen, smiles seemed to be the number one way to kickstart that journey. Just, hormones, man! Serotonin and oxytocin and shit, and more other crazy substances that made the world go round. ...speaking of crazy substances, though? Yeah, yeah, she should have enough of it left, 'cause it had been laughably easy to stock up while in that asylum and its non-existent """security""". The supplies would dwindle soon, Thea supposed, but again, that was a problem for her future self! Hah, poor gal. It would suck to be her, honestly.)

"Why so surprised?" the brunette smirked. "It's a survival skill, Clara. Since I was a kid, I assumed that I'd end up on a deserted island, and I for sure wanted to avoid the early Robinson Crusoe shit. Like, remember the passages when the fucker tried to bake bread without a starter? Stuff of nightmares, let me tell you. And he was a grown-ass man, too! Almost died of second-hand embarrassment there. Anyway, I decided that, when it inevitably happened to me, I'd be ready. Nothing would stand between me and my five star dinner-- not even if I had to hunt baby capybaras for it to happen. Not that I've ever prepared capybaras, of course, but I suppose they wouldn't be too different from piglets? Man, I'd like to taste capybaras now. Is there a zoo somewhere around here?" Just joking, just joking! A concerned citizen surely would have called the police, and yeah, Thea wasn't interested in that.

And, ah-ha! While Clara seemed a bit unhappy with how she'd interpreted certain details, she also, hmmm, failed to reject Mission: Girlfriend. How very, very interesting, wasn't it? (On the other hand, Thea kinda understood why Clara would be shy. Not to be arrogant, but like, she was prime girlfriend material, wasn't she? Naturally, such an offer would make anyone FlusteredTM. But, hehehe, it was cute. Cute! Yep, the brunette decided, they were going along with the plan. Clara had had a chance to say no, but she hadn't, and obviously, not voicing disapproval meant that she was actually on board! ...or something. Who cared about reality, anyway? The truth was just something for her to bend, bend, bend, till she enjoyed the resulting shape.)

"But, dude, you're right. Ugh, I didn't even notice the ice-cream menace! One would have said it would disappear, along with the other illusory bullshit, but nooo, of course it's fucking there to stay! I bet this is some kind of cosmic conspiracy against my hair." And, in the light of that? The shower seemed vital-- vital enough, actually, that Thea was willing to leave a poor impression on that Noah fellow. (Just, fuck social conventions. No, she didn't have the desire to give her detailed background to this total stranger, nor did she particularly want to get stuck in one of those 'I only have the purest intentions with your sister/cousin/whatever' conversations. Quickly, the substance in her hair was becoming more and more sticky, and uwaaah, it made her want to crawl out of her fucking skin!") So, instead of handing him her CV, Thea just waved at the guy. "Cheers, man! I'm Thea, Clara's girlfriend. Surely, you must have heard of me? Unless Clarikins here was too shy, I guess. Anyway, it was a long distance relationship till now, so like, we've got a lot of catching up to do. Don't disturb us, mmmkay?" Ah, truly, she was a genius! That should get him off their case, provided he wasn't a fucking creep. (And if he somehow was? Why, that would grant her the excuse to kick his teeth in! A win-win scenario, as far as she was concerned.)

The hot water felt fucking divine against her skin, and Thea? Thea allowed herself to get lost in the sensation. Wrapped in the warmth, she could pretend that her worries had drifted away, and...

'Oooh, is this the point where you imagine that the water is literally washing your sins away? Cliche, little crow. It can change nothing about the fact you murdered her.'

'Well, duh? I'm not trying to escape from that, you walking fucking trash can. It's one of my more impressive accomplishments, actually. Besides, spying on me in the bathroom, aren't we? Didn't think you could possibly sink any lower.'

At that, derisive laughter filled her ears. 'Don't worry, crow. I assure you your mortal flesh is no temptation for me at all.'

And, honestly? Good! There were few things worse than demonic stalkers, but demonic stalkers with a fucking crush sure fit that criterion. Anyway... uh. Probably should have asked for spare clothes first, right? Except that she'd raced into the bathroom so fucking fast that all her thoughts must have fallen out of her head, or something. Oh well! Gotta own it now, Thea guessed. Just to avoid giving Clara a heart attack, she wrapped the towel around herself, which... ah. It didn't actually leave that much to imagination, you know? Since towels didn't tend to be that large, actually. (It wouldn't get her arrested for public indecency, mind you, but for the first date, it may have been too much. ...then again, could there be too much awesomeness? Come to think of it, that was totally fucking ridiculous!) "Sooo..." Thea gave Clara another of her smiles as she leaned against the door, "will you lend me the clothes you spoke about, or should I maybe stay like this? I wouldn't mind, y'know. Might make it more interesting!" What definitely made it more interesting already, though, was the marking near her collarbone, fully visible for the first time. It... seemed to be a numeral of some kind, perhaps?
 
Clarikins. Oh, goodness gracious. What part of 'he's not entitled to know my business' didn't Thea understand? The cover story was completely unnecessary. And... Clarikins!? Clara was never going to live that one down. She knew that for a fact, because the ridiculous nickname was precisely how Noah chose to greet her when she slipped out to take Spooks for her nightly walk. Knowing he waited around for her to come out the second time peeved her off enough as it was, but hearing a 'Hey Clarikins' in his voice awakened a quiet rage in her. It whispered and urged her to punch him. (She could... tolerate a nickname from Thea, okay? Thea was different. For reasons. But she absolutely would not take it from him!) Even so, she ignored the temptation. Because she wasn't Beatrice Sawyer anymore. Scrappy little Beatrice Sawyer who often got into fights and, apparently, punched someone square in the face to save Thea's life. Still, she compelled herself to endure Noah's presence long enough to do some damage control before he could report this incident to her brother. She explained with as few words as possible that Thea was a friend with a stellar sense of humor, you know, and that she simply needed a place to crash for the night. (...Noah had no right to look so relieved about it, though. So when he pushed his luck and asked if she would 'take a gander' at his sketchbook, she bluntly refused. "Can't keep my friend waiting. I don't have time to critique your stick figures." One might have called it cruel-- Clara called it honest. Like, come on. Why should she bother feigning politeness when the guy did such a lazy job feigning an interest in art in the first place? Scribbling a primitive abomination in five seconds and slapping 'hashtag minimalism' on it just didn't cut it for her. Clara Loveless may not have punched with her fists anymore. Didn't mean she wouldn't throw them with words when it served her.)

When Clara returned, she still heard the thrumming rain of shower water. Deciding to take the time to get a few things done, she proceeded to go through her mental checklist. Spooks was her dedicated companion through all of it, of course, the tap-tap of her claws on the hardwood floor matching the pad of her footsteps. The puppy occasionally looked up at her with one confused eye that asked who she had brought into their home and why she wasn't allowed to sniff her yet. And, of course, putting a voice to the canine's thoughts only made her think of the way Thea smelled when she hugged her from behind and-- nope! Not going there! Firmly, she went through her list again. First order of business was her room. There was no dirty laundry to hide away in a rush, but she did make sure to stash her painting in the closet. All eyeballs and geometric shapes, stretched limbs and wings... it held the likeness of one of those biblically accurate angels. Exactly the sort of thing people saw and immediately wondered what kind of messed up shit you were into. When the nightmares got especially bad, she illustrated them. Unable to vent to anybody, she learned to cope by emptying the images in her mind with charcoal sticks and paintbrushes. Seeing them in the light, forcing herself to stare them down, subsequently made it just a little easier to confront them in her nightmares. Monsters thrived when the darkness hid them away, right? The imagination filled things in. So if she recorded them accurately, she could also study them in the light. Theoretically, she could look for their weaknesses. Didn't always work, but it helped. The thing was, these works were... personal. And yes, Thea may be able to relate to her in an intrinsic way that others could not. But she wasn't ready to put it out on display.

With a click, Clara closed the closet door and whirled around. Her room was immaculate with the exception of her desk, which was a mess of charcoal dust and ink-- but, ah, that cleaning project would take an hour or so at best. The rest was rather plain. There was nothing unnerving on display. There was the calendar on the wall, dotted with her neat handwriting, and a few dress designs she had drawn for work. No photographs, since she refused to take any. In fact, the only ones they had in the apartment were those in Raoul's room. Back when she was still a kid. Her head throbbed when she thought of it and chalked it up to exhaustion. Hm. What else? Ah. She clicked on the little globe on her nightstand, illuminating the room with golden stars. Call it a nightlight, call it silly or childish, but it calmed her down. And after the night they'd had... she needed it, okay?

Clara left her room and procured the first aid kit and two glasses of water. She turned the stereo on to keep herself sane... settling on an alternative, indie playlist. (Safer than introducing Thea to the admittedly embarrassing show tunes and animated tracks on her 'happy thoughts' playlist, right?) She dug an oversized tee shirt and soft shorts out from Beth's garbage bag of clothes. (Her friend was addicted to thrifting. To the point where she didn't have the space to keep half of her wardrobe at her own place. She left stuff with Clara and, in exchange, didn't mind whether she borrowed anything. In fact, she often encouraged it.) Hm, what else? Aside from taking a shower of her own before bed, there was nothing else to do but wait. So she perched herself down on the couch and opened her sketch book. Spooks curled up next to her.

The music, Spooks's snores, the soft scraping of her pencil on the page... it began to feel like a normal night. That was until Thea poked out of the bathroom in a towel and caused Clara to butcher the angle of one of Lizzie's eyelashes. Her heart fluttered for the umpteenth time and the tips of her ears singed red. "Absolutely not." She quickly averted her eyes, pushing her drawing of Lizzie aside and grabbing the clothes she'd folded and set aside. Once she made her way to the bathroom door, she urgently pushed them to Thea's chest. "...Here." And while determinedly avoiding to meet her gaze, she ended up noticing the marking by her collarbone. XIX? Roman numeral... "Nineteen?" She whispered, brows furrowing. She wasn't fully aware that she was staring before Spooks appeared at Thea's feet and began to sniff at her calves. Her, you know, bare calves. Because she was still standing in a towel. Crap! Immediately she scooped the puppy into her arms and backed away. "Oh. Spooks. Let Thea get changed before you interrogate her, okay?"

Clara swiftly turned on her heel and resisted the desire to run into her room and hide. Instead, she made her way back to the couch and gathered her composure, hugging Spooks to her chest. As the burn of embarrassment slowly cooled, she found that the nineteen was still floating around in her head. A convenient match to the roman numeral eighteen on the small of her back, wasn't it? Well. It fit, didn't it? Along with everything else they'd learned over the course of the night. And if they corresponded with tarot cards, then... Despite the thoughts spinning in her head, she brought herself to speak up again. "...When you're finished getting dressed, come over here. I want to take care of the cut on your arm." Priorities. The cut seemed pretty mundane now compared to all the supernatural shenanigans, but the fact remained that she wouldn't be able to sleep unless she dressed it properly. "You made sure to clean it well, right?"
 
Pfft. Clara could at least try to look grateful, you know? It wasn’t like Thea had been, uh, forcing rotten fish cakes down her throat, or committing other crimes against humanity here-- nah, she was offering her a Good ThingTM, and the proper way to react to that would have been a ‘thank you, Thea, from the bottom of my fucking heart.’ Like!!! There were people who would pay for being able to even glimpse her kinda-sorta-naked form, she was reasonably sure. (Yeah, yeah, they also weren’t the fellows you’d like to be alone with in a closed room, or anywhere else, really, though that was not the fucking point. Just, nah, mate! The point was that Thea in a towel =/= radioactive fucking waste, and Clara’s response almost, almost suggested otherwise. …of course, she wasn’t upset or anything like that. Thea Holloway didn’t get upset, for one-- it rarely worked in terms of getting you what you wanted, so she had just stopped. That the rest of the humanity hadn’t followed her on that path to enlightenment was their problem, really! So, umm… the truth here was that she was actually concerned for Clara’s eyesight, thank you very much. Yep, that totally wasn’t a stupid fucking excuse at all. When hunting ghosts, you see, your eyes had to rival those of a goddamn eagle-- she couldn’t have her partner, like, trip over some fucking stick, fall and impale herself on it. Gruesome stuff, truly. All the reputable statistics proved that that was one of the top ten leading causes of death among young exorcists, and if Clara couldn’t see how hot Thea was, then obviously it was just a matter of time till a similarly grim fate caught up to her!)

“Oooh, a puppy!” Thea observed, rather uselessly, as the dog ran up to her. (Well, at least someone here knew who to court. You get bonus points for having good taste, baby, she thought before reaching to pet the little dog lady, but of course that Clara had to steal her first.) “Fine, fine, I’m gonna put on some clothes,” the brunette said, in the tone of a child that had just learned that, no, you couldn’t have birthday every fucking day. “It’s not healthy, but okay. Do you even read, like, scientific journals? It’s been proven that too much cloth exposure leads to, umm… some kind of cancer, I’m fairly certain. And, ah, don’t try to fact check! The fashion lobby scrubbed the article from the net because it threatened their profits. Fucked up, huh?”

As far as superpowers went, hosting a literal demon apparently wasn't the only gift fate had blessed her with-- nah, the brunette could also talk, talk, talk, with the cadence of a machine gun, and with total disregard for concepts such as 'breathing'. Who needed to do that, after all, when you had such important things to share? Duty over life, man! "Anyway, this shirt is nice. It feels nice. Yep. I'm gonna have the sweetest of dreams tonight, I can tell." And, nope, not because she was going to wonder how often Clara had worn it before, and lose herself in fantasies. That would be weird, which she sure as fuck wasn't! "Ah. Yeah, nineteen. I've always wondered what it meant, really, and my current hypothesis is that I'm my parents' nineteenth failed attempt at raising a well-adjusted individual. Mother denies it, but like, would you really expect her to tell the truth? She's lied for less than her possibly getting a one-way ticket to the fucking prison. Just, you wouldn't believe how villainous she is. For the last big bake-off that took place in our street, she hired a professional because she couldn't stand the thought of losing to her annoying neighbor! Tsk, tsk," Thea shook her head, in this 'disappointed but not surprised' way, "how this woman believed that she'd be able to instill actual values in me, now that is a mystery. Anyway, why are you asking? You a fan of the Roman numerals, or something?" ...what? It wouldn't be that shocking. In this era when grown fucking adults unironically collected, like, Pokemon cards, Thea refused to be surprised by something so tame.

"Who's the guy, by the way? Your chaperone, someone stuck in the friendzone, or both?" Normally, she would have assumed that the man she apparently lived with was a relative, but Clara's annoyed 'why don't you date him' directed at (presumably) her brother kinda ruled that out. Just, nah. When Thea wanted to, she could sniff secrets out better than a doberman would, and now? Why, her nose told her there were some unfulfilled ~romantic aspirations~! (No, not hers. In order for them to be unfulfilled, you actually had to give her the opportunity to win the lady's heart-- this wasn't a fucking visual novel where the Protagonist bumped into Love Interest #2 on her way to school and immediately became involved in a steamy affair. ...also, no, don't ask her how she was familiar with visual novel conventions. That had been a dark, dark period in Thea's life, and honestly, pretending it had never happened would save everyone a lot of embarrassment.

"Clean it well?" she repeated, her tone clearly suggesting disbelief. "Why? Like, I don't want my immunity system to become totally useless, Clara. Don't you know that the more you obsess over hygiene, the less effective it gets? The lazy leukocyte fuckers are probably like: 'Hmm, hmm, someone is doing my job for me, so no need to actually try here. What's on TV, again?' So, the short answer is... no. Prove me wrong and I may consider it!" she beamed at her companion.
 
“Your mother sounds like a character from a sitcom.” Clara observed, petting Spooks absentmindedly as she listened to Thea talk. Or maybe a reality TV star. Did people actually do things like that in real life? Then again, she supposed there was no reason to doubt it. (They essentially just confirmed the existence of zombies and ghosts. In comparison, a mother who involved herself in underhanded tactics over something as meaningless as a bake-off sounded way more plausible than that.) So, yeah. Clara herself may not have had a mother of her own long enough to know what it was actually like, but she would always have those terrifying experiences working Santa Paws events at the mall. From that she learned there were certain types middle aged women, especially at Christmas time, who got this peculiar look in their eyes when when you failed to meet their picture perfect expectations. They proceeded to transform into shrieking fiends from hell and would probably bite your face off if you let them. Either way, unsettling implications aside, this was kind of nice. Listening to the sound of Thea's voice was nice. Having company, not being... alone. It was nice, okay? A nice alternative to silence and jumping at every inconsequential little thing that went bump in the night.

“A fan of roman numerals?” Clara asked dubiously. That was an odd way to phrase it. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “No, not really. I'm just curious as to what it all means.” Ah. How to summarize it? Those bloody circles with roman numerals scrawled around them, the symbolism she'd observed with the tarot cards, and that she had a similar marking of her own... did she want to delve back into that heavy subject matter right now? (In that case, were there twenty-two children in total? Were there any other survivors, aside from herself and Thea? ...And why couldn't they remember anything?) Meanwhile, Thea was already trailblazing her way to the next topic. Oh well. Surely they would find other opportunities to talk about it.

“Noah’s just a neighbor. And a nosy one at that.” Clara sighed, feeling the full weight of exhaustion press over her again. The guy wasn't even close to existing in ‘the friend zone’ and she would die before calling him her chaperone. Even if chaperoning technically matched the description of what he’d been asked to do. And, yeah. Had she been an eligible lady in the regency era, her brother might have insisted she marry the guy. Raoul refused to leave her side until he saw her settled with someone he felt truly comfortable with. Someone who would 'protect her' in his stead. She wasn't about to get into all of that, though. Explaining her family situation altogether was... complicated. “My brother’s out of town this week, so he asked him to keep an eye out for me. I guess it's a precaution in case a creepy, axe wielding stalker turns up on my doorstep.”

Normally that might have been her cue as a younger sister to roll her eyes in regards to how overprotective her brother was. But apparently axe-wielding stalkers were a valid concern now. (And maybe they always had been. Raoul had been traumatized in his own way after she went missing all those years ago. She couldn't blame him too much for worrying, knowing that he still blamed himself for it.) The axe-murderer went as far as to follow her from the studio. And the tough pill to swallow here was that moving was the only viable solution she could think of. They needed to get out of here. Go someplace far away before those people found out where she lived. How on earth was she going to tell Raoul about this? She hugged Spooks closer for comfort, opting to ignore those thoughts in favor of listening to Thea instead. And as it turned out, the other girl's inability to cooperate proved to be an excellent distraction.

“…You punk.” Clara muttered softly. Why was Thea beaming at her like that, as if she wasn’t overcomplicating a very simple matter? Was she trying to push her buttons on purpose? “All this coming from the person who thinks that wearing clothes is unhealthy?” She cited Thea's earlier reasoning with a raised eyebrow. Okay, that had obviously been utter nonsense— but still! The fact remained that she was choosing when to be stingy about these health-related issues at her own convenience. That wasn't her only reasoning, either. “I mean, it’s a supernatural cut. Who knows what kind of weird side effects that could have? What if it gets infected?” Her brow furrowed, the way it always did when she was concerned. "Let me take responsibility. I was the one who suggested you try and break the lock.” Which was also the reason she got hurt in the first place. Clara wasn't about to cry over it or anything, but the guilt would gnaw at her all night otherwise. Until she dressed that cut, it wouldn't stop bothering her. Annoying, really, but that was just the way with her heart. And if that wasn't enough, then… hm. How could she push Thea’s buttons right back? “I’ll start calling you Dorothea if you don’t come over here right now.”
 
„More like from a horror,“ Thea smirked. “One of those funny ones, I guess? Like, The Mummy over The Silence of the Lambs for sure. Ooooh, wait, wait, wait!” she rubbed her chin thoughtfully, her expression that of a scientist who was just about to make an Important BreakthroughTM. “The mummy versus the mommy? I believe we’re onto something here, Clara. A hidden correlation, as the smart kids would say. I wonder why that is! And there’s no egg or chicken type of dilemma here, either-- clearly, mothers came first, and then mummies were named after them. Do you think it’s because they make you feel like a dried-up corpse, or because they turn into dried-up corpses themselves? Though I suppose that technically happens to everyone. Hmmm, hmmm. I guess some bastard with epic mommy issues might have embalmed his mother first to, like, show their granny to his kids one day, and everyone else was like: ‘cool idea, man, let’s build our entire culture around this.’” Ah, what a brilliant analysis! It was a fucking miracle, truly, that regular archeologists were still allowed to keep their jobs with someone as talented around. Years of diligent studies? Pfft! Thea only had to apply her Common Sense, and the greatest mysteries of the universe unveiled themselves in front of her.

“Well,” the brunette shrugged, “I’ve never gotten any straightforward answer out of anyone, really. I think my parents claimed not to know how it happened? Which honestly seems fake to me. Just, how do you not notice your kid getting branded? Am I supposed to believe they thought I was a fucking cow and those things were, like, bound to happen? ‘Oooh, look, honey, our little girl is growing up,’” Thea mimicked her mother in an annoying, nasal voice. (That she wasn’t doing her any favors? Yeah, maybe she “’She even got her serial number already. Do you think that, if we scan her bar code, we will find out what the future has in store for her? Man oh man, I sure hope the answer is lawyer!’” And not, you know, a good-for-nothing college dropout. Those people were total fucking trash, right? Hahaha! Ha… ha… ehm, moving on. “But yeah, I guess knowing would have been nice. At the same time, though, I don’t think I care that much? Like, my weed won’t suddenly get cheaper if I unlock this knowledge. Unless… hmm. Could it be a discount coupon in disguise, or something?” Now that, ladies and gentlemen, would have been something worth investigating! (Sadly, Thea thought, it was probably also something that fell under the ‘too good to be true’ category. More than likely, it had something to do with the demon and the cult and the general weirdness that had somehow swallowed her life, and yeah, that alone was a good enough motivation for her not to investigate. Like, if she ignored her problems, then they would start ignoring her back, right? Mutual ghosting, my dudes!)

The claim that Noah was just a neighbor, though? Yeah, that made her snort out in laughter. “Does he know about it, though? ‘Cause he seemed, hmmm, just a liiiiitle bit bothered by my cover story.” Also, also, what? Not to, like, badmouth people she had just met, but the guy didn’t seem equipped to handle an axe-wielding stalker situation at all! What was his grand plan, huh? To call Clara? The villain must have been shaking in his fucking boots, Thea was sure. “Does he have an axe of his own?” she asked, her brow furrowing. “I’m trying to picture this, but my head refuses to load that image. Can be his camouflage, I guess, but he doesn’t strike me as the type. Anyway, the only protection against stalkers with weapons is a bigger weapon! God bless America, really. Nothing more patriotic than buying a shotgun in your local Walmart. You might want to get into that, hmmm? Just friendly advice.” Thea didn’t mind staying around to protect her, of course, but blah blah blah, something about giving a man a fish versus teaching him how to catch it. Sustainability, right? (Plus, sooner or later, the brunette would have to DisappearTM, and she’d hate for Clara to get hurt because of her incompetent fucking guardians.)

Then Clara simply had to start looking for holes in her logic, but, hahaha, the joke was on her! Assuming that there even was anything remotely similar to logic was a grave enough mistake, and thinking that she could beat Thea at her own game? Pffft, yeah, right. You couldn’t challenge the Maria Sharapova of bullshitting to a duel while expecting to win, man. That wasn’t how the world worked. Like, the levels of foolishness were so fucking high they could probably be seen from the orbit! At this very moment, the aliens were probably observing them, and being like: ‘hmm, I wonder what wonder of civilization we are looking at.’ “Are you saying you have a bottle of magical disinfection, Clara?” Thea tilted her head aside, her smile entirely innocent. “Since this is an unknown threat, the regular means of combating it could lead to, I dunno, me exploding. Could you live with that? Could your carpet live with that? I don’t fucking think so!” The victory was within her reach, the brunette could tell, except that then it turned out that you should never, never underestimate any kind of enemy. Not even the ones with big, beautiful eyes!

“Wow,” Thea looked up and placed a hand over her heart, her shock apparent. “You’d sink so low, huh? Truly, now I see that no method is too dirty for you. Disgusting. And, by disgusting, I mean that I approve. Okay, okay, okay, I yield. If I do explode, though, you’ll be the one to have to get rid of my intestines and I guarantee that you’ll regret that! I am, uh, not good at eating healthy, so I bet they don’t look too good from the inside.” Thea, you see, wasn’t uncomfy with medical procedures at all-- nah, she was trying to spare Clara here, actually. That was why she stuck her arm out and closed her eyes, too! “Do what you must. Also, um, can you talk about something? For reasons. Totally normal reasons, of course.”
 
Clara reached for the first aid kit and bit her lower lip. It was rather intimidating to answer, or rather to talk in general. Especially considering how Thea herself had essentially just showcased how much she could ramble on in comparison. Really, the universe must've decided to draw chatterboxes to her like a magnet in order to balance itself out. Beth was similar, the way she could move from one subject to the other without batting an eyelash. Clara didn't mind listening, though. Or, you know, just keeping her company and supplying the noncommittal 'mhms' she needed to continue. And back when they first met, she hadn't even needed that verbal indication to go on. It was common knowledge when they met that she hadn't uttered a word in years. Beth didn't care. The unspoken implications that existing in her proximity would alienate her from the high school hierarchy by proxy just floated right over her head. She sat with her at lunch one day, started talking, and... uh, subsequently didn't stop. Beth, Clara thought, was the one she would miss the most if she had to move away from this place. Better not to dwell on that, though. Her brows drew together as she assessed the wound and observed Thea's closed eyes. Oh. Is she nervous? "...It's going to be okay. It won't need any stitches." With a light nudge, she urged the eager puppy to walk across the sofa towards their guest. "You can pet Spooks with your other hand, if you want. She seems to like you."

"Ah. We might have bonded over that as children. The name thing, I mean. I hated mine... Beatrice." Clara supplied reluctantly as she reached for the antibiotic ointment. Thea had already cleaned it well enough with water and soap, so there wasn't much left to do. She unscrewed the top and gently and methodically began applying it with her fingertip, as if she had done it a thousand times before. "It means 'she who brings happiness'. Ironic now, looking back on it." Had her papa actually bothered to research these things, had he been more of a romantic, he probably would've chosen the name Desdemona for her instead. Misery. That was all her existence seemed to bring. The kids at school would've teased her for that one just as much, however, if not more. The meaning wasn't the only thing she hated, though. Nor the concept that it sounded like an 'old lady name'. Because another thing Clara could relate to Thea on was living with horror movie parents... at least where her papa was concerned. Raoul was old enough back then to remember that her papa bullied their mother, the woman who birthed his child, into giving the baby a name of his choosing out of some misguided sense of pride. Considering the name was attached to her because of his bullheadedness... well. It made her feel gross, somehow. But that wasn't an issue anymore, was it?

"It's concerning that neither of us can remember anything. Speaking of which... I--I'm backtracking, here. But--" Clara finished applying the ointment and instinctively reached for a clean bandage. Uncertainty was a heavy stone in her throat as she measured it out. It occurred to her that opening up about her name was strange. It was weirdly personal. Yes, weird. Because she never did that with strangers, let alone friends. Not even Beth knew that her name had been Beatrice, once upon a time. And Thea. Well, she was a stranger and yet at the same time she wasn't? She figured she was a friend, or at the very least an ally. But how much could she truly know about her, after only a couple of hours? Like.. aside from her impulsiveness and boldness, the shapes of her various smiles, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, the way she could talk endlessly, and also look like a badass with an axe. (...And, yeah. Thea had a valid point. Noah wouldn't even dream of being able to compete with her in that department. Geez. Was it getting hot in here or was it just her?) Okay. Well. It turns out that one night in hell could actually teach you a lot about a person. There was still plenty to learn, though, if the years apart and lost memories were any indication. "I have a branding, too. On my back. Roman numeral eighteen."

Again, it was weird. Unburdening herself of these secrets she had clung so tightly to for years. First the voices in her head... and now the branding.

"The ritual..." Something in Clara's consistent, neutral expression finally gave way and flinched. Did she really want to explore this in greater detail? Well... it was necessary to express her thoughts at this point, right? There was no going back now that she had admitted it. Acknowledging the pain was a vital step if she was going to figure any of this out. Knowing what you were up against was the best way to protect yourself from oncoming dangers. Not that it was easy, enduring these flashes of being manhandled, tied up and forced to drink-- to drink blood-- the searing pain as colors swam before her eyes. She paused for a moment, waiting for both her breath and heartbeat to calm. Then she anchored herself by focusing intently on wrapping the bandage around Thea's arm. Neat, methodical and concise. "I saw tarot cards laid out on the floor in front of me. And seeing as they called Lizzie the fool, well... I have a theory of my own." There. All done. Clara brought her hands into her lap and stared at them. "I'm the moon and you're the sun. The eighteenth and nineteenth cards, in other words."

Tarot cards. And the cards, of course, symbolized the sacrifices. If she assumed that their captors were moving down the list in a linear fashion and looked at the way their night had played out from the beginning... Clara was probably next, right? Her heartbeat picked up again. Slamming like a sledgehammer against her chest, it was bewildering that neither she or Thea could hear it. She wrung her hands. That man had chased her down specifically, he tried to corner her. Meanwhile it seemed that Thea was in the graveyard of her own volition. It had even sounded like she was looking for someone? Unless, perhaps... had they lured her out there using other means? That'd make sense. Because after they finished her off, Thea was still right beside her on the chopping block. She was in just as much danger. They were targets, they were in danger, and...

"I used to think of the branding as my expiration date. I guess I was right about that, in a way." Clara said. The honesty, quite frankly, was quickly becoming just as terrifying as the fear itself. Attempting to hide again, she tucked everything behind a wan smile and stood up. "You're all set. I should shower, too. Ice cream snow is... is just as messy as you'd expect, huh." She swayed on her feet as her mind moved in a thousand directions at once. She brought a hand to her temple, as if to still herself. "I-- I brought you some water. Is there anything else you need before I go and, ah, do that?"
 
Nervous? Sheesh! Thea wasn’t nervous. ‘Nervous’ was, like, two inches away from ‘scared,’ and that just wasn’t an adjective that ever applied to her, okay? If you wanted something to describe Thea Holloway with, you had to go for stuff like ‘fearless,’ ‘hot’, or ‘bold’, not weak-ass shit like ‘scared.’ Just, that didn’t make any sense! (Not after they’d dealt with zombies, conquered abandoned schools, and witnessed their entire reality collapse on itself, at least. That would have been like failing to put one and one together shortly after solving fucking integers, and while her life had turned into the kind of paradox where this wouldn’t even be the weirdest thing to happen, she liked to think there was some sort of logic to it all. Sooo… facing scary shit must have caused her unrelated, lesser phobias to disappear, right? No, really. Thea wasn’t even pulling that one out of her ass! Ages ago, the ScienceTM had proved that the human brain was only that big, and could store only that much information. Now, what did that mean? Why, that her Fear Center had to delete its old saves in order for her to be able to panic over new stuff! Out with doctors, in with, uh, creepy demons feasting on children’s flesh, presumably. No longer did medical procedures unnerve her, and… ah, shit, shit, shit! Had Clara just mentioned stitches? Nopeeee, not gonna happen.)

“Stitches are for bitches,” Thea informed her new friend, while her hand fumbled around to locate the puppy. Ah, there she was! Fluffy/10, would recommend. “That’s why the words rhyme. The real warrior would just tank the damage, thank you very much. And, like, if you actually sew someone’s wound up, you reduce the chance of them getting a cool scar out of it, y’know? Pretty barbaric, if you ask me. In exchange for all of their pain, the patient should at least get to brag in some pub over how they got it. That’s the natural way of things, man. Don’t interfere with the god’s will, or he’s gonna smite you where you stand! Also, also, wanna hear my favorite scar story?” Blabbing incessantly may or may not have calmed her nerves, so Thea didn’t actually give her the time to respond-- a neat little trick, really, that ensured everyone got to hear her epic anecdotes. (Besides, her stories were kinda like ice-cream! Everyone wanted ice-cream 24/7, you see? Not everyone realized it on the conscious level, mostly because the anti-ice-cream bias and ‘eat healthy’ propaganda were powerful enemies, but when you served them some top-tier ice-cream with fruit and chocolate topping… hmm, yeah, their resolve melted faster than a fucking snowball in hell.)

“It’s on my shin,” Thea continued, with her usual cadence of a machine gun, before lifting her leg in the air. And, indeed! If Clara looked at the designated spot, she could see a very small, pale line that shimmered slightly in the light. It was, um, not exactly a WWII-tier scar? The brunette’s serious expression, however, sure as hell made it seem as if that was the case. "Do you see, Clara? Do you? This is what happens when you toy with forces powerful beyond your imagination. With..." she fell silent for a while, letting Clara's mind fill in the blanks, "...elementary school teachers. Yeah, that's right. I've been betrayed by my own educators! No wonder I grew up to be like this, to be honest-- never had any of that sweet, sweet stability. Blah blah blah, the thug life chose me. Anyway, what happened was that I was trying to steal that one chick's lunch from her office," for, uh, reasons, "and I almost killed myself over the clutter she left there. Like??? I think it was very inconsiderate of her not to think of underage thieves. We were, after all, the future of the criminal underworld."

"But ugh yeah, I don't know what my parents were thinking. Dorothea. Did they expect me to emerge out of my mother's womb in my fucking fifties, or something? Since those are the vibes I'm getting here. Nobody, nobody can convince me that they didn't hate me! Maybe we can, like, establish a club for children with shitty names? We can spend our time crafting the revenge, and, uh..." ...dating, probably, 'cause that was what all the cool kids did! Right? Right!

Thea talked and talked and talked, the way she always did, and suddenly, it was, uh, done? Okay, she had to admit, it wasn't that bad. "Thanks," she muttered, little awkwardly. (Would Clara dwell on her weird-ass behavior? It was unlikely that this would be what broke the camel's back, but something always did, eventually-- Thea, you see, just wasn't the type to have friends. Not in the long-term, anyway. Like, yeah, people did flock to her, but what did that matter when they never stayed? Mostly, she suspected, they got tired of her when they found out her ~eccentric girl act~ wasn't an act, and that they'd have to deal with all that for the whole eternity. Which, good fucking riddance! ...still, she'd prefer it if that development came later rather than sooner, with Clara. If it didn't have to come at all, to be precise. Thea wasn't asking for too much here, was she? Just for a few days, at most, before she inevitably had to get the fuck out. That way, her totally-not-romantic delusions would get to remain intact, and she'd have solid fanfiction material for years!)

Thankfully, however, Clara chose to focus on something else entirely. "Tarot cards? The Moon and The Sun?" Mindlessly, Thea scratched Spooks behind her ear, and looked up at her companion. "Okay, but you're gonna have to explain that in-depth 'cause that means fuck all to me. Like, what? The Sun? Does that mean I cause skin cancer now?" Wooow, that would have meant she'd won the superpower lottery! Move over, Spiderman, 'cause a new hero was in town.

"Nope, I don't need anything," Thea gave her one of her brightest smiles. "Go do your thing, Clarikins. "I'll be waiting!" ...in her bed, of course. It had been a long day, okay? There was a limit to how much bullshit per day a person could take, and Thea was this close to exceeding it. (Plus, omg, omg, having to share a bed with your not-crush was totally her favorite trope! Even if she'd, uh, kinda manufactured the need.) So, when Clara returned? She was already beneath the blanket, wrapped like a cocoon. "Okay, so this probably violates alllll of the etiquette rules," Thea began, "but I'm not giving up the bed. Sorry, I need my emotional support mattress. But like, you can join me? I won't do anything. I'm nice and warm, too. And, um, I guess I can braid your hair? As payment. I heard it can make you fall asleep faster, or something." ...well, that, and maaaybe Thea also wanted an excuse to confirm whether her hair was as soft as it looked. But, really, could you blame her?
 
"Wow... an invitation to sleep in my own bed." Clara deadpanned as she stepped inside. The tap-tap of Spook's nails followed behind her on the hardwood floor. The puppy jumped up into bed with Thea, instantly curling herself into a little ball at her feet to sleep. It was only a matter of seconds before her adorable snores could be heard. Clara watched her a touch enviously, seeing as she felt exhausted enough to wish she could do the same. For her, though, sleep didn't come quite so easily. Not even when she was dead tired, seeing as the demon's words were still ringing in her ears. Sweet dreams. That was a promise, a guarantee that she would have a nightmare. Trying to keep it from her mind, she dutifully went to place her dirty clothes in the hamper where they belonged and ticked off the tasks she'd completed off her calendar. (Yeah. Fighting zombies and exploring haunted schools weren't listed, as they hadn't been part of the plan. Nor was an impromptu visit, for that matter. She tried not to think about Thea laying in bed behind her. In her bed. Tried not to think about the way her heart started to pick up its pace in her chest the more she tried not to think about it.) At least her shower worked like a charm in that it washed off some of the nerves she'd picked up over the course of the night. When her hair was clean, neat, and properly combed, she felt a lot more like herself. As such, she wielded her sarcasm as sharply as ever. "I must be the luckiest girl in the world." She draped a hand over her heart for dramatic effect before huffing and rolling her eyes.

"Oh really." Clara remarked on the hair-braiding as she made her way back over to the doorway, flicking off the light switch. (Maybe the darkness, the softness lent by the night would help her cope with her unsteady heart. Because unlike those monsters in her dreams, seeing Thea under a spotlight might burn her up like a dying star. She was already the sun, wasn't she? Metaphorically, symbolically, what have you. Bright enough on her own, with those charming eyes that flashed when she smiled and-- ahem.) The golden galaxies projected on the ceiling and walls became more vibrant with the contrast. She stood there for a moment, watching the stars float over the burrito Thea had rolled herself into. It's fine. This is fine. This will be fine! And--ah-- Thea was filled to the brim with these fun facts, wasn't she? It was... kind of endearing, okay? "Come to think of it, I haven't worn my hair in braids since I was a kid. I never would've suspected that's what triggered my insomnia."

Yeah... little Beatrice had claimed the twin braids as her signature hairstyle. It was embarrassing, remembering how stupidly proud she'd been the day she learned to braid her hair all by herself. The way she bounced on her tip-toes, how wide she'd smiled at her reflection in the mirror. No one had cared except for her, but it was a massive accomplishment for her younger self. Papa and Raoul were completely useless in that department, so it was one of the very many skills she had to teach herself over the years. She went back into school after summer break thinking that the other kids might treat her nicer, like she was one of those girls who had undergone a magical transformation in a movie... but it turned out that clean, decent hair didn't affect her standing among her peers. The braids were just convenient to yank if some jerk wanted to pick a fight. Or, you know, if some sicko wanted to pull her forward to drown her in a lake under the moonlight. Clara shuddered as the memory resurfaced and slipped into bed next to Thea.

Clara released a deep breath, one she felt like she'd been holding onto for a millennia. Bed. Sweet, sweet bed. This is what she'd been yearning for all night. Pressing her head back against the comfort of her pillow was just as satisfying as she'd envisioned, if not more so. Before she could drift off, though, she went through her list again. Text Raoul? Check. Take Spooks for a walk? Mhm. Lock the front door? Yep. Patch up Thea's injury? Of course! Shower? Definitely. It was heavenly to feel so clean and warm and safe beneath the blanket, shrouded in the familiar smells of home. And the sheets felt so soft against her freshly shaved legs. Um. Her legs, which might inadvertently brush Thea's if she wasn't careful enough. Why were Thea's legs on her mind, one might ask? Well, it was because of that scar story she had told! Of course! There couldn't possible be any other reason than that.

"It's fine. Just stay on your side." Clara managed. Pfft. She wasn't making a big deal of this! Was there a reason to make a big deal of this? No. Absolutely not. Stubbornly (embarrassedly), she rolled onto her side so that she wouldn't have to face her. The back of the camisole she wore was just low enough to reveal the branding on the center of her upper back. XVIII. (That didn't occur to her in the moment. Not when the idea of their noses almost touching and Thea's lips being so close to hers was--) Clara buried half of her flushed face in her pillow and clawed her fingers into its underbelly. She was too sleepy to put up a fight for the bed, anyway, and kicking her out after the night they had wouldn't sit right on her conscience. She determinedly closed her eyes. If she could survive a haunted school, as well as everything else the universe had thrown at her up to this point, she could survive this as well. She listened to the quiet whirring of the globe on the nightstand, Spook's snores, Thea's... Thea's breathing. And then--

'Letting a murderer sleep in your bed? A risky move, dove.' The demon, of course, interfered with her attempt to silence her thoughts. And... murderer? That's rich, coming from the likes of him. Quiet anger welled up in her chest.

'…You mean that guy with the axe, right? I was there, too.' Clara reasoned. 'He was trying to kill us. It was self defense.'

'Hmm, hmm. This should be entertaining to watch.' The demon sounded amused. What? 'If you need help falling asleep, I could sing a lullaby.'

'No. I don’t want to hear you sing.'

'I was offering out of the kindness of my heart! Why aren't you wearing your headphones, dove? Embarrassed?' Clara brought a hand up over her ear, knowing it was futile. His voice continued to taunt her, loud and clear. 'Music helps you sleep, after all, and we're all so very eager to see you.' And, being the asshole he was, proceeded to blast a series of piercing screams in her head next. Her breathing went funny, the way it always did when these horror-movie sound effects revved up.

"You can braid my hair if you want to." Clara said suddenly, sounding far too much like she was gasping for breath after being held underwater for her liking. Right. Right, that would probably help. No one has ever braided her hair for her before. The new experience would... be sufficiently strange enough to get her mind off the mess inside her head. "...And tell me another story?" Surely Thea had more at her disposal, right? She, unlike Clara, never seemed to run out of words to say.
 
"Quite clearly," Thea chuckled. "I mean, you're here with me. Isn't that enough of an indication? I'll have you know that, in my hometown, people believed that my kisses brought good luck. Like, I was the opposite of the black cat! A white dog, maybe? Wait, no," she furrowed her brow, "that's not cute, man. Forget it. Anyway, the point is that I could make you the happiest girl in the world." With, hehehe, her kisses! ...and maybe also other things, come to think of it, and the prospect of that... well, let's just say that Thea found herself thankful for the cover of darkness. (When had she started blushing again? She could have sworn she didn't have it in her anymore, not since the Amy Withermoore incident, at least, and yet, yet here she fucking was, her traitorous cheeks straight up burning. Just, ugh. If any version of her had been more of a disaster than her current self, it sure as hell had been Teenage!Thea. Why was she regressing into that state, then? To spice things up a bit, solely because the zombies hadn't been enough to kill them? Ooof, yeah, that would be one way to do it! If that particular Pandora's box got opened, you see, then they were fucked.) "I-if you believe in that sort of thing, that is," she added hurriedly, in a not-at-all suspicious way. "Which you don't have to. In fact, maybe it is a little weird... or not?" (Smooth, Thea! Real smooth. Next time, to increase the smoothness, you can wear a hat with a 'step on me pls' inscription on it. That would be the only fucking way to top it!) Nevertheless, she figured, dwelling on it would do nothing but serve to make her awkwardness even more pronounced. So, moving on! The world had the memory of a fucking goldfish, anyway.

"My side? But, really, Clara, which side is mine and which is yours? Who decided it? Did god himself descend from the heavens, and made it so? And, like, how can you own a side of a bed? Maybe it owns you, actually-- since we are nothing but slaves to our lowly physical needs. Or perhaps the communists were right, and all the beds should just belong to literally everyone? That would made shit easier, that's for sure. Just, imagine going for a trip and not having to bother with hotels! You'd just find a free bed, and for the night, it's yours. Yup," Thea nodded, determined, "that must be it. The truth is even worse than we could have imagined. As always, it's the fault of the fucking tourist industry."

Clara, as always, didn't talk much, but Thea decided to interpret it as her being too fascinated for words. Better than her secretly regretting letting her crash there and thinking of escape routes, wasn't it? ...please, please, not that. Again, she wasn't attached or anything silly like that, but this had the potential to turn into a pretty nice memory. Why spoil it with an ending like 'and then the pretty princess got a restraining order against her not-love-interest,' then? Nah, 'and then she rode off into the sunset' fit her narrative far, far more. Now, the best thing about it? Thea was (probably) entirely fucking correct! Because not only did Clara agree to the hair-braiding thing, but she also asked for more of her stories. (Wow, wow, wow. Was it too soon to start thinking about their wedding songs? ...eh, what the hell! It was always too soon considering she had to high tail it out of there in, like, two days, so Thea decided that a little daydreaming had never killed anyone. And, no, the fuckers who had gotten crushed by a car because they had been too busy imagining their inauguration didn't count!)

"Sure, sure! My life has been a treasure trove of adventure. Of misery, too, but mostly adventure, I guess...? Anyway," Thea grabbed some of Clara's hair, and with surprising gentleness, she began braiding it, "wanna hear of that one time I discovered my English teacher was an alien? For real. FBI tried to shove it under the carpet, but I knew what I saw, man! Clue number 1: the chick actually enjoyed syntax. Just, who on earth enjoys syntax? Someone who is trying to analyze humanity and its fucked up ways of thinking, that's for sure. In other words, an alien. The profession matched, too, 'cause while babysitting a bunch of brats, she'd get the access fo some prime genetic material samples. But," Thea raised her voice, "that's not all."

"Clue number 2: she didn't believe in tinfoil hats. Like, that's what an alien wants you to think, you know? That they don't work. That way, they'll be able to read your thoughts at their leisure! The most pressing piece of evidence, though, would be that one time I literally saw her floating in the air. Yes," Thea looked at Clara with her big, serious eyes, "exactly. In the fucking air. The headmistress claimed it was because of all that weed, but like, really? That's the stupidest excuse ever. I bet she was an alien, too, actually. Hey, hey, Clara, have you ever met an alien?"
 
"Well," Clara glimpsed back at Thea, her eyes just as serious. "In that case, I've definitely been on a date with an alien. Loved syntax more than me. It wasn't going to work out." The flatness of her delivery muddied the waters as to whether she was kidding or not. And, yeah, it wasn't that deep. She was just being snarky. But, honestly? She wished there was no figment of truth to what she was saying right now. Letting poetry guy stay the night was one of her poorest choices. Especially considering she'd been so drunk that she couldn't even remember his name in the morning and henceforth had to call him 'poetry guy'. (Beth coined the title because it sounded shadier than poet. Which is exactly what he deserved... seeing as instead of saying goodbye like a decent person, he left her a poem claiming that he was incapable of handling strings and commitment. Which wasn't even what she'd looking for in the first place! Especially not with him. The poem also promised that he would immortalize her in another poem, as if to slap a bandaid over any wound his leaving would've left and... the arrogance was truly staggering. Like this guy genuinely believed his sonnets would one day hold the gravitas of Shakespeare. In reality, she was nothing more than an experiment to him. Maybe Thea had a point, hm? Maybe he really was an alien.) Anyway. It felt nice to have her hair played with. Really, really nice. And now, for some ungodly reason, she was envisioning Thea's lips pressed against the back of her neck? A ticklish sensation rushed down her spine and she hid her face deeper into her pillow. Oh, no. No, no, no. This was probably a sign, right? A warning sign. High time that she diverted the subject from her catastrophic love life.

"Lucky kisses, aliens... what's next? Zombies? Ghosts, maybe?" Clara quipped lightly. And, really!? She could punch herself. Did she have to dredge the kisses back into this!? She breathed out slowly and closed her eyes, letting her mind wander. In her rush to find anything else to think about, anything other than Thea's lips, the fresh memory of fishing keys out of a dead guy's mouth resurfaced. The way his lips had moved, even after being decapitated, still packed a wallop. Huh. Yeah, if she wanted to get her mind off of kissing, picturing that zombie's cracked lips was definitely the way to go about it. The image imprinted on her mind sucked all the warmth right out of her body, like a vampire. Fragments of the rest of the night followed in violent flashes and she burrowed herself deeper beneath the covers for comfort. Exhaustion wrapped itself around her again, like tendrils of darkness, making her eyelids unbearably heavy. "...What a night." Her voice grew softer, into something more of a mumble. "Seriously."

Clara was probably able to hang on for a few minutes after that, gradually drifting off to the sound of Thea's voice.

The nightmare that awaited her was a recurring one. With a pounding heart, Clara hurled herself inside a glassy safe haven. The shape of this haven often changed, but it was always transparent and it always kept them out. The shadowy, featureless figures that proceeded to pound on the walls surrounding her. Their identity was secret, but their intentions were clear. They wanted to get in, wanted to kill her. Ink gradually leaked from their palms and clenched fists like blood, staining the surface. As far as nightmares went, it was one of her tamer ones. Usually, she just had to endure the stress of waiting out their onslaught with bated breath. Tonight, however, her walls rattled and cracked as they threw themselves at them with abandon. They moved with the same desperation of that zombie tearing the cemetery fence down. No more hiding, dove. It's time to come out and play. Tonight they broke through the glass and converged on her like wolves.

Clara awoke with a start, breathing raggedly. She couldn't tell if she was still hearing the echo of fists pounding the glass or if it was the sound of her heartbeat thundering in her ears. Judging by the absence of sunlight creeping through the blinds, it was early. So early that the sun hadn't even risen yet. The sun. Sitting upright, she gently soothed her fingers over the braid... that Thea had given her. That's right. Thea. At a glance, it seemed like she was still asleep. Ah... she looked peaceful like this. Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Clearly, her heart wouldn't be able to handle watching the other girl while she slept. Not when she desperately needed to shake the nerves the nightmare had afflicted her with. Quietly, as not to wake her, Clara proceeded on with her morning routine. According to the clock, it was a quarter till six. Which was early, yes. Especially for a Saturday. But it was a reasonable enough time to wake that she didn't bother trying to go back to sleep. Spooks rose with her, so she took her outside for her morning walk and fed her. Then she washed her face with cold water, and... 'No more hiding.' The lights flickered above and she swore she saw something creeping behind her in the bathroom mirror. It was gone soon enough to wonder whether or not she'd hallucinated the whole thing. And then...

'The tower looms high.' This voice was airier. Like a child's, like Lizzie's. 'The tower looms high.'

Clara massaged her temples as the two voices blended. The world became so hazy when the voices taunted her when she was this tired, filling her mind like the morning fog. Disorienting to the point that it made her physically ill. Hasty and efficient out of habit, she managed to clean herself up in the bathroom and put on a general air of normalcy before she left it. She grabbed her headphones and sketchbook and hunkered down on the sofa. Turned the television on at a soft volume, put her headphones on to cancel out the rest of the noise, and distractedly flipped through her sketches. Tower, tower, tower. Like the tarot card? She located the page filled with her sketches detailing scenes from the previous night, the bloody circles on the floor ticked off with roman numerals. Lizzie had said something about joining the circle, she and Thea were both branded with roman numerals. It all added up. Hm. What was all of this, anyway? Murders themed after tarot cards? It seemed like something a serial killer might think of to be 'artsy' in an especially sick way, sure, but... the existence of the demon in their heads made matters far more complicated than that. The number of followers he had was worrying as well. Just because they successfully got rid of one of them last night didn't mean that they were in the clear. No. And if her nightmare told her anything, it was that she wasn't safe here anymore. 'No more hiding.' If Thea were to leave today, would she... would she really be all right? The idea of handling anything remotely like last night all by herself was...

Clara pushed the slider up on the volume of her music, to the point where she couldn't hear anything else through her headphones, and moved on to a fresh page. With a shaky hand, she scribbled the broken walls in her nightmare. Somehow, it felt important to document them. Especially when the details changed so drastically. If they caught up to her today, what would happen to her tomorrow? She had to prepare herself for it.
 
“Clearly shit taste,” Thea grinned. “I would never love syntax more than a cute girl. Would I love a hamburger more? Well, maybe, if it also had jalapenos and those dope-ass caramelized onion rings, but syntax? Never. In fact, I’ll start breaking it on purpose now. For the feeble-minded, rules are!” Okay okay okay, so maybe sounding like an infinitely cuter version of master Yoda wasn’t the best goal to pursue here? Since, you know, she sincerely doubted that many blushing maidens dreamt about the green motherfucker. (And the ones who did? Well, let’s just say that those tended to be people who frequented dark, dark corners of the internet, and Thea had approximately 0% desire to bring that nonsense into her life. Like, it was messy enough even without seeing that which no human being should ever be exposed to! That shit led to ConsequencesTM, man. Ever read Lovecraft? The man hadn’t pulled it all out of his nineteenth century ass-- true horror fucking warped your mind, to the point you no longer recognized yourself. Just, certain boundaries should never be crossed! And the brunette was like, totally convinced that most of those could be found on the internet.)

“Vampires, maybe?” she suggested. “I mean, if we’re going to meet every horror cliché in existence, then I’d say it’s their turn. Personally, I’m praying for the ones who still have a shred of dignity. Like, I’m not gonna run around and pretend I’m afraid of Edward fucking Cullen, okay? The demon can fire me for all I can, but I won’t do it.” …wait. Could she possibly fire him? It made sense, on the instinctual level-- technically speaking, he was the tenant in her mind, and Thea couldn’t remember him ever paying any goddamn rent. Those were some pretty convincing grounds for an eviction, weren’t they?

‘Dream on, crow,’ the demon laughed. ‘What’s next? Will you try to sue me for stalking, or some other human transgression? Sorry to say, but those don’t really apply to me.’

‘Has anyone asked you? No? Then practice the sacred art of shutting the fuck up, bitch.’

Clara was right in that this had been quite a night, however, and Thea could feel her eyelids growing heavier and heavier with each passing second. “Mmm,” she yawned. “You know what, Clara? I think I’m gonna sleep. We can discuss our vampire management strategies tomorrow, I guess. Goodnight!” And, for her, the night had been rather good. (Rarely, you see, did the brunette have nightmares. Most likely, she was way too fucking badass for the bastards to show up on her porch! …well, fine, the chemical cocktail her brain was currently drowning in may have had something to do with that as well, buuut let’s not mention that. Ugly things had the habit of surfacing when you spoke of them too much, you know? Jinxing, it was called. Obviously, the mature approach here was to stick your head in the fucking sand and pretend that the issue in question had never been a thing at all! Legends said that, if you pretended hard enough, the universe would buy into it, too, and your problems would be erased in a heartbeat. And, as a staunch supporter of this theory? Thea was naturally doing her best to prove it.)

Blah blah blah, moving on. Nights tended to be unbearably long, but she fell asleep quickly, so the mechanics of her body provided her with a convenient time skip button. Because, once Thea opened her eyes? The sun was shining high in the sky! The birds were chirping, the insects were doing their own thing as well, she presumed, and it was time to… ah, good. Clara had fucked off to god-knows-where, which meant that she could fish allll those bottles out of her pocket without being questioned. (‘Are these for allergies, my dear?’ people sometimes asked. ‘What are you allergic to?’ ‘You specifically,’ Thea was always tempted to answer, and it wasn’t even entirely untrue. Like, in reality, she was allergic to the world in general! And obviously, every individual idiot was an important part of the whole idiocy mosaic that actually made her hate it in the first place.) Anyway, yeah. Her Bottle of Happiness was soothingly, pleasantly full, and so she swallowed three pills at once. You only lived once, right? ‘High, so, so high. Climb, and listen to the chime, chime, chime.’ Oh, awesome! An artistically inclined ghost, at least if her hunch was right and this was yet another kid stuck in their own personal hell. (Just, ugh. They’d literally dealt with Lizzie yesterday! Couldn’t she get like five minutes of peace before being dragged into yet another disaster of epic proportions? Ghostbusters, Thea decided, should fucking learn a thing or two about unions. …hehe, unions. She wouldn’t mind a union of sorts with Clara, if you catch her drift!)

Right, Clara. Not showing up before the lunch would have been impolite, especially because she’d kinda promised to cook-- like, wishful thinking didn’t tend to peel the veggies for you, man. (Trust her, Thea would know. She’d tried and tried and tried, relentlessly, only for the fucks to stubbornly remain unpeeled. Who knew supernatural abilities didn’t just manifest conveniently whenever you wished for them? What a shitty, unfun world.)

“Morning!” Thea shouted before running down the stairs. “What’s your stance on broccoli? I love it, but I don’t judge the anti-broccoli crowd. Like, there’s a lot of school canteen trauma associated with it. If you’re one of the victims, I guess I can bake some potatoes instead, and then--”

“…from Saint Anne’s Hospital,” someone, presumably a reporter, on the TV said. “The patient, Thea Holloway, aged twenty-four, is a danger both to herself and others. Do not approach her if you can help it. Just call the police if you happen to see her, and…” Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit! Maybe, if she got lucky, she could claim it was a namesake…? (‘Hahaha, what a small world! I can’t believe there’s a psycho running around who bears the same name as me, man. Crazy shit. Now, want something to drink? A kiss or two, maybe?’) Except that, when she turned to look at the screen, there was a large, large photo of her face taking up most of it. “Ah, fuck,” Thea exhaled. “Is my forehead really that big?”
 
Clara was fully absorbed in her sketchbook, squinting hard at one of the hooded figures she was sketching. Considering she only had her memories from the previous night to rely on, it was difficult to recapture everything precisely as she had seen it. Her eyes were a little red, which was likely attributed to the sleep depravation and the fact that her early morning hours were spent completely immersed in research. Sitting still just wasn't an option, okay? Not while their captors were undoubtably plotting their next move! Unfortunately, however, plugging key words in an incognito window led her to one dead end after the other. There were all sorts of witchy blogs that detailed rituals with herbs and crystals and whatnot, but none of them mentioned anything about human sacrifices. And yeah, okay. That made sense. Of course a diabolical group of child murderers wouldn't post their methods up on the internet for anyone to find! No, no, no. But do you want to know the most suspicious thing Clara discovered? The fact that she couldn't find anything on Lizzie. Sure, there were a handful of little girls named Lizzie who had gone missing around the same time, but... none of the photographs in the databases matched the girl they'd encountered in their memories last night. Had she somehow disappeared from this plane of existence the same way she disappeared from their minds? And in that case, was the same true for the other kids who were involved? For the hours she'd spent putting in research, the lack of information was frustrating. At this point, all she could do was recall every minute detail she could to narrow down her search. She wasn't obsessed, it was just... having something tangible to hold onto would give her the confidence to walk forward on steady feet. Something to prove that last night wasn't an elaborate hallucination.

Spooks jumped up at her feet, suddenly, and did that adorable little twirl she often did when she was too excited to stand still. The puppy proceeded to prance across the room. Clara lifted her gaze just in time to see the television flicking over to the weather. Noticing Thea was standing there in front of it, Spooks eagerly hopping at her feet to greet her, she jumped. Oh! How long had she been up for? Quickly, she pushed her headphones back so they were hanging around her neck. The muffled beat of her music could be heard playing through them like speakers-- a testament to just how badly she was ruining her hearing-- and hit pause. "Oh. You're up." Clara noted. Well, obviously. She brought her fingers to her headphones and hesitated. "Sorry. They're noise canceling. I use them to help with the... uh, you know. I--" Hm. Thea looked rather spooked herself, didn't she? Did she have a nightmare, too?

'Ah. Oblivious, oblivious dove. You don't understand just how frustrating this is to watch!'

Ignoring the voice, Clara closed her sketchbook and brought herself to her feet. "I'll make some coffee. Want any?" She moved into the kitchenette and began busying herself with the preparations. Running the sink water, she subtly glanced up at Thea across the room again. Was it too invasive to ask if she had nightmares? It might be something else they had in common, maybe even something else to unpack and research. Hm. Unless this was a symptom uniquely of her own? Research told her the reversed moon card was linked to insomnia and strange dreams. Uncannily fitting, wasn't it? Which, yeah. Great. Or maybe she was reading into all of this too much. The inside of her head was a swirling sea of information. "So... I have a notepad on the counter." She nodded to it. "I'll go shopping in a bit. If there's anything you want... you know, you can write it down. If you want to stay here for a while longer, that is." Ah. Why does she sound so awkward? She just-- she didn't want Thea to leave. But she couldn't just come out and say that, now could she?

Thea was the sun. Right? A bright and joyful card, which certainly seemed to match her energetic personality. And, much like feeling the warm sunlight on her skin for the first time in spring after a long, cold winter... it was nice. Having her around was nice. (And yes, she's considered this exact thought countless times before at this point. Only because it was the truth!) And not just because she made her feel safe, but she also made her feel like she wasn't completely alone in her colossal mess for the first time in years. Having someone beside her, someone who knew even just a semblance of what it was like... anyway. Vibrant as Thea was, it'd be downright silly to assume she obliviously floated above all the trauma they'd endured as kids. Of course she didn't. Of course their cards didn't dictate who they were as people, either! Even then, she'd read that the reversed sun had connotations related to sadness. With that detail fresh in mind, she also couldn't shake the fact that Thea seemed distracted. Maybe even uneasy?

Ah. It wasn't because of something Clara had done, was it? Wearing those headphones, she could admittedly be a bit... oblivious. Neglectful, even, when someone was trying to get her attention. Was that what the voice was referring to? Did Thea think that she was ignoring her?

"Hey..." Clara said as the coffee maker hummed and gurgled to life. She bit her lip uncertainly. Taking initiative and words in general, were just so hard. Especially for her. But asking was the only way to know for sure. And the concept of ruining things so quickly with the only person on this earth who knew her secret was... "Everything okay?"
 
Haha! Hahahaha! Yeah, man, Thea was totally okay. Like, nothing to see here, right? Just a girl, this beautiful, idyllic morning, and all those ‘wanted’ posters with her face that were probably being printed as they spoke. An absolutely normal Tuesday, in other words, as long as you weren’t diagnosed with a terminal case of the party pooper syndrome! (Sheesh, all the cool kids had trouble with the police. Her favorite movies claimed so, and obviously, there was no better source of information for… well, pretty much anything. A clean criminal record was basically the equivalent of only owning one pair of trousers-- both were liable to destroy your social life, sooner or later. And, like, wasn’t the prison experience more enriching than college? Instead of memorizing useless fucking data for the sake of proving that you were capable of doing so, you could gather Actual Arcane Knowledge! How to make a deadly weapon out of a spoon 101, the basics of the barter economy, networking with the local drug lords... there was something for everyone out there, really. You just had to keep your eyes peeled for all those wonderful, wonderful opportunities! If you were lucky, you even got a badass tattoo for your trouble, and that, to Thea, was infinitely worthier than any degree. A random-ass piece of paper that could be easily falsified versus a tangible reminder of your own hardcore-ness? Yeah, not hard to choose here.

‘Am I dreaming here, crow? Are you really going to do what I’m thinking you’re going to do?’

‘Depends on what your pea-sized brain came up with.’

The laughter that resonated in her head was deafening, almost, but Thea didn’t even flinch. (When your brain had been louder than the fucking highway for years, not reacting to all the noise had become your second nature, you know? In order to not seem crazy, because it didn’t actually matter if you were as long as nobody caught up on it. …blah, blah, blah, they sure did live in a society. Too bad, though, that more often than not, the ropes that were meant to support you fucking strangled you instead.)

‘Have you ever cracked a bird’s skull open, crow? Because, sorry to burst your bubble, but you are kinda throwing stones in your glass castle here. Anyway, shouldn’t you take this more, hmm, seriously? If I understand this right, killing someone is a big deal for you humans. Not that I can’t empathize with the desire to spill blood,’ he smirked, ‘but don’t only pariahs do it among your kind? And Clara, oh, sweet little Clara… I wonder what she will think, truly, once she finds out her new friend is a murderer. How long will it take for her to contact the authorities, hmm? Or will she shoot you herself, afraid for her own life? Once a murderer, always a murderer, after all. You’ve been branded.’ …which, yeah. As much as Thea hated to admit it, the demon could have been right about that sort of stuff-- even people who were otherwise fairly open-minded tended to flip out when the conversation turned to cutting a bitch. (Why? Did they, like, think that all murderers liked to collect creepy coats made out of human skin, and that they were about to become a part of someone’s wardrobe? The brunette didn’t doubt that psychos like that existed, of course, but she was also willing to bet that most murderers were reasonable people. Much like her, actually! It just wasn’t her fault that the main obstacle to her freedom happened to be human-shaped.)

Still, though. Even if Thea could see the demon’s logic, it didn’t mean that she was going to follow it, you see? ‘Cause the fucker was a demon, and his intentions for her were probably about as benign as a butcher’s plans for his cows. Like!!! Why the fuck would he look out for her? More likely than not, this was a trap in disguise-- maybe he wanted to tell Clara himself, solely so he could be like ‘hurrr durrr, the bitch is lying, bet she’s gonna stab you in your sleep’ later. Which, not on her fucking watch! Clara was going to find out, end of. This time, the headphones might have saved her, but she doubted the news anchors would shut up about the hot new case any time soon, and she couldn’t very well rely on her partner (?) always being distracted by music/her hotness/whatever. Sooo… time for honesty, she guessed? (If nothing else, Thea would get to control the narrative that way. You know, explain shit to her! Without all those lies about a ‘poor, poor nurse loved by her patients’ that were bound to appear on the TV for drama points. And if Clara still insisted on calling the police… well, that was a problem for her future self! Sucked to be her, really. A good thing that Thea was firmly bound to the present.)

“Umm… yeah, kinda,” she cleared her throat, “but also not. It’s complicated. Anyway, remember that tidbit about me escaping from a reputable institution? Turns out that it’s a bit, uh, relevant now. Say, Clara, what’s your stance on killing people? Fuckers who deserve it, I mean. Not like, baby Jesus, but the equivalent of king Herodes. Or nurse Ratched, maybe? Yeah, that would be a better comparison here, for reasons. Totally, totally valid reasons. Also," she beamed, "coffee would be nice! My caffeine blood levels are ridiculously low."
 
"...Killing people." Clara said flatly, as if she didn't quite understand the question. She stood still while her mind overanalyzed every word that left Thea's mouth. Sure, she remembered the part about the reputable institution... she didn't have the memory of a goldfish, after all. But it became relevant in what way? And-- and now she was asking for her stance on killing people? Ah. Leave it to her overactive imagination to conjure up all sorts of gruesome images in response to that. (Or, more accurately, it was an amalgam of experience and imagination. Either way-- she needed to breathe. Panic wasn't help anyone, least of all herself. Okay?) Okay, okay, okay. It went without saying that she wasn't expecting this. And, uh, if she learned anything from observing improv lessons, it was that subverting expectations was one of the pillars that the concept of comedy stood upon. Taking into consideration the way that Thea was beaming and moving casually onto the subject of coffee...? Ah ha. Maybe she was teasing her! Coming up with another one of her stories? Haha, right? She totally got her. Except that it wasn't funny. Especially not after everything that occurred the night before. What with the-- the axe murderer, the revelation of their childhood kidnappers and...

And still, Clara couldn't shake the trace of emotion she just gauged from her expression. Mere seconds later, the television confirmed the relevancy in the background as Thea's photograph reappeared on the screen. In a daze, Clara glanced between it and the girl standing in front of her. When this information settled with her, the temporary high she got from escaping her endless loneliness sank like an anchor. Oh. Oh, god. So... what now?

'I don't want to say I told you so... but I told you so. Murderer, murderer, murderer!' The word echoed and began to take up so much space that no other thought could possibly replace it. It got to the point where it felt as though the demon was bludgeoning her over the head with it, as if he wanted to make the thought her own when it wasn't, wasn't, wasn't. She wasn't about to jump to conclusions and bastardize Thea without knowing any context. Context was very, very important! An unnatural urge to scream rose up in her chest and she pushed it down with all her might. She bit her lip and grasped the edge of the kitchen counter to hold herself upright. 'Murderer, murderer, murderer.'

'...Do you have to chant like that?' She closed her eyes. 'You're giving me a headache.'

'A headache? That's the least of your worries, dove! What are you going to do?' The demon sounded like the queen bee in a movie, waiting over the phone to hear the latest gossip. Or like a movie-goer with a tub of popcorn, leaning towards the screen anticipating drama and bloodshed. 'Call the police? Grab a kitchen knife, hit her with the frying pan? She's a dangerous criminal!'

A dangerous criminal, huh. Except it wasn't like Thea tried to kill her in her sleep last night. She wasn't coming at her with a weapon in her hands. All this time, Clara hadn't suspected her of anything remotely like that, either. It would be one thing if she found out she'd murdered someone by chance and needed to be silenced, but... wouldn't Thea telling her outright and then killing her for knowing be way more trouble than it was worth? Besides, she didn't know the full story yet. What she did know for certain, on the contrary, was that Thea saved her life more than once last night. In fact, she had multiple opportunities to kill her or, alternatively, stand by and let her die... and she hadn't taken any of them.

Of course Clara wasn't going to let this go with a calm heart and a patient little smile, not when the connotations were this serious. But she knew firsthand that the world was filled with a spectrum of grays as opposed to a strict black and white. Not to mention that the sketchy demon in her head was way too eager to pit them against each other. The last thing she wanted was to succumb to his mind games. In order to make the right call, she needed to hear the rest from Thea herself.

"I... I'm going to need more information than that. Thea, I--" A thunderous knocking at the door interrupted before she could give a proper response. Clara cringed when it continued on and on without ceasing, to the point that Spooks began to growl and bark. It couldn't be the police right on cue, right? No. She could just make out someone shouting her name. And surprise surprise, it was Noah. Noah, who sounded concerned. Noah, who Thea had brazenly introduced herself to just yesterday! If 'relevant' meant Thea's name and picture were circulating the news networks, then... Shoot. Forced to make a snap decision, what she instinctively chose to do was-- "...My closet."

"Go hide in my closet." Clara said decisively, even as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. Running her fingers through her hair, she flicked her serious gaze from the kitchen floor to Thea. "I'm going to cover for you. I'm going to cover for you and then you're going to tell me everything. Okay?"

'Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me.' The demon tsked. 'I'm worried about you, dove. Did you hit your head yesterday? Or worse. Have you actually fallen for her charms? Not only are you becoming an accomplice, you're also giving her access to your closet! Don't you keep all of your creepy paintings in there?'
 
You know that disgusting, disgusting feeling when you hadn’t done well at an exam, and the prof sent you an email with your grade? How those few seconds before opening it and learning just how badly you had fucked up stretched well into eternity? Well, multiply it by ten thousand to get to the level of anxiety that Thea was currently enjoying! (Ah, shit, shit, shit. Maybe she should have cooked the lunch first? Bad news was better received on full stomach, everyone knew, and like… perhaps Clara would have been too distracted by her dope-ass veggies to care about that murder thing. No, seriously! People who complained about vegetables were fucking weak, and only showed off their own incompetence-- as in, of fucking course that shit would be gross if you just threw it into water, added some salt and prayed to all the known and unknown gods for it to be at least moderately edible. Just, nah. The frying pan was where it was at, man! Add some oil, hmm, oh yeah, and then soooo many spices it would have made all the medieval spice merchants green with envy, and then…)

‘Are you dissociating again, crow?’ the demon laughed. ‘Because, newsflash: that isn’t going to protect you from the consequences. I wonder, truly, what dove is thinking now! Was it wise, to spill the truth like that? How long have you known her, hmm? Twelve hours, or maybe even less? And yet, yet you choose to entrust your life into her hands! You must not value it as much as I initially thought.’

‘No, you don’t fucking wonder. You’re literally inside of her head. You know,’ Thea pointed out. ‘And since you’re being all mysterious about it, I’m actually thinking that she isn’t thinking anything bad now. Thanks for the reassurance, mate!’ Now, she didn’t really live in a fantasy Lalaland where Clara would congratulate her for the deed, and hand her the ‘world’s most efficient pest control’ award for ridding the world of the bitch, but that the demon tried to pit against her? Yep, that really pointed towards an, um, favorable conclusion. And, sure enough, Clara proceeded to ask her her for more information! “Sure,” Thea nodded, “that’s reasonable. I have nothing to hide.” …aside from all the things she kinda had to hide, but let’s not dwell on those, shall we? The phrase made her sound alllll kinds of trustworthy, too, and everyone knew that appearances were more important than the actual state of things. Uh huh. All of the lessons her life had oh-so-graciously taught her had confirmed that narrative, at least! “So like, I know that murder is bad, and it’s not usually the first solution I turn to, but I had to off that nurse before she…” Geez. Were the locals all glued to their TVs? It hadn’t even been five fucking minutes since the news anchor had mentioned her name! To Thea, that pointed to a dangerous social phenomenon-- namely, to people not knowing how not to stick their nose into their neighbor’s private fucking business. Like!!! Had they forgotten already that privacy was an actual thing? That they’d given all of their info to Facebook, Google and other shady companies didn’t fucking mean they could act like that shit was no longer relevant. Those who didn’t fucking have brains the size of a rice grain, you see, actually still cared!

…but, but, but, the light at the end of the tunnel? Clara. Clara who, for all intents and purposes, agreed to have her back. (Immediately, her heart skipped a beat. A girl who would become your accomplice like that, with zero fucking hesitation? Dream gf material. They could be like Bonnie and… uh, Bonnie, she guessed, and ride off into the sunset together, and, and, and!!!) “Right,” she said, “okay, thanks. I’ll give you all the details later, with… with sock puppets, and shit. It’ll be grand, I promise. Love ya!” And, with that? With that, Thea retreated into Clara’s room. The closet, the closet, the closet. Oooh, there it is!

Naturally, the situation turned out to be much, much more dire than either of them had suspected it to be. When Clara opened the door, you see, there wasn’t Noah only-- no, he was surrounded by a bunch of serious-looking guys in uniforms. By cops, in other words. “Clara, are you okay? I knew that the girl was shady, but I had no idea that…”

“Miss Loveless,” one of the men interrupted him, “I presume you’re unharmed, then? Good. Now, step outside. Thea Holloway is as unpredictable as she is dangerous, and we cannot risk the presence of civilians. Is she still inside, or…?”

“Here’s our search warrant,” a different cop spoke, and presented the document to Clara. Woah, now that was pretty fucking fast! They must have gotten it at the speed of light, considering just how fresh the information about her having been seen there must have been. (Like flies to a corpse, really. A corpse that Thea could easily turn into, if the cops stuck to their tried-and-true method of shooting first!)

“Alright, Miss,” he continued, oh so casually, “my colleagues are going to search the house and I am going to interrogate you. What is your relationship with Miss Holloway? I understand that you spent some time with her yesterday, even before you came home. Why? What were you doing together?” …yesterday, huh. When had the murder happened, again? Could he be considering her to be an accomplice?
 
The sting of whiplash Clara felt just then could've put the sting of killer bee to shame. To go from blushing unwittingly in response to Thea's casual 'love ya' to standing in the open doorway, acting as the sole obstacle standing before a horde of officers? Yikes. And a real formidable obstacle she was-- what with the fact that she barely hit 5'2 in height and got her daily exercise from walking to work, lifting heavy canvases and hauling cases of art supplies from one place to the other. Except even muscle wouldn't stand much a chance against those guns hanging on their belts. Memories interposed themselves with the present. Guns. Her gaze fell to the one on the man standing in front of her, the sound of a shot rang clear in her head, and she resisted the urge to curl up on the floor in a little ball of panic. What was she supposed to do? There was no plan set in place, no semblance of authority she could muster to oppose their commands. The series of events that followed would be simple. They would destroy her house with their search, find Thea, and... The world around her fizzled out and everything sounded like it was being filtered through layers upon layers of cotton. Horror closed its cold hands around her throat, squashing her ability to articulate and squeezing until she couldn't breathe. Everything occurring outside of her head melted together. 'Miss Loveless?' 'Hey, give her some space.' 'Miss Loveless, step outside.' 'Thesituationisdireweneedto-'

It was only when one of them reached out for Clara's arm that she snapped out of her trance, swaying to avoid his touch. Don't touch me, don't touch me--

"...I'm sorry, sir? I had a friend over, but she left early this morning. Before I woke up." Clara managed, speaking as loud as she could without making it blatantly obvious that she was trying to warn Thea. Thank goodness that the apartment was so small, right? Sound carried easily enough. Except that it also meant they would find her quickly once they began their search. Ugh. If her experience in the ghost world was good for one thing, it had given her time to practice her improvisation. She said it without stuttering and everything! (For a moment, she considered claiming that her friend was named Tia. Although, realistically, claiming that Noah misheard Thea when she introduced herself wasn't going to cut it. No. And the less information she gave, the less they could use against her if this snowballed into something massive.) And was it just her, or did one of those officers look kind of... familiar? Playing as innocent as possible, she tilted her head and furrowed her brow. She skimmed the warrant in her hand but couldn't focus on any of the text as it blurred in and out of focus. Was this really happening? "I don't understand. As you can see, I'm fine."

'Now you're lying for her? Oh, dove. My sweet little dove.' The demon taunted. 'Turn her over to the authorities before you get yourself in trouble. I bet Noah will comfort you afterwards! He called the cops for you and everything. What a dreamboat! I'm really warming up to him.'

Yeah, well, Noah should have checked in with her before notifying the police! If he'd known anything about her, or what she's been through, he would know that ambushing her doorstep first thing in the morning was a catastrophically bad idea.

Clara kept herself rooted in the doorway. It was a legitimate response to shock, right? It wasn't suspicious! And the longer she stalled there, the longer Thea would have to... well, what could she do? For one, she knew for a fact that it was possible to safely scale outside from her bedroom window. (She may or may not have laid awake at night dwelling on what she would do if an intruder broke in. It wasn't weird or anything. Take one good look at her background and you'd see that her paranoia wasn't born of irrationality!) Still, that didn't guarantee that the same thought would occur to Thea. (Considering she was a self-proclaimed escapist and everything, Clara hoped that the thought would occur to her. Thea might have committed a terrible crime, but... she didn't want her to get caught, okay? Not until she knew the whole story, anyway!) Still. It was only a matter of time before the team became impatient and moved her by force. They would find her hiding in the closet, they would know she lied to protect her, and... We're screwed. We're so screwed.

"Outside? Well, I woke up feeling under the weather and... and speaking of the weather, it's really cold out here, isn't it?" Clara asked, rubbing her hands over her bare arms, which were genuinely prickling from the sharp chill in the October air. Little clouds escaped her mouth with every breath and everything. Did they expect her to leave the house dressed in a camisole of all things? Geez. She could only hope her reluctance wasn't coming across suspicious as hell. "I have no qualms about letting you inside, if you really believe it's necessary..." Yes, she did. This was completely uncalled for. Like, sure, the tip and warrant gave them access. Whatever. But the interrogation bit? She knows her rights, damn it! Like her right to remain silent, for one. And it was just plain dirty to catch her off guard with all those questions without informing her of them beforehand. "But may I grab my jacket first?"
 
Fucking cops! Did they have nothing better to do? Bothering law-abiding citizens who only murdered in self-defense, thank you very much, shouldn't be that high on their priority list. Like, yeah, Thea may have killed the nurse in cold blood, but for the humanity in general, that had actually been a net gain-- the overall amount of happiness in the world had increased with her not fucking there, and not systematically destroying those who had the audacity to ask 'hey, what's in that concoction you're feeding me.' Sometimes, death was the only escape, you know? And Thea refused to sacrifice the shoddy remains of her sanity on the altar of what the society thought to be 'right' or 'proper'. (For that, it seemed, she was to be punished now. Again, why were they even going after her of all people? Weren't there, like, drug lords and corrupt politicians and domestic terrorists? A single girl who had only killed o n c e in her lifetime, and for very valid reasons, shouldn't even be a blip on their fucking radar. But, okay, okay! Nobody had ever claimed that life was fair, right? 'A Deranged Murderer Apprehended' prooobably made for a better headline than 'Guess What, Our Chief Has Been a Villain All Along.')

'Silly little crow,' the demon chuckled. 'The closet? Really? What a brilliant idea, to confine yourself in such a small place while everyone and their mom searches for you. What if dove locks the door behind you, hmm? What then? You are a dangerous criminal, after all! In her mind, anything that she does to capture you may be justified.'

'Do you ever, like, shut the fuck up? Maybe take a nap, you insufferable bitch. For once in my miserable life, I'd like to be alone in my goddamn head!' Plus, she had to listen for her cues, and that was hard to do with the fucker diverting her attention away, and... shit. Shit, shit, shit! They were coming, weren't they? The officers spoke in That ToneTM-- the tone that basically said 'the only reason I'm not gunning you down right now is that your neighbors would complain, most likely.' (And yet, yet Clara tried to cover for her! Man, had this been a dating sim, Thea's love meter would have shot up to the fucking sky. Suck on that, demon! As always, friendship/budding romance triumphed over the forces of evil. ...would her body triumph over bullets flying in her general direction, though? Well, that remained to be seen.)

Okay, so staying in the closet obviously wasn't a viable option-- not if she didn't plan to pursue a new career as a wheel of swiss cheese, at least. The window indeed seemed like a pretty good escape route, but hey, hey, hey! Offense was the best defense, right? Or rather, literally any defense was better than no defense, since not even Thea would unironically consider going all Rambo on cops who had guns when she... uh, didn't have those. Okay, okay, okay. What can I take with myself in order to... ah, yup, that will work. Scissors, a girl's best friend! The improvised weapon gave her those warm, fuzzy feelings of being prepared-- you know, kinda like when you were playing a survival horror game, and found a shotgun just when zombies were knocking on your door. Perfect timing, really. (...too bad that real life had no saves, though. Like, being only granted one chance to get this right? Ridiculously unfair, man.)

Quiet and elegant, much like a cat, Thea landed on the ground under Clara's window. Farewell, my fair lady. Thanks to fate, we found each other, and it is fate that will make us go our separate ways now. Remember me fondly, and...

"There she is!" someone shouted. Someone who was ridiculously fucking close? Ah, damn the bastards and their cowardly-ass tactics! They must have been watching the house from all the directions, and now... now they were both fucked, with Clara being caught red-handed while telling lies. (Telling lies to protect her, dammit. Was this how it was going to end? 'No surprise there,' a voice in her head smirked. 'That's what knowing you leads to, my dear. You're a stain on everyone's lives.') "Alright, Miss Holloway, raise your hands in the air! I wanna see them."

"Cold, huh?" another cop, the one who was interrogating Clara, asked. "Funny, since I have a feeling it's going to get pretty hot here. What was it about your friend leaving early, Miss Loveless? I sense some, hmm, discrepancies in that story."

"In the air!" If she did that, it was over. No chance for her to grab her scissors, you see? Not that they could do that much, mind you, but they were something, and... "Can you hear me?"

"Okay, it seems to me that we'll have a lot to talk about as well, Miss Loveless. Follow me. Of course, you have the right to remain silent and all that jazz, blah blah blah. Everything that you do say may be used against you in the court. Now, go sit in the car, and..."

"Aaargh!" Funny, wasn't it? How fragile the human face was, and how much of a mess a single pair of scissors could do. A total sea of blood! (Thea's hand had basically moved on its own, too-- as if there had been no other choice, no other path to follow, and maybe, maybe that had been right. The glint in the cop's eyes had seemed downright murderous, you see, and as a Fellow MurdererTM, she knew what she was talking about. It took one to know one and shit, didn't it?) Within seconds, it was Thea who held his gun, and with her other hand, she put the guy in front of her as a convenient living shield. (A police car was parked nearby, too. Presumably that cop's car? Which would mean that the keys were on his person. Hmm, hmm.) "Okay, don't try anything funny, bastards!" she shouted. "Send the girl over and your buddy here may live."
 
Clara shivered. On the contrary, as she watched the scene escalate in front of her, she felt colder than ever. Oh, Thea. No, no, no! There were some things in this world that were impossible to come back from, you know? Stabbing an officer in the eye with scissors, taking his gun, and then using him as a hostage? That was unquestionably one of those things! Sweeping such a crime under the rug was the equivalent of stuffing a lit match beneath one. As in the rug itself would burn to a crisp and there would be nothing left to hide beneath. (Not that she was incapable of mustering a twinge of sympathy, bearing witness to it. The way it looked from where she was standing-- also knowing just how trigger-happy these guys could be? Yeah, it had been a matter of self defense on Thea's part. But if you tried telling that to the authorities when the person you attacked was a cop of all things? Yeah, good luck with that!) Even so, it occurred to her that in the messiest of ways, this was probably an attempt to protect her. She was about to get whisked off to the station for lying, sure... but that wasn't the worst thing that could happen, was it? While she wasn't thrilled about it, didn't Thea realize that asking for her to come over could potentially make things worse for both of them? She should've just taken the car and left her there! She could've taken the opportunity to make her grand escape, change her name, and left Clara to handle things on her end. She had a solid alibi, having been at work before she met Thea. George was there to testify to that and everything. Once the facts were collected, connecting her to whatever incident might have occurred within the walls of that 'reputable institution' would've been an impossibility. Like, sure, she'd undoubtably suffer consequences for her display just now. But they couldn't convict her of murder, right? (Well. Unless they found that decapitated head outside the graveyard and decided to connect them to that as well. Shit. Hah. And then they'd overanalyze that old case of Beatrice Sawyer, the little girl who shot her father, and--) The officers around her tensed and spoke lowly amongst themselves, but she couldn't make out exactly what they were saying. Her ears got that stuffed, cottony feeling again. All that effort to escape her past, to hold onto an adequately normal life when it was anything but normal, and now...

Then the strangely familiar interrogational cop, the one who vaguely reminded her of a moody teenager on television with his immature 'blah, blah, blah', seized her by the arm. She felt his hand slipping her hair over her shoulder, gliding his fingers experimentally over the branding on her back... and then? Then he proceeded to press the muzzle of his gun to her temple. Clara could tell by the serious voices around her that he was being reprimanded by his fellow officers, but she couldn't grasp any of their exact words while the sound of her heartbeat blocked her already clouded ears. Hyperaware of the cold kiss of steel on her skin, her heart felt like a ticking time bomb. (The way the man had traced her branding, as if to say he knew exactly who she was? It was telling. Was this man really a cop? Or were these officers their captors in disguise? Or... or maybe there were cops among their captors? Hah. Well, if she dies, it won't even matter, will it? On the verge of blacking out, Clara grappled with acceptance. Huh. A bullet to the brain. At least it would be quick.) Noah, to his credit, tried to argue on her behalf... but one of the other officers held him back and gave him some bs consolation about 'acting' in these situations to deescalate the situation. The back of her neck ached, the light brown of her eyes gradually muddying with inkier tones.

"Or you can turn yourself in and your friend here might live." The officer retorted smugly. Except what did this accomplish, aside from leaving them at a standstill? Surely there had to be far more professional ways to handle this! But if these people are their captors, people who wanted them dead so badly, then... a casualty outside of protocol wasn't really their problem, was it? "What will it be, Miss Holloway? Do you want her blood on your hands?"

Clara felt a tingling in her fingertips. The longer she stood like this, the less afraid she felt. In fact? In fact, she was becoming rather angry. To have experienced everything she had, just to die a hostage? As a mere bargaining chip for these bastards to get what they wanted? At the very least, she wanted to know what the hell she was dying for! And didn't she owe it to Lizzie and the other kids to go on living?

Behind her, she was keenly aware of the shadows creeping silently on the ground, accumulating together and morphing into several snake-like hands. Clara closed her eyes and focused on sculpting them. It was both natural and strange, really. An out-of-body experience as she saw the world from the shadows perspective, at a worm's eye view. She guided them along the ground until she found the ankles of the officer holding onto her. Ah ha. Carefully, she outstretched the fingers and snared tightly around them. Taken off guard, he turned to question his comrades about 'what the hell they thought they were doing'... and before they could comprehend what was going on, she yanked hard, toppling him over and knocking the gun from his hand.

Snapping back into herself, Clara hurled herself back inside of her apartment, slamming and bolting the door shut behind her. For good measure, she frantically criss-crossed shadows on top as an extra insurance policy to hold it in place. You know, in case they tried to break it down or something. This was an 'oh fuck' situation for sure, now, because-- oh fuck. What was she supposed to do now!? It was one thing to unleash weird, witchy powers in front of Thea in some kind of supernatural ghost-realm. It was another to use them out in public!

'No more hiding.' The voices taunted. The lights in the apartment flickered and left her standing in darkness, the shadows swirling around her restlessly. Spooks trotted towards her and whined. Ah. Weirdly, this was just like... waiting in her safe haven. In her nightmare. And when she resorted to waiting, the monsters broke through and converged on her... 'No more hiding.'

What happens next?

Well. Clara had prepared herself for other things. Not this exact situation, of course, because-- well, her apparent 'superpower' didn't stretch into outright clairvoyance or anything. But if she ever needed to escape the apartment on account of a fire or intrusion? She had a bag packed for that exact purpose. And if she ever needed to send her brother an important message...? Well, she'd created her own cipher out of playing cards. Raoul, as the only person she had trusted back then, had the only deck of cards detailing the code. (Listen. It wasn't weird! She was traumatized and for the longest time had no friends because she couldn't speak to anyone... and as such she had plenty of spare time to create strategies of handling a crisis that might set her mind at ease.) And now? Now she could thank her past self for those tireless nights she'd stayed up thinking 'what if'. It was thanks to those efforts that she was able to quickly grab her packed bag, a winter coat, and scribble a coded message for Raoul on his dresser. His... dresser. She noticed a small photograph stuck to the mirror and unthinkingly took it with her as well. It was one of those cheesy, photo booth souvenir photos... probably one of the only ones they had together. Somehow, though, she can't remember taking it. 'The tower looms high.' Ugh. Either way, now wasn't the time to examine it. She pressed it in her coat pocket, scooped Spooks into her arms, and approached her open bedroom window to peek at the scene outside.

Am I really doing this? Clara took a deep breath and looked at Spooks. (Clara Loveless might be saying goodbye to life as she had come to know it... but for all extents and purposes, she was not about to abandon her dog. Okay?) And there was no other choice, was there? They'd converge on her, just like those monsters, unless she made a move. And so? She braced herself and climbed outside to join Thea.
 
Admittedly, her brilliant plan may not have been as brilliant as she’d initially thought it to be. Like, it kinda relied on the cops not being complete fucking scumbags, you know? A very, very optimistic assumption-- Thea didn’t know how those stupid uniforms of theirs worked, but something about them apparently made the wearers think they were The Law ItselfTM. When they put it on, you see, they were no longer, Timothy, Jim, or even Jimothy. Nope, man. In their eyes, the blue shirt straight out of the fashion hell and the corny hat gave them the status of fucking gods! (Fucking hilarious, if you asked her, because the real god would never commit such a crime against aesthetics. Never, okay? There was a reason why concepts such as ‘color coordination’ existed, and certainly, no creator would shit on their own design. …well, unless you substituted ‘creator’ for ‘parent,’ and turned to Thea’s own mother for an example. Hello, mom!) Anyway, it was painfully obvious that, as long as they waved their badges around, these guys could do literally anything. Tiny obstacles called ‘actual fucking laws’ technically should have been standing in their way, but who cared, right? Certainly not the cop who placed the gun against Clara’s temple!

“…what? Her blood on my hands? In case you haven’t noticed, pal, it is you who is fucking planning to shoot her.” And, yeah, seeing Clara in that position may have been terrifying, though you know what it also was? Infuriating. (The anger was hot in her belly, so much that it was a goddamn miracle that steam wasn’t coming out of her ears. Like!!! Protect and serve, huh? Endangering an innocent fucking citizen’s life just for the hell of it certainly was an, uh, creative interpretation of that motto. Creative, as in full of shit! Like, Thea suffered from very few delusions re: cops and their actual contribution to the society at large, but those that had somehow survived to this very day? Yup, those very being demolished in that very moment! …parasites, really. Good on her for never having had a “””real””” job, and thus not actually paying any taxes-- the thought of those pigs growing fatter and fatter thanks to her doubtlessly meagre salary made her blood boil, even on the theoretical level.) “You won’t fucking do it,” Thea exclaimed, in a tone much more confident than how she actually felt. (They just couldn’t, right? Right? The issue was, you see, that letting him go… well, that would have been the equivalent of throwing her own life away, essentially. Like having a nice, colorful ticket to Paradise, and then stomping all over it! Besides, there was no guarantee that the guy’s freedom would actually improve Clara’s current standing in any tangible way. The bastards weren’t following the usual protocol, to put it mildly, so how was she to know that her compliance would get her what she wanted? Namely, Clara’s safety? Thea wouldn’t fucking trust those guys with her pet hamster, let alone with her new friend’s life.)

And, thankfully, she didn’t have. Clara, being her awesome self, didn’t sit there and wait to be saved-- which, good for her, to be honest, because Thea had kinda forgotten to put her shiny armor on this time around. (Hahaha, bitches! That was what you got for threatening… hmm. What were they, even? Chosen ones? For what, though? The prime candidates for becoming the demon’s next lunch, maybe? Yeeeeah, that would be just her luck, man. Entirely on brand! With some luck, at least, the bastard would choke on her bones, and the whole clusterfuck that was called ‘her life’ could end with a nice lesson about not being greedy. …moving on, though. They could brood over the shit hand they’d been dealt by the almighty fate once they weren’t, you know, actively fighting for their lives!) Predictably, it didn’t take long for the whole street to devolve into chaos. The cops were used to their bodies obeying them, she imagined, and weren’t too happy to discover that that was a privilege Clara could easily take away from them. So, as they struggled against their invisible bonds? Thea used that moment not only to snatch a pair of keys for herself, but also to steal literally all of them. Swiftly, she locked the other cars, shoved the corresponding keys in her pockets, and… hahaha, yup, good luck trying to follow them! Some exercise would only be good for those fat-asses, Thea wagered-- in fact, perhaps she should send them a bill for helping them fight the consequences of their own shit diet. Personal trainers were expensive as fuck, weren’t they? Well, then there was no reason why they should get to enjoy the fruits of her hard labor for free, god fucking dammit.

“Hurry,” she urged Clara, “come in, come in, come in. You’re in luck, because in addition to my already diverse as fuck talents, I’m also the best driver you’ve ever met. I mean, you probably haven’t met, like, Michael Schumacher, have you? ‘Cause if not, then my statement is one hundred percent correct.” (Ah, Thea realized when the engine roared, and they hit the road. Clara… Clara really was going with her, wasn’t she? Granted, her kinda sorta attacking the cops had pretty much forced her to high tail it out of there, but still! Man, chicks who wouldn’t take shit from anyone were the absolute best. Top tier girlfriend material, actually. …was it inappropriate to fantasize about Clara using that assertiveness in, ah, other contexts? Asking for a friend, of course.)

“Sooo… where are we going, again?” Thea asked casually, as if they were deciding which cinema to visit and not, uh, running away from the authorities. “I imagine we will need to steal a new car soon, too, because this bad boy is bound to have some sort of tracker in it. Also, also, wow. You really showed them, didn’t you? I have no idea what the fuck it is that you’re doing, but you are good at this… magical bullshit, I guess. You ever gone to Hogwarts?”
 
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