[ OPEN ] Hot Springs Episode!

[shri]

CHARACTERS: EVERYONE
WHERE: The Second Flight
WHEN: DAY :022
SUMMARY: The Sauna!
WARNINGS: Nekkid times.

[ A few hours after the murder, she hasn't blown the ship up, and here they are. Another knock knock on everyone's brain: ]

( For those of you that are interested - I have secured us a place at the Sauna. Free for us to be use without interruption from outsiders.

You are to be clean before you come in. )

[ Maybe you're here because she bullied you, maybe you want to soak - maybe you're the poor bastard that is standing guard at the door. Either way, welcome to the Suana, have fun. Or don't. ]

Comments

[wille]

[ If she has learned anything, it's that sudden silence in the middle of conversation heralds an ambush. She hasn't been wrong yet, though the chosen topic takes her by surprise. She huffs, displeased but unhurt. ]

You — [ Read: we. ] — should stop picking fights.

[ She shakes her head, at Clarke, at herself. These wounds quickly grow old, scab over and scar. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back against the side of the pool. There are two sets of words she must choose between: that of an admission of guilt for harm caused, which would mollify but which would be untrue. Then there's the callousness, her merciless stance toward her past mistakes. What's done is done. She takes every responsibility for her actions and punishes herself accordingly, but gives nobody else the right to hear her apologies. She is her own judge and executioner. The choice is clear. ]

Sending a few children to war was worth saving three billion lives. But I was wrong from the start. Nobody's saved.

[skaikru]

( misato's level headed and even handed — cold — response does... remarkably little to curb the edges of clarke's vehemence. it's murky waters, feeling affronted for all of asuka's second hand suffering without projecting her own bitter disapproval of how the adults in her life had seen fit to gamble with their lives when sending one hundred teenagers down to earth. that's an old hurt, one clarke hadn't fully acknowledged she still held on to. but old wounds scab, scar over, and reopen at the faintest hint of an edge.

clarke's voice is quiet; tight and controlled, the sort of low menace of someone trying exceptionally hard to reel in their anger. )

So all that suffering was for nothing and you don't even regret using them?