noonelaughed | For Claire [Backdated to 8/22]

On most days, tracking Claire Bennet down is no easy task. With each passing month, the restlessness that's been planted in her chest upon arrival has been growing worse, leaving it impossible for the blonde to stay in her room for long. With her newfound vulnerability comes a rush in everything that she does, the leaping and jumping that Zuko's been helping her with, the waves crashing around her as she tries (and often fails) to surf, and even in her friendships. But today, the sun teases the island from behind lingering clouds in the sky, and the intermittent shade tempts Claire to take a day off, lounging on her bed with Mr. Muggles sitting directly on the small of her back as she flips through various biology books.

As a knock sounds on her door, Claire tilts her head curiously, but heads to the door soon enough, tugging it open and breaking into a smile as soon as she sees who it is waiting there. She leans her shoulder against the doorframe, grinning.

"Hey." Trying to keep her excitement to a manageable level, she turns around and casts another look over her shoulder as she holds the door open further to let Chris in. "Come in. And watch out for Mr. Muggles, he's... around here somewhere."

Chris immediately looks to the floor as he walks in, just cos that's how it is with Anwar. Most of the time, Chris just lets him hop about, and if he's not careful, there's a chance he'll get stepped on. That'd be just the thing, wouldn't it? Accidentally squashing a frog named after one of his best mates.

"He hasn't got like... a leash or something?" Chris asks, though he knows the question's a mental one anyway.

"You expect me to keep him on a leash all day? Chris, this dog is used to getting carried around in my mom's arms like a prince. There's no way he'd be willing to stay on a leash unless it was for a dog show," Claire waves her hand dismissively, flopping down on her bed with a light bounce. "Besides, I'm more worried about you than him. Muggles can handle himself. Sometimes I think he trips people on purpose."

Laying down on the sheets, Claire's head dipped slightly over the edge of the mattress, where she fixed her gaze on Chris curiously. "So what's up?" Claire asked, holding out a hand to usher him closer.

He knows what Claire's talking about, of course. Maybe he wishes she'd forget about his brother's grave or the day she'd found him there, though he knows it's mental to think it can happen. But today's not about that, and Chris hasn't come to find her to bring it all up again.

She gestures for him to come closer and he plops down on the mattress next to her like it's the easiest thing in the world. Maybe everything's not quite how it should be, but he's convinced that this party's at least one step on the way to setting things straight again for everyone.

"Do you... have any idea how to make a throne?" Chris asks her, "You know, like... for a King?"

It seems like Chris only just manages to settle himself on the bed before a pesky set of paws starts walking all over them both, Mr. Muggles slipping between the two and nosing against Chris's pockets, as though expecting that he's come with some kind of treat. For her part, Claire merely pets him and tries to guide him away, but the Pomeranian continues to wriggle up until he can aim an assault on Chris' face, tongue licking at the tip of his nose.

"God, Mr. Muggles," Claire laughs, picking him up with both hands and pinning him lightly against the mattress. "Stop. Stop. Why don't you go head on over to the kitchen, huh? Maybe someone will have a doggie treat for you. Shoo."

When the dog doesn't leave, Claire sighs, shaking her head before her brow furrows from where she glances over the furball and over at Chris with some confusion. "Uh... no...? I mean, unless we're talking about the Burger King, I could probably make something out of cardboard or sandalwood for him. Why?"

Chris has got spliff in the pockets of his trousers, just a bit that he's gotten from that bloke Walter up at the compound— he was right mental, he was— but he's pushing it back in just as the dog's trying to get at it. Chris has seen dogs on spliff before, and it's not a pretty sight.

"Hey, watch it, yeah? That's not for you," he says, scratching the dog behind the ears even as Claire's pulled him off. That's the one thing about frogs, though, they don't really go attacking your face with their little dog mouths. Or frog mouths, for that matter. Mostly Anwar just hops about and eats insects.

"And... Maxxie's birthday's tomorrow, and he wants a crown and a throne for his party. The best I can think up is like... a chair from the compound or somethin'. With like... a blanket. I dunno."

Somehow though, Chris reckoned that wouldn't go over too well.

He's carrying something around with him. Knowing Chris, too, it's probably weed, probably something that he doesn't want Claire to see— and while a part of her is able to recognize that he's being kind for it, there's another voice in the back of her head that says he really shouldn't be smoking at all. Not until he's gotten himself checked out at the clinic and has confirmation that the weed's not going to worsen his condition. (Claire doesn't even like it in the first place, how many people on the island turn to substances to keep themselves occupied or entertained. It shouldn't be necessary.)

But she's been trying, harder than usual it seems, not to make a huge fuss over differences in opinion. Trying not to push Chris too far away, for everything that they've shared, for everything that should matter more than this.

The smile on her face is slightly strained nonetheless as she gives in, resting her chin lightly on Mr. Mugggles' head as she pulls the fluffball back into her arms. "Did he actually ask for a crown and a throne? God," she laughs, shaking her head. "Sounds like something he'd do. But, uh... hmm. You're not really giving me a lot of time. Um." Biting down on her lower lip, she apprehensively meets Chris' gaze.

"What kind of party is it? I guess that's the first question."

"Yeah, well, that's Maxxie, yeah?" Chris says, because it's fuckin' short notice, but he's not about to deny the man what he wants for his birthday, even if it is right mental. If they're lucky, they can maybe get the clothes box to give them a crown, but they're not gonna be so lucky when it comes to getting an entire chair out of it.

He reaches over to scratch under Mr. Muggles's chin for a second. "You know, a proper party. Like the last one."

She closes her eyes for a moment, letting his answer wash over her, and feeling some part of her relax in its wake— like she's seen this coming all along. Because on some level, she has. Chris isn't the type of person to do anything halfway, and to both him and the friends he knows from home, the idea of a proper party is one with drinks, with spliff, with everything necessary to bring them out of their minds and ignore their better sensibilities entirely. And while she's tried blending in before, the more she thinks about it these days, the more she knows that it's just not her scene, no matter how much she cares for most of the people going.

Normally, it wouldn't be a concern, she'd expect friends to understand. But with Chris, it always feels like there's a little more hanging in the air, unsure.

"So a chair that has to stand a lot of wear and tear, then," she nods, meeting his gaze again. "I... will see what I can do? Maybe I can find someone with a Bedazzler around, or something. You'll have to pick the chair up, though, since I don't think I'll be going... to the party."

For a second, Chris opens his mouth to ask Claire what the fuck a Bedazzler is, 'cause he's got absolutely no idea. It sounds kinda gay though, so maybe Maxxie'll be alright with whatever it is. But then she tells him that she's not gonna come to the party, and his attention's somewhere else entirely.

"What'dyou mean not going?" he asks, sitting up, taking his hand away from the dog, "You've got to go, it's Maxxie's birthday."

"Maxxie will understand," Claire replies, even though she can feel her voice lowering in volume, can feel the quaver that threatens at her throat. "Like, of all the people on the island that I kind of know, I feel like he's the last person who'd hold it against me." The words feel a bit hollow. She doesn't doubt their veracity, of course— there are certain things that people don't get through without building a fair amount of trust in the process, and switching bodies is one of them. But it isn't really Maxxie's opinion that she's worried about right now.

It's the boy who, for all that she loves him, won't seem to listen. Doesn't seem to understand that his inaction is wearing her down and setting her nerves on edge. God, if only she could make people listen to her when she's looking out for them. When she knows that what she has to say might only help. (This is probably, she notes to herself, a belated realization, how her father felt.)

She watches as Mr. Muggles leaps off the bed and taps his way over to Eden's empty room. "It's just not really my kind of thing, you know?"

"But you went to the one before," Chris points out, remembering his first party in his hut. It'd been fucking mental and amazing and maybe he'd been fucked then, but he still remembers it. He still remembers kissing Claire that first time, for sure.

Okay, yeah, so he knows that Claire doesn't do pills or spliff or anything-- he's pretty sure she didn't even at that first party-- but she usually turns up anyway.

"What's goin' on, Claire?" He reckons that maybe it's because of how everything is between them. It hasn't been right for ages, it seems. Not since everyone had gone camping. Not since she asked him to choose.

Looking in Chris' direction proves to be impossible right now. The very thought of it weighs on Claire, heavy and burdensome, guilt that she knows will only compound if she makes eye contact, so she doesn't, laying on her stomach instead and twining her fingers. A sigh passes through her lips, and instead, she just closes her eyes, shaking her head.

"I know I went to the one before, but... Chris, it was just really uncomfortable. I mean. Not even during, necessarily, but after, it just felt like I'd been somewhere I definitely didn't belong," she explained, her tone slow and patient, yet still firm. "I don't want to go and do something I might regret there, and even if I go just to wish Maxxie a happy birthday, my heart won't be in it."

"Did somebody say somethin' to you?" Chris asks, because maybe people on the island don't know it, but that's not how those parties fuckin' work. Everybody, most of all Claire, belongs there, and nobody's got the right to say different.

"Right, then. Tell me who it was and I'll go set them straight, yeah?"

"No," Claire quickly protests, shaking her head, fervently enough that a few curls fall out of place, glancing against her cheek. "No, it's nothing like that. Believe me, if I really wanted to go to a party, there's nothing that anyone else would be able to do to keep me away." A wry grin pulls at her lips as she thinks of Homecoming, such a small deal in the grand scheme of things, but at the time it'd been so important. Important enough for her to defy her father, and for what?

So that her uncle could get himself nearly killed, for her sake?

Her eyes carefully meet Chris', willing him to slow down, to listen, even if he may not understand. "It's just really not my kind of thing. Drinking, smoking, it's just like... I'd rather stay at home and, I don't know, read. Bake. Even learn about genetics. Raves just aren't my thing, and going even makes me a little, I don't know. Uncomfortable."

The idea of it, of the parties making Claire feel uncomfortable, is so weird to him that he's quiet for a second. Because maybe it's not even all that. Maybe it's him that's done something and Claire's just too nice to say so. it'd definitely make sense, at least, what with how fucked things have seemed between them.

"You don't— you know you can come to the party and you don't have to take anything, right? Not— not pills or tabs or... or even fuckin' alcohol if you don't want," Chris says, "You could always just come and dance."

"And be the only sober person in a room full of people who aren't even really themselves?" Claire asks incredulously, trying her best to keep her tone down and soft, gentle as she wants to be. But the fact is that the very thought of being the single person to stand in the corner is one that she shies immediately away from. Once, twice, it's tolerable. But making a habit of it is something that strikes Claire as isolating, even just in idle thought, and she takes a deep breath to try and gather everything. Her thoughts, her sentiments, anything that might best communicate to Chris how she feels.

"That's your kind of world, you know? Yours and Maxxie's. And in mine, god, we hardly even do more than play Twister when the cheerleaders get together. We talk about, I don't know, who's dating who," she sighs. "And I don't think I'm comfortable going further than that. Maybe it's just a cultural thing, I don't know, but where I live, staying away from drugs and alcohol is what we aim for."

"So just 'cos it's somethin' you've never done before means you can't ever? Sorry, Claire, but that's— that's bollocks," Chris says, and he knows he's reaching. He's seen Claire at parties since the first one. Even when they'd all gone camping, he's pretty sure he didn't see her with more than the one drink.

"And I dunno if you've noticed, but we're not exactly in your world anymore, yeah? New start, remember?"

It's what they'd talked about back in the jungle that night, about not trying not to hold on to all that had happened where they'd come from, about making a choice between holding onto all of that and trying out something new.

"Chris, are you even listening to me?" Claire asks, feeling a flare of emotion rise in her. Something sharp, warm, cutting to the quick and raising doubts that she's wanted to ignore ever since they first met. People are supposed to be able to work through differences, supposed to be able to accept one another's tastes. Opposites attract. Friendships are diverse. And so Claire thought that if there was simply enough time in Chris' life to be away from all of it, from the drugs and the alcohol, then it'd be enough. A part of her wants to believe that still, but in the moment, it all feels like he's tossing her feelings aside, not even stopping to consider that maybe she has a point.

It's just a party, she wants to say. Just one lousy party. It's not like they can't survive without each other for that long.

"I said I'm not comfortable with it. And, I don't know if you remember, but I did try all of this before. I've gone to two raves, and at the first I like... ended up kissing Arya because I was totally high on pot or, or ecstasy, or— god, I still don't know. I'm not someone who can deal with that," she tries again to explain, even as she sits up, brows furrowed so tight that it's almost painful. "I miss the stupid slumber parties where we didn't have to do any of that. And given the new start, I just want... what I was comfortable with before. I don't think that's wrong."

It was MDMA at the first party— which wasn't even a rave or anything— but Chris doesn't say that. He can tell she's already pissed off with him or done with him or something. He'd go, if it were her, if she'd asked and it was something he wasn't exactly wild about it.

"Yeah, well, right. Okay, then. Don't come," he says, and stands, looking at Claire's floor instead of directly at her at first. "Have your— have your fuckin' slumber party or whatever. Don't even worry about it, yeah? S'not like it's the end of the world or anything."

It's not, but the way she sounds, the way she's looking at him... it sure fuckin' feels like it.

He doesn't get it. That's the first fact that immediately comes clear when he pushes off the bed and stands to the side, throws his words at her like the very idea of being unable to enjoy the parties is... wrong, or incomprehensible to him. And for all that she knows he throws around curses more often, more off-handedly than Claire does herself, at the moment, that feels like its own barb, too. Everything's wrong. Everything's going wrong, and Claire can't help but blame herself for that, for having forced him into something that he probably doesn't even want. She's not the kind of girl that he wants, the kind who can hang and let herself go.

There's been too much in her life for Claire to give way completely. She thought, maybe he'd understand, having been to New York, but. If he didn't, she's not going to force him to try.

They're not the sort of emotions one would want to force on anyone.

"Yeah," she echoes instead, even though her words feel tight and her throat's a touch hoarse. "Not the end of the world."

He’s made it worse, and he can tell straight off. He can tell by the look on her ace, and he can tell by the way she sounds now. It’s about right though, isn’t it? It’s what he does every time he gets something in his life that’s fuckin’ worth anything at all, he fucks it up.

“I’ll uh… I’ll catch you later yeah?” he says, his throat feeling dry as he takes a step closer to press a kiss to her cheek.

“Day after tomorrow maybe?”

Maybe she's being unreasonable. Her breath grows thin with the weight of it all on her chest, hands balling into uneasy fists by her sides, but if there's anything that Claire hates more than making a hard decision, it's backing down. Wavering. Doing so at this point wouldn't do anyone favors, she knows; to throw out hope without being sure of where it'll land, it might only lead to this all over again. Words uttered in a moment of passion should be carefully tempered.

Still, she allows herself a turn of her head, until her lips just manage to brush his cheek before he pulls back.

"Yeah," she nods, voice quieter. "Yeah, that sounds good."

For Claire [Backdated to 8/22]

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