And Maybe That's Alright

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It was rather commical really, to see the contrast between the last and the latest message Clark had sent Ophelia. How, over the span of a few days, "I'm not helping" became "fuck it" and then a slew of instructions.

George and Clay had been on call - when were they ever not - when Ophelia, Geo and Jethro burst into George's house claiming that they had needed him more, to which Clay greatly protested. They were lucky that George and Clay hadn't called for anything important, though Clay would argue that basking in one another's company was plenty important - and George would privately agree, but never out loud.

It hadn't taken long to manoeuvre the group to George's couch, George hanging up and calling Clay on his phone instead. They sent off a message saying that they were ready and Clark replied quickly that he would be video calling them and that they had to either mute or stay silent, regardless of what they heard or saw.

It was a rather sketchy ordeal, considering the fact that only Jethro knew of Clark and Damien's relations. Well, it had always been very Clark-fashion to keep every reveal as dramatic as possible.

Soon enough, Jethro's laptop was set up on George's coffee table, screen lighting up with a rather confusing view. It took a second of awkward twisting and turning to figure out that they were on Clark's phone, through the back camera, and that Clark's phone must have been tucked into a shirt pocket - a small fraction of the bottom of the screen was covered by a dark blue fabric.

"Since when has it been of your concern?" A voice rang out, somewhat muffled. Jethro leaned forward to click a key, deciding to screen record the call and to mute themselves.

"Damien?" Clay asked, sounding incredulous, only to be hastily shushed.

Clark's hands came into view at the base of the screen, up in a pose of surrender. Jethro realised, with a sense of panic, that Clark had nothing covering his arms. They were out of view for now, but he wasn't certain it would stay that way. "Woah, no need to get snappy. Ever heard of small talk, old man?"

Damien pulled on the ends of his white button-up shirt sleeves, straightening them. "It is a waste of time. What do you want, Ash?" His voice seemed hoarse and scratched. From disuse or from injury, no one was all too sure.

"I'm not allowed to be a good son and take interest in where you're headed, big guy?" Clark's hands lowered from frame and with them went Jethro's heart rate. The others watched on in a lost kind of confusion. "You remember what the nurse said, no big trips alone." Clark must be insane because his tone held a challenging tease to it that could be heard clear as day.

"Name your price already, bitch, you have stalled long enough." Damien turned to pick his mobile off of the table. For a fraction of a second, directions were visible on the small screen. Clark laughed.

"You've lost your edge. Heading off to someone special that's made you soft?" He pushed instead of answering. All he needed was to make Damien say the words aloud.

Instead, he received a hard slap to the face. Not exactly what he was looking for but, if the others were smart, they could work with it.

"You best be grateful I'm too busy removing George from the picture to stay, or that would be the least of your worries." Damien bit, spinning on his heel and heading for the door. There it was. Clark waited until he was certain that Damien wasn't coming back to pull the phone from his pocket. He switched the camera to face him.