[MISSION LOG] BRAVE NEW WORLD

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: The Station + Concordia
WHEN: Day :000 - ???
SUMMARY: Leaving the Station; the arrival and first days on Concordia. Concordia pt.1.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.

IT'S EARLY IN THE DAY and something feels strange. It’s not unlike when a new Host - not one of your brood, but close enough to feel the tug - comes awake on the Nesting Deck. But it’s just the initial tug. There’s no noise, no hum of confusion or volume. Today, it’s just there: a sensation of presence that a moment ago wasn’t. Soon after follows a prickling awareness of urgency. A small electric bolt through the mind. Cathaway doesn’t use words in the mind, but her meaning is nonetheless easily understood: come to her on the hangar; your presence is required.

On the hangar there is a sleek, low profile transport ship. Before it stand Cathaway and Prince and in their company is a stranger: a short woman with warm skin and dark hair, wearing unfamiliar colorful clothes and a quick, pleasant smile. You’ve never seen her before, but you know she’s a Host.

“This is them?” Her voice is light and sweet. Prince, occupied by a databank, glances up at her then nods once. There’s a tension in his shoulder and through his jaw - a distinct contrast to Cathaway and the stranger who lack both.

“Lovely.” Her tone is breezy and easy, delighted. “Hello, it is so nice to meet you all! My name is Carata. My partner and I have been away on duty for a few months, but it’s become clear that we need backup on our assignment. We are hoping you can help.” Carata motions to the mission equipment in neat kits at her feet. There is one for each young Host.

Prince folds his pad down into its smallest form. His expression is set and serious.

“You will be joining Carata and Nirad on the planet below to assist them with their mission. Your datapbank will provide you with information about the planet and the city where you will be stationed. This mission is covert and the planet itself has no contact with other planetary races, so you will need to do your utmost to blend in.”

Cathaway sharpens slowly beside them: a dull pencil being sharpened to a point as her attention curves back to this place, this instance. She unfolds her hands. “You’ll be provided with an earpiece that should allow you to interface with the local technology and a fake identity for your cover on world. Please mind both carefully and be sure to keep your databanks offline. It would be inconvenient if they were networked while on planet.” From the way she says it, it sounds like ‘inconvenient’ might be an understatement. “This mission shouldn’t be inherently life threatening. Your primary goal is to investigate the anti-android movement. Carata and Nirad will be able to tell you what your databanks do not.”

“You should listen to them,” Prince adds. “Rely on their experience and knowledge to help you succeed in your task. Be mindful, and treat them with the respect they have earned.”

At this Carata laughs. It’s a bright, joyful sound, her hands coming up to clasp in front of her chest, “Please, teacher, you are too serious. I am sure they will do very well. Come along then! Gather your things; we must leave as soon as possible. I do hate to leave Nirad alone for too long.”

Turning her back to the Hosts, Carata takes Cathaway’s hand for a moment Nothing is said, but there’s the distinct impression of something passing between them. They release their grip, then Carata turns to Prince. She places her hands on his shoulders and goes up to her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t return the gesture, but those with sharp eyes will note he does lean down slightly to make her job easier.

Gather your gear, get anything from your rooms you might not want to leave behind. In two hours, everyone attending the mission will be buckled or strapped into the transport as Carata readies the ship for takeoff. She explains, neatly and concisely, what they believe the enemy to be doing in Concordia. Then, with a turning of the deck, the ship is freed from the embrace of Station 72.

It will be a long time before you see this place again.

     I. THE WHEELS ON THE BUS
The flight to Concordia is surprisingly short. By the time Carata's finished her explanation, you've passed into a new universe. It comes with a strange wave of something akin to nausea. Outside the transport's starboard viewports lays Opia in all it's glory: a beautiful blue marble speckled with sixteen landmasses and swathed in thing clouds like spun sugar. From this distance, clusters of light burn from specific points on the continents like a map of grounded constellations. As one of the great megacities of Opia comes curling from around the edge of the planet, the transport ship begins to descend.

Atmospheric entry is smooth. The transport drops at the outskirts of Concordia on what is, hilariously, some kind of large parking garage. It has engaged the most sophisticated of its cloaking technology to do this and Carata urged everyone to disembark quickly so the ship can return to orbiting the planet before it's detected.

"It will be back," she says flippantly. "When we've finished our job."

The ship departs. It's quiet and still for a handful of minutes; Carata seems unconcerned and gives little in the way of direction or instruction. The city flashes around them - bright lights and neon masking the fading of natural light - and nearby, a roadway hums. Eventually the sound of a car pitches louder. A set of headlamps shear from the long line of cars and in moments a long, squarish transport van pulls up and parks at the top of the garage. The side door slides open to admit everyone. In the driver's seat is an android - shining metal and cheerful as it greets every host by name. Beside the android in the van's passenger seat sits a tall, dark skinned man who - much like Carata - is obviously a host.

Welcome to Concordia.

     II. HOME SWEET HOME
It's a long drive into the city. The buildings get taller, the lights get brighter, the streets get busier. There are throngs of people on the street, dogged by endless rows of neon bright advertisements. Traffic is either miserable or flowing depending on the neighborhood and trams run on tracks fifty feet or more above the roadways. Streams of people files from the pavement to the subways, countless numbers of escalators leading down.

When the bus finally stops, it's in front of a building as tall as any others. The signs here mark this section of the city as BETA BLOCK and when you get out and into the building lobby you find that the door opens for you automatically. A chime rings through the interfacing ear piece and when you enter the elevators, the only floor accessible to you is NUMBER EIGHTEEN. When you disembark, a kind voice welcomes you by home in your ear. There are a large number of rooms here in Bearing - stake your claim, everyone! Nirad and Carata already have a couple of rooms in the Southwest corner of the building, but the rest are open. Time to settle in!

     III. FEET ON THE GROUND
You're given the rest of the night to sleep (or...whatever), but by 9AM the next morning everyone is awoken by Carata's voice in their head. She's clearly not shy of using her symbiotic connection.

( Good morning! I know this is quite a lot to get used to. I believe this is your first true assignment? But I have always believed that the best way to learn something new is to jump right in. ) The words are accompanied by the sensation of someone clapping their hands together, a cheerful kind of practicality. ( You’ve been given a credit card. I encourage you to go out today and learn what you can about this place. Talk to people. Listen to the news. Be sure to remember your cover identity, and don’t hesitate to call if you find yourself in trouble. )

There is nothing pressing to the suggestion, just the sensation- light. Airy. Fun. She switches track after a moment, a thoughtful addition: ( There is also a rally in town today. It’s being run by The True Children of Opia, some minor little hate group-- ) She seems to wave off the unsavory aspects as she forges ahead, ( They aren’t affiliated with Humans + Humans 1st, but they do have very similar ideologies and it is quite probable that there is overlap in their membership. If you would rather, it is also quite likely that there will be protestors there as well, both members of Mind Life and those who are adamant about pursuing digital resurrection. Please do be careful, though, sometimes those rallies can be a little... ) An image of an oily substance catching flame, quickly and hotly.

( Whatever you chose, simply do your best to get your bearings. ) She seems to realize the unintended joke there, given the name of their current residence, and a bright happy flash of color accompanies it. What a delightful surprise. ( Prepare yourself for what is to come. Nirad and I will continue our investigation in the meantime. )

---

((OOC Notes: This is the catchall log for the first stages of the Concordia mission. You'll notice there's no set ending date, so use this log however you like - alternatively, feel free to start your own logs in the setting! Don't worry; we'll be keeping a close eye on things, so if something big starts to happen that necessitates a new long, we'll make sure to keep our bases covered and all of y'all updated. Just be aware that dating forward farther than :010 may get a little dicey.

If you have any mission specific questions, direct them to the OOC post here.))

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Comments

[adamance]

[She is relieved, of course, that Clarke is alive, prayer or not. It's a thought that she's been in denial of since she first arrived. She had worried that Clarke had been lost before they even came to her, like she had been a necessary cost. But no, Clarke is safe. Likely safe. Likely. As safe as anyone is in their world.

The image she gets is almost too much. Clarke, sitting in her throne, with her mother holding a weapon in front of her. Not far from her, Ontari—Ontari, who shouldn't be back until after her death, lying on the floor bloody and ... not dead, no, she's not dead—and the blood of people, members of the Coalition, members of Skaikru, all attacking one another haphazardly—

And then there's the underlying factor: she's not there.

But there's something else: the black blood pooling along the tubing, pouring into Clarke. The fact that she seems to be unconscious. The fact that there's a reason for this, and the only reason available might be—

Lexa's features soften with understanding. As much as she wants to tear into him, she can't. She can't, because there's a truth that she's already denied once, and to deny it again would be foolish. This isn't an image that he's made up out of nowhere. Just as people have seen Clarke, just as they've seen the haunting image of Costia, a burden that she cares every day of her life, she can see this.]

We need to speak in private.

[She doesn't give him much chance to say "no," instead sweeping past him to head to her quarters. She clearly expects him to follow.]

[deployed]

[ The relief is such a stark contrast to the first, initial surge of anger that Bellamy is momentarily uncertain whether or not it came from Lexa. The way her expression softens is unexpected, when Bellamy had been prepared for nearly anything else from her. Denial, maybe, in the face of the things he knew were present in his mind. He doesn't know that he'd accept the kind of news he's accidentally inflicted on her with such grace. But that tends to be the crux of his confusion when it comes to Lexa; she's inscrutable and reserved in a way that Bellamy finds wholly inexplicable.

For a long moment, he hesitates, struggling with the urge to walk right past her room and into his own. Exhaustion, months and months of it, has lingered ever since he woke, and he's still half-expecting this conversation with Lexa to devolve into a fight he isn't prepared to deal with. But he follows her anyway. He might regret that almost immediately, but he does it. He owes her answers, even if giving in to her demands is incredibly irritating. ]

Alright, [ is the first thing he says upon crossing the threshold, arms crossed defensively. ] Let's talk.

[ As if it's so simple.

Her room isn't quite what he'd imagined either. He'd seen the Commander's chambers, but he knew immediately, just as he'd known upon viewing Polis under ALIE's reign that something had been lost. His gaze flicks quickly over the artificial candles, then away, as if embarrassed to have examined anything at all. Despite the invitation issued, he feels as if he's intruding. ]

[adamance]

[It feels too intimate to have him here. She watches as his gaze passes over a candle, and she moves to the wall to deactivate the special setting on the room. In its place is something more sparse: the default setting so that neither of them are in a room that's too close to her home. He's seen Polis, and she considers that her place back home. But her heart and birth still happened as one of Trikru.

That's what she celebrates here. And it was Trikru's land where Skaikru had first hit the ground to cause problems.

Lexa heads to the window, hands tucked behind her back as she does it. Part of it is because she does want to be inscrutable. And part of it is because she doesn't know that she can keep her chilly expression. Her eyes move over the window's reflection of her, and she considers her words.]

I shouldn't trust any word that comes from your mouth. [But somewhere in there, Bellamy and Clarke had ended up on the same side again. No matter how confusing that imagery had been, no matter how much it shows that Polis is in danger and ... she can't even comprehend it. Not truly. But he's someone Clarke trusts. Her jaw sets.] But she would tell me to trust you.

[Clarke. Even thinking of her brings a warmer sense to Lexa's thoughts. It's impossible to dismiss how much she cares for the other woman. No matter how much Lexa is made of sharp edges and an intent to be as abrasive as possible, there is something about her that changes at the very thought of Clarke.]

I need to know ... what is happening to my people. [Her people, who are chaotic and angry and fighting as if they don't feel an ounce of pain, it doesn't make any sense—]

I need to know what you think happened to me. [Her words leave leeway for some other possibility, but she knows there isn't any. There is no hope attached to these words. All she feels is a strange sense of resignation.]

[deployed]

[ The cursory ebb and flow of emotion he's now privy to is disorienting. It's been disorienting since he woke, but unsurprisingly it was easier to square with the emotions of utter strangers than Lexa. Everything between them is difficult, barbed and resentful, mistrust coloring everything. But she talks about Clarke and he can feel the way it shifts everything.

Bellamy isn't all that surprised by it. Clarke has a way of doing that, of changing and inspiring. The secondhand expression of faith is bittersweet, still difficult to hear; Clarke has always seen potential in him that Bellamy couldn't see himself. The thrum of familiar emotion at the mention of Clarke, coupled with the nature of what she's asking, what she wants him to tell her, has Bellamy silent for a long moment, trying for once to chose his words carefully. He's aware it might not matter, that thinking back, trying to pick a good starting point is revealing his hand before he can even begin to speak. ]

It's a long story, [ Bellamy says at least, voicing the understatement of the century. ] There's an AI, uploading minds to something called the City of Light by getting people to ingest a chip. It started when Jaha came back. Arkadia fell first, then it took Polis.

[ It's somehow easier to focus on that than the circumstances of Lexa's death. Bellamy isn't clear on how it happened, can't bring himself to ask Clarke. ]

After you—after what happened, Clarke left with the flame. [ With Lexa. With you, Bellamy could say, but even that feels as much like an intrusion as his presence in her room. ] She and Raven figured out how to use it to stop what's happening.

[ It's such a sparse recitation of what they'd been trying, but each statement is backed with flickers of memory, colored with desperation, his own guilt and fear, the endless worry that they would fail, that their last stand would end in disaster rather than success and doom both their people in that failure. ]

[adamance]

[Just as Clarke had awoke with the understanding of what she must do in the City of Light, the information makes itself available to Lexa, adjusting and winding forward. She doesn't know where it comes from, she only knows what it is that Clarke and Raven were trying to do. She knows why black blood had to be filtered into her system the same way it had been with her people and the Mountain Men. Temporarily, Clarke had to become a Nightblood in order to take the chip. It was dangerous. It was, quite possibly, suicidal.

It was exactly the type of thing Clarke would do.

Her understanding is easier because of this world and what she's learned about the Flame. It provides the bridge to what has been missing, decayed throughout the years as it's passed from commander to commander without any updates in its interface. She still lacks a thorough understanding. She doesn't know exactly everything, but she knows enough that the Flame would be able to stop this AI. That it would be able to protect Clarke as she sought out the means to handle it. She knows it intrinsically, just as she knows the names of the previous commanders, just as she knows that Becca came first and provided them the chance for life.]

She did it to save our people. [Still the focus on Clarke. But she knows that they needed her. Lexa doubts that few others would have the strength of will to accomplish what she's managing. There's a reason why it had to be her.

She had always said that her spirit would choose wisely.

Thanks to the aid of having her back to him, she closes her eyes for a moment to collect herself. Lexa has always believed that death was not the end. But it's still a shock to her system, like every moment here has been a lie. How she somehow lives both lives at once, she can't understand, but there's a nagging sense that there's something real about it. Somehow, she both lives and dies.

The emotions well up inside of her, and she hates it a little. She hates knowing that Clarke has gone through that. She hates knowing that losing her had led to her people being taken in by this ... AI, this thing she's only begun to understand yet fully understands at the same time. She hates knowing they aren't safe, and even Bellamy can't confirm their safety. (He can't, though she has faith in Clarke—blind faith, because Clarke is special.)

Lexa squeezes her eyes shut for a moment longer and then opens them, swallowing once, and she turns. She hopes the distance between them conceals the fact that her eyes are glossy. Now isn't a time where she can afford to look weak, and at least if he feels her emotions, he's unlikely to call her on them. They both can't be exposed right now.]

You were fighting to protect her so that she could save them. [Her words are measured, but even to her, they're surprising. Still: as much anger as she has inside of her for what he's done to her people, he's still giving his all (and possibly dying at the hands of it) in order to save their people. They are both at risk, and he's there for Clarke. Had been there for Clarke. Had left to come here to protect Clarke and the others.]

I pardon you of your crimes, Bellamy Blake. It may mean nothing now that Clarke is the Commander, because she will do it as well. But while we're here, you have nothing to fear from me. [Lexa doesn't know if Clarke will actually be the accepted Commander, but she would prefer it that way. She had done what was necessary to save their people.]

this is a massive tag i am so sorry

[deployed]

[ This is the common ground, what they can agree on without hesitation or squabbling. Clarke is special. If anyone can do this impossible, dangerous thing, it was Clarke Griffin Her incredible, unyielding focus on fixing things, on protecting their people (for once, Bellamy's thought includes both Arkadians and Gounders in that definition) wouldn't be denied. So long as he could keep the swells of chipped people away from her, so long as Murphy could keep Ontari's heart pumping blood, Clarke would have a chance. If there was failure, it wouldn't be Clarke's fault.

Bellamy would die to ensure that success. He'd bleed himself dry for Clarke's safety, and if he died in this particular attempt, under Kane's hands, then it would be worth it. All that had happened in her absence, all that he'd done in his anger and his pain, this part of him was unchanged: protect Clarke and his people at all costs. The stakes had never been higher than they were now.

The fact that he can feel Lexa's emotions in this moment is better left unremarked upon. What she feels for Clarke is unmistakable, but like much of what's passing between them now, never meant for him to know. Feeling her absorb the inevitability of her death is just as much a transgression; even if he'd wanted to soften that blow, there's no possible way for him to do so. The knowledge of it twists in his chest, and he clears his throat, tries to keep his expression stoic. He doesn't believe she'd want his sympathy, thinks it would ring false in the wake of all he's done. No, he won't mention any of what's thrumming between them. It's the least he can do, if he can't wall himself off entirely. ]

She'll do it. Save everyone. [ He'd meant what he'd said, he believes in Clarke. The odds are bad, and had been getting worse by the moment, but even worlds away from the battle they'd been fighting, that belief doesn't waver. And the flame would protect her. Bellamy has a fuller idea of what that means now, or more specifically, who that meant, having watched Clarke spend days clutching the Commander chip as if it were the most precious thing in her world. ] Clarke's going to finish it.

[ It's the only thing he has left to offer her, promises that may as well be prayers, a hope that if he speaks with enough conviction it will convince the entire universe to make it into reality. It's easier to offer that than to consider the pardon Lexa bestows, something Bellamy hadn't expected and doesn't think he deserves. Atonement and absolution don't come so easily. (I have to live with what I've done, he'd said, fully aware of the weight of that statement. ) They were earned. Bellamy hadn't even come close to balancing the scales, not yet.

He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to graciously accept her words. Apologies aren't enough. Gratitude isn't enough. He doesn't like feeling indebted to her. (Again, her anger would have been a simpler thing for Bellamy to bear.) ]

It's not nothing. [ He says stiffly. Diplomacy didn't come easily to him, not even at the best of times. ] I don't know what to say.

[ Because he may as well be honest about that, even when it's clear he's at a loss. The only thing he has to offer is something he's struggling to put into words, isn't sure she'd accept even if he could. ]

[adamance]

[Before she had died, she had asked each of her novitiates to swear to protect Clarke. Lexa had been unable to train Ontari, and it would have been unwise to let her remain in Polis as a threat to both her novitiates and the rest of her people. Under Roan, she would at least be restrained. Still, if she's in the throne room absent of any of her novitiates, she knows exactly what occurred. It's no surprise. Ontari had been trained to be relentless. She was meant to be vicious, to ensure that Nia would be strong. Azgeda had always wanted more power over the other clans, and this was the most certain way of achieving it.

She doesn't ask Bellamy for the specifics. Lexa has no idea how Ontari won, but she knows enough to put the pieces together for why Polis was at it was in Bellamy's memory, and why the other glimpses resonated the way that they did. She gets another sense, too: that Bellamy finally sees their people as one.

That he's still burdened by his guilt is no surprise. Unlike her people, Skaikru has never been taught to let such feelings go so that they don't hold them back. It's not that her people are without guilt. It's that they have to live with it, lest it hinder their ability to survive. That's why she had been able to betray Clarke. Of course, Bellamy hadn't exactly been perfect himself. They both had turned their back on her when she needed them most. The situations were just different.

In the end, Clarke found a way to save her people.

Just as he doesn't remark on how she feels, she doesn't do the same in return. There's a sense of belief, absolute and unyielding, in Clarke's accomplishment. That is what will happen. Their people will be saved.]

I know that word spread to your people about our different ways. That we had offered a pardon to the rest of you for the life of your chancellor. [The words are complicated now. Even Lexa gives off the sense of knowing that there are bigger things at stake. There is a point at the end of them all.]

I meant what I said. Jus nou drein jus daun. [A beat.] Blood must not have blood. Skaikru is a part of my coalition, and so we accept a commander from their ranks. [Lexa gathers herself here, striding forward. There's still about two feet between them when she stops. The glossiness to her eyes has left her, leaving only a little strain in them to show that she's had to fight back emotion. When she looks at him, she gives the sense that she barely has to look up despite being a few inches shorter. All of this is practiced, like she's accustomed to finding a way to look down on someone when that should otherwise be impossible.]

With the acceptance of Skaikru into the coalition, I swore a private oath to Clarke. You are under my protection. As long as you are here, you will be as safe as I can manage. But in return, I ask one thing: survive. Survive so you can return to our people, and return to her to keep her alive. [How she manages these words with the air of a politician is unclear, but she manages. How she literally improvises them is likely another mystery. But she does it just the same, jaw set as her eyes move over his face.]

Do we have an agreement?

[Since she's come here, Lexa has done her best to ensure that others survive. This is different. This is more than an inconvenience caused by a loss of a body in a brood, or someone to fight a war against a faceless enemy. Bellamy may come to find that he's in the same boat as her, somehow dead and unaware of it, but she doesn't think that's true. Or she has to hope, has to believe that someone will protect Clarke, that she can have someone promise that to her.

It's a little idealistic. But she won't consider it that way. She will admit that it's selfish to hope for this, but she doesn't offer her protection lightly. And she's offered her pardon without the condition of protection, as they should go separately. One should not lead to the other, as it will give him reason not to trust her.]

[deployed]

[ This is the closest Bellamy has ever been to Lexa, the only time he's ever been alone with her. Absorbing their similarities is as difficult for him as bearing the mercy of her pardon. Like so much else passing between them in this moment, it's better left unaddressed. Truthfully, Bellamy isn't able to consider it more fully, not yet.

His chancellor. Pike's shocked face comes to mind as Bellamy had handed him over, given him up to a painful death. It's not a proud moment. Bellamy's decision to part ways from Pike had never, ever meant to include his death, not until push came to shove, until Bellamy realized that Pike's presence in Arkadia would never bring about the things he'd hoped it would and that his attempts to circumvent Pike's agenda had come too late. He had given Pike up for the good of their people, had shut away the part of himself that had needed the support Pike had given him. It might bring peace, but it would have come too late, if Ontari had allowed it at all.

But it couldn't matter now. Lexa wasn't the Commander, and Ontari was dead, and could Clarke ascend that throne? Would grounders let her? It's difficult to tell, and Bellamy's fears lay more with Clarke surviving the battle at hand than considering what would follow after.

What Lexa tells him now could be a lie, but he knows it isn't. He can feel the truth of it between them, flickers of memory that don't belong to him and he instinctively recoils away from. Not for his eyes. Not meant to be seen by him, just like the raw burn of the love she holds for Clarke isn't meant to be felt by him. He can feel the truth in her words, that her pardon and protection come couched in a bargain. What she's asking of him, he would do regardless. It's an easy promise to make, but the significance of it lands on his shoulders like a physical weight, unshakable. ]

Yes. I'll do whatever it takes to keep her alive. You have my word.

[ It's simple, stiffly formal, but there's force behind it, all the complex emotions Bellamy has for Clarke infused into that word to bolster the sincerity of it. He'll keep her safe, whatever the cost. As many times as Bellamy has wanted to lay down and die, when it would have been easier for him not to get up again (it was not so long ago that he begged a hallucination of Thelonious Jaha for death) he'll survive to keep Clarke safe. That's something he can promise.

And do the same for Lexa in return, to keep her safe because it's what Clarke would want of him. Clarke wouldn't want Lexa to face death twice. He can protect Lexa, as best he can. Whatever else he does here, whatever else the two of them inevitably find themselves at odds over, he can do what little is available to him to protect her as she's promising to protect him. ]

[adamance]

Thank you.

[These words may seem like nothing, but Lexa is hardly one to thank people readily. That they come so easily, so quickly, is another hint of how meeting Clarke Griffin changed her. Even if there is anger in her heart for him that she feels is completely founded, she will keep him alive. It's not as if her people have always acted properly. It's not as if they haven't acted in ways that have made her regret having to draw their blood and slam a sword into their midsection. What if she had changed her ways sooner, rescinding the belief of "blood must have blood" before she had to kill Gustus, who had been a true friend and adviser to her? What if she had changed her perspective on everything much sooner? Pike would still be up for death, but she thinks that even his people would understand.

(They might think themselves above her people's ways, but she knows a great deal of that is hypocrisy.)

There is a great deal that she has to process, so she takes the necessary steps back away from him, fluidly moving backward without looking behind her. Her chin lifts, eyes on the door.]

You may leave now. [The words act as a dismissal, as if she's treating him like any other subject. But they aren't unkind. It's clear that she's at a loss of how to explain that she needs to be alone, to process her affairs and what might come next for her here. Admitting that kind of weakness comes with some difficulty, so falling on old, trained habits is easier than admitting the truth.

She gets the sense, at least, that he'll understand. That he's just as practiced in concealing away weakness for others, even if he's a ball of emotional turmoil that she can feel with every breath he takes. They aren't alike in that way, and she knows that he didn't trust her after what she did to his people, leaving them to die in Mount Weather.

That's an issue to contend with later, should it prove necessary to contend with it. For now, she turns, angling her body back toward the computer panel so that once he leaves, she can set the room up as it had been before.]

[deployed]

[ Bellamy still bristles at the dismissal; it's ingrained instinct, a reaction more to the implication of the order before the tone processes. Even with only the most cursory connection between them, even without that, Bellamy understands the motivation behind that. She needs to be alone. She's going about that in a marginally more graceful way than Bellamy would have.

For a moment, he tries to summon up something, some measure of comfort to offer her. He thinks distantly that Clarke would know what to say here. She'd been better than him at comforting the dying, better at finding words to ease pain. Bellamy has none of that finesse, and any apology, any attempt to share her burden would come out clumsy. There's a fragile peace between them. The last thing he wants is to spark her anger a second time or for something regrettable to spill out of his head unchecked. ]

Alright, [ is all he can say, quiet, before he turns and leaves. It's a relief to go, to retreat from what is clearly her sanctuary even if she'd concealed the private display from him the moment he'd entered. He's careful to close the door behind him, to make the attempt to direct his thoughts away as best he can and separate himself from her. She doesn't need another spectator, and she doesn't need Bellamy's own surge of conflicted emotions to muddle her thoughts further. ]