( she hadn't meant to ruffle his literal feathers, but that fluster of wind and shock sweeping across venti's face at least lets clarke know she's struck the right sort of nerve for making this sort of alliance. ink on the parchment, blood in the seal — the promise to station themselves side by side and face down an indomitable threat without running. flinching was allowed, so long as he never left her alone at the mouth of a mountain bunker without an army, staring down a door, powerless and desperate and —
...wait. wrong conflict. though there have been multiple moments during her time on this ship that clarke's ended up wondering if she'd make the same decisions she made in mount weather if it meant saving her people, or at least sparing them. how many people here would she kill if it meant salvation for the few? how many of the people that had helped her would end up being expendable? ideally, they'll never have to find out.
anyway, clarke catches wind that she's hit upon something venti values, and like a predator with the throat of a prey animal between it's teeth, she squeezes. recognizes the power of reverence, and has followed the script of bowing to powerful leaders before. intimate, secret admissions call for something a little closer than just seated across the room from one another, and she's finally peeling herself off the sofa and drawing closer to venti. holds his gaze with the same unflinching intensity she'd held the captain's not twelve hours ago, but (sorry iva) doesn't move to strike him down.
instead kneels on the plush carpet at his feet. trust would be earned, but that remaining wariness of one another won't keep her from tilting her head. whispering — )
no subject
...wait. wrong conflict. though there have been multiple moments during her time on this ship that clarke's ended up wondering if she'd make the same decisions she made in mount weather if it meant saving her people, or at least sparing them. how many people here would she kill if it meant salvation for the few? how many of the people that had helped her would end up being expendable? ideally, they'll never have to find out.
anyway, clarke catches wind that she's hit upon something venti values, and like a predator with the throat of a prey animal between it's teeth, she squeezes. recognizes the power of reverence, and has followed the script of bowing to powerful leaders before. intimate, secret admissions call for something a little closer than just seated across the room from one another, and she's finally peeling herself off the sofa and drawing closer to venti. holds his gaze with the same unflinching intensity she'd held the captain's not twelve hours ago, but (sorry iva) doesn't move to strike him down.
instead kneels on the plush carpet at his feet. trust would be earned, but that remaining wariness of one another won't keep her from tilting her head. whispering — )
What's your name?