Path of the Vampire forum

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--


<Jesse Fforde> [Text] So. It's tomorrow. I'm dressed casually. Where am I going?

<Clover> [txt] Meet me at River Rock station. I'm blindfolding you.

<Jesse Fforde> [Text] Wow. Okay. Be there in fifteen.

<Jesse Fforde> The bike hardly gets used anymore. It had been fixed, after the accident that had led to Cosette's turning. Jesse retrieves the vehicle from the garage; it'll be easier to ride to River Rock station than to walk anywhere, and he can collect the bike later. As promised, within fifteen minutes he was striding onto the station platform; any humans coming or going gave him a wide berth. He wore jeans and a black t-shirt with another random skull design on the front, and a light leather jacket over top. There were boots on his feet and his hair was slicked to the side. He paused in the middle, eyes narrowed as he looked for his progeny.


<Clover> Clo had been at the station before she even sent the last text message. She'd been going back and forth between Larch and River Rock since last night, when she came up with the decision for a surprise. It was stupid, honestly. An attempt at showing commitment or showing some semblance of normalcy. Despite those things, she was proud. As she searched for familiar faces in the crowds of people coming and going, she had a small smile on her lips. The brunette made eye contact with a few figures, but she looked as much like a human as possible.

Dressed in a pair of faux leather leggings and a white tank top, she looked like any one of them, except she had a black bandana wrapped around her right hand. Clo didn't notice her sire at first. The crowd was really starting to grate her nerves. When she did notice him, she waved a hand at him and began moving her way through the people. "At least you're timely."


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse hadn't been sure what to expect. He woke up as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon and he knew that he had plans with Clover. He'd got ready for the night in the usual manner, dressing as if he were going to work. He'd brushed a kiss to Grey's temple as he'd left; habit meant that he knew the woman wouldn't really care about what he was doing or with who--or at least he assumed. They did their own things most of the time. He pushed his hands into his pockets as he was approached by Clover, and shrugged his shoulders. "Yes, that is one pro in my favour," he says with a grin.

<Clover> She stood there for a long moment, an awkward little smile on her lips. The plan! The thought struck her that they had better things to do than stand on the station platform. The night had more to offer than conversation and witty banter. "I almost forgot," she stopped and held up a finger. If nothing else went right, then she had to get the surprise part right. She was repeating the same thing over and over again in her head. She slid the bandana off her right hand and held it up for him to see.

"I got you a present. Usually I'm **** with surprises." Clover tried to close some distance between them, but she realized she couldn't reach to put the blindfold on. She just stood there, looking at the bandana and then at him, as if he were supposed to get the nonverbal communication. She was shorter. He was taller. "Help a girl out?"


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse eyes the bandana warily. He can’t remember a time, ever, that he’s been blindfolded for a surprise. He can’t remember a time ever that he’s been blindfolded for anything. Wait, no… that’s a lie. There was the once but that never left the bedroom. Here he is in public and with Clover who has proven to be the biggest mystery to him out of anyone he knows. Probably the most frustrating person he knows, but he’s always liked a challenge. He finally complies; he doesn’t reach to take the bandana and tie it himself because that’s the thing with blindfolds, right? They have to be tight and secure and the one tying it likes to have control over that. So he saunters on over to a bench seat, where commuters can sit to wait.

There’s a woman there with her bags of groceries, some kind of lettuce poking out of the top of one. She shuffles right down to the other end of the chair and clings to it as if it’s an anchor. Jesse doesn’t notice. He arches a brow at Clover, waiting for her to proceed.


<Clover> The look he was giving her said it all. He wasn't exactly comfortable, not that she expected him, or anyone, to be completely comfortable being blindfolded; she'd expected him to throw caution to the wind. Why had she thought the blindfold was a good idea? Why hadn't she gone with the first thing that came to mind? Because she liked the idea of blindfolding him. Because she wanted to give him a taste of the feeling she had at the mall. The smile shifted as a look of thought overtook her features. She suddenly felt very uncomfortable and insecure. If she could blush, she would have been blushing then. Already, she swore people were staring at the two of them, but mostly at her. There she was trying to blindfold someone in the middle of a station. How absurd.

She was about to make something up and go back to her original plan, a more exciting plan, when he moved toward a station bench. "I guess we could sit. That's fine too." But he was giving her that look, the look she'd seen more times than she could count. He was waiting for her to do something. Success! "I promise I'm not going to lose you or rob you," she rambled, saying different little things to try and sooth him as she secured the bandana over his eyes.

"Now stand up. This is going to be a bit of a walk." Looking elsewhere, she moved around the bench and reached to take his hand in hers. The thoughts of being absurd were replaced by how awkward it was holding his hand. She didn't want to say anything else for fear she'd make herself even more uncomfortable.


<Jesse Fforde> Yes, Jesse’s wary, but he’s not afraid. Clover has asked whether he trusted her, and he could say that with this kind of thing, sure. He trusted her. The mood that broils in his core is not a negative one; he is happy. If anything, he’s only been frustrated because he had not been allowed any happiness. With everyone else so upset with him, how could he possibly be happy? All he’d wanted was to go out. Do something that didn’t require he sit around inside the places he already knows; see something new, do something new. Dance, sing badly, pull pranks. The kind of **** he used to always do and which he hasn’t, lately. And he can’t understand why.

The blindfold is a strange thing but Jesse can see the fun in it. The darkness falls over his vision and he laughs. He has no awareness of the people around them, or what they might think. Now he’s just curious. He stands as he is commanded to stand; he had assumed that they would be taking the train, given that she had asked him to meet her at the station. But maybe not.

Inked fingers—skin cold and fingers calloused, slightly rough—slide easily into Clover’s guiding grasp. He clears his throat. “Do I get any hints?” he asks. He doesn’t mind a walk. The fresh air will do him good.


<Clover> As odd as they looked, they weren't attracting as much attention as she'd feared. In fact, people seemed almost uncomfortable to be near them. She no longer had to fight her way through the crowds, as the station's other inhabitants seemed quite happy to part for the both of them. Perhaps it was the blindfold, or perhaps it was the fact that a weight was lifted from her chest. The station environment had been suffocating, after all. Clover squeezed his hand as if she were reprimanding him. "No. If I give you any hints, you'll figure it out and then I'll have to resort to Plan B. I think it's better if I don't do that."

Clover looked almost guilty when she thought of her backup plan. He couldn't see her face, so she wasn't hiding the fact. Chewing on her lower lip, she looked down at the ground as if someone were reprimanding her that time. She'd almost thought about testing his limits and taking him out to--no, she couldn't even think about it. What was it with her and filtering her own thoughts? "Now that we're this far, I can say something. It's not a ******* hint, okay?"

Her tone wasn't harsh when she cursed. She just wanted him to know. "We're going toward Riverwood Market. I'm actually taking you into the wilderness, where I'll take your money and your clothes, then I'll leave you stranded. I've put thought into this, Jesse." She tried sounding creepy, but it was laughable at best. Clo gave his hand a sharp tug as they changed directions and then they continued walking.


<Jesse Fforde> The more they walk, the more amusing the whole situation becomes to Jesse. He can’t see anything; his ears feel sharp, however, like those of an animal. Like they should be twitching and swivelling madly to try to compensate for the loss of vision. This is like one of those tests when they ask you to fall backwards and trust that the person behind you is going to catch you. Jesse has to trust that Clover’s going to tell him where to put his feet, or if he’s about to run into a pole or a door or whatever. Of course, Jesse being Jesse, he tries to walk with all the confidence of someone who knows where he’s going. No shuffling or stumbling. He keeps his other hand steadfast in his pocket, too. If he trips and falls over something, so be it. It’ll all hilarious in the end.

There’s a smile still lingering on his lips as his face tips toward Clover’s voice, waiting for this thing that she’s going to tell him. His thumb presses into the top of her hand, the touch yet another substitute for sight. As if knowing the contours of her hand will somehow help him to adjust to her mood. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Clover like this before. Like she’s happy. And they’re just two people having a bit of fun. It’s unexpected. But not unwelcome.

The smile broadens as he nods his head. Mouth open to respond, though the response is delayed by the sudden change in direction, and Jesse looks almost vulnerable for a few seconds, there, as he tries to reclaim his bearings. He tries again. “I get it. I’m going to be a challenge for you, soon, so you’re just issuing your payback early. Giving me a few challenges before we start,” he says, still smirking.


<Clover> Payback. Did she owe him any kind of payback that she had yet to deliver? She could think of the times that he irritated her, the times when he made her want to set him on fire. He confused her even more than she confused herself. At least when she sat down and really thought about things, she came up with a deeper understanding of herself. With him, she--well, lately she felt like she understood him a little better as well. "Jesse, is that humor I'm detecting? And smiling?" She laughed, whether it was at what he said or what she replied with, she wasn't sure. They hadn't reached the destination, but she was already having fun. She actually couldn't wait to remove the blindfold and see his reaction.

Why was she being so out of character? She'd asked herself that lately, or rather she hadn't stopped asking herself that since around Christmas. She was pulled out of her thoughts when they came to another turn in the road. It was a change from pavement to grass and she had to squeeze his hand again, "I'm letting you know we're going to start walking on grass for a little, and then we're going back onto asphalt. Don't, uh, trip or anything. I'm not catching you. You're heavy." He couldn't see her, so she stuck her tongue out at him. How good it felt to have that silent victory.

Looking ahead, she could make out their destination. She saw the path that she wanted to take to get them exactly where they needed to be. There were plenty of things they could have done, like going for a walk or going for a swim or going for a hike--she had thought of plenty of options--but none of them compared. "Are you excited?" She didn't realize she was clutching his hand so tightly until she had to loosen her grip.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse snorts. “If you met me three years ago, I don’t think you’d recognise me,” he says. True enough, really. Back then he’s only been humour and laughter. That had been the language of choice, and people didn’t take him seriously, back then. They didn’t constantly assume he was trying to insult someone. He was a man with an ego but he didn’t take himself seriously. He could claim to be so many things and when people knocked him back, he would laugh. Because it didn’t mean anything. And he could move on to the next person. Something irrevocable had changed over the years. He’d slowly opened up like a coconut’s stringy innards bursting from its rock-hard outer-shell. But then those he’d trusted had devoured him whole. Every single one of them.

He’s trying to backtrack. To become that man he once was. Maybe it’s got something to do with being able to talk; but he could no more pretend to be mute again than he could go back to being human. So he had to find some other way. This? Walking along blindfolded with no idea what the **** he was in store for? It was a step in the right direction.

His feet hit grass and he’s glad for the warning. “Excitement. What the hell is that again?” he says. He laughs again, but he gives a slow nod, after his tongue wets his lips. “I’m curious. And with curiosity comes what I suppose is excitement,” he says. He feels like a loping Neanderthal without his sight; somewhere along the way, his opposite had had come out of his pocket and was now swinging by his side.


<Clover> "I like you now. Right now." She stopped moving, but she didn't tell him it was because they had reached their destination. They had crossed the street and were standing right outside of the goal. They were feet from the surprise. She let his hand go and moved around to stand in front of him. "You don't have anyone to perform for. Don't pretend to be someone you're not. And don't give me ******** about how you don't. We all do." Clo looked over her shoulder at the people winding in and out of line like ants, scattering whenever they came to their own individual goals. The air smelled like a mixture of greasy food and sweets, but there was an underlying smell of freshly popped popcorn.

A few people crossed directly in her line of sight. One of them, a middle-aged woman, pointed and whispered about strange people being in Harper Rock. How strange was it to see someone blindfolded and wandering around the city? Clover frowned at them and shooed them away, making the motion with her hands. To think that she'd considered taking Jesse out to hunt and kill, which would have involved a blindfold as well. How would that have gone? "I think it's time to take the blindfold off. Unless you want to keep it on," she teased. "No, I mean it. Take it off." She drew out the "f" on the last word, a big smile on her face.

Hands on her hips, she watched the cars crash into one another over and over again. She could hear the plastic and rubber as the cars met once another and then bounced off. Some of them collided with the wooden side of the ring. They were going there. She would get him on that ride. Surprising him with a trip to the fair was perfect.


<Jesse Fforde> Again, Jesse’s ears prickled. His nose twitched. The atmosphere swirled with sounds and smells that are recognisable, and he has a feeling he knows where they are before Clover even commands him to take the blindfold off. Of course, before she does, he is greeted with her sultry tone, swimming to him from amidst the clamour of everything else. The one thing he focuses on, until he recognises the words of reprimand. There are plenty of masks that he wears when around others, it’s true. But he doesn’t nod. He doesn’t say of course, Clover, I’ll do as you ask because he knows he won’t. He tried once before, to let all those walls crumble. For five seconds of his life he had been himself, his own self, who he’s always been but had never even never even let himself see. He’d never do that again.

At least, that’s what he told himself. He might not have the choice, soon. He’ll be stripped and flayed of all willpower and all strength. All the armour will come away to reveal the vulnerability underneath; the weaknesses he’d worked so hard and so long to keep locked up from the world, so no one could ever take advantage of them. Getting close to others is a weakness. Probably the most dangerous of them all.

The atmosphere doesn’t allow for such heaviness of thought or conversation, however. Clover’s telling him to take off the blindfold as if he’s some stripper on a stage, and he doesn’t hesitate to whip the bandana away with a flourish. The fair. Someone else had tried to take him to a fair, once. He’d agreed. He hadn’t had fun. But that was because she was one of those girl-women; the ones that look old enough but ultimately act as if they’ve regressed to childhood. Clover is not one of those women, so Jesse’s smile is broad. Exuberant. Fun, yes. Fun will be had.

“I assume you brought me here because you want to play the dodgems first,” he says. There’s no hesitation as he surges forward, the bright lights highlighting his deathly pallor. The expression he throws back at Clover is challenging and, yes – excited.

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--


<Clover> She didn't know what she expected when he saw the fair for the first time. She had assumed he'd been there before, but she wanted it to be different. That's why she thought of the blindfold in the first place. The first time she went to the fair was a bit of an accident. She went too far and ended up lost. It was lucky that she remembered the place and luckier still that she decided to go back and enjoy some time there with someone else. She almost missed the moment when he removed the blindfold. She was so caught up in possibilities and memories.

When she saw the change in his expression, she was thrilled. The smile on his face was different. It wasn't that she hadn't seen him smile before, because she had, but that smile was different. He looked like he'd seen something amazing, something genuinely amazing. "Surprise!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands up to motion to the cars as they smashed into one another. But he was talking and who cared what she said then. He was pleased, so she was pleased. That was the goal.

"One of the many things we're doing, I'm sure! But yes. You like bouncy balls. I thought bouncing off of one another in cars is close enough," she grinned, jogging a little to be even with him. If she expected him to be in the moment, then she could be in the moment. No thoughts or conversations about her own troubles were going to cloud the night and set the tone of the evening. "I'm kicking your *** at this. I hope you know that." Oh, she went there. The traditional banter of competitors. When she got to the rink, she chose a sparkly black car marked with a fading number '3' on the side. Clo smirked at him as she got behind the wheel.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse’s car of choice, of course, is orange. A fiery orange, bordering on red, and slightly sparkly too. They were all kind of sparkly, though. Some naff nineties song blended into another; Backstreet Boys, or something. Jesse doesn’t know the name of the song, except that he used to make fun of anyone who used to listen to it. He prefers, and always has, his punk rock or heavy metal.
“How the **** does one win dodgem cars?” he asks. There’s children around. It’s still early. Parents throw Jesse withering looks only to look away, confused and fearful, if they so happen to catch his eye. At least there aren’t too many children. And anyway, his focus will only be on that little black car with its faded three. He slips into the seat, his fingers curling around the small steering wheel.

“Challenge accepted,” he says, even though he’s not sure there’s any sure way to win at dodgem cars. That’s what it’s come to between he and Clover, it would seem. Challenges, left, right, and centre. Some trivial and amusing and others not so much. But all meaningful in their own kind of way. As soon as the bell goes, the cars begin to rev; Jesse’s foot slams the accelerator, and he’s cackling as he zooms away from Clover. Away, to begin with, before he schemes a plan of action…


<Clover> There were teenagers in the cars to her right and behind her. When he took off in his orange car, she pressed the petal to the floor and shot off after him. Before she had the chance to successfully rearend him, a car slammed into her on the right side and she went into a spin. Her car bounced off the wall and her side bounced off the interior of the car. "You're dead," she growled. When she made eye contact with the teenager, he looked terrified. He tried to turn his car, but she had recovered and slammed head-on into his car. Both of them were jarred, but his car took the force and flew back into another tangled mess of cars.

Successfully brushing off that irritation, she went back on the hunt for Jesse. Her car wasn't as fast as she liked, so it took her a few moments to catch up to him. Her goal was simple. She wanted to ram his car. That's just how she was. She had to hit hard, all or nothing. Quick, like a flash or a sudden, sharp explosion. "You can win by causing bodily harm or getting the other person to admit defeat. I'll take either option!" She had both hands on the wheel and she put the pedal to the floor and spun her car around. The side of her car was headed right for his rear end.

She couldn't remember the last time she had that much fun, even though their night wasn't over yet. The last time she'd ever been so happy was probably with her younger sister at one of their lame birthday parties. Or maybe it was when she was partying at the bar with Vic, Kenny, and Nik.


<Jesse Fforde> It’s just a game, Jesse knows. But even when he sees that teenager ram the side of Clover’s car, he can’t help but feel that twitch. It’s one that he pushes down and bottles because it doesn’t belong here, at the fair. The desire to ram that kid’s body into the barrier over and over and over again until it doesn’t even twitch, it’s so pulverised. No, that doesn’t belong here. It’s just a game, and laughter is the aim. Clover gets her revenge, anyway, while Jesse skirts the mess. For a few seconds he loses sight of her, and he has to whip around in his seat to see where her voice is coming from.

Of course, this means he’s not paying any attention to where he’s going; one of those idiotic teenagers veer into his path, and his whole body jerks in the little car as he slams into the other objects. Bounces, even. The other car is stuck between him and the barrier, the girl within it trying to laugh but failing. Poor thing. And then, of course, Clover hits what she was aiming for and Jesse’s body is jerked again. The sudden violence helps to dislodge the other car; the teenager rushes off, and now it’s Jesse stuck between Clover and the barrier.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” he says, reaching out as if trying to push her car away from his. There are squeals and laughter coming from everyone else, too, Backstreet Boys still blaring over the speakers, sparks flying from where the cars’ antennae gain their power from the mesh of wire up above them. He finally gets free, and instantly swings his car around so he can be facing Clover; so he can try to ram her head on.


<Clover> She only saw the car speeding away from him after she finally connected. Apparently, he was having some fun on his own. The thought of little teenagers either hitting him or being at his mercy made her laugh. She kept trying to wiggle the car in a way so that she could hit him again, but it wasn't in her cards. She had to settle for the one impact. "I shouldn't have to pay," she joked, taking in the noise around them. There were squeals, but that music. That was the sort of music she listened to every single day when she lived at home. She was used to the lifeless beats and the crooning. It fit with the crowd surrounding them. But they weren't the oldest there, at least. She kept telling herself that.

When he broke free from her trap, she tried to move after him, but her car wouldn't cooperate. It was probably tired of the abuse, or maybe it was jealous that it wasn't a different color. It should have been green. Green with envy. Green with jealousy. Green like Clover. "What are you going to do? You don't have the guts," she taunted him, raising her hands from the wheel. She looked like she was going to let him have the fun, but they were facing off. She gripped the wheel in both hands and stomped down on the pedal, jarring herself as the car shuddered and finally moved forward.

The cars weren't built for high speeds, but they didn't crawl along either. She was having fun just trying to keep her car going straight, since it always wanted to slip into lefts or rights that would undoubtedly end in lazy circles. She had a car bump into her back end that helped propel her forward and correct a swerve that her car had been doing. She was almost to the point where there was no turning back. She wasn't cutting the wheel like she did before.


<Jesse Fforde> The cars are unwieldy things, it’s true. There’s no way they’d pass any kind of roadworthy. But that’s the point, isn’t it? It makes them harder to dodge. It makes it harder to hit. It’s what makes the game that much more challenging, and that much more hilarious. It’s be too expensive to fix them all and make them all perfect, not when a few rounds would probably just knock all those engines back out of joint, anyway. When any of them slam into Jesse by accident they all seem to want to apologise, though they stumble with their words, because apologies aren’t needed in the dodgem arena.

Ahead of him, Clover’s smiling. At the very least, she looks gleeful. She glows with it, and Jesse realises he’s never actually seen Clover like this. Like there’s a whole other person who’s been living beneath her skin all this time, kept secret from him. Or maybe she’d just never had the opportunity to come out and play. Jesse feels free, in that moment. Free to have fun. Free of the tangles of depression and gloom.

He slams his foot upon the pedal and his orange care careens straight for Clover’s; at the least second, of course, the wheel slips and his straight line isn’t so straight anymore. He still collides with her, however, even if it is more the side of his car than with the front of it. He keeps the wheel tugged to the left so as to remain rammed up against her little black car. It’s true. The smile he wears is a rare thing. A hidden thing. Just like Clover’s. “Don’t insult my guts, Clo. They don’t like it. They get all vengeful,” he says, teasing.


<Clover> The flashing lights and sparks reflected off the sparkles in the paint and created quite the show. She kept pumping the pedal to try and hit him more, but she couldn't. Her hands slid from the wheel and she laughed. She laughed so hard that it hurt her stomach. The overhead lights began to fade back into life, the signal that the round had come to an end. Already, people began to abandon their cars. Her laughter faded to an occasional giggle and then that too began to die out. She didn't know what to say or do about the end of their turn. "You and your guts. You're too attached to them," she joked. "You have to learn to let them go."

No one bothered to shoo them from their cars, so she waited. She watched some people trickle out onto the floor and study the open cars. There were at least two that did nothing but spin in circles; unfortunately, people chose those cars for their own. Clover looked away from them and focused on Jesse. "Do you want to go again or do you want to find something else? This is OUR night, so you have a say." She asked him even though she was already standing up, one leg outside of the car. She had a plan in mind then, one involving a ferris wheel and a roller coaster. It was about having the most fun in the little amount of time they had left.

Before she had a chance to clear her car, a young girl came up and dove behind the wheel. Clo grabbed the steering wheel to keep the girl from playing with the car. Some people. That's what went through her mind then.


<Jesse Fforde> It’s the way it always goes with the dodgems. When the round ends, there’s a rush and a scramble as people try to claim the car they want most. Why it’s always a rush, Jesse doesn’t know; but nor is he the kind of guy to sit around and do the same thing all night. It’s what got him so frustrated to begin with; the same thing, every single night, and he could hardly coax his other half out of the house. He could force her out, but why would he, if she might just not enjoy herself while there? So he’d stay at home, or at work, and do the same things. Over and over.

Jesse clears his car and someone only claims it when he’s a few paces away. “Something else,” he says, though that answer is slightly obvious given the fact he’s just abandoned his car. His arm finds Clover’s shoulder and he gives it a playful nudge; his body still feels like its vibrating, humming with the energy of the dodgems. Stepping over the barrier—on the opposite side to where they had entered—they are now barraged with all the different kinds of music, rather than just the lame 90s songs that continue to croon behind them.

“I’d suggest Dagwood Dogs and bright pink Fairy Floss but I’d really not like to spend the rest of the night heaving my guts up somewhere,” he says. “Rides or games? What’s next?” he asks. Yeah, she said he had a say, too, but he had been the one to decide on the dodgems, straight away. The next destination is her choice.


<Clover> Clo turned to glared at the girl, taking that moment to revel in the way the girl scrambled away from the car and found another. It was her parting gift and it made her feel much better. With the attraction at her back, she followed along beside him until they came to a stop. Before she had a chance to filter herself, she spoke. "I almost said yes to the candy floss." She forced out a laugh and fidgeted, shifting on her feet. She'd admitted that she felt human. That it felt normal. It felt okay. She didn't think she had to say anything else about it, since he wasn't stupid. He was observant and he could put the pieces together.

She didn't want Jesse to say anything about her slip of the tongue, whether he meant to say something good or something bad. Looking around the rest of the area, she raised a hand to point toward the sky. It almost seemed like she was pointing at the sky. With the dark clouds and the flow of light from the rides and street lamps. Instead, she was pointing at the curve of a wooden roller coaster. She couldn't remember the name of the ride, but the name didn't matter. What mattered was that they had found their second adventure. She took the initiative and reached for his hands. "I think we'll go right for the next surprise. A speeding roller coaster with two dips."

She led the way for him, cutting through crowds of people. The last riders had boarded and the three cars had left the tunnel, carrying the people off. Since the other riders were gone already, Clover had them at the front of the line. She really couldn't wait to feel the sudden drop in her stomach and the rise of her hair that always came with any roller coaster ride. It was a familiar sort of rush. "You look nice. Not to be awkward." She mentally scolded herself for yet another slip in the filtering department.


<Jesse Fforde> The roller coaster. Again, it’s not too hard to get to. The crowds part easily enough. Sometimes he feels like Moses slipping through the waves, though it’s never so dramatic. He might be concerned about it if it weren’t for the fact that people don’t want to come back. They don’t want to be anywhere near him. They’d prefer to forget all about him. Whatever attention this unnaturalness might afford him is not enough to bring any harm to him or his. Maybe it scares it away.

Clover hadn’t allowed him to answer her slip-up, but he doesn’t have to. Instead, he’s laughing. It’s a teasing kind of laugh because the girl is fidgeting. Fidgeting, for ****’s sake. Like she’s nervous or something, though he’s not sure he can really call it nervousness. He’s not a reader of emotions like other people are. He can only hope to try to read body language. And he’s not sure he’s ever seen Clover fidget before, not like this anyway. Rather than respond, he’s happy to be led toward the roller coaster; happy to wait for their turn, where he could probably use that unnatural aura of his to make damned bloody sure they can the first car, right at the front.

He laughs again when she says he looks nice. And then his eyes narrow as he turns to face Clover directly. His hands on her shoulders, his head dipped so he might be able to look her directly in the eye. “Okay. Who are you and what have you done with Clover?” he asks, still teasing, still with that smile on his lips and that gleam in his eyes. Compliments and everything!


<Clover> Everyone seemed to find her behavior a bit unnatural lately. Even she found herself questioning her thoughts and actions. The more she question them, the more unusual they became. So when he put his hands on her shoulders and asked her such a complicated and yet playful question, she didn't know what to say. Was she supposed to say she felt guilty? Or perhaps she was supposed to say that she had always been this way, just not with him. Almost all of the nice things she said about him were never said to his face. Most of the time she told them to Kae or Victor or Kenny. Hell, she probably told anyone who would listen. Because she wasn't that shitty of a person.

"That Clover is taking the night off. She and all of her problems are vacationing in Honeymead," she countered, a small smile on her face. "You needed tonight, but I needed it too." She didn't really want to say much more, so she watched as the coaster slowly climbed the hill. Tick. Tick. Tick. There were murmurs from the people in the cars, some of them being nervous and others entirely too impatient. If it wasn't for that little lull, she might have missed her phone vibrating. To her, the noise seemed deafening though. Leaning away from Jesse, she reached into her top and pulled out her phone. How lady like.

Kaelyn. The sleepover. Clover visibly cringed and began tapping out multiple messages. "I'm sorry. This will only take a second and then no more phones." Kae was always so curious and Clo didn't know what to say. Her facial expressions were shifting between confused to nervous to irritated. The coaster was almost done with its final round.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse snorts. “Honeymead? That’s not very exciting,” he says. If someone wanted to take a vacation, they should do so somewhere outside of the city. Somewhere new and exciting. Somewhere exotic, even. Maybe not a tropical island because those are only really the best during the day, right? When the sun is shining bright and one can tan one’s skin. And there it is again, that thread of seriousness that’s always going to be there, beneath the surface. Not everything can always be fun and games and their lives will get complicated. She says she needed tonight, too; Jesse reaches out to playfully ruffle Clover’s hair as she leans away to reach for her phone.

He doesn’t push, though. It’s been clear to him in the past that Clover doesn’t want to share her problems with him. She prefers to talk to other people about them; it hurt, then, to think that his own progeny couldn’t bring herself to talk to him about the things that she might be struggling with. But it was her prerogative, and he’s not in the mood to argue. So he lets her have her secrets, and watches her silently as she seems to wage some kind of mental battle with her phone, her emotions clearly written across her features. Of course, he’s curious.

“You look like you want to cut whoever is on the other end of that phone. Everything okay?” he asks. The coaster is making its rounds, rattling loudly, interspersed with shouts and screaming. His hands, by this time, are shoved back into his pockets. A line has started to form behind them, people chattering and giggling, the atmosphere, in general, high-spirited.

Slowly, she lowered her phone and clicked the button on the side. The screen flashed a bright and beautiful logo and then it went dark. Clo looked up at him with an unreadable expression as she tucked her phone away once more. "I think I just told Kaelyn I was sleeping with my chil--with Crimson." (She didn't want to say the word in case someone had decided to eavesdrop on them.) There was a brief and serious pause, but then she started laughing. She laughed so hard that people quieted and turned to stare at her; she laughed like she had no reason in the world not to laugh. "This is worse than the time with Axel. I don't even know why I panicked and lied. You didn't lie."

When Clo regained control of her laughter, she just smiled at him. It was a small smile, an awkward smile, and she was thankful when the cars finally pulled in and the people started boarding. They were first and they were the first to approach the lead car. It was odd how no one seemed to want to challenge them for such a prime spot, but she assumed it was because of Jesse. He always gave off this weird aura, usually accompanied by an intimidating look. Even when he was as relaxed as she assumed he was, he still seemed like someone they shouldn't **** with.

She promised no moping and no serious moments, nothing to make the outing anything less than amazing, but her thoughts always circled back around. She could be fun Clover. She could be carefree Clover. That Clover just couldn't stay. Too much had happened. Maybe she hadn't worked hard enough to recover. Maybe she didn't want to recover or think she deserved to recover. The ride was full, so she stomped the feelings and thoughts down as if she were back in the bumper car.

"You know, I used to throw up on these things," she blurted out, "but I'm sure it's better now. I really mean it. I shouldn't have said that. Don't reply. Just don't say anything." She was going to apologize but she stopped herself by just gripping onto the bar in front of them. At least it was word vomit.

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

<Clover> She could feel his eyes on her. With every tick of the coaster, the repetitive sound of the cars being forced uphill, she felt her lips twitch. Of course she just had to smile again, not only at her own slip of the tongue but also at his very obvious amusement. She’d asked him not to say a word and he hadn’t said a word, but they didn’t need words; she understood what he was saying without him even saying it. Rather than let them lapse into silence and lose any type of communication, she chose to nudge him with her elbow. “It’s just unusual without your ego taking up all of this space,” she teased, her brows raised as she feigned a look of shock.

The ride was almost to the top of the hill, but not yet. Even from where they were, she could make out the tops of the many game stalls. There were hundreds upon hundreds of tiny lights, all of them flashing in white, purple, green--there were so many different colors that they all began to blur together. The whole fair had some sort of life all its own. It almost hummed with life. Why hadn’t she brought a camera? Would she even want to be that person, the one taking pictures of every little thing? She didn’t notice when they finally got to the top of the hill. The incessant ticking of the ride had actually come to a close, replaced by the excited whispers of the other riders.

Why weren’t they moving? Why wasn’t the ride going? Clover looked down at their car and then down the length of the track to the ground below. They weren’t moving at all. She didn’t know what to say, but she still turned her head to look at Jesse. She opened her mouth to suggest that maybe something was wrong with the ride, that maybe they would be stuck there and the rest of their evening would be ruined, but she never had the chance to utter a word. Their car, the lead car, lurched forward and then they were rushing downward, flying downhill.

In the descent, she felt as if she were weightless. She was thrown upward and thrust downward. The other people in the cars behind them were screaming and laughing and cheering, so she joined them. She threw her hands up and screamed along with them, looking and feeling like a complete fool. She screamed for every moment, every single bit, of enjoyment she had lost.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse just nods, knowingly. Like he knows something Clover doesn’t. Like his ego is still taking up all that space but she just hasn’t recognised it. But, his ego isn’t what it once was. Once upon a time his ego had some truth to it; when he said the things he did, even in jest, he meant them. He believed them. These days it’s just for show, to pretend that he still is that person and that there’s nothing wrong with his ego. More to comfort himself than to entertain anyone else. In actual fact, his ego has taken a beating and is now a sad, wilting thing that’s not fit for public viewing. He hides it. Ashamed of it.

There’s no room for much more conversation, either, before the coaster reaches the crest, and Jesse is as distracted by the fair around them as Clover is. He doesn’t always have quick responses to things, anyway. He likes to think before speaking, and when on a roller coaster there’s not too much time for thinking. And absolutely no room for speaking when finally the carriages do spill over the edge and the world drops out of their grasp.

Jesse’s own hands are in the air before anyone else’s; though he doesn’t scream he does laugh. He laughs at the sensation of falling, because really he should have been a little more nervous. He had a bad history with heights. He used to be terrified of them. Roller coasters are different, though. They’re strapped in. It’s statistically rare that anyone would die from falling from a roller coaster car. And, he had been distracted by Clover; by her odd mood, which seems dangerously close to dipping into seriousness but which she always saves at the last second. And now he’s laughing because she’s screaming. And it’s exactly like being free.


<Clover> Clover knew better than to talk. If she didn’t know from personal experience, she knew from listening to the yelled conversations going on behind them. She knew from the way that the people misunderstood one another and yelled louder and louder. With the clicking of the coaster and the sudden jerks of the cars, the conversations blossomed into something akin to white noise. The coaster had two sudden drops and they were back where they began, at another hill. Her throat ached from screaming, but the pain felt like nothing in comparison to bullet holes. It was strange for her to even think of such a thing, but she did.

She thought of plenty of things as they approached their final hill and the end of the ride. She thought about Kaelyn’s text messages. She thought about Victor’s text messages. She thought about how crazy it was for her to be on a roller coaster in the middle of the night. And yet she regretted nothing.

“We should have done this before!” She said it without thinking, but it was a sentence she didn’t regret. It was a running theme. No regrets. As she looked over at him, she was sure that she looked dishevelled. The right side of her face was obscured by her hair and her tank top hung low on her shoulders, almost like she’d been involved in a scrape with the law and she’d barely escaped unscathed.

Clover went back and forth between happy and sad, furious and delighted. Clover was confused. She was everything all in one and it made her like a firecracker. At that moment, she looked and felt as if everything had exploded around her and the dust had begun to settle. She just wished she had something better to say to him. Like the fact that she was trying so, so hard. Like the fact that she had been trying hard for months. “I love this song,” she said instead, pointing upwards as if the music were coming directly from the sky. Muse poured from the speakers, the song ‘Uprising’ seeming so out of place with the night’s musical theme.


<Jesse Fforde> There are things Jesse has noticed about Clover. Different things. Like how they were able to have at least two easy conversations that did not devolve into an argument or into obscurity; sometimes things got obscure with Clover, the hider of truths and the teller of lies. Jesse had begun to accept that he should take everything she says with a grain of salt. But hadn’t gotten to know her enough to be able to tell the difference, or to even understand. So he didn’t try to. He waited for her to reveal things in her own good time.

But, lately, he hadn’t felt like he was talking to a puzzle. They exchanged items that were needed and things weren’t tense, and there didn’t feel like there was an elephant that needed addressing. A slow minute change that Jesse had noticed—even if he didn’t understand that it was Clover trying. Trying to do what? It doesn’t matter. He notices when she’s gone. He notices and appreciates when she’s around. And tonight, this roller coaster and whatever might come after it, is Jesse trying to show his appreciation. She wants time alone with him? So be it. She would have it.

Jesse’s own hair is dishevelled, and his jacket puffed where the wind had got inside. Where his hair had slicked to the side it’s now haphazard, soft wisps a nest of spikes on top of his head. But they are on a roller coaster. These things are to be expected. He shrugs his shoulders at the mention of the song. “I prefer their older stuff,” he says. The heavier stuff. The raging angry guitars. This time, he reaches around Clover’s shoulder and covers her eyes with his hands. This time, she won’t see when they reach the top. She won’t see when they’re about to drop. Jesse grins like a mad man.


<Clover> Her mind paused on the fact that he listened to Muse, listened to them more than the occasional song on the radio or a passing song on a streaming service. She could have brought up more music. She could have talked about music for hours, but they were still moving. They were still on the ride. She wanted nothing more than to be there, completely and totally in that moment. So she blocked out the song and focused on the movement of the coaster. The ride was almost over. How many times had she thought that? Clover was warning herself, counting down the seconds and minutes. How much longer did she have to enjoy the ride? How much longer did she have before it was over?

When he reached around her, Clo arched a brow at him. She didn’t get the chance to ask him what he was doing or what he was trying to do, not when his hands closed over her eyes. Her mind stopped as her eyes took in the darkness. She couldn’t see anything with his hands in place, so she closed her eyes as well. It felt odd without her sight and she suddenly appreciated how cooperative he was about the blindfold. She forgot about the fact that they were on the coaster until the car shuddered to a stop. Every instinct told her to look, to see, to take in her surroundings.

Her body tense, Clo moved her hands from the safety bar to press her palms over his hands. She didn’t claw his hands away or yell at him to let her see, but the urge was there, coiling in the pit of her stomach. She would be okay. They weren’t going to jump the tracks. They weren’t going to get stuck. Nothing bad was going to happen. But when the car flew forward, she screamed.

She was the first one to scream and the loudest of them all. It was fear, at first, but it transformed into excitement and joy. Before they had finished, right before the car slammed to the bottom of the hill and rebounded, she felt around for his face and placed her hands over his eyes as well. He would be forced to guess the timing of the stop. They were both equally blind, as she tested time and again by groping at his face with her hands.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse laughs. His hands steadfast over Clover’s face, the car drops again and there’s screaming behind them, around them, the rush of wind that drowns out the music anyway, the violent clattering clang of the tracks beneath them that always sounded like they were about to fall apart, then and there, and kill them all in a huge mess of sharp metal and broken nails.

And it is true that he, too, is stuck in the moment. That nothing else exists but the wind and the adrenaline of the ride. Just because they are vampires, and they go up against Fadebeasts and hunters and suffer numerous wounds on a near nightly basis does not mean that they are immune to the peculiar magic of a roller coaster. They were all once human, and the remnants still remain.

The laughter dies down to a mere chuckle as Clover scrambles to find Jesse’s face, too. For whatever reason, he bends himself to her will; shuffles down in that seat and turns his face just a little. “What are you trying to do?” he asks. There aren’t any more dips, are there? Nothing else to be entirely thrilled by without one’s eyesight. His own grasp on Clover’s eyes loosens, as had been the intention. To let her go as soon as they’d reached the bottom of that second dip.


<Clover> That was it. The end. She was just as windblown as before and she swore her cheeks were flushed, despite the impossibility. When she could see again, she kept her hands over his eyes. Maybe it was because she liked depriving him of his sight, like it was a source of amusement. As they slowly moved up to the platform, she took in the crowd of people and the ride operator. The flashing yellow lights lit up their cheeks; the strobe red lights danced off their chests. The smell, or perhaps the stench, of buttery popcorn slowly overtook her senses. It felt like she spent forever just looking around, but it was a short moment, just a scan of the area around her.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. The decision wasn’t a decision at all. Clover wasn’t always one to think things through. So when she felt the familiar prickle of anxiety and the rush, the need, to do something, she just acted. She didn’t think about the consequences because she collected consequences in the form of guilt and shame; she shoved them deep into herself and let them consume her when the nights were darkest. Clo leaned toward him. And where others would have hesitated, she didn’t. She pressed her lips to his.

The other people on the ride were freeing themselves of the cars, coming together and parting. The riders that boarded skipped right over the first car. If the urge to kiss him came upon her suddenly, the regret came over her in the form of a slow-rising tide. She didn’t know what to say or what to do, but she wanted to run away again. Guilt. Shame. Utter embarrassment. How could she have done that? Or was it why hadn’t she done that sooner? She ruined the entire evening. She failed him. She failed herself. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say then.


<Jesse Fforde> I don’t know, she says, but Jesse remains victim to her cold hands over his eyes, depriving him of sight. Not that he thinks he’s missing much. Only a passing thought is spared for what it must look like to those waiting to climb on board. To see the two of them – Jesse with his hands retreating and Clover with hers still steadfast over his eyes. It would look strange. But when has he ever really given two fucks about what strangers think? It’s now about what strangers think. It’s about those close to him. And he must have done something right, to land in Clover’s good graces. Enough that she would surprise him with a trip to the fair.

He can feel the car stop, and he can hear the shuffle of feet and the clicking clang of the bars as the locks are released and people push them away. But Clover’s still sitting there with her hands over his eyes, his hair windswept and his body feeling light. He pulls in the breath to ask her whether she intends for them to go another round with her hands over his eyes, but he silenced but the soft touch of her lips against his. Unexpected. Out of nowhere. He hadn’t even won her a huge ******* teddy bear. That’s how these things work, isn’t it?

The kiss is quick. A hasty thing, maybe, but not so hasty that it’s devoid of feeling. It lingers enough for him to know this isn’t… isn’t the kind of kiss Kaelyn would give, for example. One between two friends. But it’s over before he can really think about it; and as she apologises he reaches up for her arms to tug her hands away from his eyes. As if he might be able to work it out, if he could look at her properly. He’s engaged to be married and there should be absolutely no conflict, there. None. There shouldn’t be.

There’s a whistle behind them and someone shouting, telling them they should go hang out in the funhouse instead. Someone far enough away to be immune to Jesse’s strange aura. Jesse pushes the bar away from their laps and flashes that boyish grin. He doesn’t know what to say. The voice is stuck in his throat, but he doesn’t run away. He gets up out of the car, and helps Clover out, too. He takes her hand as he leads her out of the coaster’s vicinity, as if he expects her to run. Could almost see it in her eyes. She likes to run away from things. But he won’t let her.


<Clover> She just stared at him. She had already come to the conclusion that she didn’t know what else to say or do, so she had to settle for something as involuntary as sight. And that line of thought took her right back to the point where his hands were over her eyes, the point she wished she could rewind to so she could erase the last few minutes of their time together. Before, the voices around them had faded into a soft buzz, a hum of white noise, but at that moment, they were the loudest they had ever been.

She couldn’t think with the noise. They were talking, they were coughing, they were giggling--they were at the opposite spectrum. While she withered away in her own realm of infinite, deafening silence, the rest of the people continued on, unaware of the mess going on right before their eyes.

When she heard the whistle, she felt the familiar stirrings of anger. It wasn’t the whistle’s fault, but it was her main focus. How dare the fair employ such an irritating noise! How dare they. She had to wonder if closing her eyes again would really solve all her problems. She wondered that every single time she fucked up, whether it was something she said or something she did. She almost had the nerve to speak when someone started singing praises for the funhouse. No one wanted their goddamn funhouse. Everyone was having fun on the roller coaster. Everyone was having fun. But just like that, she’d lost her nerve.

She didn’t want to leave the coaster anymore. She wanted to stay in her seat until the fair finally closed and she could slink off to her home and mope. What a brilliant idea. She’d come to the decision before Jesse had decided to lift the safety bar, before he’d decided to not only free himself from the car but help her out as well. The childish thing to do would have been to cling to the car. As shameful as it was to admit, she had considered it. She just didn’t want to go somewhere quieter. She hated the noise, hated every second of it, but she hated the silence even more. She hated the fact that they were going to talk. Talking was inevitable.

Clover had to give in eventually. She let him lead her away from the coaster, away from the steady click of the ride and the roar of its passengers. If it weren’t for his hand, she might have slipped into the crowd and vanished. She was good at that. She was good at hiding and running away. She was good at lying, though not as good as she wanted. As she chewed on the inside of her lower lip, she stared holes into the ground. They were far enough away from the ride, with game stalls ahead. She just couldn’t say anything to him. She was sorry for the timing, sorry for the obvious show of disrespect for him and his relationship, but not sorry for the kiss.

“We’re going to talk, aren’t we?” She never meant to sound so defeated, like she’d finally been caught and she couldn’t backtrack or lie her way out of things. She couldn’t hide behind other people and circumstances anymore. “We don’t have to,” she lied, cringing at the fact. Of course they had to or she would keep doing what she had been doing with even more of a drive. She would fall back onto avoiding him. Lying to him. If not lying to him, keeping things from him.


<Jesse Fforde> Talk? Jesse might have preferred if they didn’t. For a man who doesn’t much like talking, he does do a lot of it, in the end. He does like to get to the bottom of things. Maybe he’s got a bit of his sire in him, in that respect. He likes to know everything and he gets angry when he doesn’t. Maybe she was never really like that. He couldn’t say. The years have slipped by without her and she may as well have never been. No, he’s not thinking about his sire in that moment. He’s got one hand holding tight to Clover’s—tight enough to assure her he wasn’t going to let her run away—and the other touching fingers to his lips. He isn’t walking fast. But he doesn’t really know where he’s going, either.

Jesse would prefer to rewind, too. But just like he wants to know everything, he wants to be able to rewind so that he remembers what had happened but Clover doesn’t. As if she had never done it, and Jesse would not then have to talk to her about it. But he’d have that nugget of information, that kiss… what does it mean? How long has she wanted to? Or was it just in the moment, and she didn’t even really mean it?

If she had not mentioned ‘talk’ he might not have even tried. Yet. He might have pretended that it had never happened and got on with their night; his hand tightly clasped around hers because he wants her to know it’s okay. It’s okay, and please don’t ******* run away. But, she mentions the talk and Jesse glances down at their hands. Intertwined. He lets her hand go. The people swarm and shift around them, but it’s as if they are in their own little bubble. No one shoves his shoulder or brushes past, too close for comfort. They avoid the two vampires. “We should,” he says. He glances left, and right. Then ahead.

The big wheel spins lazily in the sky. He grimaces, somewhat. The height of it. Far higher than the roller coaster. But it’s somewhere quiet. And it’s still at the fair. Still somewhere they cold pretend their other selves were elsewhere. Maybe she’d be more inclined to tell the truth if still at the fair, rather than at home on familiar ground. “Ferris wheel,” he says, gesturing. Waiting for Clover to go first.


<Clover> He let go of her hand and she felt oddly disconnected. She slowly drew her hand away and shielded herself from everyone and everything just by crossing her arms over her chest. He wanted to talk? He could have fooled her. With the way he was looking around, she had to wonder if he was the one looking for an escape. She had thought about merely suggesting a game, one dealing with shooting water pistols and capturing ducks, but no. She had to do the reasonable thing, the adult thing. “Yeah, we should,” she repeated after him.

Clo couldn’t follow his line of sight, despite multiple attempts, so when he spoke those two familiar words, she finally understood. He wanted to go to the ferris wheel. Oddly enough, that had been her plan all along. She would somehow get him on the ferris wheel, then they would go to play games, and then they would reminisce just before they parted ways. Without thinking, she reached for his hand to lead the way, but she stopped and let her arms drop to her sides. She wouldn’t justify that mistake by saying anything. Clenching her fists at her sides, she turned around and cut a line across the grass and asphalt. No one got in her way. No one made her dance awkwardly around them. No one stared at her.

She wanted to say something then, much more than she had at any other time during the evening. She wanted to use words to bridge the distance. She just didn’t know what to say or rather what she could say. He was probably upset with her. He was probably just as irritated as she was. Didn’t he know that she couldn’t stop thinking the worst thoughts imaginable? She didn’t want to look back at him and make sure he was still there: She would have been crushed if he were and crushed if he weren’t. There was a line at the ferris wheel and she didn’t want to stop. She didn’t want to wait. She just had to ask if they were going to talk, didn’t she? Great job, Clover.

The people in front of them were more engrossed in themselves. There wasn’t the type of noise that accompanied the roller coaster. There weren’t screams or cheers. The people were there to take in the sights, most likely to end their nights. The line was long, but it moved fast; the ride seated more than the last wooden coaster. She should have been worrying over conversing while in line, but her focus had shifted from their current situation to the future.

What was she supposed to do when she was trapped on a ferris wheel? What if she lost control like she’d started to do at Renee’s party? She was scared. When the people in front of her began to grab their compartments, she just stayed there, staring. Frozen. Panicking. What had she done? She’d just kissed Jesse. She turned to look at him as if to ask what they were supposed to do. They were holding up the line.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse had done nothing, had instigated nothing, had he? But as they walk he still can’t help but feel the weight of it, of what had just happened. Something whimsical that should be celebrated. Something so short and so bare but it had boomed like a resounding thunderclap, their evening now caught up in a silent, wayward storm. A tame one, but a storm nonetheless. All he can think of is Grey. And there’s guilt, there. Shame. Because he hopes, when he tells her about this, that she’ll get angry. He hopes that she’ll finally become the Grey that she was in the beginning. Maybe she’ll throw more than a wrench, this time.

Jesse chews on the inside of his lip as they stand in line, his hands shoved into his pockets. He had not missed the way Clover’s had clenched into fists, and the determined way with which she had made a beeline for that Ferris Wheel. He had stared at the back of her head wanting to crack it open and read whatever was inside of it. He hopes that she might give him some hint, though at the same time he’s not sure he really wants to know, or whether he should. Their feet scuff in the dust as they move closer to the front of the line. They don’t feel like sire and progeny, here. This feels different.

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

<Jesse Fforde> They reach the front and Jesse’s waiting for Clover to get on. But she doesn’t. His brows furrow into a frown and he catches her eye when she turns to look at him. She looks so vulnerable, and terrified, somehow. He arches his brow and pokes his tongue at her. This is not the end of the world. But, Good God. Why the **** did she have to kiss him? Jesse’s default is to tease. Mercilessly. That ego, getting back some of its colour. His fingers press against the small of her back as he nudges her up the steps, guides her forward, ends up leading her into the swaying carriage. Now she can’t run away.

“I never would have thought…” he says. He’s had time to gather his wits. To fall back on that default. “All this time and you just wanted to get in my pants…” And he hoped that humour would calm her, rather than make her worse.


<Clover> He wanted her to share things with him. At that moment, Clover would have shared anything in the world with him, anything but the kiss she had so freely shared. When he nudged her forward, she took slow, hesitant steps. She tried to focus on movements, simple movements. She focused on the way her knee bent and the way her sneakers seemed to roll along the pavement when she took her final steps to the compartment. At least he’d given her that tiny shove, the motivation she needed to get somewhere and do something.

She took her seat as if she were approaching her final meal. In the back of her mind, she wondered why she hadn’t burst into tears or why she hadn’t yelled at him. She wondered if she were locked in a constant state of shock, completely numb to anything other than her own negative emotions. She just wanted to say something, to say the right thing. So when he broke the silence, she had expected something profound, like a realization that she obviously felt something and it wouldn’t be appropriate. And then she would suck it up and--she didn’t know. She didn’t know. Instead of saying something entirely profound, something breathtakingly beautiful, he made a joke.

What would she have done before? She might have joked with him. No, she would have. She would have said that yes, she did want in his pants. And she would have said it with such sarcasm that they both got some enjoyment out of it. Everything would have been fine. She just couldn’t form the words. Her response wasn’t exactly appropriate given the kiss. She forced a smile, her lips twitching as she did so. “You caught me,” she managed to get out, “that was my goal since the moment I saw you.” It wasn’t spoken with sarcasm, but she thought it was better than nothing. It was better than simply watching as they were lifted off the ground, as they were carried closer and closer to the sky.

Anything he had to say, she had heard in her thoughts. Anything he had to do, she had seen done in her mind. She was prepared for him. She was prepared for herself. In their walk from the coaster to the ferris wheel, she had gathered much experience from the fountain of pessimism incorrectly called the fountain of realism. She just had to speak first. “That was ****. I’m sorry. I don’t mean your joke or my response.” She just couldn’t fumble her way along like she would at any other time, during any other awkward conversation.

She didn’t want to say that they had kissed, or rather that she had kissed him. (It was important, very important, to stress the fact that she had been the one to instigate and that he had been completely caught off guard and absolutely uninterested in her horrendous advances.) She would omit the entire thing from the pages of her journal and simply let his name fade from her vocabulary. She didn’t want to, but she would. It was wrong. Why was it wrong? There were several reasons. She didn’t care to admit them because most of them meant absolutely nothing to her. What did matter, who rather, was sitting near her. She cared about him.

“Just say whatever you want to say,” she added, “please.” It felt like she’d taken an eternity to say those few words, but it only took a moment. They had too much time left and she was hoping he wouldn’t ask her something he wasn’t capable of hearing.


<Jesse Fforde> The response is uttered in such a way that Jesse can only look at Clover. His mouth somewhat slack and his ice-blues incredulous. Once upon a time she had told him she was afraid of him. And now here she was, kissing him. What had changed in between? Or had nothing ever changed and was she telling the truth, veiled in sarcasm? Or is that going too far, and assuming too much? The ice has been broken, at least. She apologises again and Jesse ignores it. He can’t say she hadn’t made a mistake but he can’t be angry, either. Why isn’t he angry? Because he can’t be angry at people who act on impulse. He does enough of that himself. If he hadn’t fallen so far, and if he weren’t engaged… if this were two years ago, and, poor Felicity… if it had been Felicity that Jesse had been with, rather than Grey, then he’d not have hesitated.

That’s how he’s changed, in the end. The hesitation is there. There is no urge or desire to cheat on Grey. It’s just not something he can bring himself to do, even if she is infuriating, at the moment. Even if he has no idea what to do with her, and where his old Grey had gone. He can’t just throw her away like yesterday’s news, like he might once have done. He’d invested a lot in that relationship, and Grey has helped him through so much. An anchor through so many storms.

He turns to face Clover, his arm over the back of the carriage and his other hand sitting hopelessly in his lap. It’s not so much that he has anything to say. But he has a thousand questions. So many. “How long?” he asks. He doesn’t ask whether it was just spur of the moment. He doesn’t give Clover any excuses that she might be able to jump on. He’d call ********, anyway, even if she did. If that had been a spur of the moment, rash decision that had come and gone within five seconds, she’d have laughed it off by now. But her apologies are not laughter. They’re dead serious. Which says so much more than saying a thousand things at once.

Nor does he tell her he’s engaged. She knows that. “Is it… is this why you don’t like it when I sire others? When…” he thinks back. Had she been upset when he’d brought Rhett in? Had she said anything? “If I… were to continue to sire only men, would you have been less upset…?” he doesn’t know why he’s pushing the matter. But curiosity is curiosity and he can’t let it go.


<Clover> How long. The first question was one of the hardest questions imaginable. She didn’t know when things changed for her, when she started making an absolute mess of what could have been a great thing. And there’s no doubt in her mind that she ruined everything beyond repair. Where was Nik to remind her that she was being too dramatic? “Um,” she sighed, wringing her hands, “At least in April.” For once, she decided not to sugarcoat; she had decided she wouldn’t dodge any of his questions, even if dodging meant saving herself from an even more uncomfortable environment. “I don’t think it really matters though, does it?”

She had a partial smile on her face when she asked that question, as if she were at least a little amused. She didn’t know if there were exact moments that led up to the point when she finally realized she did--she changed the direction of her thoughts. She really didn’t want to think about the fact that she liked him. In a rare moment of clarity, she wondered if that’s why she went back and forth so much with him lately.

Caring and not caring. Liking and hating. So what was she supposed to do when the ride ended? She swore she had a plan not even moments before, but she was so flustered and her thoughts were all over the place. “It’s why I don’t spend a lot of time with you,” she finally admitted, “I mean, I don’t spend as much time as I’d like with you because this would’ve happened. And tonight’s my fault for being selfish.” A shrug of the shoulders. That’s what he got. She just shrugged.

He’s smart. She knew that already, but he reminded her when he asked just the right questions. His second question was even better than the first question. It wasn’t a hard to answer, but she waited. She looked over at him and waited for him to work through the small series of interconnected questions. Clo understood what he wanted to know. “It really bothers me when you sire women,” she stopped and licked her lips, as if the action alone would make saying it easier, “but it also bothers me when you sire men. You probably think this is outrageous. I think it is too. Again, it’s why I don’t spend a lot of time with you. I don’t always keep up to date on the family. If I don’t get too close, I can appreciate more.”

She was wringing her hands again, pale flesh made even paler with every twist and turn of her hands. If she had one question for him, just one question, it might have helped her nerves, but she was determined to stick it out and say both what she wanted to say and what she needed to say. It wasn’t like she could run away, as they were being dangled in the air, courtesy of the ferris wheel.

“I want to say something to you, at some point, but I’m not ready yet. Ask something else.”


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse should have been treating this like it was a joke. He should have been laughing and nudging. It’s what he would have done. Isn’t it? No. The last person to make a move on him was Aysel, and telling Grey about that had been what had solidified their relationship. Since then, no woman had made a move on him. Even if he’s sure he’d flirted along the way, because that’s a habit he can’t seem to shake. None had acted on it. No, there is no precedence, really, no ‘before-now-Jesse’ that he can fall back on. Before Grey, he wouldn’t have darted out of reach and teased. He would have made a move right back. Which puts him, now, in an awkward space where he doesn’t quite know where he fits.

There’s no embarrassment, though. His ego is at least that much intact. His mind moves in directions that he doesn’t really want it to, imagining things that he’s now allowed to imagine, so he pushes it all aside and locks it up in a box that won’t be opened. He’s not exactly sure what he’s supposed to do in this situation, or what the right thing would be. Since April. She hasn’t been pining over him since she’d been sired, then. Which is… well, somewhat of a relief.

His lips press tight together, his eyes bright as that carriage sways when it pauses, giving those at the top time to truly appreciate the view. Silence blossoms between them as he absorbs everything Clover has had to say, and the fact that he doesn’t want to ask any other questions. He wants to hear what she has to say. The questions he has are crude and stupid and evasive, everything to do with his ego and nothing to do with his reason. He bites them back. But, no… there is one.

“And what now? Am I never going to see you again?” he asks. If this was the cause for her avoidance before, what now? “I don’t want you to go anywhere…” he says.


<Clover> They could have been at the top of the world and she wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the view, which disappointed her in more ways than one. She tried though. She let his question hang in the air as she looked out the lights, at the multicolored spots signifying groups of people. If she really looked, she could have made out better features, but she was stalling. She was looking for something simple to capture her attention and hold it, something to serve as an excuse for not immediately answering his question.

She’d considered leaving. That was the honest response. He could do as he pleased, not like she was stopping him in the first place, and she could do whatever it was her heart desired. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was that she desired in the new, fictitious place, but she was trying to make that option more appealing. When she realized she couldn’t just stare out of their compartment, she tried to gather her thoughts.

“I didn’t say that.” But it was practically implied from her last sentences and the long moment of silence. “I didn’t say I was going anywhere,” she added, her voice quieter. But she was equally as curious and equally as nervous. She didn’t know what to do. Run, her mind told her. Find somewhere else, her thoughts whispered. Find someone else, her heart thumped. Don’t look back, her bones ached. She was starting to panic again. She was starting to feel smaller and smaller.

Clover closed her eyes and stopped breathing, then she slowly exhaled the air in her lungs. Her chest fell. Her stomach ached. She just had to focus on starting all over again. She had to think about his question and answer it honestly. “I don’t want that,” she mumbled, “but I don’t want this to happen again. I mean that I don’t want to ever put you in this position again.” She’d corrected herself and restated it in a better, honest way. She was taking responsibility, wasn’t she? She thought so, at least. She was trying. What was it with her and that ******* word? Trying. That word littered her thoughts and dictated her actions.

“I don’t want you to be upset with me, but sitting here,” she just trailed off. She’d reached the point where honesty became a weight that dragged her down. What did she need to say? Was it necessary? Was it relevant? Clover turned her head to look at him, and she really meant to look at him. “I’m blunt with you about some things, but not everything. I’ve been shielding you, in a way, and it eats away at me. Because I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I didn’t want to **** up. And don’t give me ******** about how you’re here and you aren’t going anywhere.”

She looked almost pained when she said, “I said I was sorry and I meant it. I’m sorry that I did that because I do respect you. You can do you. I’m just not sorry that I kissed you? I don’t know. I’m not. I would do it again. I’m just fucked up.”


<Jesse Fforde> While Clover gazes down at the world, Jesse watches her. His eyes licking every contour of her face, every shift of her eyes and every twitch of her lips. Clover can be prickly and slippery and downright ******* confusing when she wants to be, so he doesn’t want to miss a single thing. He wants to be able to get from this conversation as much as he can before the ride ends and then… and then what? And besides, he doesn’t want to look down. He’s here, on this wheel. And there aren’t any seatbelts, this time. Just a swaying carriage, a gentle breeze and a slight creak of the joints up above them. He might not be as bad as he once was with them, but he still doesn’t like heights. Not one bit. If Clover looks closely, she’ll see that his posture isn’t entirely relaxed. He hasn’t moved at all since being up here, and his knuckles are white where he clutches at the metal of the carriage.

The corners of Jesse’s lips curl into a smile, though, regardless of the height. It’s not a teasing smile, but there’s life to it. A smile that touches his eyes and isn’t forced, but comes almost unbidden. He can see the old Clover, now, come back from her vacation in Honeymead. And how can he not smile? How can he not be that tiny bit flattered? She’d kissed him and she doesn’t regret it and she’d do it again. Had she been resisting that urge since April? There’s no way he couldn’t be flattered.

“I’ll only be upset if you use this as an excuse to leave,” he says, quite honestly. “You did it and you don’t regret it, so keep on not regretting it. We can be adults about this, can’t we? I am engaged. I love Grey, even—“ he stops. No, this is not the time or the place to air his grievances with his own relationship right now. Grievances he’s sure they’ll work through, hopefully. “I can be flattered and I can thank you—thank you, Clover—for how you feel, and…” but there’s the rub, right? How can this end well for Clover? But, he could be assuming too much. His face contorts, one more question that she might not want to answer but he asks it anyway. “…but I suppose that depends on how strongly you feel…” he says. He doesn’t ask the question outright. He implies it. They can’t exactly move on, all happy families, if it’s tearing Clover up inside.


<Clover> Clover smiled at him, but it wasn’t because she was pleased with what he was saying. She thought about rocking the seat just to piss him off, just to send him down to her level. She didn’t mind the graceful ascent or descent of a ferris wheel; she did mind fast turns and sudden dips of roller coasters. She just couldn’t tell if he was bothered by the ride or by the conversation. That’s the only thing that saved him from her wrath.

When she listened to him, really listened to him, her smile faded. He was saying things she knew, of course, but he said them in a way that grated away at every part of her. She nodded at him though, her expression hopefully taken for one of thought rather than, well, she didn’t know what she was feeling so he could guess at that if he wanted. “You’re welcome, I guess,” she joked, hiding the fact that it hurt worse than if he had just called her horrible names and left her at the last ride.

She mentally gathered up everything she’d already said and packed it neatly away. They were nearing the ground, with compartments in front of them being emptied one by one. Clo was counting down the moments until the bar was removed and they could get off the ride; she assumed that he was doing the same thing, regardless of the reasoning. “It really isn’t a big deal,” she agreed, lifting one shoulder for a partial shrug. It was one of those moments when she wanted more to say, so she just smiled at him instead. It was tight-lipped and so very impersonal, but it was something to help counter the silence and avoid the awkwardness that slept along the exterior of their conversation.

“We should do this again,” she offered, though she hardly meant it. They were being lowered to the platform next and she wasn’t sure what they would say when they were finally out of the seat. She was thinking of ways to say that she was more than ready to go home. Was there really anything left to discuss? Was there anything more humiliating that either one of them could toss into the ring?


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse expected it would come, sooner or later. He can read that tight-lipped smile for what it is, like he’s seen it before. Or some variation of it. He doesn’t even have to know Clover and her ways to be able to read it. Anyone who knows anything about reading the bodily cues of others would realise there’s something more, there. And now he wishes he’d asked the question outright rather than just implying its meaning. He understands that somewhere in the past minute he’s taken a wrong step. And he realises he’s been treating this entire conversation like it’s a fragile crystal vase that’s already got one crack in it. One jolt and it’ll shatter. Something jolted it, and now he’s watching the pieces fall.

It breaks his heart for reasons that he can’t even understand. And Clover might see the subtle shift in his features. As if he is actually watching a precious thing fall, and the terror of watching it break. What he’d said had been selfish and inconsiderate and, up until that moment, he’d had calm and control. Now it’s slipping from his grasp. He might not love Clover like he does Grey—would he have, had he met Clover first? He wouldn’t think about it—but he does care for her in more ways than she could possibly understand.

He considers intimidating the carnie to make the ride go again. To trap Clover there until they’ve talked some more. Talk. So much talk. What is it really good for? But if they go around and around and around it delays what Jesse thinks is the inevitable. She never said she was going anywhere but she didn’t say she would stay, either. That question, he realises, was never properly answered. His grip loosens the closer they come to the ground, his body relaxes the less that gravity threatens to splatter them.

“I didn’t think,” he says, quickly, watching as the platform swings into view. Now it’s he who’s not ready to leave the ride, who sits there as if there’s no platform at all and they’re still high in the air. “That was a selfish thing to suggest…” and what could he suggest instead? If only he still had a twin… “We need to do this again,” he says. And there he goes again, still being selfish. He cringes, because by this of course he doesn’t mean a repeat of the kiss, but this, the carnival, the fun. It’s been so long since he’s laughed so much and it had been Clover who had suggested it. Clover who had seen that he needed it.

He almost pulls the sympathy card. Almost. She can’t go anywhere. She said she’d help him. She’d accepted that challenge. She can’t back out now, just because of this…



<Clover> “It’s okay.” She wasn’t sure why she chose to say that over any number of words that came to mind. He looked almost desperate. He looked like he’d made a mistake and he wanted nothing more than to start all over again. When she looked at him, she saw herself, so she did what she would have wanted. She did what she would have wanted even if she had argued and made rude comments and drowned the entire act in sarcasm. She wrapped one arm around him and gave him a hug. When the bar was moved up and they were free to go, she added her other arm, giving him a brief but solid show. “Let’s just forget it all, okay? I really don’t want to talk about it again. I never want to talk about it again.”

She was doing what she always did with him, which was to play some sort of shield, to suck it up and take one for the team because she didn’t think he could handle it or because it would have been an inconvenience. No one had ever said that she had to act that way. Jesse was a grown man, after all. And yet she did it every time.

“You know, we still have time for the funhouse,” she joked. She didn’t know what else to say. She was trying so hard. Trying again. Trying for the thousandth time. It physically hurt to try so damn hard. “Please don’t tell me you want to visit that piece of ****. I was kidding!” She said it all so quickly that there was barely a breath between her sentences. Clo actually looked like she would run, since she hadn’t forgiven the place for advertising it near the coaster.

Every part of her urged him to say no, but if he said yes, then they were going to the funhouse. If he said he wanted to go on another ride, they were going on another ride. Whatever he wanted. That was the goal of the entire trip, wasn’t it? Make him happy. Well, strike one. It would be strike two if she counted the most recent problem. She moved down the stairs of the platform and waited for him at the bottom. He’d chosen the ferris wheel, but she had no desire to choose another spot. “Wherever you want to go, Jesse.”


<Jesse Fforde> Even when she hugs him, he doesn’t want to look away from her. Of course it’s impossible to watch her, when both her arms are wrapped around him. She’d done this before. Not too long ago. Had that been before or after April? He returns the hug, probably belatedly and with a perplexed air. Maybe she hadn’t even felt it, before she’s leaving the carriage.

This isn’t worse for Jesse, he knows that. Whatever the consequences are of this night, he knows he can’t complain. But then, he’d never known what heartache feels like, and is that even what Clover would feel? Would it be all that terrible for her? Jesse doesn’t know. How could he? He takes the assurance, though. She says it’s going to be okay and he takes that to mean that she isn’t going to go anywhere. And then she demands that they never talk about this again, and Jesse nods. Yes. He can do that. For her sake, he can do that. And he won’t stay away from her. But nor will he suggest swimming in the nude. Swimming, yes. In the nude? No.

He won’t flirt or tease unnecessarily. He won’t ask about her love life. He might nudge her in the direction of someone appropriate, maybe. Subtly. Without her knowing. Maybe. He follows her down onto solid ground, glad not to be so high up anymore. He resists the urge to hug her again, simply because she hasn’t disappeared into the crowd. We should do this again, she had said, as if it were a parting. But Jesse doesn’t hug her again. He does smile, however. Broad and gleaming. As if he’s about to say they go to the funhouse, because.

“Let’s go play some games,” he says. No more rides. Games. Clowns. Ducks. Baseballs through hoops and darts in balloons. Of course they could say that they would forget about it, but would they really? Still. He doesn’t know about Clover but he finds it easy enough to slip back into happiness. Into laughter, when the carnie seems entirely confused by the fact that his rigged metal milk jugs are toppled by a superior throw of the ball. They are given a choice of a prizes and Jesse chooses a huge plush snake. Fitting. At the end of the night, he’ll probably make sure it goes home with Clover.