quicklog: thorne manor, dc door
[Clem didn't much care where they went, long as she wasn't in a room with five other womenfolk. She'd always been social as could be, so it wasn't that company bothered her any, but living in a room with strangers just wasn't the kind of thing to line up pretty with the rich life she was accustomed to. Sure, zombies had tempered all that some, made it something past tense, but she couldn't shake all of it, and living with puking girls in bargain flip flops just wasn't ever going to be her.
So, she took the change of scenery as a good thing. She'd find auditions in Gotham. They had to do movies in that horrid place, she reckoned, and Amelia said her brother was rich as could be, and Clem could put up with near anything to eat off china for a spell.
She didn't take a thing with her. No point lugging her borrowed and thrift clothes over to a new place, not far as she could see. The clothes on her back were embarrassing enough, but least there wasn't a hint of plaid to be found in the jeans and t-shirt she wore into the door, and into the foyer of a house nearly big enough as home.
She didn't look impressed, not a bit. She looked pleased as punch, though, and she didn't care a lick that whoever owned the place wasn't there to say how do.
She asked a maid to show her up, real regal, like she deserved being minded, and she followed on up without looking back. She needed to sit a spell with Graham, ask how things stood with him and Shane, but that could wait until morning light far as she was concerned. No point fussing when she was finally under a roof that felt right as rain. Big enough that no one notice if something went missing to pay for some pretty frocks neither.]