( and just like gods are drawn to vessels of ambition and fire, humans tend to be drawn to power they can use as sword and shield; to wield, and to hide behind. this is a nice moment, clarke wouldn't cheapen it by saying otherwise, but at the end of the day isn't this just a means to an end? people have claimed to kill for their gods before when really they just wanted to stamp out opposition. don't look at her like a hero or inherently good disciple, venti. see her for what she is: a blood soaked crusader. a colonizer with gaze set on a single quarry for now, instead of an entire population.
though, every now and then, a crusader was necessary. )
When, ( clarke sees fit to correct. then has to pause to consider: ) When I do again, I mean.
( because the only, only thing certain here is that — through a blur of failure, shame, and desperation — come morning, clarke's resolve would have reformed and hardened. they've got a new plan now, a fire stoked beneath her heart, and a new hope swelling in the back of her throat. a new comfort, of having something powerful at her back, no matter how often it had flinched and shied from conflict before hand. looking in venti's face now is more like staring into a mesmerizing pit of wisdom and potential, and —
for a second, just for a second.
clarke's gaze drops from his eyes down to his mouth. then from the soft line of his lips, further down to fix on the way his throat works when he swallows.
briefer still, the edge of her tongue comes out to drag across the black, faintly scabbed over split in her lower lip. courtesy of the captain absolutely donkey kicking her off the head table earlier, and meeting the ground with her face. there's still that tang of copper alighting across her tastebuds, and a sear of pain when she graduates from tonguing the small wound to dragging her upper teeth across it.
then back up to meet his eyes once again. )
At my call, huh? Do you really promise, Venti, or...
no subject
though, every now and then, a crusader was necessary. )
When, ( clarke sees fit to correct. then has to pause to consider: ) When I do again, I mean.
( because the only, only thing certain here is that — through a blur of failure, shame, and desperation — come morning, clarke's resolve would have reformed and hardened. they've got a new plan now, a fire stoked beneath her heart, and a new hope swelling in the back of her throat. a new comfort, of having something powerful at her back, no matter how often it had flinched and shied from conflict before hand. looking in venti's face now is more like staring into a mesmerizing pit of wisdom and potential, and —
for a second, just for a second.
clarke's gaze drops from his eyes down to his mouth. then from the soft line of his lips, further down to fix on the way his throat works when he swallows.
briefer still, the edge of her tongue comes out to drag across the black, faintly scabbed over split in her lower lip. courtesy of the captain absolutely donkey kicking her off the head table earlier, and meeting the ground with her face. there's still that tang of copper alighting across her tastebuds, and a sear of pain when she graduates from tonguing the small wound to dragging her upper teeth across it.
then back up to meet his eyes once again. )
At my call, huh? Do you really promise, Venti, or...