[ Here they are, sitting "silently" next to one another, swathed in layers and layers of robes and cloth. To an outside observer, they probably look strange with the exchange of a silent touch. Asuka's not that worried about appearances now, though. She's just... angry. And sad. And tired.
She stiffens when Clarke touches her. She wants to throw the hand off and tell her to get away. She doesn't want or need pity. She doesn't want hollow words of sympathy and she never has. Her shoulders hunch slightly, as if she's bracing herself for... something. ]
(No it doesn't. It's gone, now. There's no point in crying about it.)
[ And despite that, there's a well of sadness. Tears and exhaustion for herself, for the world that she's lost. ]
no subject
She stiffens when Clarke touches her. She wants to throw the hand off and tell her to get away. She doesn't want or need pity. She doesn't want hollow words of sympathy and she never has. Her shoulders hunch slightly, as if she's bracing herself for... something. ]
( No it doesn't. It's gone, now. There's no point in crying about it. )
[ And despite that, there's a well of sadness. Tears and exhaustion for herself, for the world that she's lost. ]
( I don't need pity. )