(no subject)

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

(OOC: Following this bit of Canonpuncture and breakage ...)

Clarice is hunched up in a chair by the fire, still wearing her sundress. She has not changed clothes. She has not slept. She reads her copy of "Silence of the Lambs" with a kind of desperate attention, but every so often she has to set it down.


[Summary: Clarice is broken, broken, broken. Meg and Angua give her practical advice, she confesses some things to Barry, she therapizes talks to Ron about Harry and being fictional, the Opera Ghost serenades her creepily, and Aziraphael is at a loss for advice.]

Comments

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

"That's what I was doing," Clarice said. "Bigby didn't fire me straight off, so I thought I had a chance. And then this hit. If I wasn't fit for the job before, I'm sure not now."

[silverageflash.livejournal.com]

Barry grows a look of true surprise.

"Bigby fired you? I didn't even know he'd hired you.

"That's a shame. Really. Because, even if you really are too close to this case, we need someone with your skills here."

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

"Well, he hasn't fired me yet," she says, "but he wasn't pleased that I didn't tell him exactly how close to the case I am. I ... I think I have to let him know about this."

She smiles. "Thank you."

[silverageflash.livejournal.com]

"You're a pro. And you faced down people that would give me pause. You belong doing this kind of work.

"If I see Bigby, which I never do, or Tim, I'll talk to them about you. Can't hurt to try."

[no-more-chianti.livejournal.com]

Clarice smiles again. "Thanks, Barry."