#claraxamy

The throbbing in her neck was the first thing Clara noticed as she woke up. The second was that she was naked. What had happened last night?

As she pushed her fringe out of her face, she noticed a trail of clothes winding their way from the door to her bed. Heels, jumper, skirt. She lifted the covers, where she discovered her bra and underwear, neither of which were still on her body. But strangest of all were the orange knee-socks on the unoccupied pillow beside her. Were they hers?

On her bedside table, her phone announced it had finished charging. That should have taken it about one and a half hours, so either there had been a power cut last night, or someone else had recently plugged it in for her. Clara looked at the screen and saw on it a message from her flatmate, Priya.

“Noticed a redhead sneaking out of your room this morning. Congrats on losing your gay virginity!” Dozens of emojis followed; huge blocks of pride flags and fireworks lit up her screen, then the message continued, “Not going to tell the group chat until you’re ready of course, but girl, I am going to need all the deets!”

There may have been more to the text, but it was then that Clara noticed the date. November first. Suddenly it all came rushing back.

 It was Halloween at Glitz.

The club itself had been dwindling for a while now and most of the cool young people had probably moved away to venues that were more ‘hip’ or ‘fresh’. The fact that Clara assumed that was still the lingo was part of why she still came to Glitz. Not often, granted. It was strictly on an annual basis now. An ersatz tradition dating back to their university days (back when they’d all briefly experimented with paganism) to dance at this increasingly outdated, overpriced discotheque every 31st of October.

Even in the rain

Clara was as usual the first to arrive. It wasn’t so much that she was always early as everyone else was always late. The whatsapp group had assured her a few hours ago that they’d be there though, so there was still a chance (however small) that they were already inside.

She flashed her ID to the bouncer, who made a point of studying it. She was 26 now, old enough to appreciate being mistaken for someone younger, but still young enough to be impatient about the delay. Or maybe it was the costume that was holding him up. Thinking about it, it must be hard to tell if someone is who they say they are when they’re dressed as Velma Dinkley.

Ever since she’d gone for a more bob-like haircut, she’d been getting a lot of comparisons to the Scooby Doo character, so it was an easy decision to lean into it for Halloween. This didn’t mean it was an easy or cheap costume – Clara Oswald never did things by half, after all. She’d been nosing around high streets and second-hand shops the last two weekends putting it together. The orange jumper was baggy but sewn so as to give a good impression of her figure. The glasses made her eyes seem even wider, and combined with the freckles she’d drawn on took five years off her face. Surprisingly it was the little red skirt that had taken her the longest to find, only appearing in a last-minute lunch-break scrabble in Oxfam, and between it and the knee-socks, she was showing a lot more thigh than she was used to.

I mean it looks damn good, she thought to herself, but it isn’t half cold…

The bouncer finally nodded her through, and soon she was enveloped by the warm haze and pounding bass of Glitz. Maybe two dozen people were on the dancefloor, jumping and swaying to a song Clara was fairly sure had come out this year, but not one she knew the name of. I’ll dance at the next one, she thought, or maybe wait until the others get here.

It seemed that almost the moment she found a seat at the bar, her phone pinged. Naomi and Ellen weren’t coming. Apparently some couple had been trying to book their wedding venue out from under them so they were resigned to staying in and shouting down a phone all evening.

That wasn’t good. Those two were the lynchpin of all group planning. It was always worth going out with Naomi and Ellen because there would always be a story the next day. This was because the drunker they got, the more they’d dare the other, and those dares usually involved even more drinking. Clara had even had to bail them out once after they got arrested for shagging on a pool table.

But without them, the group dynamic fell apart. Priya loved nothing more than when a plan got cancelled. For her it was an excuse to shrug her bra off and fall asleep in front of the tv. Clara herself only owned two bras, one good but itchy and the other comfy but old, but Priya could have five littered around the living room at any one time. She’d hidden them on one occasion to encourage future tidiness.

And Emerald, the last of the group, Clara didn’t know particularly well. She knew they kept up with Yugioh (somehow) and read PG Wodehouse, but they’d joined the group in Clara’s last term at uni and she’d had her nose too deep in books to get to know her in any great depth. No doubt they’d have put a lot of effort into some anime costume, but if it was just her and Emerald left, they wouldn’t come.

Okay Clara, it’s not too bad. Shake it off, get a cocktail in you. This night could still go well.

The two pings of doom arrived before she was even halfway through her pina colada. Two more cancellations. Urgh. This calls for a consolation drink. And make it a pint this time.

It wasn’t even nine yet and it felt like the night was over. Clara sighed audibly. Such a shame, she thought. It’s my first Halloween as an out bi woman. This should have been like gay Christmas! I had all this Sapphic energy built up inside me tonight and I’m going to waste it fingering myself in the bath reading Jane Austen again. I’m even wearing the bi flag underpants Ellen got me for my birthday!

She’d been considering the idea of a second pint for around five minutes when she got a tap at her shoulder.

“Velma!”

A jolt of electricity raced up Clara’s spine. She knew that voice, didn’t she?

She turned around in her stool just as the lights above the dancefloor shifted. The woman behind her was briefly illuminated from behind, her face a shadow, but her hair a fiery red halo. Putting a hand in front of her face for a second, Clara took in the rest of her body; a purple dress and go-go boots. Her brain rushed to piece it all together, arriving at the costume before the face.

“Daphne?” She replied, weakly.

As the lights shifted again, Clara was blessed with another view of this woman, who was somehow more dazzling out of the spotlight. She stood imposingly tall, her soft moon-like face looking kindly down on Clara. Taken altogether with her vibrant red hair, Clara felt like she was looking directly at a solar eclipse, and one she couldn’t look away from.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind. My Shaggy’s gone off with my Scooby.” The woman smiled apologetically. “Thought I might go and make some new friends and well… the costume…”

Clara blinked. In fact she blinked rather a few times. She was still trying to process the fact that an angel had descended from heaven right in front of her.

“I beg your pardon?”

The redhead explained herself again. Clara made a note to focus on what she was saying, which, she justified, involved looking at this woman’s lips a lot.

“I did a group costume with these two guys. One was Shaggy, one was Scooby; we thought we’d come here for the night, have a few drinks, have a few laughs, but instead,” the next part of the sentence involved turning her head to shout pointedly “they’re GETTING OFF IN THE TOILETS!”

Clara let out a nervous giggle. It was a good cover for the big red wave of excitation that was coursing through her body. There was something about the way her Scottishness had just announced itself in her voice that made Clara’s thighs shudder. That woman could shout!

“Shaggy and Scooby-Doo?” Clara repeated. “The dog and the dog owner?”

“Exactly!” she bellowed. “Isn’t that mad?”

“That is so mad.” Clara nodded. Agree with everything this woman says, she thought. If she asks you to rob a bank, do it.

“And after only one drink as well!” She continued, exasperated, “They. Are. Terrible!”

“I guess that’s why they call him Shaggy?” It was a weak joke, Clara knew. And I fumbled the delivery. But frankly the fact that I managed a straight sentence around this woman is a miracle. Managing a straight anything was a challenge, to be honest.

And she laughed! She laughed at my dumb joke! I made that sound come out of her! That brogue-y Scottish cackle! Oh this is the best feeling in the world!

“I know! And that dog will do anything for a Scooby Snack!”

God, me too, thought Clara, as she unleashed a laugh a lot less cool than she hoped she would.

Ahem.

“Can I get you a drink?” Clara asked, thankful she still had any rational thoughts left.

“Ooh, yes. Rum and Coke, please.” She smiled. Such a lovely smile. “Do you have a name, or should I just call you Velma all evening?”

“Only if I can call you Daphne” Clara replied with a grin, signalling to the barman. This was a bit of damage control. It was suave and flirty, but she’d missed the window to introduce herself properly, or find out this charming redhead’s name.

“Oh, you want to play that game, do you?” Clara braced herself for the next word, as the redhead’s lips formed around it. “Velma.”

Beads of sweat started to form under her jumper. It was then that Clara realised where she’d heard that sexy Scottish brogue before…

The kissogram from Naomi and Ellen’s engagement!

Six months on and I’m just as flustered.

The drinks came and Clara positively snatched hers off the table. As long as her mouth was occupied with alcohol, she had more time to think. And as always, Clara, try and play it off as glamorous and mysterious.

The more strategic side of Clara’s brain spoke up; so you know who she is, but she doesn’t know who you are. What does that mean? You know what she does for a living – is that an okay thing to bring up? Does the fact that she hasn’t recognised me yet mean my costume is too good…

…or was that kiss unmemorable?

She chanced a look. The woman in the Daphne costume was nursing her rum and coke, but her eyes were still fixed on her over the rim of her glass.

Right. So what if she didn’t remember that kiss. It was half a year ago and in her line of work she couldn’t be expected to remember everyone she’d ever kissed. Clara could hardly do that herself. What it meant was that Clara could make another first impression. A confident, in-control one.

“Miss Blake.” She congratulated herself on remembering that scrap of Scooby Doo trivia.

“Is that Daphne’s last name?” The redhead half-giggled. “I’m sorry, I haven’t watched Scooby Doo since I was a wee bairn.”

Aha! The strategic part of her brain roared into force again. I know more about Scooby Doo than her! I can leverage this to my advantage… somehow! Strategy brain realised it should probably shut up for a bit, and that the reason it had been allowed to think so long without interruption was because the rest of her brain was once again cooing at the Scottish turn of phrase.

“So why Daphne, then?”

“It was a group costume with a bunch of friends, but there were a few no-shows, you know?”

Clara made a gesture to the four people who were definitely not standing next to her “I do know.”

“Between you and me, I’d have quite liked to come as Velma.”

The seriously unstrategic part of Clara’s brain practically roared: Come into the bathroom with me! We can swap clothes right now!

She continued. “besides, what other characters are there to dress up as, as a tall ginger woman?”

Jessica Rabbit, said Clara’s brain.

“Jessica Rabbit” said Clara.

Oh shit, said Clara’s brain.

“Naughty” she chided. “But I don’t think so. Not two years in a row, anyway.”

Oh shit, said Clara’s brain again, but with purpose (and without vocalisation). This is definitely flirting! This could go well! I haven’t made an embarrassing mess of myself!

Tonight, I’m going to rock her world.

“Would you like to take a seat?”

High on her own hubris, Clara hadn’t noticed the seats either side of her were taken. Um…

“I’d love to.”

Sirens blared in Clara’s head as ‘Daphne’ draped one arm over Clara’s back and slid both her indigo tight-clad legs over Clara’s until she was Sitting! In! Her! Lap!

“Oh, you don’t mind, do you?”

In a moment, all of Clara’s newfound confidence melted and words stuck in her throat. Clara worried for a moment maybe her nose was bleeding, or her entire lower body had turned to steam, or worse, that her damn traitor face might be giving Amy some reason to stop sitting on her.

“Oh, not at all.”

THINK OF SOMETHING TO SAY!

“So…”

SOMETHING WITTY, FLIRTY AND MAYBE TO DO WITH HER COSTUME!

“Daphne…”

HERE WE GO! SHOOT YOUR SHOT!

“Would you like to get in the van with me?”

THE VAN???

“The van?”

“The um… the mystery machine.”

“Oh, the van from the show”

“Yes”

“So you want me to get in the Scooby Doo van with you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a van?”

“No.”

“But you just invited me to your van.”

“Yes.”

Clara blinked a few times while her brain rebooted.

“It’s a metaphorical van.”

“And what exactly is it a metaphor for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Truly, this is one mysterious machine.”

“…Yes.”

A few mortifying seconds later, her strategic brain came back online. As did her non-strategic brain. They both made this noise: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

The Daphne impersonator slid her legs off Clara and stood crouched at eye-level.

“Look, can I propose something?” asked the redhead “Instead of you trying to entice me out of the club, into a dirty alley, and into the back of your metaphorical van, why don’t we just get a taxi back to my place?”

Clara fell off her seat.

“Oh my God, your little flustered face!” She belly laughed. “Oh we are going to have such a lot of fun tonight! Come on, Clara.”

Their hands touched as the redhead reached down to help her up. In all future memories of this moment, it seemed to Clara like she was in Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam. Any hints of the reality, that a wide-eyed, shakey-legged sex-addled Scooby Doo cosplayer was being picked off the floor of a bar, were quickly purged from her mind by a greater realisation.

“You know my name.”

“Of course I do. I don’t get to snog many girls in my line of work.” She winked “And I make a note of the cute ones. I’m Amy.”

Clara nearly fell to the floor again.

But Amy kept her on her feet, one arm pulling her whole body to her.

“How about we get you into that taxi, I let you calm down for a little bit, and then you and I can get to know each other, okay?”

A sigh of relief from Clara; this was going well at last!

“Okay.”

“And then after that we can make out a little and I’ll put my hands up your jumper, sound good?”

“Oh God yes.”