app @ little hades

[skaikru]

💀 Player Information
Name: demi
Age: 18+
Contact: inb4circlejerk
Characters In-game: none!

💀 Character Information
Name: Clarke Griffin
Canon: The 100 — aka lil' kids falling from the sky & war
Canon Point: 3x11 — pretending she died when they put the flame in her neck and she took the chip in her mouth.
Age: 18
Description:



Clarke was born in space, but is otherwise pretty normal looking. No grey skin, no antenna. She's fair skinned, about 5'5" has long blonde hair usually worn down, sometimes with a braid in the mix and sometimes with a few strands pulled back into a little twisted fishtail thing. She's got blue eyes, tends to wear the same clothes for months on end (it's a necessity when you basically only have one pair) and her face tends to be covered in blood, dirt, owwies, or judgement.

Physical changes: Cashing in on that freebie physical transformation right away, her hands semi-constantly weep blood from the palms. She literally has the blood of all the people she's killed on her hands, ha!
Powers:

ABILITIES:

» medical training Clarke did an internship under her mother while on board the Ark, which went on for an unspecified amount of time, but left her quite capable. She can do everything from basic sprained ankle tests, to removing knives from peoples rib cages, to relieving blood buildup from internal bleeding, to curing infections with some seaweed tea, to deciding who's not going to make it and putting them out of their misery.
» leadership qualities Don't ask her to tie someone up and whip them with a seatbelt, but Clarke provides a complimentary approach to her co-leader Bellamy's leadership, acting as the moral compass, and calling for order when she thinks it will save peoples lives. She's an excellent, earnest public speaker that has a way of appealing to everyones better natures with her logic and sound reasoning. She cares for everyone around her, and in acting to save or better their lives, she inspires them to follow her.
» well read, knowledgable Clarke is a smarty; a self taught map reader and a quoter of Oppenheimer. She's one of the privileged and was accorded a quality education on board the Ark, and while she may not have the skills Raven and Monty possess when it comes to technology and engineering, she's very useful.
» artsy fartsy She's is a natural artist. Her Skybox cell was covered in sketches, and she appreciates the art supplies and artwork around Mount Weather (even if she uses her gifted fancy coloring material to plot her escape.)

STRENGTHS:

» negotiations Clarke's a peace keeper. She's got a lot of nonviolent ideals and a good, commanding speaking voice with which to impress upon people the importance of resolutions. She's talked her way out of a lot of sticky situations between the 100, and between the Sky People and the Grounders in hopes of avoiding war. Even when her efforts are obviously going to be futile, she still argues her side relentlessly in hopes of reaching some sort of agreement.
» gunplei Bellamy once made her pick up a gun and shoot at a weird sheet, and she's weirdly good at it and almost thought it was fun, so yeah.
» this is ourselves under pressure When she wants to do something, she is going to do something. And you can try to step between her and her agenda, but you will lose and lose spectacularly. She handles herself spectacularly well under pressure, be that pressure come from public speaking or from escaping a military compound full of Mountain Men and Reapers. Sometimes she handles this pressure by jumping off of a dam.
» i feel it in my bones She, like all of the 100 and all of the Sky People, have been exposed to mass amounts of radiation while on board the Ark and are immune to the radiation remaining on Earth 97 years after the nuclear apocalypse.
» camp mama Clarke's got the biggest heart, and wears it on her sleeve. She cares for people, completely and with abandon, and is fiercely protective of everyone she loves. And even a few people she doesn't love, like Anya, or people she's mad at, like Finn or Bellamy.

WEAKNESSES:

» not too physically strong While she can hold her own on pure precedent and stubborness, she has an incredibly difficult time fighting Anya and almost gets stabbed, like, twice even while Anya is emaciated and still drugged. The only way she really wins physical skirmishes is when she has the element of surprise on her side or some timely intervention from a friend.
» torture She's a doctor, and is out to help people, which makes senseless violence sort of her kryptonite. Clarke's no stomach for it, looks physically ill when she's a part of it, and has a really hard time getting behind Bellamy's torturing Lincoln agenda (still lets him do it, though), forgiving Finn for killing a whole village of people, not yelling at Charlotte for killing Wells, and getting over her mother's contribution to her fathers death.
» bloodprice Considering she's willing to do anything to keep her friends (and new family) safe, Clarke is very self sacrificing. Which is great from a moral standpoint, but not necessarily from a...surviving...standpoint if you look at it too hard.
» love is weakness She loves too easily. It gets her sad places. like holding her boyfriends and girlfriends while they bleed out.
» ghosts What you did will haunt you until the end of your days. Yeah, she killed a lot of people and the guilt is pretty crippling.

History: everything sucks and the world is toxic
Hell Status: hell newbie!
What Brings Them To Hell: lalala reluctant mass murder, guilt-ridden genocide, mercy killing a friend, mercy killing a lover, causing the death of another lover, dismantling the system, fucking shit up, trying so hard and getting so far but in the end none of it even mattering.
The Pitch:

You want high morality conflicting with tragic decisions? Do you fancy your stubborn protagonists doing the best they can but ultimately failing to uphold good in the world and acting out of realistic human desperation? Like your characters to try really hard to be the good guy and ultimately become the bad guy? Get giddy when they torture themselves emotionally for making hard decisions? Dig character arcs that go from cute little space princess to Commander of Death with the pull of two levers? Like a dash of trust issues? A sprinkle of swear words that aren't really swear words?

...No? Well, go float yourself.

But if you do, then boy do I have a product of her environment heroine for you! All in all, a good egg with an evolving idea of what constitutes being a good person. Is it trying to save everyone? Just trying to save those close to you? And when you fail do you try again or run away? Is torture okay for a good cause? Clarke's tried her hand at all these things, dabbled a finger or two (or, like, 700) in mass murder, and while she and many Sky People cling to the notion that what they've done on this hostile, radioactive Earth doesn't define them as people, that doesn't stop her from blaming herself. For her failures, for the deaths of friend and enemy alike; doesn't stop her from shouldering all the guilt in the hopes that others don't have to, because she's a masochistic, self sacrificing leader that way.

Also happens to be an incredible survivor, adaptable to the worst situations imaginable. Sent to Earth to die but didn't? Hey guys, let's gather water. Stuck in an underground bunker with people who want to harvest her bone marrow? Jumps down a cliff to escape them. Faced with an AI intent on turning everyone into aliens? Hey, let's put two AI chips in my skull and figure this shit out from there. Most of her success in these situations is credited to determination, level headed thinking and pure luck — but those will only carry a person so far. Still, even when everything is seemingly out of her hands, Clarke finds a way to rally. She's an excellent diplomat for war time negotiations, holds a grudge like no other, a fiercely protective mama hen, a triage tech so skilled she can perform surgery with just a sharp stick if she had to, well read enough to quote Oppenheimer — and at the end of the day, still a scared little teenager doing her best in a scary, evil world.

Really, with how much she tortures herself, Hell is the only fitting place to end up. And really, it's kind of poetic to be born in space, fall to Earth, and then crawl down to Little Hades.

Setting Fit:

Clarke will probably react to death the same way she's reacted to every misfortune in her tragically short life already: fight it at first, screaming no no no immediately upon coming face to dead-face with her lifeless corpse and being unable to reach out and touch any of her panicked friends when they realize she's dead. Then stoic denial through the trial process, fixating on all the things she'd needed to accomplish in life to save her people and fix the world and with a set 1000 yard stare with little care to what's going on around her and what her judgement is. This outward emptiness will likely carry over into little hades, and she'll remain shell shocked for a while, shove down and bottle up all those rough, guilty feelings, and eventually have a nice lil' cry before making the best of her situation. It's not the first time her life has gone to hell, just the first literal descent into the underworld. She'll get busy, probably work in the hospital (because all she really wants to do is help and protect people, even if that's led to committing mass genocide in the past), make new friends, and continue to quietly angst about everything and miss old her friends forever.

Samples:

DON'T FEAR THE REAPER, BUT ARGUING WITH THEM IS A-OKAY

( if the trial was weighing all her good deeds against all her crimes, it could have easily been an open-and-shut case without the 600 personal testimonies of all the grounders and inhabitants of mount weather — all of whom had died painfully, yet the pull of her hand on both levers had been physically easy. it was clear in her head and clear to the judge, she'd killed many, many people, and been responsible for the deaths of even more all in the name of preserving life, and with little thought to what would become of her eternal soul once life ceased to be an option. her appointed lawyer had tried; had spoken very passionately about all her good deeds, of the lives she'd saved with her unfortunate actions. there had been ten whole minutes dedicated to the fact clarke had died to save people. but in the end, the numbers never came close to matching up.

hundreds compared to a hundred. the ends don't justify the means.

it was a swift trial. the verdict wasn't unfair. but standing at the edge of a pit outside the crumbling tower of polis while swarms of microchipped grounders and skaikru alike swarmed the tower... that wasn't fair. not to the people still trapped inside, the ones who had been counting on her. the ground had split, the soul charged with escorting her down was gesturing to descend, and yet. )

No, I can't. ( clarke's head is tipped back, eyes fixed on the small dark shapes scaling the old stones to the top of the tower. her voice is thick, fear and pity for herself choked back, swallowed up by just how wrong it was to be forced to leave everything when she'd meant to fix this. )

I can't — leave them.

UNWELCOMING CENTER

( hell, as it turns out, is fairly organized. there seems to be a solid system of initiation that involves sitting in an expansive room filled with chairs set in haphazard rows, waiting and clutching little slips of paper with numbers on them. clarke's number happens to be 729, relatively low and yet the line doesn't seem to be progressing. she's sat for hours — had it been hours? it certainly felt like it, time twisting itself inside-out in the heavy humidity and dragging monotony — staring at the tiled floor and tuning out the waiting room around her. it wasn't easy, the waiting room was awash with disbelief and despair, poor souls to her left and right grappling with their mortality and the self-pitying loss of themselves, and she wasn't any different. but clarke wallowed silently.

they'd been so close. so close. death had been a very real outcome from the start, from the second the transfusion needle had pierced her skin, and yet she'd hoped against it, because what other choice did they have? if she died before entering the city of light and shutting down that twisted system a.l.i.e had implemented, what would everyone else do? if she failed, did that condemn her mother, her friends — everyone to, to this? to sitting in stiff backed plastic chairs with a number and numbness in their chest?

the bell at one of the reception windows dings, microphone feedback and a garbled drawl call for number 402 to approach the desk.

and clarke hadn't even cried yet. hadn't mourned her own death, the impending death of so many others she knew and cared for. there's no anger, no fear. her gut doesn't twist, but she's still half a mind to run to the nearest bathroom and throw up. there's just... exhaustion. numbness. a sort of suspended disbelief that'd held through seeing herself dead, black blood dripping from her nostrils; from sitting through that lengthy trial of her crimes, rudely reminded of her intangibility every time she tried to touch the desk or her lawyer. disbelief that carried into the waiting room of hell, and that had her lower lip quivering but her eyes dry. select scenes from her life play in her head like a distorted film, of all the times she could have died and hadn't. why and how and why not twenty minutes later, when everyone was at least safe?

this is utter helplessness. there seems to be very little she can do about her death now, and that hurts. clarke uncurls tightly clenched fists and presses her face into her palms. it stings. digs her palms into her eyes, rubs vigorously, and drags her fingers down her cheeks. feels her face get wet now, maybe a few tears forced their way out, but —

it's a sticky wet. a warm wet. a wrong kind of wet for her to be crying, and when clarke draws her hands away from her face, her palms are red.

red, and wet, and slick with freshly oxidized blood.

the sight ought to cause more immediate reaction. she ought to jump up and run screaming to a medical station; lunge towards one of the demon-manned desks and beg for help. her breath ought to have at least caught in her throat, but clarke just stares. there's blood on her hands, blood on her face, yet nothing explicitly hurts besides her head. there's no cuts on her palms, no open wounds anywhere on her body, just blood spilling between her fingers and dripping daintily on the grimy tiles below. huh. idly she wipes her hands on her thighs, dark pants staining darker, but it does nothing to stop the bleeding. it does not pour out of her, just sort of... seeps through her skin and trickles down her wrist. her number slip is red soaked and soggy, and clarke can taste the copper as she shakily inhales. it's this more than the gory sight itself that has her stirring; standing to squeeze past the other waiting dead, to slip out of line, out of the waiting room. )

Excuse me, ( clarke mutters quietly to everyone she passes, hands cradled to her chest and eyes sharply averted from everyone. )