[ Aranea doesn't answer any more text messages (sorry, Clarke) but about twenty minutes later, she's pushing through the door with a bag in one hand and a set of crutches supporting her.
[Relax. Clarke Griffin wouldn't know relaxation if it bit her. Once it did, she would start planning a way to keep it from happening again. That is a pretty good way of defining Clarke: someone who will try to keep relaxation from coming out of nowhere and causing problems. She would see it as one.
As it is, she does her best while she waits. Her "best" involves homework. Clarke doesn't make her classes a point of discussion. She mostly keeps it to herself, managing them on her own. Right now, they're fine busy work, especially as she's doing her best to go over some general information. They offered her a chance to test to move past them ... and she's going to do that after this set of classes is over. Her mother taught her more than she thought.
So, that's what Clarke's doing when she hears the door. Her focus isn't split right away, but she closes down the various software programs on her implant, standing up from a simple chair.]
Hey, let me get that.
[Clarke really thinks they need to do something about Aranea's crutches. Johnny can't be the only one who can heal, right?]
[ Even though the door opens by itself with a hydraulic whoosh, Aranea struggles to get through with her cumbersome supports. Clarke may be thinking of magical solutions to the dilemma of her slowly healing injury, but Aranea is comfortable to let her leg sort itself out on its own. Her body is young and healthy still; as aggravating as her short term inabilities are, she knows she'll make a full recovery in time. Involving magic, even healing powers, just feels like it's asking for trouble. ]
Thanks.
[ Unceremoniously, Aranea hands the bag over. Wiping some sweat off her face - it's still so hot out there, she leaves her crutches leaning against the wall and then hobbles awkwardly over to the couch. ]
I'll start dinner in a sec, just - catchin' my breath.
[ and, okay, fetching up her painkillers from wherever they had been resting and popping a few ]
[Someday, the heat would pass. Someday. Clarke's looked into the weather for New Amsterdam and changes are on the horizon—but unpredictable. It's exactly the end result of the world that her people left behind.
She sets the groceries down on one of the countertops, and then moves to find the buttons for the AC. Turn it up briefly, make sure it cools. Now that she's sharing rent again, she can keep it running on a higher (or rather: lower, temperature wise) setting a little longer. Having to be frugal has been a new skill, but Clarke has taken to it.
She turns to pour water off the tap. She's conscious of how much there is, ensuring that no droplet goes to waste before she sets it on the counter, pushing it toward Aranea.]
Until you get better, you need to let me do the shopping. [A pause. Because, well. Clarke would be satisfied with any cut of anything and would make it work. Low standards do that to someone. She came into this well prepared to eat bugs. It's gross. That's Clarke, though.] I'm a fast learner. Tell me once what to look for, and I'll make it happen.
[ There's a slight edge to her tone. Honestly, it's hardly Clarke's fault for caring - or just being smart - but Aranea has a hard time asking for help and an even harder time accepting help she hasn't asked for.
The AC, on the other hand, is a nice balm. Aranea takes a moment to just breathe - in, out. Some of the pain dissipates, burrowing back deeper into the half-healed leg. ]
I'm supposed to be up and about, anyway. Doc's orders. Can't let something this good atrophy.
[ Getting back up, she does take the glass of water, gulping it down with a murmur of thanks. ]
Don't forget that I'm practically a doctor myself. [Her tone is chastising but not forceful. It would be good to ensure that Aranea maintains her strength, but not to the point where she further injures herself. The line between the two can be difficult to cross.
Clarke knows it's likely difficult to take her seriously as a doctor, given that she's ... not exactly one yet. But as far as the displaced are concerned? She might as well be. She really might as well be.
Still, she's diplomatic enough. She goes on to add,] I can carry the bags, then. We'll go together. [Understanding but unrelenting. The Clarke Griffin Way.]
[ For a moment, Aranea simply looks at Clarke - assessing at how well she can slither out of this fussing; her odds don't seem that great - and then, a tiny shrug and she relents. ]
You're welcome. ["Right. Whatever." If it had been left at that, Clarke wouldn't have been very understanding. But it's good that Aranea at least has more manners than Lexa. Then again, the "lack of understanding" would have somewhat been in jest—she's seen enough warriors to know that they struggle with this sort of thing.]
I'll keep the rest of my nagging and pestering to a minimum.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
just relax
[ Aranea doesn't answer any more text messages (sorry, Clarke) but about twenty minutes later, she's pushing through the door with a bag in one hand and a set of crutches supporting her.
Sup, roomie. ]
no subject
As it is, she does her best while she waits. Her "best" involves homework. Clarke doesn't make her classes a point of discussion. She mostly keeps it to herself, managing them on her own. Right now, they're fine busy work, especially as she's doing her best to go over some general information. They offered her a chance to test to move past them ... and she's going to do that after this set of classes is over. Her mother taught her more than she thought.
So, that's what Clarke's doing when she hears the door. Her focus isn't split right away, but she closes down the various software programs on her implant, standing up from a simple chair.]
Hey, let me get that.
[Clarke really thinks they need to do something about Aranea's crutches. Johnny can't be the only one who can heal, right?]
no subject
Thanks.
[ Unceremoniously, Aranea hands the bag over. Wiping some sweat off her face - it's still so hot out there, she leaves her crutches leaning against the wall and then hobbles awkwardly over to the couch. ]
I'll start dinner in a sec, just - catchin' my breath.
[ and, okay, fetching up her painkillers from wherever they had been resting and popping a few ]
no subject
She sets the groceries down on one of the countertops, and then moves to find the buttons for the AC. Turn it up briefly, make sure it cools. Now that she's sharing rent again, she can keep it running on a higher (or rather: lower, temperature wise) setting a little longer. Having to be frugal has been a new skill, but Clarke has taken to it.
She turns to pour water off the tap. She's conscious of how much there is, ensuring that no droplet goes to waste before she sets it on the counter, pushing it toward Aranea.]
Until you get better, you need to let me do the shopping. [A pause. Because, well. Clarke would be satisfied with any cut of anything and would make it work. Low standards do that to someone. She came into this well prepared to eat bugs. It's gross. That's Clarke, though.] I'm a fast learner. Tell me once what to look for, and I'll make it happen.
no subject
[ There's a slight edge to her tone. Honestly, it's hardly Clarke's fault for caring - or just being smart - but Aranea has a hard time asking for help and an even harder time accepting help she hasn't asked for.
The AC, on the other hand, is a nice balm. Aranea takes a moment to just breathe - in, out. Some of the pain dissipates, burrowing back deeper into the half-healed leg. ]
I'm supposed to be up and about, anyway. Doc's orders. Can't let something this good atrophy.
[ Getting back up, she does take the glass of water, gulping it down with a murmur of thanks. ]
no subject
Clarke knows it's likely difficult to take her seriously as a doctor, given that she's ... not exactly one yet. But as far as the displaced are concerned? She might as well be. She really might as well be.
Still, she's diplomatic enough. She goes on to add,] I can carry the bags, then. We'll go together. [Understanding but unrelenting. The Clarke Griffin Way.]
no subject
Right. Whatever.
[ That's a "yes" in Aranea-speak. ]
... thanks.
[ u g h ]
no subject
I'll keep the rest of my nagging and pestering to a minimum.