( for what it's worth, she doesn't mean to rampage across the bridge between their minds, crushing hopes and dreams, setting fire to composure, and letting her own misgivings taint the air they're both breathing. the inside of clarke's mind is set to default stress and anxiety, with a colorful dash of guilt, and arguably the worst part of being broodmates is the ease with which the start of one person blends with the end of another. she doesn't know how to restrain herself, doesn't know she needs to, and thus doesn't.
but — hope. there's a flicker of it in the back of her mind, like a rattled wheeze. maybe, just maybe... )
I guess I will. ( hope not allowed to manifest. the empty static between wanting something so badly it hurts, and already preparing to lose it. her grip tightens on the length of the gun, the faint pressure of ridges cutting into her palms a reminder of where they are and what they're doing besides drowning in uncertainty. )
no subject
but — hope. there's a flicker of it in the back of her mind, like a rattled wheeze. maybe, just maybe... )
I guess I will. ( hope not allowed to manifest. the empty static between wanting something so badly it hurts, and already preparing to lose it. her grip tightens on the length of the gun, the faint pressure of ridges cutting into her palms a reminder of where they are and what they're doing besides drowning in uncertainty. )
Do you want to try the rifle now?