Some days I look in mirrors

[beautifullies]

Who: Claire Fraser, ota and closed starters
When: October log
Where: Solvunn, Nocwich, the Horizon
Notes: I went with handwaving Claire's finished home, it's been too long now, BUT if your character would've helped then they did! also please ignore the fact that I accidentally tagged this with Adora.
Warnings: None so far, will edit if needed. And brackets, prose - go with your heart.



𝑆𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑢𝑛𝑛

[ Claire's new home is tucked just short of the woods. Her gratitude for the help she received has been expressed in simple but filling meals, baked goods, doctoring, and helping with most chores. She's realized with a home of her own she must be settling, but she tells herself it's more to have her own space and feel comfortable. The home is two stories with her small bedroom upstairs that contains the space she works and spends the most of her time. One of the walls is completely plant-filled, and somewhere nestled in comfortably, is her new lizard. The downstairs has a kitchen with a hearth, and a built-in nook to sit and eat on one side. With a small sitting area made up of donated furniture, the other side of the downstairs is for seeing anyone who needs intense care and looking after, or drop-ins needing some sort of treatment.

Anyone dropping in is welcome and will not only be assaulted by plants and wildflowers in abundance, but bees will buzz lazily and drunk on nectar before flying back to their homes. They're tucked back just a bit, but the bee houses, lovingly painted by Nanaue, are bright and visible. She's left the back wall on the bottom floor windowless so that her friend can paint to his heart's content. When visitors arrive, the door is opened with a smile in greeting, able to see who's approaching from the front window.

Even though she has her own home now, she still makes sure to contribute, helping with cooking communal meals which helps her meet newcomers, and taking care of the animals which reminds her of Jamie. It all keeps her busy, and she can't say she doesn't like it. She still visits with the local Solvunnites she's grown fond of, and there are a few children she plays with outside with no shame in how silly she looks. ]

(𝑡ℎ𝑒) 𝐻𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑜𝑛

[ Gone is Lallybroch from Claire's domain. She'd been thinking of changing it anyway, but something very large managed to take out most of it during the rifts. That makes it easier to change things, though it's still rustic and full of flora. There's still plenty of space for her to entertain outside, and around back is where anyone can come for human anatomy lessons. Separate from that, there's a garden and greenhouse so that she can both learn and teach about different plants. It's a place for her experiment too, trying out her magic without accidentally causing damage to real plants in her home.

Anyone heading inside will be met with comfortable warmth, more plants, and a gray cat that doesn't seem bothered by much. There's always a setup for tea or coffee and something stronger if wanted, along with furniture meant for sinking into a good book.

She does like to explore other's domains, but if it seems closed off, she won't poke around...much. ]

𝑁𝑜𝑐𝑤𝑖𝑐ℎ

[ Claire has come to enjoy the walk to the portal, and if anyone happens to be heading out as well, they're happy to join her. She's dressed for the cooler air, pendant hanging just below her throat and basket in hand. In the square, she can be found purchasing things like flour and other cooking items for her own simple kitchen. Claire even picks up a trinket or two for friends, stowing different things beneath her goods in case she happens upon someone. Because she's rubbish at knitting, she can also be found weaving in and out of different shops to browse mittens and cowls.

When she rests the first time at mid-day, it's near the stage with a drink in hand. Every now and then she looks around the crowd as if searching for someone and in truth, she is. This is her only chance to look for Jamie or Bree, and she takes it each and every month. Eventually, she continues her day and when she's ready for supper, slips into an establishment, finding a seat at a table that could fit two. And a lucky thing too, as she's managed to come in at the height of mealtime, apparently. Anyone is free to join her.

With her basket on the ground between her right foot and the wall, she sits back and thinks of a friend or two she wouldn't mind joining her, almost feeling as though they're near, while leisurely eating her meal.* It only makes her think that she must check up on others soon, especially those she hasn't spoken to since the rifts. ]

[ *ooc note: Claire is able to determine someone's location to her within about 120 yards. (Think the length of an American football field), so if you want her to be surprised because she was literally just thinking you were on your way, lmk in the subject! ]

𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑑

[ If none of these work, please feel free to whip up a starter! We can plot on discord @ lifewasawillow or PM. My plotting comment from the last CR meme can be found here. If I owe you a starter and I haven't poked you, please poke me! ]

Comments

➳ sandor clegane

[beautifullies]

[ continued from ]

[ Claire has been sized up by men in two different centuries and now on two different planets. It always feels the same to her, but she's learned to keep the annoyance inside; especially with a man who seems to be from a time much further back than the 18th century, if she had to judge based on the clothing. Leaning over this time, she reaches into her kit and pulls out a transparent bag that's stitched closed and a jar which she unscrews the lid of. ]

I'll scrape out whatever dead tissue that's already forming with a small blade before resetting the bone. Then I'll stitch the wound closed, spread a salve over it and wrap it loosely. You'll need to let me visit every three days or so to clean and rebandage.

[ Wondering if this will be enough of an explanation, she holds out both objects for him to look over, not that it's much. The salve is honey-based with aloe vera and something close to marshmallow root for the inflammation and antibacterial properties. She wants to let him see everything so that he'll know what to expect. ]

We have medicines that you can swallow for the pain, though there is a magical healer I trust with my own life who would have all of this done within a day, no need for me.

[ She's speaking of Michael, one of the most solid men she's met since she's arrived. Well. Man-shaped person. In any case, she offers a self-deprecating smile, maybe to ease whatever tension he may feel, or to show she isn't completely high-strung. She truly does have his best interest in mind, and that includes making sure both options are on the table. ]

I'm Claire, and this is what I do. What I have done, my entire life.

[dogmeats]

( Scrape, set, stitch, salve. While none of those words sound like a fucking cuddle, they also don't sound like burn, sear, cauterize. Whether she gives him whatever their version of Milk of the Poppy is or not, he doesn't give a shit. Asleep, awake, he doesn't want a new burn marring his flesh. He doesn't want to imagine the phantom smell of his own skin burning, he doesn't want to feel the tug and the pull of an ugly, ridged new brand. He'd rather the bone set bloody sideways and walk with a limp for the rest of his life.

He barely so much as glances at the knife or the ointment. Never mind the pain, he doesn't care about that. He can all but guarantee he's had worse.

When he speaks again, it's firm and decisive. )

Fuck magic, fuck the healer. If you're going to do it, do it.

( He's conceding. That doesn't necessarily mean he's going to be gracious about it.

Just tell him where and when. Here, now, on a stump? A place where she works, her house, or the shotty little apartment some poor unfortunate locals are letting him sleep at?

Dimly, distantly, the name gets filed away: Claire. )

[beautifullies]

[ She can't help but let out a bark of a laugh in amusement. She's so glad some words seem to cross time and worlds. ]

Well, I'm not going to do it right fucking here. Would you like to finish what you're doing?

[ It's important that they get this taken care of as soon as possible, but they can wait until tomorrow if he'd rather. She puts the lid back onto the salve and crouches again to put everything back together in her kit before closing it. Her curiosity about the man is certainly piqued, she wouldn't mind actually talking to him, and she glances up at him again. ]

You can message me when you're done, has anyone shown you how that works?

[dogmeats]

( I'm not going to do it right fucking here — unbidden, a rush of amusement flows through him. It doesn't make it so far as his expression, not in any way a stranger might be able to glean probably, but he feels it all the same. The mouth on her, on someone who presents in countenance and learning like a highborn Lady.

He takes the liberty of yanking his own trouser leg back down again, in the most put-upon manner he can muster, like it's a mighty inconvenience. )

Aye. ( He grunts the affirmative. ) That Deaf cunt had a bloody good time springing that on me. Wouldn't shut up after.

( Which is a terribly rude and offensive way to refer to Wrench, but believe it or not, Sandor actually likes Wrench. A little. As much as he likes anyone. Not that he'll admit it.

Eventually: )

Tomorrow, then.

( He'll get good and drunk tonight to prepare for it, which is certainly advisable and not likely to come back to bite him in the morning. )

[beautifullies]

[ She can't help it, she really can't. She laughs, hard, at 'deaf cunt' and winds up doubling over for a second. Claire can't wait to tell Wrench that, he seems like the sort of man who would be amused. She hasn't had a good laugh like that in a while, and once she calms down, she presses a hand to her chest. ]

I apologize, that wasn't at you. I happen to know who you're speaking of, he saved my life not long ago. Although, someone being in your head would be a bit much in the first week. It was for me, in any case.

[ Claire looks at him, an amused smirk still on her lips, wondering if he'll ask her to go. ]

Do you have a name?

[dogmeats]

( She's laughing.

Well.

Hm.

That's entirely unexpected and he's not quite sure what to do with that. Some stupid, idiotic background portion of his brain sees fit to observe that it's a good laugh, and he doesn't know what to think of that either. He tries to quickly parse out whether or not she's laughing at his expense somehow, but as much as his self-sabotaging brain tries to twist logic around, he can't find anything that lines up. It seems genuine.

She's a bloody strange one, is the only conclusion he can draw.

He's been hit or miss with giving out his name. Gave it to Julia, to Wanda. Didn't give it to the basically-a-Targaryen cunt from the baths. If she'd have asked him at the start of the conversation, he might've told her to fuck off and that his name wasn't her business. Now, the way is eased enough that he sighs and grants it. )

Sandor Clegane.

( It's tempting to add on The Hound, just to see if that means anything to her. If there's any recognition in her eyes. He knows there have been Targaryens here, Geralt told him as much. There could be others that know of him, of his crimes, his reputation.

But it's not likely, and so in the end, he leaves it off. )

[beautifullies]

It's nice to officially meet you, Sandor Clegane.

[ She nearly offers her hand, but instead, she gestures to the ground, out of the way. She already has an idea of his personality, it really wasn't hard to get there, but he's listening to her which is more than she can say for some men. ]

Do you mind if I sit? I've been walking for a while now, and home is a bit further than it used to be.

[ It's up to him, she won't stay if he seems to bristle at the thought; that might be too much for one day. She remembers the entire first month being disorienting for her. ]

[dogmeats]

( He is not a polite man, and he does not suffer false courtesies. All the same, he was a devoted Kingsguard for most of his life, and is well accustomed to the appropriate gestures he's meant to give a Lady. He oscillates back and forth between giving into those habits, or staunchly and savagely rejecting them. It's hard to say which of the two paths he might do here, and so it's just as well that she doesn't hold her hand out.

With his trouser leg finally rolled down, he stands — a pleasant reminder of just how much taller than her he is, a gesture that might be intimidating to most other women, and men. It probably detracts from the subtler gesture here — that he's giving up his seat for her to sit, under the guise of picking back up his axe. Intent to carry on chopping, for want of something to do with his hands. )

Do as you like, I'm not your bloody keeper.

( Which is as close to an invitation as she's likely to get. He goes about plucking up his next log, of bracing it in place — and then pausing to cast a sideways glance over at her. )

Where's home? Not the settlement?

[beautifullies]

[ Now there's an image: this man looking after her. She can't imagine once she's done with his leg, he'll be knocking on her door for a drop-in. Still, as long as he isn't shooing her off, she'll sit and does. Watching him go about his work, she's surprised when he does talk to her and asks a question. ]

It was, until about two weeks ago or so. I just finished having a house built. Just west of here, down the hill and set back a bit, closer to the treeline.

[ Claire considers him a second, deciding to go for asking a question in return. ]

Where you're from, is it like Solvunn?

[dogmeats]

( West of here, down the hill, closer to the treeline. A scowl flashes across his face as his mind flashes quickly to Aloy's homestead, of the rush of dozens of boars trying to trample the place down. Threatening to gore them. The blood, the carnage. Could be that Claire is a witch like Wanda, and she can handle herself, but he's seen no such indications of that yet. Dumb fucking woman's going to get herself killed.

He says nothing.

Brings the axe down, effortlessly splitting a log in twain before he answers. )

Parts.

( He grunts, noncommittal, and for a moment it may seem like that's all she's likely to get. )

Cities are bigger. King's Landing's five hundred thousand strong. The villages, the holdfasts... some of them are similar.

[beautifullies]

[ Claire's patient, and she really does need to rethink her route so that she's nearer to home closer to dusk. So, that gives her time to wait, the silence filled by his work, and that's enough to fill the quiet. His answer does confirm her suspicions, though: he isn't from a modern time. ]

I've lived in cities and villages both, castles and huts. And I've slept on battlefields and boats for long stretches at a time. But the closest to home that I have now is like here: Living off of the land.

[ Although apparently it's now the deep woods, so she's closer to the mark than she knows with her home, here. ]

[dogmeats]

( She's bang-on; he's not from modern time by any stretch of the imagination. He has not yet even had his first exposure to modern earth amenities, it's sure to be a blast whenever he manages to find his way to the Horizon.

He listens to her talk. Is tempted, sorely tempted, to kindly inform her that he didn't fucking ask — but finds he doesn't so much mind. She is, if nothing else, answering questions he's been gently accumulating with no intention to ask himself.

Castles, huts, boats, battlefields. Uncommon places for a woman to venture, but given his last traveling companion was Arya bloody Stark, perhaps not such a novelty to him anymore. )

Not going to be living for much longer if you're walking through these fucking woods on your own close to dark.

[beautifullies]

[ She wonders why he chose to say that, specifically. It's a warning, but one out of knowledge of what's out there and concern. Claire suppresses a small smile and nods in acknowledgment. ]

I try not to be caught out, and the house isn't in the woods, although there is a young woman named Aloy who does live out there. She's well-equipped, hardy and strong. I do know my limits, though.

[ Well, she doesn't, but others do and won't let her die. ]

I forage quite often but during the day. Still, it can be dangerous. I don't suppose you're volunteering to be a lookout?

[dogmeats]

( That young woman named Aloy was plenty susceptible to the stampede of fucking boars, he thinks, but bites his tongue. If she wants to be stubborn about it and die, that's her choice. What business is it of his?

A slow, thoughtful scowl overtakes his expression as she speaks and he chops. I don't suppose you're volunteering to be a lookout? He scoffs. )

Did I say that?

( And yet, several minutes later when she finally stands, he... coincidentally decides that's enough chopping for the day. He does not put down the axe, but rather allows it to hang loosely by his side as he follows her like a silent shadow down the path — his expression all but daring her to comment. )