MISSION 002

[etrayamods]

WHO: Everyone!
WHEN: May 3rd-28th
WHERE: Within the Labyrinth
WHAT: The second Mission
NOTES\WARNINGS: Potential death, violence, injury. Please add additional warnings as needed within threads.

⏵ into the labyrinth ⏴ Aurora's announced time for the mission was correct: four days after, as she had promised, the door to the Labyrinth opens, connected to Etraya's atmospheric bubble by its entrance point. Characters are directed to come to the entrance on May 3rd, and warned that they may want to bring medical supplies, weaponry, and any important artifacts along with them. She warns that large vehicles will not fit within the limited space available, and smaller ones may be difficult to remove, thus advises those to stay behind. Aurora also offers to watch over any companion animals and keep them safe while competitors complete the Labyrinth. They are given a short amount of time outside of the entrance to speak with one another, to plan and organize themselves, before they are ushered into it in groups of two to four. Once passed the entrance, they'll find that they are unable to turn around and exit out of it: a barrier keeps them from going back into the city proper, and as soon as they are far enough forward, the walls around them shift, closing them in, moving in complex patterns meant to separate them and bring them together. Characters with extraordinary abilities may find some of them inaccessible: super strength may be downgraded to closer to ordinary strength, magic may prove to be less predictable than it should be, and regardless of how strong, fast, or clever characters are: passing over the Labyrinth walls or destroying them proves to be impossible. While one may be able to run through the pathways at superhuman speeds, the pathways compensate for it by running them in circles, refusing to allow them to make any progress on their own. ⏵ pathways collide ⏴ Junctures of the Labyrinth often present competitors with choices, some that may have consequences: a left turn down a darker path may prove to be harmless, whereas the well-lit path may be full of traps intent on slowing them down: a trip wire that activates a swinging massive axe, or arrows that shoot straight out of the wall as soon as one gets close enough. Other junctures may present characters with choices that have consequences: they can choose the shortest pathway, but at great personal risk to themselves or their partner (ie, you can go this way, but your arm isn’t going with you) or they can choose the lengthy pathway full of traps and trials they’ll have to surpass to get to the end. ⏵ balancing act ⏴ The pathway opens up into a massive space, but it's not one with an easy path out: instead, competitors will find an obstacle course that will not let them continue forward until they complete it. Many of the tasks involve things that one cannot do on their own: they must walk across multiple wooden boards balanced precariously on a tall beam, but to ensure it's balanced, there must be one person on both sides of the boards and make sure that they're walking on the board in just the right space to ensure their weight doesn't cause it to sink too far on the opposite side. If a smaller child is on one end, they may want to stand significantly further away from the beam than the larger person on the other half. ⏵ help! i'm bleeding! ⏴ A large garden area spawns off of a pathway. The peaceful chirping of birds can be heard among blooming cherry blossom trees, and it all seems utterly peaceful and calm. An area one might wish to take a breather in, enjoy the sunshine reflecting from above, and get a good nap in. Or would, except a companion bot whose abdomen is covered in ketchup appears to be struggling across the ground, crying out for help. They state they are bleeding profusely and require immediate medical attention, otherwise, they will die. The companion bot also carries a bag of medical supplies and MREs, which player characters are welcome to utilize. The pathway out of this open space will not open until after the companion bot no longer states they are dying. Whether it's because they're "dead", or because those who came across them offered "medical attention" and patched them up until they've stated they're good and no longer need assistance - well, both will technically suffice. ⏵ choice is an illusion ⏴ After walking down an additional pathway, characters will find themselves trapped within a glass box. In front of them is a pedestal with two buttons: one red, and one green, as well as a tablet above it displaying the image of another group of characters. The tablet states hindering them will help you. You may either choose to make the second group's time through the maze more difficult, or hinder your progress by pressing the green button and helping the other group forward. Characters are given two minutes to decide which path to take; the timer, on the tablet, counts down regardless of any attempt to break or hack it. Pressing the green button will drop several squishmallows into the glass box. Inside one of them is a key that unlocks the roof of the glass box. Pressing the red button, while it promises to hinder the other group, actually. . . causes a toxic yellow gas to flood the glass box. The gas will burn the lungs of those who breathe it in, but it also begins slowly melting the glass box. This gas will make breathing difficult for the next 24 hours, but will not kill those who inhale it. Healing factors will not offset the gas. ⏵ who deserves the knife? ⏴ A group of two characters will walk through one corridor and find themselves strapped to two chairs, the backs of which are leaning against each other. In front of the both of them are drills, slowly approaching their chests. They cannot go sideways but can push forward and backward. They can push backward and get themselves further away from the threat of injury - forcing the person behind them to suffer but allowing themselves to escape - or they can push into the drill and free the person they're with. Alternatively, they can choose not to push either way, potentially sacrificing them both. Three options, but they are left with minimal time to decide as the drill continues to press closer. If they choose to go out together, they'll find that as the drills press against their chest - they simply stop. Minimal blood will be spilled, and they will have all the time they need to figure out how to squirm out of their bindings. ⏵ the Siren waits for thee ⏴ A seemingly harmless pathway turns into much more trouble than it's worth. A few steps through a corridor, and suddenly competitors will find the floor falling out from under them, revealing a body of water and - no solid ground on either side of it. There are the walls, but they lack any good climbing holds. Within the water are numerous Sirens - beautiful androgynous creatures that sing soft songs meant to entice others into following them deep into the water. While they may look beautiful, their mouths are full of razor-sharp teeth, and their intentions certainly aren't innocent. However, the Sirens can only touch competitors once they have initiated touch first. They will do their best to encourage this: holding out their hands, crying out for help, pretending to drown, or trying to coax them into coming in close enough for a kiss. As long as they remain on the path, they're harmless. But the moment they reach out for the Sirens... getting away from them will not be easy. Their tails are powerful, built for moving swiftly throughout the water and dragging others along with them. They bite hard and will dig their teeth deep into flesh to discourage struggling. If one gets captured by them? They're lunch. Or worse yet: if they get bitten but manage to escape, they may find themselves becoming a bit.. scaley around the neck, eyes shifting color to a too-soft green, and an almost impossible-to-resist urge to take a bite out of their friends. This effect will continue until May 28th regardless of when the character reaches the end of the Labyrinth. After May 28th, they will find that their scales slowly begin to shed, their eyes begin to turn back to their normal shade, and any other new features slowly turn back to how they were before they were infected. ⏵ don't forget your ball of twine ⏴ The Labyrinth is large, and there are many challenges around each corner. There may be space for breaks in between monsters, challenges, riddles, places to sit and recuperate between battles and mind games. It's not all chaos and challenges meant to test one's strength of will. ⏵ NOTES ⏴ May's mission is completing a massive Labyrinth. All characters must enter the Labyrinth; whether or not they participate once they're inside is up to them, but no one will be permitted to stay behind in the city. The duo who completes the Labyrinth first will be allowed to assist in choosing the next mission. Sign-ups for this are here. We will contact the chosen characters on May 13th. This mission will cover the time between May 3rd and May 28th. After May 28th, any characters who have not yet exited the Labyrinth will be gathered by the companion bots and brought back into the city. The companion bots will be aiming for nonviolent intervention. If more is needed, please let us know here. The first to exit will be returning to the city on May 15th. There will be powercapping during this mission, but the extent of which is fully up to players. We want the Labyrinth to be challenging but don't want to hinder gameplay too much. If you have any questions relating to this or want assistance coming up with ways to powercap your character, please feel free to ask us here. We will be largely leaving this up to player discretion. Food is scarce within the Labyrinth, but not impossible to find. There are chests (or maybe they're mimics?) strewn throughout with various useful items. One might have a sword, another might have a fresh chicken nugget Happy Meal from McDonalds. Or an entire birthday cake, candles included. Large vehicles will not fit in the Labyrinth and must be left behind in the city. Numerous challenges are throughout the Labyrinth. You are welcome to make your own, but we will also provide several you may utilize! Please feel free to throw down wildcards, or your own challenges into your prompts! The limitation is that characters must remain themselves throughout the challenges. There are no mirror replicas, nothing within the Labyrinth will affect their personalities or core values. It’s meant to challenge, not change them. Deaths that occur within the Labyrinth will last 24 hours. Please report these on our Death Tracker. All new locations will appear after player characters have returned to the city. Feel free to note the differences from the May 3rd map, versus what characters will be returning to on May 15th.

Comments

[skaikru]

( the human jaw is one of the hardest bones in the body, but the plating of one's skull isn't anything to scoff at either — especially when directed, with force, towards the flexible cartilage of the nose. hannibal braces and takes the blow, clarke barely feels anything; the impact is not enough to throw either of them off. she doesn't get more than a split second to try and toss herself sidelong or wriggle out from under his arm before he lashes out long fingers and snatches her by the throat. like a feral stray dog on a catch pole, clarke cannot pull away or lunge forward to strike him again — can't do much of anything except snarl wordlessly in the moment before she's suddenly underwater.

hannibal gets up and out of the pool with as much grace as situationally possible, then hauls her out in his wake like a hacking, spitting, hissing drowned cat. oxygen deprivation will prove to work wonders where words failed.

sure, for a solid minute clarke still thrashes; scrabbles her feet and sending up small cloud of the dusty dirt that covers the entire maze in a vain attempt to gain leverage, claws at hannibal's forearm and the back of his hand in an effort to pry him off her throat, maybe has the brief inspiration to slam her elbow back and try to hit him in the side but the angle is awkward and far as she can tell it does nothing to make him faulter. she can't speak, but her mind is screaming: this isn't fair, this isn't fair, she's right there, please! she also can't get her mouth near his flesh with how solidly he's got his arm beneath her chin, which is a good thing for everyone involved otherwise clarke would have been likely to bite.

but eventually there's the tipping point where the hammering of blood between her own ears grows to a dull roar and fully drowns out the continued humming of the sirens. her vision begins to blur, darkening at the edges and making it difficult to focus on the watery face of the faux dead lovers still treading water just a few feet from the shore. and for a split second, the maze is gone — she's on the sports deck floor with a collar of air around her throat and a raging skeleton beating in her face, no she's on the cold metal flooring outside of airlock 5 and carl emerson's hands crushing her windpipe — but the next second it's back. and the survival instinct that had been tucked into bed by gentle lullabies and the desire to trust wakes up abruptly.

fear does it. fear breaks through the cloud of the lyrical curse where reason could not. fear has her seeing that the sirens are baring their terrible teeth with animalistic frustration and hunger at her, not love. fear is also compounding with the realization she's less than a minute from passing out here, but at least clarke can understand why she's being held this way.

she stops kicking. she stops clawing, and one hand clings to the wet sleeve of his shirt while the other frantically pats hannibal's elbow in the universal sign of surrender. she gets it, she understands what was just about to happen here had she actually managed to reach the siren, she's sorry. but most pressingly, she can't fucking breathe — )

[relished]

[he can feel the shift in her muscles, in the bones that dig into his body. he knows she's trying to do anything she can to leave his grasp at first, but he remains near-still, a rock compared to her. he understands that if she weren't under the spell, maybe she would be able to last longer against him. today is not that day.

he's counting the seconds until she loses consciousness. he wouldn't mind having to deal with Clarke that way -- it would make getting past these creatures much easier. it's all too familiar to him, and there are moments while he's caught Clarke that his eyes land on the sirens in the water. he notes that if he has the chance to watch them take someone, he'll let them.

but alas, submission interrupts his train of thought.

his grip around her neck loosens just enough to allow her to breathe and he drops his arm from under hers, too, but he doesn't let her out of his grasp just yet. he's decided if she twists away from him to jump back into that water, he'll watch her die.

he presses his lips together, tongue darting out. tastes his own blood. his nose isn't broken, luckily. ]

I'll let you go, but before I do, do I have your word you'll stay out of the water?

[skaikru]

( she taps out, and hannibal respects it. which is honestly admirable, considering clarke's given him absolutely nothing for all his efforts here aside from a bloodied nose and a soaked, filthy suit.

she gulps in a mouthful of air and almost immediately sets to coughing; the little scrapes in her throat from screaming readily aggravated by the salt water she hacks up, the skin of her throat bound to bruise in the immediate future and sore to touch and movement. the coughing fit can't quite be quelled enough to speak — each time clarke tries she can barely wheeze in a breath before just setting it off again. but his words trickle through the residual water resting in her ears.

and she nods aggressively, as best she can. she'll stay, she never has any desire to wade into a body of water again. )

[relished]

Good.

[he grants her the sweet release, even creates more space between them by sliding backward. every inch of his clothes stick to him in uncomfortable ways. he made a sacrifice for her today.

he watches her cough and sputter, silence speaking more volumes than any words could in this moment. he nearly lets himself give into his instincts, actual instincts -- Clarke is weak, vulnerable, and he is hungry. the way his eyes pierce into the back of her skull is no different than the siren's. there's no telling how much longer they all have in this maze and when food would present itself.

with a sigh, he pushes his hunger down. resignation. his eyes are now on the water, half-lidded, distant. he reminds himself that he's keeping her alive for a reason. the whole ordeal hardly affected him, his breathing is close to normal, chest rising and falling at a regular rate. he doesn't ask her if she's okay, because he knows the answer. instead he allows her this time to compose herself.]

[skaikru]

( once released, clarke spares absolutely no time pitching over and bracing herself on hands and knees to carry out this coughing fit. it isn't as if she'd actively drowned in the water but god on some level it felt like it; like she needs to hack up a lung and maybe purge the limited contents of her stomach in order to fully rid herself of the taste of saltwater and the sensation of pressure around her throat. of the feeling of vulnerability, of the knowledge she'd almost just fucked up severely.

head bowed, she can catch an upside down glance at the sirens still sulking in the water. they don't look nearly as beautiful in their sour mood, submerged up to their noses and staring like predators that have already written off their prey but will be sure to pin them with hard glances up until the final moment of retreat. she shakes slightly, and for the first time realizes how cold she is in sodden clothes.

it takes about a minute and a half for clarke to recompose herself. to cough it out, to grit her teeth together and stop them chattering, and finally to will herself to shift positions. to draw her knees up and straighten her spine so she's sitting with her back to the water; chin tucked near her chest and casting one or two glances sidelong at hannibal, shamefaced. he's bleeding, and the mild sore spot on her forehead throbs. )

...I'm sorry, ( she gets out eventually, voice tight and raspy. her nose is running like a faucet and clarke has to aggressively sniff, dragging a drenched sleeve across her face for good measure. ) Your face, I didn't mean to...

( she very much had meant to do that in the moment, but they can both acknowledge extenuating circumstances, right? )

[relished]

[her reminder of the blood on his skin brings him back her, eyes carefully, slowly, shifting away from the sirens. he brings a wet sleeve up to his face and gently wipes himself off. normally, he would never dare do such a thing, he'd rather a handkerchief or other form of cloth to tend to his wounds. but his clothes are already wet and ruined and there isn't much to be done about that now. the bleeding has slowed to a near stop, at least.]

Yes, you did, just as I left those marks on your neck. We did what had to be done.

[but he doesn't sound angry or upset with her. his tone is neutral. the entire event could very well have been a trip to the grocery store. he notes that her teeth are chattering from the chill and lingers for a moment. he's already come this far. he rises from the floor, takes a few steps to pick up his dry jacket from her backpack and drapes it over her shoulders.]

We should find somewhere to make a fire.

[he holds out his hand to her to help her up, a peace offering]

[skaikru]

( what had to be done strikes a chord in her chest that he couldn't possibly know was there. and yet suddenly she's a violent violin, and he a master of pizzicato. it feels a bit like being punched in the gut and choked all at once; clarke opens her mouth to protest, even manages to shake her head infinitesimally side to side in denial. but blood is present, blood stains, and his blood was in the water she'd all but bathed in so — no, she doesn't get to decide, as the party coming out of this just vaguely bruised.

it doesn't matter if hannibal keeps a relatively neutral, unbothered tone. in the end clarke bows her head and swallows thickly around the swelling of her esophagus, and in her mind she will lash herself more severely than he ever could. she'd been so stupid, she'd fallen for a trap based on sentimentality and love and what is love if not the largest weak point one could possibly have? the disconcerting doctor had been the only level head in the water and if he hadn't been here then — who really knows, but also she can very readily guess.

she is in the middle of swearing to herself never again when an outstretched hand peeks in at the edge of her peripherals. and clarke looks up, an exhausted and half drowned visage that would very much like to stay close to the ground in this moment. but she's cold, and he mentions a fire. it's not like she can stay here after all, guilt threatens to overwhelm and that's almost as deadly a disease as love. under normal circumstances she would brush off his hand the same way she'd discounted his efforts to drag her to comfort in the wake of that shadowbloom flowers effect; insist she was fine, didn't need a fire, and inevitable push herself to her feet just to prove she could do so without help, but

but

this whole experience is so wildly out of her wheelhouse. and despite having wiped his face, hannibal still sports the dark red stain of blood around the loop of his nostrils and the bridge of his lips. clarke visibly winces, but after a beat raises her own hand to slot into his. she allows herself to be pulled up and, belatedly with a brief jerk of her chin towards her still-dry backpack: ) I have matches.

( and a lighter. and tiny shooters of vodka from the kwik trip should they need an accelerant. also a basic first aid kit and enough shelf stable high protein snacks and condiments that they should be able to make a really odd hot meal if desired — all that's required is kindling. )

[relished]

[her swell of mixed emotions could very well feed him. she is all salt water, guilt and sweat. he sees how she fights herself, how she nearly avoided to be helped up from the pool's floor. she is as vulnerable as he's ever seen her and he's analyzing every inch of her. all of this revealed many weaknesses on her part, most of which he plans to take advantage of at a later date. she is no Abigail, but there is a twisted pang of feeling paternal.

twisted. none that could ever make sense to another human being.

he knew she prepared well the second she woke from her slumber on his couch. someone like her has to prepare well, she has that scrappiness about her. the second she is up his hand leaves hers and he moves to pick up her backpack, along with his socks and shoes. he holds the backpack by the loop at the top -- he doesn't want to get it wet -- and tucks his shoes under his arm.]

Do you want to talk about what happened?

[he knows that answer too, but he still offers, falling into the familiarity of "psychiatrist" as he leads them away from the pool, down a pathway.]

[skaikru]

( at her core, there is still something indescribably icky about proximity to this man. but contrary to how it'd been interpreted in their first meeting, in light of trying to break his face and probably well prepared to shove him under the water if she'd managed to get the upper hand in the shallows, it's... different. more like he shouldn't touch her for his own safety, not he shouldn't touch her because she doesn't trust him.

regardless, clarke does not miss the tactile sensation when hannibal drops his hand away. she takes her backpack when proffered, and gathers up her jacket, sweatshirt, and books in her free hand. doesn't redress herself, soaked to the bone and needing to spare her fresher clothes until she dries out a little. he turns to lead them away and she follows like a dejected puppy.

and he asks if she wants to talk, and she visibly blanches. )

No. No, not really. I don't even know what — ( just happened? what those are? some on the ark had a better comprehension of the myths of the dead myths from a dead world. bellamy blake had named his sister for augustus', but the extent of clarke's knowledge is that myths existed and somewhere in the depths of this maze there should be a minotaur. )

[relished]

Sirens. [finishing her sentence, weaving his own words into hers so smoothly. he is a master conductor.] Creatures of mythology, and very dangerous, but beautiful. It would be wise of you to read when we've made our way out.

[he's keeping track of how many steps she is behind him and her scent. there is a prickle in the air between them that he's noticed since they met. he can tell she's unsure about him; they are two different species watching each other carefully. he wonders just what she's picking up on that most don't. he jumped into the water after her, after all. that should have shifted something in her eyes. the fear that took over her after he grabbed her neck suggests he may have triggered her in more ways than one. his interest is tugged at even more. Clarke has revealed a good amount of information without trying to.

after a few minutes of walking, he's satisfied with the area. there's little around them and it feels like the labyrinth is giving them a breather.]

We should stop here.

[he'd like to dry his shirt off at least, as quickly as possible.]

[skaikru]

( sirens?

yeah, there's that niggling of familiarity of something she maybe heard about in passing once. but a vague idea does not an adequate defense make. and honestly, even if she'd had the benefit of reading the odyssey or watching o brother, where art thou before this venture, nothing could have made clarke look away once catching sight of lexa kom trikru's face. and she'd read a lot not that long ago. entirely fiction, as the setting had dictated, and quickly discounting any mythological creature that didn't manifest in smoke and work in more tangible measures.

but here? since first arriving? ) We'd need a library first.

( but that's her only retort, and it's not even properly defensive. they walk in uncomfortable, cold silence after that for a few more minutes until hannibal deems a little section of labyrinth hallway to be safe enough to settle. it does seem peaceful here, and relatively quiet; there's ivy growing along the walls unbothered, which at least means nothing overlarge or fire breathing has touched down in a while. but of course in her mind clarke twists that interpretation — the quiet is too quiet, the ivy might just be the next thing they have to contend against and is probably poisonous. she stands for a beat too long, staring hard at the trellised foliage like it might move independently, but eventually has to acknowledge that she's exhausted.

and the one holding the matches. carefully clarke deposits her backpack and outer layers, then fishes with frozen fingers through the outer pockets for a matchbook. ) Do you see any wood?

[relished]

[perhaps he should start his own library, or at least documentation of the beasts they have encountered here. a short book of art and description to inform the other residents.]

One need only ask.

[he'd noticed homes that remain separate from the apartments, homes that look too out of place to have conveniently appeared. he's assuming that while they are all trapped on this space bubble, they are provided with many resources, some of those resources being their own homes.

he doesn't so much as answer as he does scope out the area for anything that could be used for kindling. he gathers stray twigs, leaves, even pulls ivy from the walls that are easy to detach. there's a small, budding tree that he gracefully breaks branches from.

he returns to her side, arranging his findings delicately nearby. this is not the first time he's put together a fire.]

This should be enough for now. I'll go further for more again soon. We'll need the fire for a few hours to avoid hypothermia and dry our clothes.

[hours. hours, even they are given that much time, who knows what else may be creeping around. this is a quiet before a storm.]

[skaikru]

( all they need to do is ask for a library, he posits. but on clarke's end, that would be a waste of the limited questions and requests aurora will respond to — even if it is fare more likely to be fulfilled. every time she gets a crack at the resident a.i. there is the deep need to dig for information about their benefactor or the so-called missions they were being sent on. sure, though idle conversation with other city occupants, she's thought about what indulgences she'd request but asking after specifics feels a lot like surrendering to the idea they're here for the long run and might as well get comfortable.

and frankly, she'd rather be eviscerated by a siren than take on that viewpoint.

but if a library ever does pop up, count her among the patrons who hole up in a corner for three whole days and devour as much as they can in written text — full blown books, with actual paper, that aren't kept under lock and key still something of a novelty. in this moment though, all a book could lend the two of them would be to serve as kindling.

clarke hadn't meant to send hannibal on the chase for burnable materials. she still feels guilty enough about his bloodied nose that all he would have had to do is point down the hallway and she would have pulled herself up to fetch it. but he takes the initiative in gathering and assembling, so she waits. patient, stiff shouldered to stave off the shivers that threaten to overwhelm with every mildly cold breeze that sweeps through the passageways. grits her teeth again to prevent them chattering, denies herself any errant thought of lexa kom trikru and her fishy charlatans but still has to fight the urge to whine whenever a particularly cold gust wracks from the base of her spine to bottom of her skull. compartmentalizing is hard when so many other factors are at play here; their sodden clothes, their situation, their everything.

when the time comes, clarke busies herself with striking matches and blowing on the embers. not her first fire either, and when the splints of that sapling are crackling and the flames grow approximately a foot high she sits back on her haunches and holds out her hands to warm them. she doesn't look at hannibal for fear of dissolving into apologies again; buttons her mouth closed and weathers the questionable smell of burning ivy with no complaint.

but when her palms have been fire-dried, a crust of evaporated saltwater making them tacky, she does reach to her bag and yanks at the zipper. )

Are you hungry? I have food, too.

( if they're to be stuck here for a few hours — or at least until some new threat enters the arena to chase them off — now's as good a time as any. )

[relished]

[as soon as Clarke gets the fire going, Hannibal murmurs a small excuse me while he unbuttons his shirt and lays it as close to the fire as he can. delicately, he flattens the creases, straightens it out. Hannibal himself is lean, but muscular, with two vertical very defined scars on the inside of both wrists that are recent enough that the scars from the stitches are still fairly pronounced. a memory of an attempted take of his life. he wouldn't dare undress completely in front of her and only plans on drying out his shirt. he sits inches from the flames, knowing the heat will eventually dry his pants enough to be somewhat comfortable.

he looks around the area for something he could make a clothes-hanger from, but the pickings are slim and he'd rather use whatever kindling they may find for continuing the fire instead.

not only can he sense it, but he can smell the guilt on her. waves of it come forward, even through her tone of voice. a once lively, snapping animal now a whimpering, subdued baby. there's no fresh food in her backpack, that much he can tell. the idea of eating something wrapped turns his stomach.

but sometimes sacrifices have to be made.]

Depends. [like there's going to be much choice.] What do you have?

[skaikru]

( give her time and a little space, and she'll reform into the humanized version of the leopard-snake chimera. but every feral beast starts out whimpering, and it'll be very difficult to erase the memory of this moment in future meetings. clarke may manage to slide the facade of assurance back into place, may even feel she fully feel it at times but...

who knows, really? she isn't thinking about the future so much as how cold she is. hannibal excuses himself to undress with as much decorum as the situation can contain, and clarke remains rooted in drenched cargo pants and a neon green t-shirt. she's got a reasonably modest sports bra and compression short beneath them, but absolutely no desire to bare more skin when it still hurts to swallow. grateful guilt and wary can exist in unison, after all. her clothes will dry by this pitiful firelight or not at all, and she'll deal with it.

just because she doesn't want to look him in the face doesn't mean she can't track his hands and the careful way he smooths out the shirt despite it laying in the dirt. and hands lead to wrists, with their stark fresh scars. part of her notes that as a weak spot, the ruling part feelings for the cold, wet chord of a friendship bracelet wrapped several times around her own wrist — the one that's now unbandaged, sporting similar scars in the shape of teeth. along her left forearm, also on display in short sleeves, is a well healed burn mark that stretches from wrist to elbow. )

Beef jerky and protein bars.

( the most practical, shelf stable items clarke could grab of a shelf at the kwik trip. more than she'd ever had on hand in similar dire straits on earth, and thus a godsend well worth the bruises her overstuffed backpack has set into her shoulders like brands. )

They're teriyaki and chocolate flavored, if that matters.

[relished]

[there's a level of exposure the two of them are experiencing in different ways. Hannibal would normally never undress in front of someone; it's impolite, but he would prefer not to get sick. meanwhile, Clarke remains stubbornly clothed. he doesn't blame her, he's sure she's already experiencing enough humiliation that even shedding a layer of salt-soaked clothing is out of the question.

he sits cross-legged now, arms and hands close to the fire. he adds to it here and there, keeping it stoked and alive. he isn't worried about burning himself, confident around the flames. he understands that the two of them are mirroring in their gazes, her taking what she sees as flaws in as he does the same. every imperfection, every blemish, is in the spotlight more than ever.

but he remains stoic, as professional as someone can be in this situation. he's taken the role of protector here, so that's what he'll be. processed foods are offered to him and he wishes he'd brought a cooler of food he'd cooked himself.]

The jerky, please. [even the words leaving his mouth to request it sours his palate. still, he holds his hand out for whatever she decides to give him.] Unless you would like to have it for yourself.

[but for the love of god, Clarke, do not give him that protein bar.]

[skaikru]

It's fine, I have more.

( and literally zero desire to eat; too much sea water swallowed, too lovesick and freshly grief stricken, too many warring emotions slinking down to her stomach and twisting it into uncomfortable shapes. clarke only moves to pass the jerky over the small, crackling fire, then folds herself back into place. sits on her butt, knees drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped around her shins.

she seems content to spend the suggested hours in quiet disquiet. her throat hurts, her head hurts, her heart hurts — all the degrees of misery clarke had tried hard to stave off by perpetually pushing forward through the maze thus far compounding in this moment of pause. her shoulders hurt, she's cold, and she's tired beyond belief but would never fall asleep here. even if she somehow managed to shut off her brain, which is a warzone of recent highlights played out in high definition. unlacing her boots, the sickly click she hadn't noticed when the sirens had crooned about blacks and bays, dapples and greys, lexa's face but wrong, all those teeth, hannibal's hand around her throat and...

yanno, one thing sticks out. )

"We did what had to be done," you said. But nothing forced you to get in the water, too.

( he'd been immune to the song of the sirens, but seemingly knew what they were. understood the danger but jumped in anyways, which elevates this encounter past simply dragging her off the street and allowing her to sleep off the effects of shadowbloom on his couch. so, why?

past this moment, in her three subsequent encounters with open pits of salt water and willing victims reaching out for their own death, she will know why she intervenes — because it's insulting to use dead loved ones to trick them here, because it's underhanded and echo should be ashamed of himself. she knows what drives her, but him? a mystery. )

[relished]

[he takes the jerky from her with a nod, eyes lingering on the fire. the heat is finally beginning to break through the initial cold-sweat and salt stuck to skin. he can feel it on his eyelashes. he enjoys it, nearly expects her to silence herself for longer, but then she doesn't.

her question sounds as if she's being ungrateful. he's offended she's asking, and there's a great pause between them as he looks not at her, but into her across the fire, shadows dancing across his face.]

Would you rather I watch you die? [something about him is more relaxed, accent a bit more thick, eyes more curious. he truly wants to know if that's what she would have preferred. the option had been there, certainly. he could have left her in the waters and continued without her. he takes a small bite of the jerky, testing it, feeling it in his mouth. disgusting, but doable. he follows up that question once he swallows.] What kind of doctor would I be?

[skaikru]

( no, yes? no. the lure of the sirens had been so sweet and comforting while their song had reverberated in her waterlogged ears, but hindsight show cased all those pointy teeth and the sickening knowledge of exactly what she'd been swimming towards. that'd been two versions of the love of her life out there in the salt froth, an easy hook in her heart that'd tugged her towards death as easily as leading a toddler by the hand.

but clarke does not want to die here. not again, no so soon after having bled out in an alleyway and discovering the reanimation mechanics of this universe the hard way. death would have slowed her down worse than a fireside chat, though jury's out on which is more uncomfortable, seeing as now she's on the receiving end of maroon eyes, underlit with the flicks of firelight, seemingly boring into her soul like a needle searching for a vein. the best she has to offer is a tight, almost infinitesimal shake of her head in answer to his first question.

as for the second? a litany of responses surge up over the back of her tongue, but none of them right. she chews over her words like he masticates that jerky —

a sociopathic one.

one with a solid sense of self preservation.

a better one than i'd ever be. — until finally landing on one that serves. )

...Not a very good one, I guess.

( ... )

I would have just come back, though. Death isn't permanent here, if you missed the announcement. ( yanno, the one she'd engineered to be delivered via third party with her name purposefully kept out of it. thanks krouse. )

[relished]

[the weight of his question settles on her in ways he finds odd. does she not value her life in the same way as others? did she not appreciate his readiness to save her life? he's understanding that some part of her does, but also that she is so wary of him she doesn't want to admit it. he did handle her somewhat roughly, but -

so did she. her screams for past loved ones are not so easily forgotten. neither is the blood clotted in his nose.]

Even with death impermanent, so readily walking toward it will only lead to losing true appreciation for life itself.

[and, eventually, the sense of self as well. but he leaves that unsaid, allowing Clarke to interpret his words as she will.]

[skaikru]

( come on hannibal, this can't be your first time dealing with someone so unused to the kindness of strangers — or not even strangers, but someone she'd greeted with open hostility on their first meeting — that it's downright uncomfortable to experience. clarke had been excessively wary when she'd woken up on his couch, but in hindsight dragging her to the elevator had been at little cost to his own safety. jumping into the pool of sirens with no guarantee they wouldn't turn on him instead? that was so reckless, so why? after two years in a realm where death only cost the victim, and more than that as somewhat of a social pariah outside of the pressing concern from a few favored friends, she can't construct a good willed narrative that plays on the goodness of humanity anymore. )

"If death has no meaning, life has no worth."

( it's obviously a quote from someone else, and voiced in neither agreement or argument. two can play the open to interpretation game. )

[relished]

[Hannibal is wickedly good at snaking his way into people's lives, whether they like it or not. whether she views their experiences together as some form of camaraderie or not is entirely up to her. she seems dead set on making him out to be someone else, and deep down, she's right. but he enjoys playing her strings all the same.]

"Life has no meaning the moment you lose the illusion of being eternal", as Jean Paul Sartre said. Whoever you're quoting was trying to ease the darkness in your mind.

[he can quote things, too. is this going to turn into a bake-off?]

You have a lot of uncomfortable feelings stored inside of you, Clarke. I'd be able to help you process them if you'd let me.

[said between reluctant bites of jerky.]

[skaikru]

( easing her mind had been the exact opposite of lincoln kom trikru's intent when he'd passed on that particular sentiment. he'd been begging her people to understand that handing over the young man who'd slaughtered an entire village to meet his own death was better than waging outright war. in an earlier conversation he'd also been the one to impart upon her the fateful condemnation — we've all got a monster inside of us, clarke. and we're all responsible for what it does when we let it out — that just served to add layer after layer to her guilt complex.

but that's too topical. like hell she's about to bring that up, so the quote-off ends with the one-sided resolution that jean paul sartre probably died centuries before she was born and his words cannot possibly hold water in comparison to lincoln's. theirs had been a transitional generation from the start, they always know they weren't eternal.

then hannibal goes and offers to allow her to unload. and clarke prickles a little. infinitesimally, she tells herself despite her spine visibly stiffening.

they are still in the middle of a crisis situation and the time to talk about feelings depends entirely if they manage to make it out of this place alive. or successfully revived. a little sharply — )

What, right here? Right now?

[relished]

[unfortunate that Clarke views herself so darkly, but he assumes it's because of that darkness that she recognizes it in him, as well. he returns her question with slight tilt of his head, inquisitive.]

Why not?

[he's not one to play with his food, so he decides to finish what she has given him and chew thoughtfully, considering her, her feelings.]

Though, if you would prefer we sit in silence, that's all right with me. It's important that you feel comfortable.

[he's giving her that choice. can lead a horse to water, but can't force it to drink and all that.]

[skaikru]

( why not? he asks, and her mind absolutely boggles. why not? why not because — )

At least in silence we'd be able to hear if something was sneaking up on us.

( clarke has had the absolutely awful labyrinth experience of running into monster after monster after monster... no puzzle breaks, a brief back to back stint in the obstacle course but other than that it's just been the perpetual sense of being a live feed dropped into an animal enclosure — recent siren escapades included. and she knows that not all monsters are dragons and chimeras and evil mermaids; she knows most of them are human, which probably lends to the resistance of being asked to sit here and examine her own feelings, when they're currently a jumbled mess. something about the good doctor across the fire sets her teeth on edge, but he'd done right and she'd done wrong and...

it's just a lot. it's wire strippers passing over already frayed nerve endings. and while she subsequently sinks into a solid 45 minutes of absolute silence just to prove a point, at some point it becomes oppressive.

at some point her mind wanders, and she stares into the base of the fire they've both continued to feed scraps of foliage into, and it looks no different than the base of sticks one would build a funeral pyre out of. she thinks of finn, then of lexa in her warpaint, then lexa leaking out blood as dark as the charcoal she'd used around her eyes. then of the sirens, one plain faced and the other prepared for battle, urging her towards it and how readily she'd wanted to follow...

and despite imposing it, clarke is the first to lose the quiet game. )

What else do you think we're going to run into out here?

( she needs to know, so that in the inevitable future in which the walls shift and separate the two of them, at least she'll have a better idea of what to expect. )