Oh god so I had the most Clae Kutner moment of my life the other day at work
The cooks made an extra order of over-hard eggs and I was hungry so I decided to eat them, but I only wanted the yolks
So I’m peeling the yolks out with my fingers and suddenly I notice that three other waiters have stopped on the line and are just watching me in total horror
And I glared at them like a deer in headlights kicking into fight-or-flight mode and then just walked off and the shift leader followed behind me and I was just like
“I only wanted the yolks”
14 y/o Clae finding Lise preparing to take some opium after retching up some blood in the sink and Lise telling her about the time Grandma Denise locked her in an ice box and she suffered organ damage from the long period of starvation, dehydration, and hypothermia, and sometimes she’s alright and other times she tries to look like she is but every breath is a knife
It’s through a drunken haze that Clae manages to activate the floo and call her parents’ house. “Kutner residence, Cam on the line,” her little brother answers, and, seeing as she’s collapsed facedown on the living room sofa, all that comes out of her mouth for a second is a muffled groan.
“What’s that, sis?”
She shifts on the couch. “Tell Mum and Dad--” she begins, but her voice is hoarse and cracks over every word, so she coughs a bit and tries again. “Tell Mum and Dad I’m not gonna make it down for dinner and a killing spree this year.”
“Awe, why?”
“Clarice? Clarice, is that you?” she hears her mother’s voice call from a distance. Mum draws closer to the hearth and says, “How wonderful to hear from you? We’ll see you tonight with the whole family?”
“I can’t come,” Clae slurs. “I ruined the pie.”
“Is that Clae on the floo?” That’s Dad’s voice, and Clae’s insides drop.
“What’s wrong, baby girl?”
“I CAN’T COME TO DINNER, I RUINED THE PIE!”
Her head is going to explode if she has to repeat herself one more time.
“Well, store bought is fine--”
“I can’t GO to the store because I have to CLEAN ALL THE PIE OFF MY WALL BEFORE OLIVER GETS HOME WITH THE CHILDREN, AND I JUST HAD THREE BOTTLES OF CABERNET AND I CAN’T MOVE AND AND EVERYTHING’S SPINNING--”
She tries to get up, but falls facefirst on the rug, and Dad asks, “Wait, why is there pie on your wall?”
“I threw it...”
“She always had your temper, love,” Mum says in the background. “Try and calm down, Clae, it’s just a pie.”
“It is NEVER JUST A PIE, THOUGH! It’s a symbol of a rebellion against EVERYTHING you and Dad had to fight through, and without your fight, without all your suffering, we would have NOTHING!”
Or maybe that’s just what she’s been telling herself to get to sleep at night--that somehow because the world broke her parents like a couple of karate boards, this family’s whole entire empire of destruction is somehow justified.
“Clae, want we should come over and help you out?” asks Mum.
“No, don’t, just--”
“Baby gi--” Dad starts to say, but he never gets to finish his sentence.
“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UUUUP!”
Don’t get her wrong. She and Dad have always been close. But that’s just the problem, isn’t it?
The things she’d done as his accomplice...the people she’d thrown under the bus to keep his praise coming...
Most of those people were people she’d have sent to their graves anyway for a cheap laugh, but she’d never forgiven herself for the awful things she’d done to her own sister.
She and Kristen used to love each other. They’d played tag. They’d built snowmen.
What happened?
After the war, she thought long and hard, and she got into the habit of drinking a lot, and when she got drunk enough, she would sob, just like she was sobbing now, and repeat, “I’m sorry, Kristen, I’m sorry, Kristen, I’m sorry, Kristen, I’m sorry.”
-
When she comes to, her father is helping her sit up on the floor, while her mother surveys the house, muttering, “Oh my God...oh my God...”
“You alright there, baby girl?” asks Dad, and she doesn’t know which way to answer.
She doesn’t remember when she lost consciousness, and when she throws up all over her father’s shoes, it’s all cabernet sauvignon.
Which of your villainous Oc's do you have the hardest time writing?
Probably Clae because she doesn’t really have much of an agenda of her own, outside of doing her own thing, eating pizza, lounging around in pastel velour tracksuits and teaching herself Cantonese for fun. She doesn’t do evil stuff because of any personal reasons--she does it because Phillip tells her to and she’s a daddy’s girl.
All my others have this tortured past that explains why they’re so cold to the world. Clae never suffered a day in her life; she’s just following orders, and that’s a mindset that I can’t personally understand, even though I’m the one writing her that way.
