( he spins a beautiful, horrible, terrifying, blood-and-madness filled web of stories. and clarke hangs on every word; they're more breathtaking than the liquid filled syringe dancing between his fingers. torture is a taboo word amongst most every being no matter what world they hail from. but it isn't a stranger to clarke. she'd been there when they'd strapped up lincoln and beat him with the buckle end of a seatbelt; she'd been complicit. clarke, you don't have to be here for this — i'm not leaving until i get that antidote. she'd seen the aftermath, where murphy'd been beaten to a pulp with not a fingernail left on his hands. and she'd been on the receiving end, with the husk of her mother driving scalpels into her chest. the ways her people enacted torture hadn't ever been effective, but...

this? what he's offering her now?

that's a whole new level. and when the syringe is offered offer, clarke's ready with an open palm to receive it in heavy, weighted silence. )

Mizuki — ( she starts with his name, immediately has no well thought out follow-up, and closes her mouth. swallows hard, and after a few moments silence, tries again. )

Death means nothing here, you're right. But I'm... angry. And vindictive. And not in the majority that seems to think this cruise ends happily ever. There are better people than me that you could give this to.