#clem pls

Clement was in a mood to cause some strife — the night was going well (as far as he’d experienced) and he’d quite like to cause something of interest to happen. Not anything that could be traced back to himself, of course, and even the alcohol fogging his mind didn’t stop him from keeping that self-preservation.

Ah, his thoughts said, Jack — my favourite.

Clement ordered another duo of gin and tonics, the slopping pouring of the gin matched with the splashes of tonic. He took the two drinks and sidled up to Jack, tilting his head back with a heavy head — making his neck curve nicely (if he were to say so himself) — as he stared up at the other boy with false-heavy lids. “Hey Jack,” he said in French, much preferring the fluidness of the language when speaking with the other than clunky English — if they both spoke it with such ease, why would they bother with something as ugly as that?

Leave a “Fight Me” for my character fighting with/or against yours.

“You wouldn’t get so defensive if you didn’t know you were wrong, Cora.” Clement’s voice was light and sweet; the argument he’d sparked was delighting him. A wide, toothy grin was spread across his face and all of his body language screamed delight.

“That’s not how that works and you know it.” Cora tried to keep her voice level, it wobbling just a tiny amount. Her shoulders were tense, and it wasn’t from the cold.

The shit-eating grin on Clement’s face seemed to grow wider, and he didn’t even bother to try to hide it in the puff of the emerald scarf wrapped delicately around his neck. “Do I?” He raised his eyebrows without his smile faltering, before dropping it to a closed-mouth smile and shaking his head. “You’re hopeless, don’t you know that? You don’t see what you should be seeing — only what you want to see.”

“Wow, it’s almost like making comments about my dead family member elicits an emotional response.” She glared at Clement. “You’re just a fucking asshole.”

“Nah,” Clement shrugged. “I’m not, I just know things.”

“About Fred?” Her clear eyes locked with Clement’s dark ones. Almost as if she were trying to appeal to his humanity.

Leave a “Drink Me” for my character taking shots with yours.

A huge smile was plastered over Clement’s flushed face. A loud laugh bubbled out of him with ease. He’d slung his arm around Toni’s shoulders, dragging the other down the entire five inches of difference between them. If Clement were to be drunk and touchy, he was going to get people on his level rather than awkwardly raise to theirs.

But there was a reason he didn’t take shots, and certainly not with Toni. There was too much possibility for a mess between them. Too many mistakes had tumbled out between them both.

“No, no! No more,” he laughed, yelling unintentionally — volume lubricated by the previous shots, “at least not unless it’s fucking jäger or something — no more of this whiskey shit!” It was a cheap taste in alcohol, but it was something that reminded him of his home. It wasn’t usual, but, sometimes, when Clement was drinking he got a touch sentimental.

Not that he’d name the sentimentality. No, he’d rather find comfort in drowning in more alcohol — cheap — and try to lick honey-thick contentedness out of the mouth of anyone who’d have him. And Toni would have him. Both of them drunk, at least one of them lonely — a perfect cocktail for a conversation in the morning that amounted to their own personal breakdowns over telling the other they weren’t really interested in one another; they were both simply a body to be content with at the end of a bender.

They weren’t anything other than that. They couldn’t be. Clement wouldn’t know how to handle it if they meant anything more than that.

no

http://2160k.tumblr.com/post/96475694700/a-guide-on-how-to-take-selfies-instead-of-doing

fans: he's a drunk battle-hardened killer what are you talking about

me:

My muse is pushing themselves too hard, and is at risk of collapsing. How does your muse get them to relax?

                "I’ll relax when we get to safety." The teen huffed, pushing forward, stumbling a little as he walked.