( the first time clarke had gotten an arguably solid stretch of sleep had been in the wake of natsuno crashing into the ground beside her, hissing similar sentiments and looking well bloodied, but whole.
this is what they always do. when an arcade is an option, they tend to be drawn towards shooting games as the mood permits, but when that doesn't appeal or isn't available... they go through hell, together or separate, and come back slightly changed each time. and clarke has come to expect the silent present and occasional glint of red iris rings in the shadows as she goes about the calmer parts of her life — to the point that whenever natsuno takes a break and seeks after rita like a shadowy guard dog, she notices and misses him. and when he's present but they're not directly interacting, she'll mutter quiet asides with the trust that he'd pick up her voice in a crowd — do you ever think about those turtles? while out in the fox field or remind me never to open my big mouth again in the midst of a particularly busy coffee hour.
but more often than not they are shoulder to shoulder, prowling the town like a pair of tightly coiled springs, and never standing on the principle of invitation when it comes to investigating somewhere new. (and if natsuno ever requires one, clarke steps over the threshold first and welcomes he follow.) just outside the pub, she'd given him a sidelong glance and shrug that'd simultaneously said i'm curious and i'm preemptively sorry. the intent had just been to look around and add one more feature to her hardcopy map, but once she'd glanced over the bar...
the rocketfuel burns the whole way down, and it's a miracle she doesn't splutter it out. but clarke tells herself she's doing this for raven and monty in equal measure, a little ode to another set of friends she desperately misses. her face is still scrunched into an absolutely disgusted expression when natsuno snags her attention and reaches out to grab a jug. it takes a second, but clarke slots the memory of her best friend texting her while absolutely obliterated — hug. rita. — with a jug that absolutely looks like something the dioscuri would use in a ritual and, it clicks just as he explains.
her eyebrows shoot up as natsuno tips back the bottle to take a swig, and remain up in the long moment that follows. she really looks at him, with the occasional brief flick of her eyes towards the wine; an unspoken question in place, do you wanna...
after all, they'd just been through almost two weeks of incremental torment. if this place was anything like the last, they got at least a little bit of a reprieve. and have never had the chance to do this together before. )
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this is what they always do. when an arcade is an option, they tend to be drawn towards shooting games as the mood permits, but when that doesn't appeal or isn't available... they go through hell, together or separate, and come back slightly changed each time. and clarke has come to expect the silent present and occasional glint of red iris rings in the shadows as she goes about the calmer parts of her life — to the point that whenever natsuno takes a break and seeks after rita like a shadowy guard dog, she notices and misses him. and when he's present but they're not directly interacting, she'll mutter quiet asides with the trust that he'd pick up her voice in a crowd — do you ever think about those turtles? while out in the fox field or remind me never to open my big mouth again in the midst of a particularly busy coffee hour.
but more often than not they are shoulder to shoulder, prowling the town like a pair of tightly coiled springs, and never standing on the principle of invitation when it comes to investigating somewhere new. (and if natsuno ever requires one, clarke steps over the threshold first and welcomes he follow.) just outside the pub, she'd given him a sidelong glance and shrug that'd simultaneously said i'm curious and i'm preemptively sorry. the intent had just been to look around and add one more feature to her hardcopy map, but once she'd glanced over the bar...
the rocketfuel burns the whole way down, and it's a miracle she doesn't splutter it out. but clarke tells herself she's doing this for raven and monty in equal measure, a little ode to another set of friends she desperately misses. her face is still scrunched into an absolutely disgusted expression when natsuno snags her attention and reaches out to grab a jug. it takes a second, but clarke slots the memory of her best friend texting her while absolutely obliterated — hug. rita. — with a jug that absolutely looks like something the dioscuri would use in a ritual and, it clicks just as he explains.
her eyebrows shoot up as natsuno tips back the bottle to take a swig, and remain up in the long moment that follows. she really looks at him, with the occasional brief flick of her eyes towards the wine; an unspoken question in place, do you wanna...
after all, they'd just been through almost two weeks of incremental torment. if this place was anything like the last, they got at least a little bit of a reprieve. and have never had the chance to do this together before. )