Clara Murphy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
seestheman) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2014-06-13 12:22 am
seestheman) wrote in thearena2014-06-13 12:22 am
Entry tags:
[closed] everything dies, baby, that's a fact
Who| Clara and Alex
What| Alex is dying and there isn't anything Clara can do to about it.
Where| The abandoned house
When| Beginning of Week Three
Warnings/Notes| Death by starvation. Will add anything else that pops up along the way.
Logically, Clara knows that it's something close to a miracle that Alex has lasted as long as he has in the arena. She isn't an idiot, after all, and is well aware of the fact that there was a reason why, back at home, he had to spend his nights at the lab instead of at home. That it wasn't just whatever they had done to him that had kept him away from her night after night. That his basic maintenance is more than just checking to make sure he doesn't have any screws loose. Dr. Norton never told her exactly it entailed, but had made sure to make her completely aware of the fact that, once Alex was home, he would have to be at the lab every night to run through the basic protocols to keep him well.
She doesn't know what those basic protocols even are, but the fact that Alex hasn't had them in weeks explains why he's in such bad shape at this point. Like the fact that she woke up this morning to find him sitting against a wall, mostly unable to move.
Maybe it's wrong and selfish of her, but the moment she realized what was probably happening, she made an excuse about looking for something, she can't even remember what, and retreated upstairs. There are lots of things she knows she can endure, like being alone or putting up a strong front, but she knows she can't handle watching him die. Even if she knows that she isn't really losing him this time.
And even though she knows she'll probably wind up downstairs eventually because she can't bear the thought of him going through this alone, at the very least she needs a little bit of time to herself to silently cry it out so Alex doesn't see (and she fully acknowledges the fact that it's ridiculous that they've been together for years and she still hates to let him see her cry, but for some reason makes her more than a little self-conscious). It's only after the last of the tears (and the few sobs she couldn't keep back) peter out that she finally gives herself a task: finding a jacket to replace the one she ruined. If she finds one, then great, she can go downstairs and totally deny that she was doing anything other than searching and she has proof of it and if she doesn't...she'll still deny it.
She's found, over the past few months, that she might just be the queen of denial.
After some searching and kicking up enough dust to have a decent explanation for her puffy, red eyes, she finds a leather bomber jacket. It's too big for her and completely unflattering and she can't bring herself to care, because finding it means that now she doesn't have an excuse to stay upstairs.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Clara makes her way down the stairs, cocooned in the oversized jacket, almost hoping that he's already gone and feeling like a terrible person for wanting that, even though it would probably be the best thing for him at this point. She walks into the living room that's been serving as their base of operations since they got here and sits down next to him. “How are you feeling?” It's a stupid question, to say the least, but it's the only thing she can think of asking at the moment.
What| Alex is dying and there isn't anything Clara can do to about it.
Where| The abandoned house
When| Beginning of Week Three
Warnings/Notes| Death by starvation. Will add anything else that pops up along the way.
Logically, Clara knows that it's something close to a miracle that Alex has lasted as long as he has in the arena. She isn't an idiot, after all, and is well aware of the fact that there was a reason why, back at home, he had to spend his nights at the lab instead of at home. That it wasn't just whatever they had done to him that had kept him away from her night after night. That his basic maintenance is more than just checking to make sure he doesn't have any screws loose. Dr. Norton never told her exactly it entailed, but had made sure to make her completely aware of the fact that, once Alex was home, he would have to be at the lab every night to run through the basic protocols to keep him well.
She doesn't know what those basic protocols even are, but the fact that Alex hasn't had them in weeks explains why he's in such bad shape at this point. Like the fact that she woke up this morning to find him sitting against a wall, mostly unable to move.
Maybe it's wrong and selfish of her, but the moment she realized what was probably happening, she made an excuse about looking for something, she can't even remember what, and retreated upstairs. There are lots of things she knows she can endure, like being alone or putting up a strong front, but she knows she can't handle watching him die. Even if she knows that she isn't really losing him this time.
And even though she knows she'll probably wind up downstairs eventually because she can't bear the thought of him going through this alone, at the very least she needs a little bit of time to herself to silently cry it out so Alex doesn't see (and she fully acknowledges the fact that it's ridiculous that they've been together for years and she still hates to let him see her cry, but for some reason makes her more than a little self-conscious). It's only after the last of the tears (and the few sobs she couldn't keep back) peter out that she finally gives herself a task: finding a jacket to replace the one she ruined. If she finds one, then great, she can go downstairs and totally deny that she was doing anything other than searching and she has proof of it and if she doesn't...she'll still deny it.
She's found, over the past few months, that she might just be the queen of denial.
After some searching and kicking up enough dust to have a decent explanation for her puffy, red eyes, she finds a leather bomber jacket. It's too big for her and completely unflattering and she can't bring herself to care, because finding it means that now she doesn't have an excuse to stay upstairs.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Clara makes her way down the stairs, cocooned in the oversized jacket, almost hoping that he's already gone and feeling like a terrible person for wanting that, even though it would probably be the best thing for him at this point. She walks into the living room that's been serving as their base of operations since they got here and sits down next to him. “How are you feeling?” It's a stupid question, to say the least, but it's the only thing she can think of asking at the moment.