"I heard once that Shari Lewis liked to order lambchops every time she went to a restaurant, just to shake people up," says Chance. "Heard it on a trivia show. On NPR."
Yeah, so she has listened to NPR on occasion. So?
"That was before I ended up here, of course. Here the only radio station you can really get is the student radio station, and that gets a little weird."
"You know, when I was younger I really loved Shari Lewis. Now she's just kind of this pathetic old grandmother that you visit in the nursing home once a year. Is she even alive?" Clementine smiles and offers her right hand.
"Hi, I'm Clementine. Um, where the hell are we? And why am I in some sort of stone chamber." She sighs and shakes her head. "Did I get drunk and go to Medieval Times again?"
"I'm Chance Silvey." She shakes the offered hand. Chance's hands are blunt-nailed, hardened from work though she hasn't been at a dig or out in the field since she died. "And we're not at Medieval Times. This is a magic school in Scotland. Called Hogwarts. I don't think you're drunk."
Chance has a lot of experience telling when someone is drunk. Having been married to a confirmed alcoholic will do that.
Clem slowly releases Chance's hand and shoots her a strange look. "I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you right, a magic school... in Scotland? That... That's impossible. How on Earth would I have gotten here? I mean, you don't just fall asleep and sleepwalk to Scotland!"
She laughs for a moment before pausing, "Do they?"
"What were you trying to erase?" Claire asked, leaning against a wall. She had been trying to erase a memory or two at the Ravenclaw bar. "Would you still get rid of it?"
"Well, we tried to erase each other. The entire relationship. Everything. And it worked for a while, except then we started to remember each other and we met on this beach later on without a reason why and well... yeah. Long story short, it didn't work. But the second time around it was harsh and a bad breakup. But that's what relationships are. They're good until they go sour. You live and you learn." She sighs and shrugs happily.
"How are you able to erase everything?" she asked. "I would think that it would be... pleasant, if it worked. Much better than the pills and the drinks and the bad men. Have you tried that yet?"
"Believe me, honey, alcohol and I have a sordid love affair that has had it's ups and downs as well. Alcohol might as well be a man, the way it treats me." She looks around, "Speaking of which, where can I get a drink around here?"
She continues to look, hoping for a door but not really seeing much, as it's too dark in here; darker than Joel's stupid apartment. "As for the everything, it's a process. A, uh, um... you know, a procedure. Medical and all that jazz."
Clementine tilts her head and shoots the man a 'Bitch, please' look before stepping over to answer. "If you were reading correctly, I said that it has been a claim that that's how I get people to like me. It is not, however, a fact. It has never been proved."
Ian shrugged. "I'm perfectly willing to put the question in hypothetical terms. If it were the case, for some hypothetical person, would it be effective?"
She grins smugly, as trying to avoid the topic has failed her. "Well, hypothetically, of course... truth be told, I'm very good in bed. But, say that this person didn't enjoy sex. Say this person was a gay man, or just someone who wasn't attracted to me, well then you could say that sleeping with the person would have the exact opposite of intended effect."
She continues with her grin and crosses her arms firmly across her chest.
Mr. Wednesday, who happened to be thousands of years old (if such a thing could be quantified), disregarded the remark about the man in the Barney suit and chose to focus on other aspects of the application and the applicant. This was a charming young woman with a lot of personality and a decent rack. Besides, Wednesday didn't wear a Barney suit now or ever. Today, as usual, he was dressed like a well-to-do businessman (much the same way he'd first appeared to Shadow, for that matter). He didn't look young but he sure as hell didn't look anywhere near his age.
"Perhaps the mind-erasing procedure had a little glitch," he suggested. "It's not so strange you should find yourself in an unfamiliar place, if scientists have been wiping out swathes of your memory. Myself, I find memory priceless."
She turns to face the elder man, taking in his outfit and his demeanor. "Well, yeah it did obviously, if we never fully left each other's minds. Or maybe they just forgot something. The entire process was based on memories about objects we remembered. Something could have slipped by. Plus, nobody's memory is excellent. What's a procedure if it's just a little bit of your mind you don't want anymore? I'd pay lots of money to get parts of my memory back that's been long lost."
She cocks her head and smiles with a quizzical look on her face. "And the name's Clementine. And you are...?"
He gave her his most charming and least alarming of smiles. "You can call me Wednesday. Mr. Wednesday, if you feel like being formal, which I hope you won't." At this moment he was the sort of man you might meet in an airport bar between international flights, the sort of man you might chat up or allow to chat you up, and maybe you could do some business, and maybe you could do something more than business, because you would find to your surprise that you were waiting for the very same flight ... Wednesday had that kind of look, that kind of luck.
"Memory's a funny thing," said Mr. Wednesday to Clementine. "I'm sure you'll remember what you're meant to, when you need to know it."
Clem laughs and nods. "Wednesday? Like the day of the week? That's interesting." Clementine is still staring at the man as if he's some distant speck that only if you could get closer you'd know what it is, but right now you're just too far away. "And Wednesday, you should know, I am never formal."
She shrugs, "Maybe I'm remembering less than I want to for a reason that my mind isn't telling me. What about that?"
Comments 128
Yeah, so she has listened to NPR on occasion. So?
"That was before I ended up here, of course. Here the only radio station you can really get is the student radio station, and that gets a little weird."
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"Hi, I'm Clementine. Um, where the hell are we? And why am I in some sort of stone chamber." She sighs and shakes her head. "Did I get drunk and go to Medieval Times again?"
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Chance has a lot of experience telling when someone is drunk. Having been married to a confirmed alcoholic will do that.
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She laughs for a moment before pausing, "Do they?"
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"His name was Joel and he was... nice."
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She continues to look, hoping for a door but not really seeing much, as it's too dark in here; darker than Joel's stupid apartment. "As for the everything, it's a process. A, uh, um... you know, a procedure. Medical and all that jazz."
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"Does that work? Sleeping with people to get them to like you?"
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She continues with her grin and crosses her arms firmly across her chest.
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"Perhaps the mind-erasing procedure had a little glitch," he suggested. "It's not so strange you should find yourself in an unfamiliar place, if scientists have been wiping out swathes of your memory. Myself, I find memory priceless."
Memory was one of his ravens.
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She cocks her head and smiles with a quizzical look on her face. "And the name's Clementine. And you are...?"
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"Memory's a funny thing," said Mr. Wednesday to Clementine. "I'm sure you'll remember what you're meant to, when you need to know it."
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She shrugs, "Maybe I'm remembering less than I want to for a reason that my mind isn't telling me. What about that?"
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