( clary fray trusts easily, no one can dispute that.
if nothing else, this foray into the world of magic and monsters and angels has proven once and for all that she will trust someone with her life even when it defies all logic. even when reality as she knows it is being blatantly challenged. so it makes sense, really, that she trusts sebastian. logic says she barely knows him, says none of them really know him, says he's blonde and english and there's got to be a pop culture reference about villains there, right? there's so many signs that point to at least keeping the guy at arm's length.
so, of course, she trusts him.
it's the early hours of the morning and clary can't sleep -- unsurprising, given the events of the last few days-slash-weeks-slash-months, but no less frustrating. she's made a cursory effort to bring charcoal and paper with her as she wanders the institute, but so far nothing is biting and it's more an exercise in irritation than release. this is supposed to be relaxing.
there's a kind of nook she finally settles in. there's an interesting enough view with a mix of new institute technology and old church structures, and clary has never been much into architectural painting but a change of style might be the very thing that will solve her problems for the night. people are around, the institute is never totally empty, but they're far away enough that she doesn't need to worry about trying to identify the owners of murmured conversations or echoing footsteps. it's enough to be lost in her own world, the one with a blank page and a charcoal between her fingers, poised and ready and--
nothing. )
Come on
( it's a petulant move, one she'll shamefully strike from her memory but she tosses the charcoal sharply against the ground and spits the words out through gritted teeth. she's tense, wound tight with frustration and exhaustion and all the rest, and as she gets up to fetch back the charcoal she's just so damn heavy.
it's all enough that she only notices someone approaching when they're close enough to be in serious danger of catching paper with their face, because when she realises there's someone else witnessing this almost-toddler move she swings around on her heel, journal brandished like a weapon. )
Who is th- Oh! ( and it's back to embarrassment rapidly as clary quickly withdraws her savage attack. ) Sebastian! I'm- God, I'm sorry, it's just.....been a long night?
( ...please don't have caught the whole pencil throwing thing... )
[ It's what he loves about Clary--there's a lot of things he loves about her, even if from afar, even if only meeting her in a few short days. This is one of many, how when she draws and concentrates it's nothing but her and the world, nothing but absolute calm, absolute peace, even if she's getting frustrated.
Like now, as Sebastian (he's Sebastian now, not Jonathan, he must be careful), he can't help but smile as the paper ball bounces off his right shoulder and he's met with a very frustrated, very beautiful Clary Fairchild with a journal within striking distance. ]
I'd hate to be a Shax demon that's cornered you.
[ The smile shows too much teeth, but his eyes are kind. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gimme mr. fake news
if nothing else, this foray into the world of magic and monsters and angels has proven once and for all that she will trust someone with her life even when it defies all logic. even when reality as she knows it is being blatantly challenged. so it makes sense, really, that she trusts sebastian. logic says she barely knows him, says none of them really know him, says he's blonde and english and there's got to be a pop culture reference about villains there, right? there's so many signs that point to at least keeping the guy at arm's length.
so, of course, she trusts him.
it's the early hours of the morning and clary can't sleep -- unsurprising, given the events of the last few days-slash-weeks-slash-months, but no less frustrating. she's made a cursory effort to bring charcoal and paper with her as she wanders the institute, but so far nothing is biting and it's more an exercise in irritation than release. this is supposed to be relaxing.
there's a kind of nook she finally settles in. there's an interesting enough view with a mix of new institute technology and old church structures, and clary has never been much into architectural painting but a change of style might be the very thing that will solve her problems for the night. people are around, the institute is never totally empty, but they're far away enough that she doesn't need to worry about trying to identify the owners of murmured conversations or echoing footsteps. it's enough to be lost in her own world, the one with a blank page and a charcoal between her fingers, poised and ready and--
nothing. )
Come on
( it's a petulant move, one she'll shamefully strike from her memory but she tosses the charcoal sharply against the ground and spits the words out through gritted teeth. she's tense, wound tight with frustration and exhaustion and all the rest, and as she gets up to fetch back the charcoal she's just so damn heavy.
it's all enough that she only notices someone approaching when they're close enough to be in serious danger of catching paper with their face, because when she realises there's someone else witnessing this almost-toddler move she swings around on her heel, journal brandished like a weapon. )
Who is th- Oh! ( and it's back to embarrassment rapidly as clary quickly withdraws her savage attack. ) Sebastian! I'm- God, I'm sorry, it's just.....been a long night?
( ...please don't have caught the whole pencil throwing thing... )
no subject
Like now, as Sebastian (he's Sebastian now, not Jonathan, he must be careful), he can't help but smile as the paper ball bounces off his right shoulder and he's met with a very frustrated, very beautiful Clary Fairchild with a journal within striking distance. ]
I'd hate to be a Shax demon that's cornered you.
[ The smile shows too much teeth, but his eyes are kind. ]
Something on your mind?