undergrounds | time for a check up (open post)

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time for a check up (open post)

KNOW CLARA?

You may then know, more or less, the incident of her granddaughter getting kidnapped by the vampires. It distressed her but she's fine. Honest to goodness she's fine.

It's normal for her to worry for people she cares for. It's pretty normal for her to think of all the worst case scenarios some of them could find themselves in due to their personalities/their histories/their everything.

It's very normal for her to suddenly check on them one day out of the blue, just appearing next to them without a warning or a heads up.

"Are you okay?"

She's totally calmed down about the incident last month. Really.

DON'T KNOW CLARA?

What do you mean by that?

Now you do as she suddenly phases through the wall and looks directly at you during her search for everyone she knows.

It doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing. It doesn't matter if there are people there or you're supposed to be by yourself. Suddenly you have a woman staring at you in confusion for a second before it registers in her head that no. You're not someone she knows through passing.

"Um. Oops."

[ OOC: Or make your own scenario in your comment! Prose and brackets welcomed! ]

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"A community officer!" She looks impressed to hear that, not knowing many people who are actively in the law enforcement these days. "That's an amazing job for you to have and I must thank you for your work in looking for the missing children. If it weren't for you and the others, goodness know what would have happened to the poor dears."

Still she can't help but be unnerved at the location he's from and the implications of it. Richmond. If her sense of direction isn't too poor than that's almost a too close skip across Hounslow. "I'll definitely mention you when I tell this to the person I have in mind. You deserved to be recognised for this. It's important that people both have knowledge and safety guaranteed in my opinion."

Lancelot drops his eyes at that, a touch uncomfortable under the praise. To him, it is an important job. It is as she says -- people must have their safety guaranteed, and must understand what they can do to ensure that. Yet all the same, he would never ask for recognition for anything he did -- nor would he call it amazing.

"I was only doing my job," he assures her. "If it has done some good that is enough for me."

"And if you hadn't done your job, I can only imagine what would happen to the children." She doesn't want to and she doesn't have to now. She smiles at him. "I'll try not to be too gushy when I speak about you if that helps. This definitely makes me more aware that I should do my rounds more often at the school and Harrow now. Just in case it might happen again."

The fae are an unpredictable lot after all.

He finally accepts defeat, nods in acceptance of her terms and takes a moment to sip his drink. It allows him to gather himself, to carefully brush away the embarrassment of her praising him to someone else. Something she says, thankfully, presents him with a new topic to steer her onto -- one other than himself.

"When you say rounds...?"

What sort of rounds does a ghost do? He supposes she could easily move from place to place without being seen, which might well be useful.

She's more than happy to follow the conversation's direction. "I officially work in Redbright Institute, the one I mentioned earlier. I'm a security guard during the evenings to make sure the children aren't up to too much mischief.

"Sometimes I also go around Harrow to ensure the children are safe and sound." She frowns a bit, looking ashamed of myself. "I should get better at that given what I just heard. The last few months have been rather messy, haven't they? Fae kidnapping children, rogue vampires. Awful."

He winces sympathetically, sets down his coffee again and shakes his head.

"Forgive me, but you cannot take the blame for what happened. You are but one person, and you cannot be everywhere at once. You can only do your best, and hope that is enough."

She gives him a grateful look for the reassuring words, relieved to hear them. "You shouldn't be sorry at all. That's sweet of you to say it's just-- I was hoping for once there's an advantage to being a ghost besides being invisible and being. Not needing to sleep or rest like others."

"But I will keep trying my best! I can do it. I'll-- I'll try to do it."

"And that will be enough."

Lancelot offers her a warm smile, and part of him wishes he could reach out and take her hand. Wishes he could offer her some degree of comfort in touch. Yet he can't.

"You have offered me comfort and listened to me, there must be something I can do for you in turn. Since I cannot offer you coffee, it seems, or something to eat."

His smile flicks up playfully, lightly amused, and he shrugs.

"I can offer you company, and perhaps some hands where yours cannot be used."

Can ghosts blush? Apparently so with how her cheeks seem to take some colouring to them, her smile bashful as she wave her hand back and forth as if to turn down the offer of company but.

Judging by how happy she is, Clara really is happy that he extended something so kindly to her.

"Oh! I'm so flattered a young man like you would like to spend time with a silly old biddy like me." She's so bubbly right now, her mood happy as it could be, and while it doesn't effect the room as it normally would like when she's upset -- There's something about the way she just lights up that shows she's very happy. "It would be an honour to spend some time with you, just enjoying the moment."

It won't hurt to have a small break, would it?

"And I'm flattered you think me a young man."

Amusement wrinkles little lines round his eyes, enjoying the way happiness looks on her. How old, he wonders, is she? It is perhaps rude to ask, but part of him wonders if ghosts truly age -- or if she has perhaps lived hundreds of years at this same age. It must be sad, he thinks, if she has. If she has watched others age and die around her while she stays the same.

"Ah -- can... animals see you?

"Animals?"

She blinks, a bit surprised as she considers her answer because she never put much thought into that for all she's been around. "I never put much thought about it but animals have always been more sensitive to all sort of things in the past. I suppose us ghosts could be one of them."

Is there a reason why he's asking…?

Yes, well, he supposes it is something of an odd question without context...

"I have a dog," he supplies, then hurriedly adds -- "She's quite tame. A rescue dog, Samoyed. I suppose I only wondered if... she might behave oddly, if perhaps she could sense but not see you? Or if you thought... it might not concern her. Forgive me if the question is strange."

"A dog!"

Her eyes light up at the mention of a dog because dogs. "She sounds like lovely. It's not strange at all, I swear. Wondering where it came from at all and now I see it.

"Maybe next time when you have her, we can test it out by having me close to her and seeing if she reacts? I promise to not be too spooky."

He laughs at that, light and playful, because somehow a ghost promising not to be too spooky is just... well, funny.

"I will hold you to that," he teases, and his lips curl in amusement a second before he rallies to stay on topic. "Do you... stay here?"

Is she bound to this place, to... well, haunting it he supposes? Or does she travel? Ghosts, how do they work? He just doesn't know.

"Here?" Ah! He must mean the coffee shop. "I do. It's where I used to live, actually. Once it was an apartment complex but then it was bought off and turned into this."

Looking around, she spots something and (politely) points to the direction of the front door. Her tone takes a wistful quality to it, no doubt remembering the times when she was still alive and well. "There are notches over there on the frame of the door if you want proof. Faint but you can see it. That's where the other mothers and I used to measure our children's heights."

It makes sense, much more sense why she would be here now, and his face creases in sympathy. Turning to where she points he lets his eyes drift over the door frame, thinking on how much change would have seen. How much it must have hurt to have a home ripped apart and turned into something else. To have the world change around her, and yet be forced to stay an invisible constant.

"That must be difficult," he says, then frowns and turns back to her. "Forgive me, it is perhaps a useless sort of thing to say -- it is only that... I suppose I wish I could do something, it is in the nature of people to wish that, yet your home cannot be given back to you. Your life cannot be given back. It is a bitter sort of feeling, to know you are useless in the face of another's grief."

Her smile is a bit sadder while retaining some of her known cheer. There are some remnants of her life from before all of this. Faint but they're still there and it's enough for her.

"I've been like this for over fifteen years. I've had time to mourn over some things and move on." The keyword, however, is 'some' since having all the time in the world doesn't mean it'll be used wisely. "I guess the hardest part of being a ghost is seeing everything change while you don't. It's such a shock sometimes to see my granddaughter be so tall. First and last time I ever held her, she was simply a baby.

"You're very sweet, though. Thank you. It's nice to meet someone who understands in a way. Sometimes it gets a little lonely even when I'm with friends. Especially given recent events."

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time for a check up (open post)

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