( this man, this one right here — feels muted. he's oh so present, and commands attention with the sharp edged words that has her gaze snapping to his face immediately, but it's different. lacks the vivid realism between herself and mat cauthon, and the visceral push-pull of anger she's sharing with rust cohle. there's no shared desire to flee like with kaji, and he doesn't fit into either of the shapes carved out by their more distant companions, down planet side. but broodmates or not, very few things will ever cut through clarke griffin's anger or shatter her resolve like bellamy blake.
the wary expression she'd worn whilst he'd preened? yeah, that melts like ice before a flame as the imprint of a memory not her own is pressed upon her, folded neatly into her mind for evaluation. she blinks at the darkling without really seeing him for a long moment, caught up in a swirl of new, mixed emotions and unfinished questions — i, how, where, bellamy? there's the undertone of confusion, too; trying to match these memories with ones alongside her own. but the most readily available is the sense of reassurance, the comfort, the strength lent when she'd reached blindly for him in polis, and he'd taken her hand. but that doesn't line up. that'd been just a few minutes ago. maybe longer? start with bellamy blake. either way, sentimentality had no place in a war zone.
if he were here, no matter where here really was, she needs to find him. and while the confrontational wild-child disposition clarke had embodied a few moments earlier is all but ruined by her own fierce feelings leaking through her mind, and freely displayed on her face before she can school her features. clarke's her best imitation of sharp and authoritative when crowding into the darkling's personal space. when demanding — )
Where? Where is he?
( — in a harsh, emotion choked growl. but the line between commanding answers and begging for them is thin, and one she dances with absolutely very little regard; please and now twisting in her chest, heavy handed suspicion knitting her brow while a particularly vulnerable line of worry carves around her mouth. )
the crosscanon cr of my dreams !!!!
the wary expression she'd worn whilst he'd preened? yeah, that melts like ice before a flame as the imprint of a memory not her own is pressed upon her, folded neatly into her mind for evaluation. she blinks at the darkling without really seeing him for a long moment, caught up in a swirl of new, mixed emotions and unfinished questions — i, how, where, bellamy? there's the undertone of confusion, too; trying to match these memories with ones alongside her own. but the most readily available is the sense of reassurance, the comfort, the strength lent when she'd reached blindly for him in polis, and he'd taken her hand. but that doesn't line up. that'd been just a few minutes ago. maybe longer? start with bellamy blake. either way, sentimentality had no place in a war zone.
if he were here, no matter where here really was, she needs to find him. and while the confrontational wild-child disposition clarke had embodied a few moments earlier is all but ruined by her own fierce feelings leaking through her mind, and freely displayed on her face before she can school her features. clarke's her best imitation of sharp and authoritative when crowding into the darkling's personal space. when demanding — )
Where? Where is he?
( — in a harsh, emotion choked growl. but the line between commanding answers and begging for them is thin, and one she dances with absolutely very little regard; please and now twisting in her chest, heavy handed suspicion knitting her brow while a particularly vulnerable line of worry carves around her mouth. )