skaikru | inbox @ comesailaway

( the clarity she'd asked for, the realization of what's happening here, the sudden understanding of that first very alarming text — it all hits like a freight train. relief pours out like someone just levelled a dam, and scrolling back up through their current messages (NOT so far as to touch upon the ones from november 1st, or those awful first few days of october), clarke thinks she sees exactly what's happening here.

make UP. not make OUT.

and then she needs to take a brief 30 seconds to wheeze-laugh her way out of an impending existential crisis. tears in her eyes (and for once not the sad kind) when finally picking up her phone to type back. )

Rita...

( ...you're actually so incredibly sweet. and this is new, and weird, and strikes clarke a little close to the heart knowing the other girl had paid enough attention to know, and remember it. that's not genius talking, that's some level of care. )

Are you drunk or concussed?

[She's blissfully unaware of the emotional roller coaster happening on Clarke's end. In the meantime, she's managed to right herself and crawl, like. Halfway onto the bed. Ugh...everything's spinning more uncomfortably... She stares, slightly nauseous, at the phone, wondering why the other girl's responses suddenly changed tune so much. Well...whatever, the wondering takes too much brainpower that she doesn't have right now.]

beddy

🐱‍👤

[Nailed it. She's going to sleep!]

( rita. darling. baby. sweetheart. p l e a s e. )

Drink a glass of water before you sleep. And two ibuprofen tablets in the morning.

[It probably says enough that the text goes unread all night--and continues that way for a pretty significant stretch of the next day, too. At some point, between the abject misery of her first-ever hangover and the chaos resulting from discovering her new roommate, she does check her messages.

...Ugh. She barely understands this text (what is 'ibuprofen'?? what a stupid name-) and doesn't bother to scroll back to the other messages. Instead, she decides to try out that speech-to-text function rather than suffer through attempting to type. Except...the atrociously painful headache and dizzying nausea have her slurring possibly even worse than last night, and her What the hell is that? What happened? attempt ends up-]

Was a hills at weapon ?

[...Yeah, whatever, sent. And then she goes back to trying not to die.]

( ...yeah.

yeah, alright. okay.

she gets the buzz of that afternoon text, reads it, hems and haws for maybe a minute. then decidedly roots through the amassed hoard of stolen goods from the infirmary and dutifully "purchased" items from all and sundries. comes up with a decent travel sized bottle of advil, some dramamine, one bottle of gatorade, and a sleeve of saltines (thanks for the tip, marc).

she texts: ) Unlock your door.

( and approximately two minutes later knocks politely — like a doctor does before coming into your exam room — and rattles the handle of 110. )

[She stares blearily at that text for close to a full one of those minutes, debating how much she wants to do anything at all. She feels like she's dying a painful, miserable death, but semi-reluctantly--and with a very long, unhappy groan--she rolls out of bed and stumbles so heavily into the door that Clarke might hear the thud from the neighbouring cabin. She unlocks it as instructed, but-

Ohhh no, no she knew getting up like this was a seriously bad idea and she staggers away from the door quickly-

So while Clarke will find the door opens easily, she'll unfortunately be treated to the sound of someone puking in the bathroom. Her entire existence sucks right now.]

( she lets herself in and —

yeah, that sounds right.

mild bemusement floods in right alongside a blanket sort of sympathy. been there, done that rita. it never gets better, but hurling your guts out into the toilet bowl will eventually help. clarke has absolutely zero shame, she picks through the familiar layout of 110 and is now shouldering her way into the bathroom. the air is sour with sick but she barely winces, just kneels next to rita and automatically brings a hand to her back to rub slow, concentric circles. )

I hope that was worth this.

( first hangovers are tough as hell, but they'll see this through. )

[Despite literally just unlocking the door on Clarke's instruction, her first thought upon feeling the touch--oddly gentle and comforting--is that Natsuno's here. Only--the voice isn't his, and Rita, currently finished heaving and just in the process of taking deep breaths, turns her head to look at her visitor.

Oh. It is Clarke. Huh. That's right...the other girl is surprisingly touchy-feely at times, isn't she? Rita remembers seeing the same sort of odd gentleness in the way Clarke tried to comfort Natsuno after they all piled back through the portal from the diner. Remembers multiple times Clarke has tried to grab an arm or a hand--decidedly less gently--to try and haul her somewhere.

All this to say that Rita--looking positively terrible, tear-streaked pale face and baggy eyes, mussed hair--simply stares at her for a long time before finally recalling that some kind of question was asked.]

Wh...what did you...say?

[Her voice sounds about as bad as she looks, but there's no accusatory tone to it...for once.]

( you know, a little over a month ago clarke would have probably looked at rita right now, in this horrid and sickly hungover state, and not felt... a lot. maybe a twinge of sympathy, probably still a compelling need to help and care; it just would have been a lot more hollow and perfunctory. let's not openly examine how a crisis, a few burn marks, guilt undeserved and guilt deserved, a round of apologies, and some mutual suffering builds bridges. )

Nothing important. You done? ( vomiting.

the hand at rita's back falls away, to the collection of supplies clarke dragged along. she picks up the water bottle and undoes the lid with a crack of the plastic seal. )

[She guesses it was a comment on her current (pitiful) state, then--which might be warranted, but still...how rude... Rita's supposed to be the one who gives the hungover idiots a hard time, not the other way around...

Well, whatever, she feels too awful to really care. With a groan, she moves to get down and press her face to the tile floor.]

Ugh...I'm done with everything... Just hurry up and kill me, already...

[Rita's prone to saying such things sarcastically, although it's a habit she does a little less on the boat, considering...everything. Again, though: she feels too awful to care, like she's slowly dying the worst and most pathetic death ever.]

That's a little dramatic.

( like, two whole days later when clarke's on the receiving end of playful torment, she won't even remember that she'd been party to jimmying open this door. it's encouraging teasing! you're tougher than this rita, anyone who's been here long enough to hear about the burning at the bridge knows as much. stop being a baby. ) You're going to be fine in a day or two.

( but if insisting on lying on the floor is her best move — who could really blame her, the tiles probably feel nice and cool — then that uncapped bottle of water is getting plopped down directly next to her face. ) Swish and spit, then drink.

( clarke flushes the toilet for both of their sakes, then pushes off the ground to root around the sink for toothpaste and a tooth brush. )

Edited 2022-11-11 06:19 (UTC)

[She doesn't even feel up to lobbing a comeback about the dramatic comment, even as she internally thinks it's super rude! She's not dramatic! She's being perfectly normal for the circumstances, huff. The next one, though?]

A day or two? Ugh, this sucks...

[Why do people do this to themselves? More than once? Rita's never touching anything alcoholic again, no matter how delicious it was at the time. It was a terrible, awful trap... Oh, water. Despite her complaint, she sits back up enough to do as Clarke instructs, actually kind of--appreciative that she can wash the gross taste out of her mouth.]

...Why are you helping...?

[Maybe it's a stupid question, but Rita's brain is still full of painful steel cotton as she sips water and blearily watches the other girl look around. Like everything else in Rita's cabin, the sink is cluttered with this and that, though toothbrush and toothpaste are used regularly enough that they're not buried. If anything, the cabin is even more cluttered than usual with the sudden appearance of all Shi Qingxuan's belongings--as if Rita needed even more of a headache this morning.]

( clarke pauses mid-squeeze of toothpaste onto acquired toothbrush. no questions are stupid questions, as palamedes will be reminding her in, like, a day. but that doesn't mean sometimes they smack a little harder than they caress the consciousness.

why wouldn't i help?

shortly after the roast of clarke griffin, she'd more or less said to jade "rita and i don't like each other, but i'd never do that to her" and that sentiment extends from murder to letting her suffer through this absolutely world class hangover alone. then just... vague gesture at the entirety of the last few weeks. )

Because I can and I want to.

( ... )

...and I don't want to listen to you throwing up through the walls, and this is some prime future blackmail material. Now brush your teeth, and don't forget your tongue.

[She could say something about how she thinks Clarke needs a better reason than can and will--as if Rita didn't have the exact same reason to give her that medicinal gel, so many months ago--but then Clarke goes on to provide some particularly pointed ones. Rita still can't wrap her mind around any proper comebacks, so all she does in response is groan.]

...I know how to look after myself...

[She says, clearly doing a bang-up job of it on her own.... She'll take the toothbrush, though, because ugh that taste is awful. She brushes--yes, tongue included, as well as the insides of her cheeks--before staggering upright to spit and gargle into the sink, even as it brings her headache into painfully sharp relief.]

This is the worst. Ugh...magic...

[Estelle probably could've healed it, but...she's not here, and even if she was, Rita'd feel pretty ashamed of her current state. Estelle would be way too worried, and fussing over her even more than Clarke is right now, but possibly even lecturing her for her recklessness...]

...All I can do is sleep it off, huh?

( clarke stands when rita stands, almost hovering like she expects the other girl to get a dizzy spell and thonk her head on the lip of the sink on the way back down to the floor. i know you can, she thinks but doesn't venture to say out loud. nor the immediate follow up of: but you don't actually have to right now. )

Sleep's the easiest way, yeah. ( because this would be a waste of a pancea bottle or medicinal gel — if those things even worked on hangovers — and while clarke thinks tear would be up for coming by and lending a healing hand, that's... complicated. and would be a waste of her talents, or something. completely unnecessary so long as rita rests and takes basic advice. )

You're going to want to drink a lot of fluid, you're super dehydrated. And, I know it sounds like an awful idea, but you really should eat something too.

( hence the saltines! and water! and gatorade! all of which are now being carefully picked up again and clarke's moving for the bathroom door. time for more beddy for rita. )

[It's not that she doesn't appreciate it, but--it's still weird and embarrassing when someone fusses over her, and even through the pounding headache and brain-fog, she's very aware of Clarke hovering nearby as makes her mouth taste fresh and minty again. Water, she can drink, but the thought of any kind of food right now makes her stomach protest.]

Ugh...no, I don't want to eat anything. I'll just sleep until it's better or I die first...

[The dichotomy of being used to looking after oneself but also being a big complainer whenever somebody's around! Yeah, Rita's not the best patient. More beddy, though? She wants that. Nothing but beddy.

If Clarke gets that door open, Rita will shuffle her way around the severe clutter back towards the bed.]

( that's an expected rejection to the idea of food, but still not one that's going to fly. clarke gets the bathroom door open with complete ease, because she's not sloppily hungover, and waits for rita to pass her. follows her as she totters to bed, already fumbling the items in her hand to rip open the package of saltines. )

Unless you want to risk throwing up again, you're gonna eat these crackers.

( she lets rita fumble herself into the bed before dragging one perfect starchy, salty square out of the casing and holding it directly in front of her pillow-bound face. )

Come on, at least five crackers and all of that water bottle, then I'll leave and you can sleep.

[As she practically dives back into bed, Rita's mindful enough of Clarke's presence to not grab the plush dragon, because she's not a little kid who wants to cuddle a plushie in bed. Nevermind that it's clearly being used, what with being among the bedcovers and all.]

No way--eating's what'll make me throw up again.

[She groans and turns away from the cracker, instead smushing her face right into the pillow instead. That way, Clarke gets another very muffled protest.]

'm not eating anything... Head's gonna burst at this rate...

( that is just patently false and entirely your stomach talking because it's empty and uneasy rita. clarke frowns pretty openly at the back of the other girls head when she turns away and mumbles into her pillow but! she didn't negotiate the peace between the thirteen clans to be stumped by a hungover preteen who very obviously cuddles a stuffed animal at night (honestly, same hat rita, clarke's is just a squishmallow).

reaching for that travel sized bottle of advil and rattling it obnoxiously close to her ear: )

Actually, I have something for the headache too. But, again, you need to eat a few crackers to make sure it stays down. Come oooon, Rita.

[Just lonely teen girls taking solace in stuffed animals either named or fashioned after someone important...]

Uuuuuugh!

[The rattling draws a muffled groan of protest from Rita who automatically tries to turn away from it, the noise only increasing the painful spikes stabbing behind her eyes, but she eventually peeks one eye over at Clarke after the words slowly make their way through the sluggish gears of her brain.]

What...analgesics?

[Taking anything at all feels like a massive chore, and there's a part of her that'd like very much to swat it away and demand she be left alone. Then again, Clarke is probably stubborn enough to keep rattling that bottle, she bets...]

Ugh...okay, fine.

[She'll reluctantly push herself back into a sitting position, fingers pressed to her temple and her other hand extended for the crackers.]

( clarke shouldn't actually be feeling this smug over a victory, let alone one so mildly manipulative as this, but...! dress it up as good patient care, and excuse her bedside manner because she'd never actually graduated to being a doctor on the ark, and this is just a topnotch house call.

there's a faint grin around the corners of her mouth when she obligingly deposits six saltines in rita's outstretched hand, and for now the torturous rattling of the pill bottle comes to an end. clarke's content to kneel at the side of the other girl's bed while she nibbles, and goes about organizing the rest of her brought haul on the bedside table. gatorade for later, the rest of the saltines, then shakes out two advils and one tablet of dramamine into her palm before setting those bottles on the stand as well. rita can keep them. )

First hangover? ( comes the eventual small talk attempt, though if rita just grumbles and continues munching on salty snacks, clarke doesn't mind sitting in relative silence either. she's not going anywhere until all six of those crackers are gone, rita, bet on it. ) What were you drinking?

...First and last.

[She manages to grumble out a response as she nibbles at the saltines, sending a few crumbs flying. She's not in any state to get grumpy over Clarke's grin--if she even manages to notice it in the first place, staring moreso at the pills that the other girl shakes out. Before, she couldn't understand how anyone could ever drink so much to make a fool of themselves. Now, she can't understand how it could ever happen more than once, because like hell is she ever going through this torture again.

She squeezes her eyes shut to try and help her fuzzy memory. What was it again?]

Some...kind of sweet wine? I mean, it was good, but...

[And there was the problem--by the time she might've realized what was happening, she didn't care about it anymore.]

Ugh...I don't even really remember what I messaged you about.

( it'd be too easy to say "making out", it'd be too easy to say "making out", come on clarke you're so much better than this — )

Apologizing. Which, I'd like to tell you again, you don't have to do.

( this treads precariously towards a weighted exchange, a revisit to their moment half in 108 and half in the hallway. and that seems a little heavy considering everything else that's taking place right now — she might take advantage of rita's headache to make her sit up and eat, but not to send her spiraling through unpleasant recent memories. a quick diversion, in the way of teasing: )

Also, "beddy".

[Thanks, Clarke, for not sending her into a panic over a whole new existential crisis. She's not prepared for that normally, much less while dealing with a hangover!

As it is, even the apology makes heat rise to her cheeks, and she mumbles a reply around a mouthful of saltine-]

S-so what...it's still important...

[Wait, but... "Beddy"?? Is she too hungover to understand, or...?]

Wh-what...what's that supposed to be...?

Beddy-bye.

( she at least doesn't insult rita and say it in crooning baby talk, but it is an (adorably) infantile phrase. pat pat on the bedspread rita's currently curled in. )

I just took it to mean you were going to sleep. Eat faster, the sooner you get those crackers down the sooner you can have the pain killers and go to bed.

( please recognize the HERCULEAN EFFORT IT TOOK NOT TO ADD THE -DY TO THE END RIGHT THERE. )

inbox @ comesailaway

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omg beddy rita too cute!!!!

she's slumber party ready!! someday

sleepover event when

yes please cozy sleepover, with or without trauma...

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