Captain William Laurence (betwixtsea_nsky) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2020-09-04 19:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, clara oswald, william laurence |
Who: Laurence and Clara
What: Dinner on the seas
When: This evening, September 4th
Where: The Temeraire
Rating/Warning: Low/none
Status: Complete
Laurence had long admired the sleek sailing boats in the pier, and had often wished for one himself. He could afford one, and he was sure that he would get plenty of use out of it, but Laurence had always put the purchase off as irresponsible. He simply couldn’t justify such a large purchase for something that would be used solely for pleasure. Perhaps, one day, when he retired and all that would be left of life would be to enjoy the last few years in peace, but certainly not now, and certainly when it was likely that the Navy would continue to move him around the world at its pleasure.
At least, that was what Laurence had always told himself, before the events weeks prior had changed everything. He woke more nights than not, either shooting up in his bed, swallowing his cries so as to not wake Pidge, seeing himself torn asunder again, or with a sense of vague unease and the sense that he’d tried to hurt those he cared about. It seemed silly, now, to put off buying something that he could easily afford when his time could come at any moment.
He hadn’t told anyone of it the first few days, of course. He’d first painted its name himself - Temeraire - on the side of the hull, stenciled with elegant letters, smiling a little at the irony of it. In his dreams, he’d named the dragon for the ship, and now he named his boat for the dragon, and then he’d spent the next few days shopping so as to make it as comfortable as possible. The cabin contained a simple Murphy bed, for when Laurence took her out overnight, or on evenings where he would like to sleep to the gentle rolling of the ocean, and a small, simple kitchen, all of which he’d decorated tastefully.
The boat itself was classic in design, with none of the complicated computer systems so many yachts came with these days, with manual sails and an engine for if he were to ever be stranded at sea without a wind to carry him back. It was small enough that he could operate the vessel by himself, but large enough that he could comfortably play host to a small, intimate gathering of his friends on the deck. He’d already taken Pidge out sailing earlier that afternoon, and there had been nothing to lift his mood more than sailing along, the sun on his skin and the wind in his hair and the sea spray on his face, harnessing the wind at his leisure.
He’d been pleased when Clara had agreed to sail and dine with him that evening, and once she’d boarded, he’d given her a brief overview of how to sail, and spent the next hour giving her direction and letting the miles of ocean be eaten up beneath them, until California was only a thin line on the horizon.
There was still some sunlight left when Laurence finally had the sails pulled in. “Have you done much sailing before?” he asked her, checking the lines, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loose, and a smile spread across his face.
Clara had to admit, the latest round of Orange County insanity had been far more intense than she was used to. Oh, there were always intense things that happened, but something had felt different and she couldn’t place it. In the end, things had been restored and those not on the network thought it all a strange dream and nothing more. But those who had lived through it? Somehow she had a feeling the memory would be long lasting. She wished she could be that naive to the truth. She may not have been impacted personally. She hadn’t died (and didn’t want to think about what would have happened had those things torn her apart. Just because she was stuck between one heartbeat and the last didn’t mean she could survive that), but she had seen those she cared for impacted. And just the damage she had seen when trying to do rescues had been hard enough.
But it was over, the sun had returned and there was another day to live. So when she’d gotten the text from Laurence about going sailing? How could she say no? She also understood the impulse to do something that seemed outlandish or lavish or reckless in the face of death. She’d been the same when her dad had brought her back from death. She did the same after she got trapped in echos. It was human nature.
Plus it was a learning experience. So once she’d gotten to the docks and then the yacht, she was more than happy to let Laurence explain what was what, and what to do.
“Not like this. I mean, I’ve flown the TARDIS but something like this? Definitely a new experience.”
"There's nothing quite like a proper sailboat," Laurence said, emphatically. He was a little sad to admit that he'd spent very little time in this world under a proper sail filled with wind. Laurence would never say that the march of progress had taken the life or the spirit out of sailing, he still loved the sea and sailing upon it, with or without proper sails, but there was something in harnessing the power of the wind that simply wasn't there in the engine driven ships of modernity. "You did very well for your first time, however. There might be a sailor in you yet."
“I will take your word for it,” Smiling some, Clara folded some hair behind her ear. It was true that while progress marched on and new inventions came forth to make things easier or more streamlined or the like, there were things that also got lost in translation. It was part of life though. And there were other things to enjoy. There were also, though, ways to recapture that magic, maybe in something different or the same things in those who went to the old ways, a simpler time. “Well thank you. And perhaps there is, you never know.”
Laurence's lip twitched a little as Clara tucked her hair behind her ears. "Well, take a seat, and I'll go put dinner in the oven. I won't be a tick," he said, before he disappeared into the cabin. He'd prepared most of the meal in advance, and all that was left was to let the figgy jam and cranberry stuffed chicken roast in the oven for a few minutes.
Once he placed them in the oven, he grabbed a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, and returned to the deck. "I'm glad you agreed to come out with me today," he said, pouring them each a glass. "There's no possible way I could ever repay you for returning me to myself, but I had wanted to show you my appreciation nevertheless."
As much as Clara didn’t need to eat, she knew that it was good to keep up appearances. Plus it wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy a good meal now and again. Admittedly keeping up appearances also meant that she had to ‘re-damage’ parts of the TARDIS for Laurence to fix so that he could have something to do to make amends for what he had done while under Darkseid’s control. It didn’t matter to her, but it did to Laurence and so…
Smiling in thanks as Laurence brought out the wine, she took the glass once poured. Only to blink at the comment.
“I….Laurence, that wasn’t me? I may have knocked you out and kept you in the Zero Room, but that was it.”
She knew the data was somewhere on the TARDIS drive, look up recordings from the console and the like. But she’d been in the Zero Room when the bright light burst through.
“There was just this….white light or energy that ran through the TARDIS and from what I can tell, everything, and then you were you again.”
Laurence would likely be embarrassed if he were to find out that Clara had caused the damage specifically for him, though luckily, he was blissfully unaware of that fact.
He did blink in mild confusion at the admission that it wasn’t her. He had been so sure since it had happened that it had been, and it was mildly unsettling to know that some unknown force had brought him back. Laurence was a Christain man, but he wasn’t so egotistical so as to believe that God took any particular interest in whether he lived or died - God dealt with happenings larger than any individual man, or even any group of men, and so he didn’t believe that it had been God’s doing that had brought him back to life. But if not the TARDIS, and if not God, Laurence was at a complete loss as to what it could be.
“I had been so sure,” he said, uncertainly. “Though, I suppose that such a thing would be beyond the abilities of even the TARDIS. It’s… What do you suppose it could have been?” he asked her.
Clara was used to keeping some things secret if it meant the mental wellbeing of a friend and this was one such issue. And it wasn’t nearly as big as the ‘Danny Pink is alive and so you go on and find your home’ that she had pulled with the Doctor at the same time he told her he had found Gallifrey in order to let her go so she wouldn’t feel like she needed to look after him.
It was confusing though Clara supposed not the most shocking. Admittedly she couldn’t really recall a situation in Orange County where people had died or been changed and then returned to normal after something like what had happened. Was it possible? Of course. She just couldn’t recall off the top of her head.
“I’m not entirely sure. I have some recordings the TARDIS managed to pick up. A giant flash, energy signatures wavering…. Then a giant white light almost like a raven seemed to expand on the screen. All I saw though the day of was the light or energy rushing through the TARDIS.”
Laurence frowned, taking a sip of his wine. “I suppose it must have been one of the superpowered people we have here, then,” he said, slowly. The shape made him think more of superheroes than super-technology, though he was hardly an expert on either.
“I suppose it’s not so important as the fact that I’m still alive,” he said finally, more to convince himself than anything else. “I still must thank you for stopping me from causing any more damage than I already had. It’s… unsettling to think of how easy it was for Lo- for Darkseid to take control of my mind.”
“When in doubt, usually a good guess. I know Raven posted about the creatures…” Add in the shape of the energy, and well...it wasn’t too hard to think it might have been the goth 21 year old. Clara’s path didn’t cross with hers much. Sometimes at Pimpernel Outreach or more often, situations of this kind.
“But exactly. The most important thing is being alive.” Smiling some, it did falter some at his thanks as she nodded. “I can only imagine….but what can I say? I’m rather tired of people I care about getting turned into some cyborg version of themself.” Danny Pink as a Cyberman in the Dreams. Bucky before he left thanks to his Dreams. Now Laurence. If she were anyone else, she just might form a complex and worry about that happening to anyone she was close to.
Laurence’s felt an odd tightness in his chest when Clara mentioned that she cared for him, his eyes widening a little, but he quickly swallowed it down; there was no sense in reading too deeply into it. Of course she cared for him; they were friends.
“This happens often to you then?” he asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “I must confess that it’s a first for me. I’m not sure how well I would adjust if people were turned into cyborgs on a regular basis.”
Nodding some, Clara took a sip of her wine, “There was Danny Pink in the Dreams. A lot like Sam, actually…. He died and then was turned into a Cyberman, which are a race of cyborgs who were quote unquote upgrade, losing their humanity. They change living matter into cybernetics from what I can tell. Then obviously Bucky from his own Dreams. And now you. Though even once is enough. But it’s becoming a bit of a pattern.”
Shrugging, the brunette placed her wine glass down. It wasn’t like there was much more to say on the matter. It just...was. Orange County and all of its peculiarities.
“I’m sorry, Clara,” Laurence said, disappointed in himself for not having thought more seriously on Clara’s feelings on the events before now. “I’ll do my best to avoid becoming a cyborg again in the future,” he added, injecting a bit of levity into his voice, though it turned serious again as he asked her “How have you been since everything? It was a trying couple of days for everyone.”
The apology was met with a sad smile and shrug. After all, it wasn’t like there was anything he could have done. It simply was. So instead she laughed some with a small shake of her head, “It would be greatly appreciated.” After all, they both knew it wasn’t like Laurence could have controlled it. None of them could. “It was definitely a trying couple of days, but I’ve been good. Seems to be a weird dream to those not on the network from what I’ve picked up when people come into the diner.”
Laurence’s lips pursed at her frown, part of him wanting to reach forward and take her hands in a gesture of comfort, but Laurence had never been much of one for physical contact - it wasn’t the way he’d been brought up.
“I’ve gathered that as well, from those on base,” he said. He couldn’t imagine anyone in the Navy not taking arms against the creatures - the paradooms, as they were evidently called - but not a man had made any mention of it, which simultaneously had made Laurence feel entirely alone, and a little as though he had imagined the whole thing, despite how intensely real all of it had been. It was enough to make a man feel as though he were going mad.
He took another sip of his wine, this one larger than he might normally have done, and set the glass down. “I’ll go check on dinner,” he said, climbing to his feet.
It was definitely strange, though Clara figured that with there being no believable cover up that it was a good thing people seemed to think it was just a weird dream. It could definitely be isolating and she had a feeling that was why it wasn’t uncommon for people to come back to Orange County who had left, that feeling of isolation and people who didn’t understand.
Taking a sip of her wine, she nodded, “Of course. Is there anything you need help with?”
Laurence’s immediate reaction was to just tell her to sit and relax and enjoy the water, but he knew that he would feel terribly awkward if it felt as though someone were waiting on him, and so he nodded.
“If you would like to plate up the salad while I check the chicken, it would be appreciated,” he said, leading the way to the cabin. He pointed out the cupboard he kept his plates in - vitrified glass so that they would not break in the event of stormy weather - and then toward the small mini-fridge that held the blackberry-chèvre salad that he’d made in advance.
It would definitely feel awkward. And while she had once done the teaching thing which had all sorts of awkward moments, Clara was still a fan of avoiding awkward situations if at all possible. So instead she just nodded.
“I can definitely do that.”
Taking note of where things were, the brunette first got down the plates and then went to the mini-fridge to set things up with the salad while Laurence checked on the chicken.
Laurence tested the chicken, stuffed with figgy jam and cranberries, with a meat thermometer and was pleased to see that it had cooked through. It was the first time Laurence had had occasion to use his onboard oven, and he would have been rather put out to realize that it cooked unevenly or not at all.
Laurence used a pair of tongs to add the chicken to the plates with the salad, and then, taking his own plate in hand, he led the way back out to the deck, walking easily with the sway of the ship. “Well,” he said, taking his seat. “Bon appetit, as they say.”
Plate in hand, Clara followed after Laurence and to the table once more. Taking a seat, she smiled and nodded, “Bon appetit.”