Eden hasn't lost track of the specific spot where she first appeared on the island; she never knew where it was. At the time, reeling from her arrival, blood in her hair and, sometimes, eyes, head pounding and heart racing, the exact location was of approximately zero importance to her. She doesn't, for that matter, remember the stretch of beach
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Claire doesn't want to make it seem like the end of the world, the leap that she took off the Compound. Doesn't want to believe that it's broken anyone, shaken anyone beyond repair, doesn't want to think that her hand has managed to sever so much and shake doubt into the bones of her friends and family. But the fact is that very few people have treated her precisely the same since her stunt last month, and those who have, Claire's starting to suspect have just been keeping up an act for her sake. Slowly and steadily, she's trying to pick up the pieces, to attend to the mess that she's made all her own, going around and finding the people who visited her while in the clinic, making amends.
Eden's been the one she's sought after most.
The sand sifts through her toes as easily as it ever has, clean, bright white from the sun, as Claire makes her way down the beach, having spotted Eden there some time ago. All around are books and papers- plays, probably, Claire still remembering how surprised she was to hear about Eden's artistic ventures (even if it all makes sense; she's always been the most stylish of the two, and certainly has had one type of acting highlighted a great deal some years ago). Claire's lips turn into a small smile.
"Hey, at least he's not strewing sheets all over the place like Mr. Muggles does," she offers softly, hoping she isn't interrupting anything too important.
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As for Claire, that's an entirely different adventure, and something she's currently grateful for. Having someone she has to hold it together for makes it easier not to fall apart. It's what happens when she's alone again she's scared of.
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Tilting her head, Claire reaches out to pet Origami, fingers scratching lightly behind the ear.
"Penny for your thoughts? Or, I don't know, a slice of coconut, if that's what we're bartering with."
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"Just trying to make a decision," she says, gesturing to the array of scripts in varying formats scattered around her. Four years in one place, I think it's time for a bit of a change. So. Today I pick."
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"Change can be a really good thing," Claire says, before flinching slightly at how obvious the statement is; sometimes, it feels like it's impossible to all that insightful around Eden, bright as the other woman is, and experienced in ways Claire's not sure she can ever be. Not on the island, at least. "So are we talking more acting? Or maybe even playwriting? I mean, I'm going to be your biggest supporter either way."
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"Oh, I don't dare try writing," she says with a soft laugh. "Maybe one day, but that was more Gideon's thing than mine." There's an incomplete script among his things, and it occurs to her yet again that someone needs to finish it. Not yet, though, not yet. "I want to act, but there's no acting without a play so I thought maybe it's time for my directorial debut."
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And maybe that's a sign that things are going to be okay.
"Well, you totally have an eye for these things, I'd think," Claire nods, grinning. "An eye for fashion, so that goes well with costumes. Plus, you're good at reading people, so... showing them off, telling an audience about them, that's not a really far stretch. And there are other directors on the island anyway, right? In case you feel like you need a trained eye to review your work."
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Admittedly, most of her options seem to have fallen on the heavier side of things, but they're certainly not the whole of it.
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"Well, I think you'd be amazing at drama," she considers, brushing her hair over a shoulder. "And I also don't really know where your sense of humor lies, at least when it comes to stuff like pop culture. But then again, I feel like this island, as awesome as it often is, could totally do with a few more laughs. We get enough emergencies to cover the drama."
Her eyes dart quickly to the side; Claire knows that she's no exception to that rule.
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And that's all the more reason for comedy, for a chance for everyone to escape. It's not, she thinks, what Gideon would have chosen, but she likes to believe he'd understand.
"As long as it's not Shakespeare," she says lightly. "Geoffrey has that covered."
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Turning onto her side, Claire brushes some of her hair out of the way, eyes narrowing as she more closely examines Eden.
"You'd make a great Juliet, though. I just don't think the island has a Romeo dashing enough."
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And because of that, there's nothing Claire wants more than to have Eden experience everything that she could have back home, had Sylar never crossed their paths.
Dwelling on it in conversation just seems like a bad idea, though.
"I'd really like that," she smiles, propping herself up better, legs curled underneath. "Obviously my Island School classes should come first, but... hey, little sister's duty to want to do all the things her big sis does. I've always been so curious about the acting and literature classes."
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"Oh, well, maybe next term," she says. If you're still here stays unspoken. "And until then, we can pick one to read together and you'll be ahead of the curve. One of the comedies? Let's see, there's... Midsummer Night's Dream, of course, and Twelfth Night and As You Like It. Much Ado About Nothing."
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"Oh, and there was that guy on the island some time ago who called himself Robin Goodfellow. Not that I talked to him, but when people featured in Shakespearean plays make it to the island, word gets around. Ophelia. Miranda."
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