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In Clerise's very own opinion, she had been placed without much care or regard into the Life Division. Clarice had briefly touched on the divisions, but really, not that much light had been shed on the situation. She knew that they were scientists or something, and that it...mayybeee had been inaccurately done, this placement.

After all, Clerise Wilson was barely literate, had never completed a science class without cheating, and was clumsier than an intoxicated bovine in a shop full of China.

{[ That is remarkably accurate, ]} Cap'n spoke up from her coat's breast pocket, where he laid in his unsummoned form as an antique silver pocketwatch.

So here she was, exploring. It was her new second home, and Clerise wanted to be accustomed with her surroundings. (She may have been checking for shadows, too, but would never admit it, even though she technically knew better.)

She'd had some opportunities to speak with the other Hunters, and it was a strange thing to attempt, normality. Especially in this world that was nothing but abnormality. On a regular day, Clerise would have at least had the itching of an unpleasant voice in the back of her mind, or seen a shadow too long and jagged to be just the darkness.

But here? It was white coats and white walls, clean edges and metal. No more popcorn and rainbows, the smell of sugar no longer hanging heavy in the air. The iconic red tents were gone, replaced with walls and eerie glowing runes writ upon them.

Some of the other recruits...they were so young. Barely eighteen, and fresh from school or a life in suburbia--normality-- a far cry from her own experience, even though she wouldn't have traded it for the world. She was only twenty four, but some mornings, Clerise felt an ache in her bones from eight years of hard use that reminded her of a mule that was on its way to worn out. It was terrifying to think that the elasticity in her muscles may give out sooner than she'd have like. She stretched religiously for a half hour every morning, desperate to keep the one thing that she had as an asset: her body.

The redhead's internal monologue was rudely interrupted by the sound of chemicals fizzing together, and a smell that sort of combined an overripe banana and ....pinefresh.

{[ It is about time something got your attention in the real world. You're a bit of a dawdler, aren't you? ]}

Ignoring Balthazar, Clerise went towards the sound, blinking owlishly at the tall, broad fellow in the safety gear and gloves, who seemed to be...well. Not pouring the solutions willy nilly, but perhaps...a little more liberally than it was wise.

"I get the feeling you're not mixing kool aid," she offered, orange-red eyes inspect his set up, his face, his coat (branches-- like hers. Life, then?) -- taking him in. Inspecting him. "Is any of that...s**t, you know. ******** flammable?"

Clerise scoffed. "Hey, I'm probably older than you-- don't be calling me kid!" she sniped back, voice laced with a little bit of ice behind her manic smile, teeth bared. In some ways, the circus had practically turned her feral. They were a different breed, carnies-- wide grins and backstabbing and moonshine. Maybe it just brought out what was already there within her, but either way...The acrobat really didn't have any good sense.

"Miss Perfect is a s**t name, I don't think I'm that great," she said, tapping her chin with a smirk. "Just greater than you."

{[ Yes, please. Continue to be a crude little bint, that will undoubtedly win you scores of allies where you need them most: in your own division. ]}

Clerise smacked her side pocket, smacking the pocket watch there, rolling her eyes at his comments.

{[ You realize that I don't feel any physical pain? You do know that, right? You're a ******** idiot. ]}

"Aaaany ******** way, I'm Clerise. At your goddamned service." She tipped an invisible hat, red eyes trained on Robert, curious.

"Clerise, not Clarice. With an ehh sound, not an uhh," the redhead corrected without any real malice, clicking her tongue like an old gypsy mother. "I am not sure if you are aware, but my life's purpose is absolutely to make your personal life a living Hell."

She fiddled with Balthazar for a moment, checking the time.

{[ I already know I'm always two minutes slow. Quit fixing it, you daft little girl. ]} The weapon griped at her a bit more, less words and more quiet grumbling feelings. That certainly didn't make them any kinder, but there were no words associated with the hatred-- just the feeling in the back of her mind.

"Staying out of your way might be a little hard, given the fact that we share a division and you're a borderline giant."

Clerise cocked her head, an unreadable smile on her face.

"Do you want to go work out some of your tension on the training field or something? Show me how living a little longer is done?" The query was offered with a quirked brow and nothing more.

Clerise Wilson was not known for her wizened ways or logical feelings. Not even a little.

He looked ...dead. Like a glassy eyed doll, and she almost wanted to wave a hand behind the man, to see if he was a marionette with strings. It was unnerving enough to make her forget.

"Oh goodie, that means I'll have something in common with people here. Was wondering if I was ever gonna find sommit."

Boldly, Clerise stared up at Robert, head tilted, eyes manic. A challenge was at hand, and that was one thing that she couldn't ever just leave alone. Sleeping dogs and bears both deserved to be poked with sticks.

"Excellence. Meet you on the grounds in fifteen?" An equally shark-like grin matched Robert's, a wild laugh burbling in her throat.

Clerise reached a gauntlet-clad hand upwards, lightly patting the other Life hunter's face.

"It is ON."