( be it a mark of friendship, or the line of thinking that they'd always shared that allowed them to become such immediate and close friends but. clarke understand immediately what he means. in both ways.
in terms of the solid foundations in the buildings here, the intricacies of everything. the facade is better, the plants are real, with root systems. there's animals. but a childish, uncreative captor was easier to overthrow than a thoughtful, careful, plotting mystery.
and also in the personalized nature of this place. she thinks of her kidney floating in the jar of preservatives, the hoard they'd run from — because zombies could have been done without the mounted head preamble — and then the simpler stuff. she'd called them all lab rats in the woods with krouse, only to turn around and find herself a rat in an actual maze of someone else's design. she'd sought an alternative to the labyrinth, and the whole city had been saddled with a mandatory coffee hour for her efforts. this place is personal and growing, and in clarke's paranoid little brain she's afraid to misstep. because what if next time it's like the string? it should also probably mean something that they're sitting in the bar seats that once upon a time could have belonged to another etraya resident, or their missing friends. )
...Me too.
( she pours another shot, but fiddles with the glass shooter more than she nurses it. )
I mean, it's better than sitting in jail or being put up for auction. But... for how long? For missions that supposedly prioritize bonding and teamwork, they sure are ugly tasks. And I can't help but think it's just going to get worse.
Again.
( like last time. like always.
and then, because she hadn't eaten and the moonshine be hitting — )
No one here can fuck Echo into compassionate compliance if he never shows his face.
no subject
in terms of the solid foundations in the buildings here, the intricacies of everything. the facade is better, the plants are real, with root systems. there's animals. but a childish, uncreative captor was easier to overthrow than a thoughtful, careful, plotting mystery.
and also in the personalized nature of this place. she thinks of her kidney floating in the jar of preservatives, the hoard they'd run from — because zombies could have been done without the mounted head preamble — and then the simpler stuff. she'd called them all lab rats in the woods with krouse, only to turn around and find herself a rat in an actual maze of someone else's design. she'd sought an alternative to the labyrinth, and the whole city had been saddled with a mandatory coffee hour for her efforts. this place is personal and growing, and in clarke's paranoid little brain she's afraid to misstep. because what if next time it's like the string? it should also probably mean something that they're sitting in the bar seats that once upon a time could have belonged to another etraya resident, or their missing friends. )
...Me too.
( she pours another shot, but fiddles with the glass shooter more than she nurses it. )
I mean, it's better than sitting in jail or being put up for auction. But... for how long? For missions that supposedly prioritize bonding and teamwork, they sure are ugly tasks. And I can't help but think it's just going to get worse.
Again.
( like last time. like always.
and then, because she hadn't eaten and the moonshine be hitting — )
No one here can fuck Echo into compassionate compliance if he never shows his face.