Wild [Clover]

[Jesse Fforde]

Wild
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OOC: Backdated to February 8th

<Clover> The Year of the Red Monkey. The Chinese New Year wasn’t exactly an obscure holiday, but Clover still took great care to select the perfect day for her surprise. No, it wasn’t a surprise. She owed Jesse the day. She’d given him the masks they both needed to make the evening one of mischief. For him, the night was one of spontaneity; for her, it was one of careful choosing.

The night promised fireworks, fireworks that had been tucked into the large front compartment of the black backpack, accompanied by the spray cans that filled the main section of the bag. When Clover had planned the evening, Jesse had been depressed, lost amongst the beginnings of his suicidal phase. The two had never had the opportunity to follow through with her plans, not then, but she hoped to make up for her failed attempt. She hoped to remind him, to remind him about the silent promise she’d made, the one that involved an evening of spray painting the streets and buildings of Harper Rock. And the fireworks. Perhaps she meant to surprise him with the fireworks, even though he told her not to surprise him anymore. Clover rarely listened to him, especially when his choice of words left her angry. Yes, the fireworks were a surprise.

Dressed all in black, she planned on blending in with the shadows, calling upon her strengths to go from place to place, to avoid detection and suspicion. As she pulled the backpack out of the closet, she made sure the compartments were zipped, each one secure, and slid one arm through one of the straps. She slung the backpack over one shoulder and then bent down to sort through some of the items that had been strewn on the floor of the closet. Whether Jesse knew it or not, she’d gotten her own mask, a tiger mask. When her fingers brushed against the plastic, she moved aside some of the clothing and held the mask in her hands. Already, the mask had flecks of red paint. Clover had tried her hand at painting. Never again.

Finding Jesse’s mask took a little more time. She had to search throughout the room. He hadn’t planned on going out, whereas she’d moved her mask ahead of time and buried it at the bottom of the closet, putting it at easy access. When she discovered his set of masks, Clover chose the fox mask. She slipped her own mask on and went to admire herself in the mirror, but she stopped halfway. For the second time in a month, she’d made the mistake of going toward the mirror, as if she had a reflection. The silence in the room felt heavier, as if the inanimate objects sympathized with her. They understood. They knew what she’d meant to do.

After her mistake, she took quick steps out of the bedroom. The rest of her journey focused on the mirror and her lack of a reflection. The problem wasn’t her lack of a reflection so much as what her reflection meant. Her reflection represented herself, her sense of self, and without her reflection, she felt as if she were less of a person. Perhaps she should have told Jesse. As she entered Serpentine, she cast that thought aside. Clover wandered into the building, her mask still in place, the fox mask still clasped in her right hand, and went in search of Jesse.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse was in consultation. Not face to face - he’d made that mistake before. People would come in and he’d sit with them for an hour or more trying to sketch the perfect thing. He’d be nice as pie and smile a lot, but that smile always came across as a leer. As something sinister and horrible. They’d pay him, and then they’d leave. They’d take his design to someone else, probably. Get someone else to etch into their skin. It was a waste of time. The never wanted to come back to the man with the creepy leer. They didn’t want that man anywhere near them with that needle.

Instead, Jesse’s advertisements always vaguely hinted at how modern his parlour was; how funds could be transferred electronically and cash didn’t have to be brought in hand. How consultation could be done over the phone, via skype or facetime. He’d discovered that it had nothing to do with the way he looked, or the way he sounded; it had everything to do with some invisible aura that radiated from him. It was the only explanation. He wasn’t complaining, generally - it just wasn’t very good for business.

[Clover]

<Jesse Fforde> When Clover found him, that’s where he would be; at his desk at the back of the tattoo parlour, laptop open and talking animatedly - or as animated as Jesse got - with a customer. When working, when doing this thing that he’d been doing his entire adult life, this thing that he enjoyed, he did tend to get a little animated - especially if it was a project that excited him. When the customer worked with him and his style. Like this one was - though they got confused when Jesse looked up and stopped mid-sentence.

At first, all he saw was some person in a mask. For the first three seconds he was confused. What was going on? But then he recognised the mask; he recognised the style. It was the same kind of mask that he himself had, given to him by Clover. He knew, then, after the first three seconds of confusion, who he was looking at. He grinned and nodded, holding up a hand to tell her to wait just a bit. Turning back to the screen, he confirmed a few other details with his customer - including a time for the next consultation when Jesse would show him what he had designed - before logging off. Only then did he lean back and turn to appreciate Clover fully.

“Is this some kind of kinky game? Hey, you…” he said. He pushed the chair back and swivelled, patting his lap as if to invite the woman to come sit on it.


<Clover> Clover meant to surprise Jesse, and his expression told her that she’d succeeded. A masked person screamed trouble, at least for humans, and yet his face conveyed anything but fear. He questioned her. He questioned the mask on her face. When he smiled, she smiled, and she gave in to his silent request for more time. If he hadn’t indicated that she give him a few moments, she would have wandered over to him and interrupted. Clover had the urge to act out, an urge she found hard to control. He was lucky that she wasted time admiring the interior, comparing the new to the old. And yet, she still wanted to separate him from the computer; Clo wanted to slide her way in front of him, lift her mask, and place her lips so firmly over his.

Just as she took a few steps in his direction, he turned around. She no longer had to fight off urges. She no longer had to plot to garner his attention. He stared at her, and she decided to play along. Instead of shaking her head, indicating that it wasn’t a kinky game, Clo nodded. Yes, it was a kinky game. There could have been something kinky about unleashing themselves on the city streets, freeing their bad behavior. Maybe it was his question, or the negative thoughts about her reflection, but she continued the ruse. She moved over to him, her laced-up boots eerily silent on the floor, and sat down on his lap.

Talking to him through her mask was impossible, so she hooked her thumb under the bottom edge of the mask and slid it up and off her face. “I want to take you out tonight. Don’t consider it a surprise. This is a date,” she smiled, presenting him with his fox mask. “I don’t know if you remember or not, but I owe you a night on the town. We can be kinky later.” Clover pressed a palm to his cheek and leaned in to press her lips to the corner of his mouth. Mentioning the fireworks meant revealing her whole hand, so she withheld the second portion of the night. Yes, she meant to surprise him, but she considered it more of a date.

“Are you done here? Can I steal you away?” She’d set her bag down while she was waiting for him to finish with his work, but she looked in its direction then. Whether or not he knew about the bag’s contents, she didn’t think he knew the extent of the selection. She’d planned ahead and provided him with a variety of brands and colors. Jesse deserved to make every space into a canvas.

Clo slipped off his lap and went to retrieve her bag, then she moved toward the door, waiting for him. He could have led the way. She had no specific location for the beginning of their journey, just as she had no specific end.