::1.3:: Limboland

Snakes!  Snakes on the beach!

See, this is why Hansol hates the outdoors.  Clarissa can say whatever she wants about the health benefits of sunshine and fresh air and exercise, but has she ever seen a snake on the floor of Hansol's wagonhouse?  No.  And that is the true health concern.

 Still, somehow, he always ends up here, or somewhere just as bad, with her.  If he isn't ruining his only set of clothes with salt water, he's getting lost in the woods hunting for mushrooms, or accidentally trespassing on someone's backyard chasing a glitched raccoon.  Clarissa is determined to leave no stone unturned, no oddity uninvestigated, in her search for answers.

"I don't understand what we're even looking for," Hansol complains, up to his shoulders in ocean.

"Anything out of the ordinary," Clarissa reminds him.  She came prepared, it seems, with a swimsuit under her usual skirt and button-up.  She pauses to judge Hansol's own outfit.  "At least take your shoes off."

"'Out of the ordinary' is pretty vague," Hansol replies.  "And no."

None of it is his idea of a good time, but it's nice to have company.

Of course, Hansol much prefers their days spent on research indoors, usually at the library.  Clarissa thinks the library has a "whole lot of nothing," and doesn't trust the mysterious gaps in information, but Hansol--perhaps mostly for his own selfish reasons--tries to convince her there must be something worthwhile hidden somewhere among all those shelves.

And as of late, it's become easier and easier to get distracted.  Hansol tells Clarissa about a particularly eccentric customer from earlier in the day, and it has her laughing harder than he's ever seen before.

"You're actually kind of funny, you know," she tells him, with an unreadable quirk of a smile on her face.  "When you aren't being so grumpy."

Clarissa's own job at the science center begins to take a back burner, as her and Hansol's investigations (or whatever the appropriate word would be) become more involved.  She starts showing up less and less, until she stops showing up at all, and uses her last paycheck to buy what is probably the oldest and most beat-up car in Sunset Valley from one of her former coworkers.

"We could have spent that money on food," bemoans Hansol.

"We'll find you some toadstools in the woods tonight," Clarissa promises.  "This car will make checking the perimeter so much easier."

Now unable to pay her half of the bills, Clarissa moves out of her previous home and into the wagon.  There's hardly enough space for one sim to live, much less two, but she spends most of her time out at the town's barrier, anyway, allowing Hansol to conduct business during the day, and only returns to eat, sleep, and plot her and Hansol's next "quest."  So this new arrangement isn't so bad.

If there' one thing the wagon is sorely lacking, however, it's plumbing.  Hansol, in one of his "less-than-sane" moments (he is not insane, he tells Clarissa, he just has these moments) feeds his only house key to one of the beach snakes, thus making any potential expansions--and general access--impossible.  So, twice-daily visits to the public gym become routine.

Neither Clarissa nor Hansol are particularly assertive, so they take to using rock-paper-scissors as their main method of conflict resolution.  Currently, they're playing to see who has to use the shower with the broken hot water knob.

Clarissa, having the loser trait, loses.

"You're the one with psychic powers!  This isn't fair!"

"I told you," Hansol laughs, "they don't work like that."

Neither of them are exactly sure when they stop searching together and start simply being together.  When Clarissa feels particularly overwhelmed by the caged sensation she just can't shake, listening to Hansol ramble about past lives is oddly comforting; and when Hansol doesn't get paid because he scared away a customer by being too honest, Clarissa doesn't mind putting research on hold to forage on public lots for their dinner.  Even if it's raining!

"We should probably get inside."  Hansol's voice is slightly muted by the downpour, which has been growing steadily heavier.  "Clarissa?  You okay?"

"Hm?  Oh.  Yes." She turns, looks down at the muddy object the fortune teller is holding.  "What's that?"

"It's just a seed, but there's something off about it.  I think it's... glitched."

"Glitched," Clarissa repeats.  He's used that word before, to describe a raccoon they'd seen a few weeks back.  At the time, Clarissa hadn't understood what he meant, but had insisted they give chase anyway; any clue was worth the effort, is what she'd thought then.  Now, she's more focused on the way Hansol wipes his runny nose on the back of his empty hand.  "Like a dysfunctional piece in a computer program?"

"Maybe."  Hansol sniffles; continues.  "There's just something weird about it.  It gives off information when I touch it, kind of like what I see in the plumbobs."

"Code.  You called it code, before."

"Yeah.  But the code of this is... incomplete?  Scrambled?  I can't tell.  It's just off."

Clarissa's heart skips a beat when she sees the seed flicker in Hansol's palm--out of existence one moment, back the next.  She starts to say something--but Hansol lets out a succession of four rapid sneezes before she can.

"Let's go inside," she decides; "You're going to catch your death out here."

Hansol makes her pocket the seed.  She knows this find is probably huge; she should be thrilled, desperate to take the seed home and research it.  Yet, the only thought in her mind is that Hansol needs to put on a jacket, like, now.

When had her priorities started to shift?  And why?

They're skulking around the graveyard one day, one of the few locations in town they had yet to look into.  Hansol is in the middle of griping about the chill in the air and the creepy statue by the front gate and the general unpleasant atmosphere when Clarissa stops, turning abruptly to face him.

"I'm sorry," she frowns; she won't meet his eyes, and instead concentrates on picking a stray hair from his sleeve.  "I've been dragging you around for weeks, even though I know you hate this."

Hansol is a bit taken aback.  "It--it's okay.  Everybody hates graveyards, I guess."

"I don't know what's wrong with me.  Everyone else seems fine living here."  Her hand settles on his arm.  "Even you.  But I--feel so out of place.  Everything is so normal that it's wrong.  It's like I'm in limbo and I can't get out."  She sighs.  "But I also shouldn't be putting you under unnecessary stress to do that.  So... I'm sorry."

"I really don't mind," Hansol says carefully.  "It means I get to spend time with you."

She still won't meet his eyes, but bites her lip to hide a smile.  "Are you sure?"

"Of course.  I know you're miserable here, but... you're the only reason I'm not."

(Ransom Clavell's gravesite is about as romantic a place as any, I suppose.)

The problem isn't resolved, not at its core.  But skies darken, so they head back "home."

Things progress in the typical manner one would expect.

☼

::

Why was Hansol swimming in his everday outfit?  Why didn't he change into his trunks?  Why didn't I notice until I was writing this chapter?  I'm extremely annoyed.  I'll never recover.

Fair warning for next chapter: I know very little about coding, and even less about magic.  So I apologize in advance.

A song I like.  Unrelated, as usual: