Room 407, Saturday Morning
The thing about waking up in Cal's room after a dance, Claire thought as she opened her eyes and sleepily looked around, was how familiar it was getting. Her dress was over the chair where she usually threw her clothes, Cal's typewriter sat at the ready on his desk, and even the clutter on Merlin's side had become a regular landmark.
She shouldn't be so used to it, she knew. She'd only see it this way few more times.
Still, it was a nice thing to think about as she snuggled in against Cal ... and listened to some distinctly unfamiliar rapping on the door. She groaned and waited for it to go away
Paul
And the rapping continued, not about to go away anytime soon.
Until it was ended with the firm thunk of a head against the door, followed by a similar groan to Claire's.
"Oh, maaaaaan," Paul muttered. "Mom. Dad..."
Claire
Claire's head came up off the pillow, and she poked Cal. "Make whoever's looking for you go away."
She was either too sleepy or in too much denial to hear what Paul had said.
Cal
"Go away," Cal called out.
He was way too comfortable to actually care what was going on, and, after that was taken care of, he nuzzled up against Claire, reaching for the hand that poked him and trying to guide it around his waist. Morning. Cuddle time. Mmm.
Paul
"Come on!" Paul whined, giving the door a kick.
There was a pause before it was followed by, "You guys aren't doing gross stuff in there, are you?"
He didn't really want to know the answer to that, but that usually worked to get one of them up and moving.
Claire
Claire pulled her hand back. "...did somebody just ask us about gross stuff?" she wondered, sitting up. "Sorry, that wrecks the mood a little."
To the door, she called, "Who's there?"
Cal
Cal groaned a little, burying his face in the pillow. Whatever the hell it was, it was dead.
Or would be, if Cal wasn't lazy and a horrible fighter.
Paul
"Who do you think it is?" Paul asked. "It's me, Mom, geez."
If they were listening carefully, they might have caught a mutter of, "Smoke a little more pot, why don'tcha?"
Claire
Claire definitely caught that. "Fucking Merlin," she told Cal, having decided this had something to do with Cal's roommate being pissy about her staying over and ... therefore taking it out by imitating a child's voice with an American accent.
Yes. This made incredible amounts of sense to Claire's sleepy brain. She got out of bed, grabbed a sweater to throw over her nightie, and opened the door, "Merlin, what the hell --"
It was about then that she realized she was facing an eight-year-old boy. "Hi. You aren't Merlin."
Paul
"Who's Merlin?" Paul asked, lifting an eyebrow at his mom.
You know, the one he looked exactly like, here.
Cal
"Is it Merlin?" Cal asked.
...it was eerie, how similar those two questions sounded, really.
Claire
"It's a kid," Claire said, frowning as she opened the door wider so Cal could see. "A ... weirdly familiar kid. Do I know you?"
"And Merlin's the other person who lives here." Because she was talking to a child, she managed not to comment on either his porn habits or his ears.
Paul
Mom really had been smoking pot again, hadn't she? Paul rolled his eyes, very dramatically, sighing as if he just wanted to end his life right there.
Parents were so exasp...annoying.
"Thanks, Mom ," he muttered. "Love you, too."
Claire
"I'm not your mom," Claire said, flinching back but leaving the door open. "I mean, sorry to add to your childhood trauma, but I would remember having a kid. Plus I'm way too young."
The thing was, though, she knew that sigh.
Cal
At this point, Cal had quickly grabbed a shirt and shuffled out of bed, rubbing his eyes as he went to go see what the hell was going on.
"You have a kid?" he asked, too tired still to really boggle as much as he would have.
And here he thought the whole being-in-a-sex-show thing was a bombdrop...
Paul
And Paul was clearly not amused with his parents being all weird right now.
"I am going to need so many years of therapy," he noted, glaring at his father.
Claire
"If you're related to me" -- and Claire took a second to glare at Cal there, because he should know there was no way she had a kid -- "you might anyhow."
Starting to accept this as one of those weird Fandom things, she stepped back into the room and took a seat on the unmade bed. "What's your name?"
Cal
Cal was just staring a lot, because if this kid was anyone's kid, it was definitely Claire's. He looked just like her! And he couldn't biologically even make the stuff to have children, so that kind of ruled him out pretty easily, too.
Paul
"This is stupid, Mom," Paul said, following Claire in a little. "But I'll give."
He heaved a very dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes up into the ceiling.
"My name is Apostolos Stephanides. Paul because Apostolos is a stupid name. And my parents are completely crazy, so it's no wonder I'm messed up."
Claire
Claire really couldn't think of anything to say to that at first. She was preoccupied: Stephanides meant Cal's, and that meant Cal could somehow have kids, and that meant she needed to go pee on about 1,500 pregnancy tests and take a case of the morning after pill before she could feel safe to do anything else.
She swallowed, making herself focus on the boy. "Sorry, Paul," she said, because Apostolos was a little hard to manage in the morning. "We didn't know to expect you. Do we, uh, maybe look a lot younger than we normally are?"
Cal
Cal's gawking went to shock in about three point five second flat.
He wondered, briefly, if this was how Lefty felt when he had his heart attack; Cal even felt himself clutching at his chest a little.
Adopted.
He must have adopted the kid. Which meant...
But then why would he have a ridiculous Greek name? In Grand Stephanides Tradition?
Cal found the chair from the nearby desk, pulled it out, and had to sit down.
Paul
It wasn't exactly something a kid looked for, but now that Mom had mentioned it, he considered it.
"...yeaaahhh," he said slowly, frowning a little in confusion. "Your hair is longer and Dad doesn't have his beard..."
Claire
"Yeah, we're still in high school," Claire said, rubbing her forehead. "So ... sorry."
She looked at Cal, willing him to have a better idea what to do than she did. She was mostly just trying not to freak out in front of the kid, here. Not that he looked like he was doing so much better, but she was attempting optimism.
Also, his beard had been ridiculous.
Cal
After a moment, Cal just muttered, "Fucking timeline bullshit."
Because, really, that was the only thing that he could say that was going through his head right now that was appropriate to be said, and he still half-expected Claire to give him crap from swearing in front of, apparently, their kid.
Paul
"Fucking timeline bullshit," Paul repeated. His parents had apparently given up on the swearing battle.
"Whatever. You're still Dad and she's still Mom, so quit whining and be parents, for once. I need breakfast." He was still confused; ordering them around had the welcome effect of putting him on slightly firmer ground.
Cal
"You're, like, eight," Cal said. And impossible. He was still gawking a little.
And, hell, even if he could have kids, redhead genes were supposed to be recessive!
"That's old enough to make your own breakfast."
Claire
Claire was going to have a chat with Cal about exactly how impossible Paul here was as soon as they got a second away from the kid who was, apparently and against all logic, their son.
"And we have to get dressed anyhow," she added, then channeled her mother for a moment. "What if you go to the common room and get some juice, and then we'll all go get waffles?"
Paul
"You sound like Grandma Ruth," Paul pointed out, with a huff. "Okay, I'll go find a drink. No gross stuff while I'm gone."
Cal
Cal was just going to rub his head a little bit more at that one and look expectantly at Paul until he disappeared, at which point his look would train toward Claire with an expression that clearly stated that, hey. She was the only one in the room with working reproductive parts, here. She had some 'spainin' to do.
Claire
Claire squeaked in shock and indignation as she picked through some stuff of hers that had accumulated in Cal's room. Ah, thank you. Jeans that weren't entirely filthy. Those were her best friends just now.
She raised an eyebrow at Cal.
"I thought you couldn't -"
Cal
"I can't!" Cal insisted, eyes wide and probably about three centimeters away from popping out of his head. "Not unless, sometime in the future, I'm exposed to radioactive waves or chemicals or some shit that magically undoes the already natural mutation of my fifth chromosome. It is one-hundred percent impossible that that kid is mine biologically."
Forget the fact that it was probably also one-hundred percent impossible that a kid from their future would show up now, too.
Claire
"So, what, do you think future me cheated on you and you stuck around and gave the kid a Greek name?" Claire asked. Because that whole scenario also struck her as 100 percent impossible.
She bit her lip. "Maybe they come up with some magical thing to un-mutate you." There was probably a better way to say that, but she didn't think of it just then.
Cal
"Yeah, they have that," Cal said. "It's called surgery and I already said no to it once. Besides, that doesn't reverse the fact that those parts don't work."
There was a slight pause, as a part of Cal's brain was explaining to him that this island was fucked up and was doing fucked up things again. He sighed.
"Red hair is a recessive trait, too," he pointed out, notably, because there was definitely no outside breeding in his gene pool that would have brought any recessive redhead genes. The Stephanides gene pool tended to stay all in the very, very Greek family.
Claire
"So even if we could have kids, they wouldn't be redheads?" Claire said, frowning a little as she yanked the rest of her clothes on. She knew red hair was recessive, but she still irrationally believed her kids had at least a 50-50 shot of coming out that way.
"I dunno. I'm not going to quiz an eight-year-old about how he was conceived, that's gross." Also, potentially traumatic for all three of them.
Cal
"It'd be unlikely," Cal said, frowning in annoyance at all the reasons he knew so much about how genetics tended to work. He shook his head.
"And, who knows? It's been this way for the past two weeks, maybe this place is just being incredibly weird again..."
Claire
"Probably," Claire said with a snort. "At least I'd take a random child over a bunch of zombies."
This ... wasn't actually high praise for Paul, all things considered, but it was sincerely meant.
"Should we go find Paul before he starts saying we abandoned him?"
Cal
"...Yeah," Cal said, after a moment, with a nod. "God only knows, if he really does have our genes, we're probably already too late."
[OOC: Establishy. Preplayed with the beautiful not_a_mused.]
She shouldn't be so used to it, she knew. She'd only see it this way few more times.
Still, it was a nice thing to think about as she snuggled in against Cal ... and listened to some distinctly unfamiliar rapping on the door. She groaned and waited for it to go away
Paul
And the rapping continued, not about to go away anytime soon.
Until it was ended with the firm thunk of a head against the door, followed by a similar groan to Claire's.
"Oh, maaaaaan," Paul muttered. "Mom. Dad..."
Claire
Claire's head came up off the pillow, and she poked Cal. "Make whoever's looking for you go away."
She was either too sleepy or in too much denial to hear what Paul had said.
Cal
"Go away," Cal called out.
He was way too comfortable to actually care what was going on, and, after that was taken care of, he nuzzled up against Claire, reaching for the hand that poked him and trying to guide it around his waist. Morning. Cuddle time. Mmm.
Paul
"Come on!" Paul whined, giving the door a kick.
There was a pause before it was followed by, "You guys aren't doing gross stuff in there, are you?"
He didn't really want to know the answer to that, but that usually worked to get one of them up and moving.
Claire
Claire pulled her hand back. "...did somebody just ask us about gross stuff?" she wondered, sitting up. "Sorry, that wrecks the mood a little."
To the door, she called, "Who's there?"
Cal
Cal groaned a little, burying his face in the pillow. Whatever the hell it was, it was dead.
Or would be, if Cal wasn't lazy and a horrible fighter.
Paul
"Who do you think it is?" Paul asked. "It's me, Mom, geez."
If they were listening carefully, they might have caught a mutter of, "Smoke a little more pot, why don'tcha?"
Claire
Claire definitely caught that. "Fucking Merlin," she told Cal, having decided this had something to do with Cal's roommate being pissy about her staying over and ... therefore taking it out by imitating a child's voice with an American accent.
Yes. This made incredible amounts of sense to Claire's sleepy brain. She got out of bed, grabbed a sweater to throw over her nightie, and opened the door, "Merlin, what the hell --"
It was about then that she realized she was facing an eight-year-old boy. "Hi. You aren't Merlin."
Paul
"Who's Merlin?" Paul asked, lifting an eyebrow at his mom.
You know, the one he looked exactly like, here.
Cal
"Is it Merlin?" Cal asked.
...it was eerie, how similar those two questions sounded, really.
Claire
"It's a kid," Claire said, frowning as she opened the door wider so Cal could see. "A ... weirdly familiar kid. Do I know you?"
"And Merlin's the other person who lives here." Because she was talking to a child, she managed not to comment on either his porn habits or his ears.
Paul
Mom really had been smoking pot again, hadn't she? Paul rolled his eyes, very dramatically, sighing as if he just wanted to end his life right there.
Parents were so exasp...annoying.
"Thanks, Mom ," he muttered. "Love you, too."
Claire
"I'm not your mom," Claire said, flinching back but leaving the door open. "I mean, sorry to add to your childhood trauma, but I would remember having a kid. Plus I'm way too young."
The thing was, though, she knew that sigh.
Cal
At this point, Cal had quickly grabbed a shirt and shuffled out of bed, rubbing his eyes as he went to go see what the hell was going on.
"You have a kid?" he asked, too tired still to really boggle as much as he would have.
And here he thought the whole being-in-a-sex-show thing was a bombdrop...
Paul
And Paul was clearly not amused with his parents being all weird right now.
"I am going to need so many years of therapy," he noted, glaring at his father.
Claire
"If you're related to me" -- and Claire took a second to glare at Cal there, because he should know there was no way she had a kid -- "you might anyhow."
Starting to accept this as one of those weird Fandom things, she stepped back into the room and took a seat on the unmade bed. "What's your name?"
Cal
Cal was just staring a lot, because if this kid was anyone's kid, it was definitely Claire's. He looked just like her! And he couldn't biologically even make the stuff to have children, so that kind of ruled him out pretty easily, too.
Paul
"This is stupid, Mom," Paul said, following Claire in a little. "But I'll give."
He heaved a very dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes up into the ceiling.
"My name is Apostolos Stephanides. Paul because Apostolos is a stupid name. And my parents are completely crazy, so it's no wonder I'm messed up."
Claire
Claire really couldn't think of anything to say to that at first. She was preoccupied: Stephanides meant Cal's, and that meant Cal could somehow have kids, and that meant she needed to go pee on about 1,500 pregnancy tests and take a case of the morning after pill before she could feel safe to do anything else.
She swallowed, making herself focus on the boy. "Sorry, Paul," she said, because Apostolos was a little hard to manage in the morning. "We didn't know to expect you. Do we, uh, maybe look a lot younger than we normally are?"
Cal
Cal's gawking went to shock in about three point five second flat.
He wondered, briefly, if this was how Lefty felt when he had his heart attack; Cal even felt himself clutching at his chest a little.
Adopted.
He must have adopted the kid. Which meant...
But then why would he have a ridiculous Greek name? In Grand Stephanides Tradition?
Cal found the chair from the nearby desk, pulled it out, and had to sit down.
Paul
It wasn't exactly something a kid looked for, but now that Mom had mentioned it, he considered it.
"...yeaaahhh," he said slowly, frowning a little in confusion. "Your hair is longer and Dad doesn't have his beard..."
Claire
"Yeah, we're still in high school," Claire said, rubbing her forehead. "So ... sorry."
She looked at Cal, willing him to have a better idea what to do than she did. She was mostly just trying not to freak out in front of the kid, here. Not that he looked like he was doing so much better, but she was attempting optimism.
Also, his beard had been ridiculous.
Cal
After a moment, Cal just muttered, "Fucking timeline bullshit."
Because, really, that was the only thing that he could say that was going through his head right now that was appropriate to be said, and he still half-expected Claire to give him crap from swearing in front of, apparently, their kid.
Paul
"Fucking timeline bullshit," Paul repeated. His parents had apparently given up on the swearing battle.
"Whatever. You're still Dad and she's still Mom, so quit whining and be parents, for once. I need breakfast." He was still confused; ordering them around had the welcome effect of putting him on slightly firmer ground.
Cal
"You're, like, eight," Cal said. And impossible. He was still gawking a little.
And, hell, even if he could have kids, redhead genes were supposed to be recessive!
"That's old enough to make your own breakfast."
Claire
Claire was going to have a chat with Cal about exactly how impossible Paul here was as soon as they got a second away from the kid who was, apparently and against all logic, their son.
"And we have to get dressed anyhow," she added, then channeled her mother for a moment. "What if you go to the common room and get some juice, and then we'll all go get waffles?"
Paul
"You sound like Grandma Ruth," Paul pointed out, with a huff. "Okay, I'll go find a drink. No gross stuff while I'm gone."
Cal
Cal was just going to rub his head a little bit more at that one and look expectantly at Paul until he disappeared, at which point his look would train toward Claire with an expression that clearly stated that, hey. She was the only one in the room with working reproductive parts, here. She had some 'spainin' to do.
Claire
Claire squeaked in shock and indignation as she picked through some stuff of hers that had accumulated in Cal's room. Ah, thank you. Jeans that weren't entirely filthy. Those were her best friends just now.
She raised an eyebrow at Cal.
"I thought you couldn't -"
Cal
"I can't!" Cal insisted, eyes wide and probably about three centimeters away from popping out of his head. "Not unless, sometime in the future, I'm exposed to radioactive waves or chemicals or some shit that magically undoes the already natural mutation of my fifth chromosome. It is one-hundred percent impossible that that kid is mine biologically."
Forget the fact that it was probably also one-hundred percent impossible that a kid from their future would show up now, too.
Claire
"So, what, do you think future me cheated on you and you stuck around and gave the kid a Greek name?" Claire asked. Because that whole scenario also struck her as 100 percent impossible.
She bit her lip. "Maybe they come up with some magical thing to un-mutate you." There was probably a better way to say that, but she didn't think of it just then.
Cal
"Yeah, they have that," Cal said. "It's called surgery and I already said no to it once. Besides, that doesn't reverse the fact that those parts don't work."
There was a slight pause, as a part of Cal's brain was explaining to him that this island was fucked up and was doing fucked up things again. He sighed.
"Red hair is a recessive trait, too," he pointed out, notably, because there was definitely no outside breeding in his gene pool that would have brought any recessive redhead genes. The Stephanides gene pool tended to stay all in the very, very Greek family.
Claire
"So even if we could have kids, they wouldn't be redheads?" Claire said, frowning a little as she yanked the rest of her clothes on. She knew red hair was recessive, but she still irrationally believed her kids had at least a 50-50 shot of coming out that way.
"I dunno. I'm not going to quiz an eight-year-old about how he was conceived, that's gross." Also, potentially traumatic for all three of them.
Cal
"It'd be unlikely," Cal said, frowning in annoyance at all the reasons he knew so much about how genetics tended to work. He shook his head.
"And, who knows? It's been this way for the past two weeks, maybe this place is just being incredibly weird again..."
Claire
"Probably," Claire said with a snort. "At least I'd take a random child over a bunch of zombies."
This ... wasn't actually high praise for Paul, all things considered, but it was sincerely meant.
"Should we go find Paul before he starts saying we abandoned him?"
Cal
"...Yeah," Cal said, after a moment, with a nod. "God only knows, if he really does have our genes, we're probably already too late."
[OOC: Establishy. Preplayed with the beautiful not_a_mused.]