a little conversation (aradia and clara)

[warmheartedly]

SOMEWHERE OUT THERE

There are times that Clara isn't the brightest one in the box. She isn't dumb. Not by any means she likes to think. She's practical and patient but she isn't bright like Magra or clever like Willard. It takes time for her to connect the dots of some more obscure things, notice the clues to people or items that, to some, would be considered right in front of her face and yet she never realised it until the very lost moment.

Like right now. Just as she watches some of the kids play tag, something in her head just clicks as overheard snippets of others in Redbright to gossip from elsewhere finally falls into place and she recognises it as something coherent, solid, and being about what Aradia had done in regards to some lightbulbs. The people never said her name but she can extract enough hints and information that it was her.

It immediately causes some alarms in her head to ring, ever so faintly, as a sudden bubble of guilt and concern gets the best of her.

While the children need to be watched over, Clara thinks that they can have one day of their ghostly guardian not watching over them as they pal around in the park. This is an emergency. They'll understand. So she excuses herself on deaf ears and heads off in order to look for her fellow ghost.

It takes her a while to find Aradia, exploring more than she's ever explored before, but she finds her soon enough after enough false stars and dead ends that would frustrate some but not Clara. Not when it concerns someone she worries and cares for.

"Aradia?" It's her. Of course it's her. Not wanting to waste anymore time she quickly adds, "Can we talk?"

Comments

[megidoomed]

Up until now, today was fairly normal for the younger ghost. Check to see if she'd accidentally slipped back to her Haunt while meditating, fuss over her laptop if she hadn't, work up the energy to manifest, bum around London to see the sights, accidentally break a street lamp...

You know. Normal ghostly happenings.

It was at said streetlight that Clara would eventually find her, perched atop the frame and prodding the dead bulb with her foot. She hadn't meant to snap, honestly, but her thoughts wandered too far and the frustration had nowhere else to go. Luckily it doesn't attract a crowd - the living don't care as much about lights during the day, and nobody else hears the crackle-fade of dying electronics like she does, so perhaps it could go unremarked--

Except there's Clara, fretting, and she probably saw it didn't she? Crap. "That's always such a loaded phrase. People never start with that unless it's something bad."

Light, what light, there's no light here. Aradia loops back upright in a hurried swing, trying to pin down where Clara's voice is coming from. Hearing other ghosts is so much harder then the living. "Did something happen?"