station72 | [ OPEN ] Hot Springs Episode!

We shouldn't have to wait.

[ Said with all the conviction of someone who is convinced they need to bright all of the time. She shifts a little lower in the water with a pout, giving Clarke a look that's somewhere between pleading and irritated. ]

No one's bothered me yet, but you know how boys are. One of them is gonna do something. I know it.

[ She does not have a high opinion of men, apparently. ]

( apparently.

now, clarke has had her fair share of negative to neutral interactions with the people in the makeup of the nest, maybe even outweighing the positive ones. but she still takes a careful sweep of the pool occupants, dutifully not lingering on any one person and quick to turn back to asuka with a cajoling smile. )

No one's going to try anything like that. These are good people.

( and kaji told her she didn't know how to tell a lie, pft. )

Yeah, right. You really think everyone here is a "good person"?

[ Yeah, Clarke can practically hear the air quotes. She shakes her head. ]

Get real. We're not here because we're good people, we're here because we agreed to, for whatever reason. To fight a war. That doesn't mean that any of us are good.

[ Asuka is horrifically cynical. ]

( more pressingly, horrifyingly right. in fact, her vitriol hits so close to home it's all clarke can do to keep from physically blanching and curling in on herself amidst the dark, perfumed water. her features shift, rearranging from almost playful ribbing to something softer, sadder, more appraising in the way she looks at asuka's face; takes in the eyepatch, the disgruntled set of her jaw, her youth. it's odd, looking at someone only a few years her junior and feeling terribly, inexplicably old.

clarke bites her tongue for the span of a few heartbeats, eventually dragging her gaze to observe the delicate way water droplets ran down her fingertips when she lifted a hand from the sauna bath. )

I guess that depends on what you consider good to be. So what does it mean to you?

[ Asuka glances back at Clarke, keeping herself settled, eye searching her expression for... something. As if she can suss out what she's thinking without having to go diving into their mind link. She doesn't like doing that; honestly, she'd like to be able to wall herself off entirely sometimes. But that's not really possible anymore, is it? ]

I don't know.

[ She admits that without much reluctance. ]

Maybe none of us are good.

( it takes a good bit of effort not to sigh in morose agreement and lend to whatever bitter world views asuka holds. the dichotomy between good and evil is — rough. hazy and grey. the line between a good person and a bad person invariably shifted, depending entirely on which side of the equation one stood on. it's a tired argument, and one clarke has had with herself many times over. the question remains unanswered: can a good person remain a good person if they're forced to do terrible things?

it takes surprisingly less effort to drum up a smile again, and flick a few droplets of water at asuka with a husk of playfulness. )

We're supposed to be relaxing, not agonizing over the philosophy of mankind.

[ Asuka sputters and raises a hand to ward off the little flick of water. She shoots a look at Clarke and returns the salvo with one of her own, flicking water back at her with a snort. ]

I'm not agonizing. Just pointing out the obvious. People are assholes.

[ She has first-hand experience on this. Most of the authority figures in her life have been nothing but quietly neglectful or outright cruel. ]

( clarke accepts the return fire amicably, even if she has to turn slightly and use her wrist to wipe at the droplet that landed in her eye. )

What about your friends?

I don't have any friends.

[ Not... strictly true, but it depends on how you interpret friends. ]

Kaji isn't my friend. Misato isn't. Definitely not Shinji!

( well, she can't fault you for those first two, kiddo, they're not her friends either. and honestly, clarke doesn't have a lot of ground to stand on when it comes to pushing the idea of friendships being important, having very recently somehow managed to sabotage all of her old ones and really only sorta beginning to trust a single member of her brood. but.

still. )

What about everyone else? The people you've met here.

( if she sounds a little distracted, it's from chewing over the name shinji; it fits on her tongue and yet a face she can't place. a borrowed familiarity, a personal frustration for knowing people without knowing them. )

I dunno.

[ Asuka shrugs, as if she's determined not to give Clarke ammunition for their discussion. Almost like it's a competition. Which is unfair, because she thinks highly of Shepard, Seviilia, Lakshmi - but she's not sure she'd call them friends. Not really.

Lavellan had been the closest thing to a "friend" and he was gone.

A face flickers into her thoughts - Shinji Ikari. Dark hair and eyes, a bit scrawny. Meek. Or at least he looks it. Inoffensive. ]

I don't really have friends.

Edited 2017-11-19 07:48 (UTC)

That sounds lonely.

( quiet and thoughtful. this is clarke griffin less passing judgment, more so reflecting on these last few days separated from her people by bridges of their own mutual burning. in title lexa, bellamy, and murphy were still her closest friends in the nest, but the anger, tension, and pain that had engulfed their entire tent the night before the funeral is still a fresh memory. the disconnect had been palpable, each of them walling themselves into isolated corners. and it was so inexplicably lonely to be at odds with the people you trusted the most.

behind the agitated grief and frustration, clarke can imagine it's even worse to have not had people like that to begin with.

long story short, life is a lot harder to deal with when you're alienated from your support system. )

So? I don't like people.

[ Which is true and isn't true. She doesn't want to rely on others (she knows that), but she also doesn't want to be alone. She hates being alone - but she also hates the idea of needing others. It's a strange paradox, one she hasn't yet worked out for herself. One day, she will. She's not there yet, though. What good were people who left you, anyway? ]

Maybe I don't care about being lonely.

( it's a statement so confident and yet so full of glaring holes that it has clarke physically blanching as if momentarily forgetting her pained expressions aren't still hidden behind their veils. she winces, thoughts curled in on themselves: the solace of being alone in the woods with no one to look out for except herself, the vulnerability. the rage and contempt she'd felt for being forcibly dragged back to civilization, and all the hurt — turns out seeing the faces of her people again hadn't so much reminded her every day of what she'd done to get them there, but more eviscerated her with all the pain and loss and concern and fear held in their eyes.

but there's the strength drawn from others. the comfort of knowing you could depend on the people at your back. the peace of mind found only in the arms of someone you cared about.

everyone deserved to have that. )

Why come sit over by me then? ( it's gentle, not derisive. like she's trying to coax asuka towards the idea of friendship being one of the many gifts of life instead of dismissing her from her side. it's accompanied by another flick of water, see? casual camaraderie isn't so bad. ) It can't just be because you dislike me less than anyone else here.

[ Asuka has the momentary vindication of seeing Clarke blanch, but Clarke's also one of the people who helped her hold it together after Lavellan's death, so it's a relatively short-lived victory. The cold satisfaction fades into a sort of bitterness that the water can't really wash away. It's the paradox of getting what she thinks she wants and immediately hating it. That's been her life and even if she's learning, there's still a deep well of self-loathing for her to draw on. Especially when Clarke decides to challenge her. She frowns and sinks in the water until it's up to chin. Her gaze slides away from Clarke and her expression sours.

She does send a sloshing wave of water back at her, though.Stop flicking things at her, Clarke. ]

Maybe I do dislike you less. Or maybe you were just here so I didn't have a choice.

( sorry child, this wannabe adult won't stop attempting to play water games with you until you relent and admit that we're friends.

this time, clarke's features constrict into a vague mask of amusement. maybe it's the water leeching the various aches and pains of the long walk across the great plains, or simply easing tension she hadn't even realized she'd been holding in her shoulders and back, but she snorts amicably. just like her less, huh? there's a strain of self-deprecating agreement that wants clarke to nod resignedly and accept that's the best she'll get. but at the same time she has a point to prove.

still careful to keep her voice light and devoid of judgment, she gestures openly around them. )

This great big pool and a couple little ones over there, and you didn't have a choice? ( bull-fucking-shit, asuka langley soryu. ) You could not have gotten in, just gone back to the rooms and taken a hot bath. I thought about doing that.

Shut up.

[ Asuka's retort isn't quite as venomous as it could be, but it's certainly a step up from where it's been before. She can't really get any lower in the water without inhaling it, so she stays where she is, still fixing Clarke wit ha slightly icy look, despite the heat. Still, there's an acknowledgement of kinship there. Or at least something vaguely friendly and grateful for assistance earlier. ]

I mean, you helped me.

[ Once. Or twice. Or a few times. ]

I still don't like people.

( that feels like the most she'll get here, all the ground in this conversation that asuka will willingly surrender. and at least for now, that's enough. clarke turns her head ever so slightly, like that's enough to hide the bemused smile that's become a permanent resident on her face. there's humor on her features, but beneath that, a sad kind of hope; holding out the idea that somewhere, sometime, asuka would let up on her obstinant loneliness and maybe get a measure of relief that comes from having someone to rely upon.

a friend. best friend.

clarke misses all of hers, even the ones circling around this very room. )

You're really stubborn. ( affectionate and warm; kindred, maybe even sisterly. like if they weren't naked and uncomfortable, clarke might reach out to ruffle asuka's hair. ) I don't like a lot of people either, but I like you.

[ Asuka's never really had a best friend before. Or... any friend that wasn't particularly superficial. So she doesn't know the feeling of being able to confide in someone without fear of hurt or betrayal or letting herself down. It's an alien feeling to her. Completely and utterly. She keeps her gaze away, still mentally scowling to (at) herself.

Until Clarke speaks up again and she finds her face turning red. And not from the heat of the water. It's the stupidly open way that Clarke has admitted to liking her and - it makes something flutter. ]

Hey! No one asked you to say that...!

( gosh asuka, what a cutie.

this is as close to feeling like genuinely laughing — a chuckle unattached to tragedy or forced through the manipulation of the symbiote — that clarke's felt in a long, long time. and after recent events, she leans into the emotion a little too readily, allowing asuka's indignant offense to kindness and outburst to wash over and reinvigorate her. )

I know. That's the point. You may not need or even want my affirmation, but I'm going to give it to you anyway.

Shut up.

[ Asuka mutters in a surly voice, still blushing intensely as she stares at Clarke, good eye wide and darting away. Why does she feel so embarrassed? It's just... Clarke and her stupid sentimentality.

That's all. ]

You just startled me, that's all.

( clarke and her stupid sentimentality could topple mountains. it's happened once before. )

Uh-huh. ( wry, a big of good natured humor still coloring her voice. sure asuka, you're not trying to drown yourself in communal bath water because that's such an easier thing to do than being appreciated. it would be cute if it wasn't tinged with sorrow. was it that so difficult to fathom, being cared for? it's been a while since clarke was able to look past the span of her time on earth and feel lucky, spoiled for love and comfort. her mother and father had been liberal with their declarations of love.

the thought that every child hadn't been afforded the same hand cuts deeply. her thoughts flick to misato and the manipulative picture of the woman that asuka had painted for her. then kaji, and that very telling disconnect from his own self that he'd showed her over a game of chess. but that line of thought is banished before it can even begin to impeed on her mood, or worse — creep across the mental link. )

Relax, Asuka. Please. We've all earned it, and who knows when we'll get the chance again. Here.

( it is so much easier to disband her own notions of modesty and the flustered embarassment of being naked in front of other members of the nest with the memory of the other girls prickling discomfort so recent. and so clarke stands, both arms tight across her chest to fight off the wet chill and preserve the illusion of decency. the water still manages to come up to her hips, but there's still the intense sensation of exposure. so clarke moves quickly, edging around to perch on the submerged ledge on the other side of asuka.

there's people all around them, but the pool is not overly croweded, nor perfectly circular. and if clarke sits on this side and angles her body just so, it's almost enough to curtain asuka off from the sight of the others. an illusion of privacy. see? no one's going to look at you. )

[ Look, she's not trying to drown herself, she's just. Hiding a little and avoiding look at Clarke because she's sure that if she does she's just going to keep blushing. A part of it is raw vulnerability. She's never really had anyone say "I care about you, I love you" and felt like they meant it. Another part is the way her heart skipped a little when Clarke said that and she doesn't really like the feeling (or she does and she's not sure how to deal with it). Her weird state of flustered-ness bleeds over the link, but she tries to keep it shut down. Although Clarke shifting over to her doesn't really help it. Instead, she scoots down a little on her seat and settles, making some room for Clarke as the other girl crosses over.

Her eye darts away as Clarke settles, but she seems to get the idea of what Clarke is trying to do and some of the tension eases out of her. She takes a slow, deep breath - she has to keep reminding herself that maybe she can actually trust people, as hard as it is. Even if a part of her wants to shrivel up and die, b ecause why would anyone care for her? And why should she need them anyway? It's a strange dichotomy, but she can't help it. It' just... step by step by step.

She settles and after a long moment, leans over and rests her head against Clarke's shoulder, feeling intensely vulnerable all the while. ]

...thanks.

[ Her hair falls over her face like a curtain, concealing the eyepatch and even if she can't see out of that eye, she still almost feels whole again. At least for a little while. ]

( clarke allows the sentiment of gratitude to hang between them, acknowledged only with a soft hum in the back of her throat, and after that it's easy. slipping into a silent sort or relaxation, with asuka's head on her shoulder and presence a comfortable weight against her side. without the constraints of keeping a conversation going, clarke allows herself to close her eyes and tip her head back against a smooth outcropping of rock, her thoughts absorbing the warmth and relaxation of a casual doze in the hot springs. it's a forced sort of repose at first, like maybe if she exudes content enough some of that will rub off on asuka and allow the younger girl to stop feeling so much like a flighty deer in headlights.

but as the lavender infusions begin to overwhelm, and the humidity curls the baby hairs at the back of her neck damp with sweat, clarke begins to lean into the effects. aches she didn't know she'd been carrying since the first few days of walking, melt. worries and fears for the unforeseeable future become distant thoughts, items to be dealt with at a later date. the constant twist and pull of lingering hurt for the friends and lover she's alienated over the past few days are pushed to the back burner, persistently festering but no longer eating a hole in her soul.

questions still nag at her; clarke wants to know what happened to asuka to make her so hard and unbending, she wants to know more of her world than she'd casually absorbed through the connection with kaji and tense conversations with misato, she wants to ask what happened to her eye. but at risk of disrupting the tentative calms they've achieved, clarke buttons up those thoughts for another day.

instead, she dozes. )

[ OPEN ] Hot Springs Episode!

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