( his balls are safe. at least for now, she's more the type to cut with words initially; knives, bullets, explosives. and kneecaps are something of a lady resort. )
Don't worry, I'll try not to sit next to you.
( what's that? a glimpse of could-be humor, if only she didn't sound quite so cagey and serious about everything? maybe.
they're hustled through the door in a rather morose line, and outside there's sunlight. outside there's building, and gum on the pavement, birds on telephone wires, and cars nicer than any she's ever ridden in; old world technology that's nowhere near advanced as the ark, but still manages to look sleek and pristine. the old romantic in her, the one that had pored over books in history, had drawn landscapes and trees and cities on her cell walls, had dreamed of earth since she was a child almost wants to stop on the sidewalk and look around, gaze at everything that wasn't destroyed or covered in moss, and try to determine how traveling back through time fit in with this sick game as well.
but her love for things as insignificant as warehouse paneling and distant cranes had died a while ago. these new surroundings are filed away to be dissected with interest at a later date, when she was alone — and had showered, thank you very much, rude stranger.
clarke's eyes dart around like she's thinking about making a run for it all the way up until she's clambering into the back of the limousine, making a light mess of the recently detailed interior with the dirt off her shoes. and maybe, while she can be flatly humorous in times of high pressure, the universe can be down right hilarious — because of course she winds up in a corner of a tightly packed car with her new best friend that somehow knows how to push 80% of her buttons. )
no subject
Don't worry, I'll try not to sit next to you.
( what's that? a glimpse of could-be humor, if only she didn't sound quite so cagey and serious about everything? maybe.
they're hustled through the door in a rather morose line, and outside there's sunlight. outside there's building, and gum on the pavement, birds on telephone wires, and cars nicer than any she's ever ridden in; old world technology that's nowhere near advanced as the ark, but still manages to look sleek and pristine. the old romantic in her, the one that had pored over books in history, had drawn landscapes and trees and cities on her cell walls, had dreamed of earth since she was a child almost wants to stop on the sidewalk and look around, gaze at everything that wasn't destroyed or covered in moss, and try to determine how traveling back through time fit in with this sick game as well.
but her love for things as insignificant as warehouse paneling and distant cranes had died a while ago. these new surroundings are filed away to be dissected with interest at a later date, when she was alone — and had showered, thank you very much, rude stranger.
clarke's eyes dart around like she's thinking about making a run for it all the way up until she's clambering into the back of the limousine, making a light mess of the recently detailed interior with the dirt off her shoes. and maybe, while she can be flatly humorous in times of high pressure, the universe can be down right hilarious — because of course she winds up in a corner of a tightly packed car with her new best friend that somehow knows how to push 80% of her buttons. )