Clarisse La Rue (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
laruetheday) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deernet2022-05-28 11:41 am
laruetheday) wrote in deernet2022-05-28 11:41 am
[accidental video] un:clearthestreet
CW: Emotional abuse, implied physical abuse by a parent
[ It might be difficult to tell where this memory is taking place. They're in the boiler room of an old ironclad ship, but all that's visible are the black and rusting walls, the huge boiler thrumming and hissing in the background, and the steam. It's thick and heavy, swirling through the room and then venting out somewhere above.
The Clarisse standing in front of them is no older than fourteen, tall for her age but still baby-faced, not finished growing yet. The steam billows around her and the figure in it resolves into a man. Or a being shaped like a man. Tall, muscular, and cruelly handsome. Ares looks the way he does whenever Clarisse sees him—the military-issue haircut, the black biker leathers, the massive hunting knife strapped to his belt. And the red-tinted sunglasses that seem to be covering up eyes that aren't really eyes. They're just blazing light, little nuclear explosions. A man, but not really a man.
There are similarities between he and his daughter, physically. Their builds and facial features especially call to a family resemblance. But he towers over Clarisse, and one look at the two of them next to each other makes it abundantly clear that most of Clarisse's hardness is nothing but a carefully cultivated mask. Ares is the real thing, staring at her with cold disdain, and she looks frankly terrified of him. Terrified and trying to pretend that she isn't, trying to stand up tall and look him in the eyes.
"I can explain," Clarisse is saying. "They would have been killed if I hadn't—"
Ares cuts her off, and the boiler seems to glow even hotter behind them. "I don't want excuses, little girl!"
Instantly, she gives up on meeting his eyes. "Y-yes, father."
"You don't want to see me mad, do you?" Ares asks.
"No, father."
"No, father." Ares' voice is a high-pitched mockery of hers, and he gives her a look of utter disgust. "You're pathetic. I should've let one of my sons take this quest."
"I'll succeed!" Clarisse says—the tremor in her voice was hard to pick up on at first, but now it's obviously there, and she has to force herself to keep going. "I'll make you proud."
"You'd better," he says, and the warning in his voice is implicit. "You asked me for this quest, girl. If you let that slimeball Jackson kid steal it from you—"
And now Clarisse makes a mistake. Maybe because she feels this information is important and Ares hasn't been listening, or maybe because she's just too caught up in her own anxieties. She interrupts him. "But the Oracle said—"
"I DON'T CARE WHAT IT SAID!" Ares bellows in her face. The force of his voice alone makes the steam coming off the boilers change course, shuddering like a sudden wind's blown through the room, before resolving back into shape. "You will succeed," he continues. "And if you don't..."
He curls a fist and raises it, close to her face, making sure she's looking at it. That she sees it, understands what it means for her. She flinches back like he's already hit her. Somewhere above them, on the upper decks, alarm bells start to ring.
"Do we understand each other?" Ares says in a low voice, almost a growl—
And then Clarisse is fumbling for her Omni to shut the video off. Her fingers are slick on the surface of it and she heaves in a panicked breath before wordlessly cutting the feed. ]
[ It might be difficult to tell where this memory is taking place. They're in the boiler room of an old ironclad ship, but all that's visible are the black and rusting walls, the huge boiler thrumming and hissing in the background, and the steam. It's thick and heavy, swirling through the room and then venting out somewhere above.
The Clarisse standing in front of them is no older than fourteen, tall for her age but still baby-faced, not finished growing yet. The steam billows around her and the figure in it resolves into a man. Or a being shaped like a man. Tall, muscular, and cruelly handsome. Ares looks the way he does whenever Clarisse sees him—the military-issue haircut, the black biker leathers, the massive hunting knife strapped to his belt. And the red-tinted sunglasses that seem to be covering up eyes that aren't really eyes. They're just blazing light, little nuclear explosions. A man, but not really a man.
There are similarities between he and his daughter, physically. Their builds and facial features especially call to a family resemblance. But he towers over Clarisse, and one look at the two of them next to each other makes it abundantly clear that most of Clarisse's hardness is nothing but a carefully cultivated mask. Ares is the real thing, staring at her with cold disdain, and she looks frankly terrified of him. Terrified and trying to pretend that she isn't, trying to stand up tall and look him in the eyes.
"I can explain," Clarisse is saying. "They would have been killed if I hadn't—"
Ares cuts her off, and the boiler seems to glow even hotter behind them. "I don't want excuses, little girl!"
Instantly, she gives up on meeting his eyes. "Y-yes, father."
"You don't want to see me mad, do you?" Ares asks.
"No, father."
"No, father." Ares' voice is a high-pitched mockery of hers, and he gives her a look of utter disgust. "You're pathetic. I should've let one of my sons take this quest."
"I'll succeed!" Clarisse says—the tremor in her voice was hard to pick up on at first, but now it's obviously there, and she has to force herself to keep going. "I'll make you proud."
"You'd better," he says, and the warning in his voice is implicit. "You asked me for this quest, girl. If you let that slimeball Jackson kid steal it from you—"
And now Clarisse makes a mistake. Maybe because she feels this information is important and Ares hasn't been listening, or maybe because she's just too caught up in her own anxieties. She interrupts him. "But the Oracle said—"
"I DON'T CARE WHAT IT SAID!" Ares bellows in her face. The force of his voice alone makes the steam coming off the boilers change course, shuddering like a sudden wind's blown through the room, before resolving back into shape. "You will succeed," he continues. "And if you don't..."
He curls a fist and raises it, close to her face, making sure she's looking at it. That she sees it, understands what it means for her. She flinches back like he's already hit her. Somewhere above them, on the upper decks, alarm bells start to ring.
"Do we understand each other?" Ares says in a low voice, almost a growl—
And then Clarisse is fumbling for her Omni to shut the video off. Her fingers are slick on the surface of it and she heaves in a panicked breath before wordlessly cutting the feed. ]