"You know," Claudia groaned, slouching down in her seat. "I kind of figured I'd left the weirdness hangovers behind when I graduated high school."

Myka leaned over and put one hand on her forehead. "You are still a little warm."

"But not flaming. So, you know, I have that going for me."

Myka sighed. "You did fine, Claudia."

"My first real assignment as an agent --" Claudia raised a hand when Myka opened her mouth. "-- I know, apprentice agent -- and I almost get myself nuked by Viking spoon, and had to be rescued by a 19th century literary figure gone rogue."

Myka shrugged. "Which . . . is pretty much fine."

Claudia shot her a very suspicious look.

"It is," she insisted. "Almost getting killed is part of the job. A really terrible part, but part. You're going to make a great agent."

"Yeah, well. I guess this time I at least didn't end up craving human flesh."

"Wait, what?"

"Nothing. High school. You know how that goes."

Myka shook her head. "You know, the more you talk about it, the more I'm pretty sure that I really, really don't."

[ooc: lala, a coda for W13 2x7. Open for phone calls and the like on slow play, if anyone wants.]

( In which Claudia tries to figure out relationships. And also, the Warehouse tries to kill her, again. But mostly, it's about relationships. )

Relationships sucked.

[ooc: vastly paraphrased from the episode "13.1". NFI, as Claudia's phone is 'sploded, but OOC is always welcome.]

For once, Claudia actually wasn't tinkering with something on the floor. Artie had her running searches for any pings on Ben Franklin's kite string -- she could have sworn that whole thing was a myth! -- so she was lounging on her bed while her handbuilt computer program trawled across the web for anything that screamed "two-hundred-year-old electrified twine".

Such was life as a Warehouse intern.

[ooc: expecting one, but also open.]

Claudia was in a very good mood today. Her classes this semester were, like, the definition of easy (movies and construction? Yes, please!), Artie actually gave her the weekend off on doing inventory at the Warehouse, and she'd even gotten to spend much of last night meeting new people, eating quality Italian food, and making out with the hot new blind guy on his roommate's bed.

For revenge's sake, of course. Claudia didn't just make out with guys on their roommates' beds all willy-nilly.

So when she got back from Art of Scrap, today, she decided it was time for an impromptu one woman dance party. She put on some Talking Heads -- thanks to Scully, she was totally rocking the new wave vibe this week -- and rocked out.

Well, until she turned her ankle, tripped over nothing, and fell headlong to the floor.

"Ow," she grumbled into the carpet. Something green and scaly darted out from under her bed and her eyes went wide. "Oh no. Oh no no no no --" She tried to roll away, but wasn't fast enough. The gremlin bit her hard on the left hand, and Claudia's "no"s tapered off until she was staring dreamily at the ceiling.

"I think I want . . . meatballs," she decided, then pushed herself up to wobble off to the common room in search of cooking implements.

[ooc: establishy, with a common room post to go up momentarily!]

It was a little bit disturbing that the entirety of what Claudia knew still existed of the universe consisted of the school grounds. There was something deeply existential about it, and she was starting to get a little bit afraid to blink, for fear that the rest of the world would disappear entirely and she'd wake up in a mental institution back in Minneapolis or something.

She was also getting very curious about the force field and how it functioned to hold back the Nothing that surrounded them, however precariously. She knew going outside was dangerous as hell right now, but if she could figure it out, maybe she could at least jury rig something together to help shore the thing up. So there she was, several feet from the edge of everything, with a big bucket of miscellaneous objects, food-stuffs, and charge generators, throwing them at the force field and watching them disappear from existence.

She'd managed to determine conclusively that if you threw stuff at the force field, it disappeared. She was about to embark on a circuit of the thing to test for weak spots when she tripped over the slightly exposed root of an otherwise non-existent tree. She flailed for balance, one of her finger tips just barely grazing the force field.

Anyone else observing might note that if you threw Claudias at the force field, they disappeared, too.

[ooc: NFI]

Claudia came back from the causeway looking the very definition of downtrodden. She'd spent all day trying to book a trip to Geneva without having to be rerouted through places of which only Azerbaijan even sounded familiar with no success, and now Scully was stranded in Baltimore instead of back in the dorms where she damn well belonged.

She made it back to her room just in time to hear her phone beep. She pulled it out, found a number that more closely resembled an IP address than anything phone related, and frowned. She hit play and listened to the message.

When it was done, she stared at her phone. "WHAT THE HELL," she told it. "PHONES ARE NOT FOR TROLLING, DICKBAG."

[ooc: establishy but also open should anyone want to stop by.]

Claudia had barely made it to class yesterday, and once she'd seen they were doing a movie, had spent the whole time brainstorming in her notebook.

Why? Well, see, this weekend she'd gotten a really terrible voicemail. And it was the kind of thing she couldn't not follow up on.

Too bad she was running into dead-ends whatever she tried. Not that it was ever easy to hack into another dimension entirely to trace phone records.

Then she got the email from Portalocity.

"Technical difficulties, huh? Does that mean you broke my friend's dimension?"

What? It made as much sense as any other explanation.

[ooc: door is mostly closed, post is entirely open.]

Claudia had come back to South Dakota for Fall Break only to discover that things with the creepy former Warehouse agent, some skeeze-ball named "MacPherson", had upped his game, trapping Myka's parents using Jack the Ripper's lantern and threatening the crap out of Myka and Pete.

Which, you know, was exciting.

Artie had put Claudia immediately to work on the computers, trying to track down where MacPherson would end up next. He'd stolen Edgar Allen Poe's pen and notebook, giving them a small lead on tracking him down.

"Woah. Got a hit." Claudia shifted slightly to give Artie a clearer view of her laptop. "Apparently MacPherson decided to put Poe's pen up for auction on eBay. So, you know, either he's an idiot, or --"

"Here, click to see what other items the seller has for sale --"

"-- Wait, Artie, don't --" Claudia groaned. "-- You know, I always run a virus check before clicking unknown websites."

Artie looked abashed at the laughing skull that had appeared on the computer screen. "Ah, yes, good idea. Uh, maybe if you --"

"No touchy!"

It was going to be a long week.

[ooc: lalalala, vacations mean time for canon catch up!]

The rocks were gray, and so was Claudia. And frankly, she was totally planning on staying right here until she was back to normal and she maybe managed to forget about the whole "eating raw, mutated creatures" thing.

Hey, being a hermit was all the rage, right? She could probably find a cave or something to live in.

[ooc: pretty much establishy, yes.]

For info on my new girl, go here. For the rest, you get mostly copy-and-paste.

SO WHO WAS PHONE -- wait, wrong pasting.

( The mad scientist )

( The angel, expatriated )

( The punk, alumn . . . iated? )

( The mun, with the head full of desktop publishing )