( the gun is in much the same condition as it had been when he'd pressed it into her palm in the midst of the monster swarm, save a few streaks from long dried saltwater droplets that'd been half heartedly scrubbed away. if clarke had put a little more thought into their eventual reunion, she would have hunted down a bit of distilled vinegar and broken into her stash of hydrogen peroxide and maybe given the thing a proper wipe down; if she'd had a bore brush and gun oil, she would have cleaned it, and if she had bullets she would have returned it with twelve shots in the magazine. but these are considerations that flood forward in hindsight, weapon already returned.
the moment's over, right? clarke had followed through on returning the loan, krouse is inspecting his gun for general wear and tear, the door is still open a crack and in short order he'll probably turn to leave. and then she'll be alone in this simultaneously barren and messy apartment, and have to turn her attention towards mentally preparing for tomorrow's coffee hour and acknowledge a special sort of uselessness that comes with having no idea how to proceed next in this place. he will leave and she'll turn to her murderboard and stare at the lurid yellow pages for the millionth time, like some revelation will spring out from between the faded blue lines. and when it inevitably fails to manifest, she'll fish her kidney jar out of the cupboard to remind herself how utterly enraging it is to be stuck in a place like this again, and try all over. then she'll get a headache, and try to lay down to sleep, but had drunk too much coffee and will become painfully aware of how rapid her heartbeat is and inevitably go for a walk — marveling at nothing but how alone one can feel in a city bustling with people.
a few seconds of silence reign while clarke preemptively plans out the rest of her day, eventually interrupted by a classic krouse half-joke which earns a light snort in response. a sling shot. she should probably take this moment to apologize for leaving him (being forcibly separated, but it's the same thing) without even her knife in exchange back in the maze. though it wouldn't have done much to help him in the well...
but he's got a follow-up question all of a sudden, and despite a measure of surprise at the return to topic, it's easy enough to answer. )
Oh. Um, blonde. About this tall — ( an illustrative palm held flat, guesstimating roughly at lisa's height. ) — with green eyes, and...
( they'd met before the other girl had attempted to drown her, back at the very beginning of the maze. a few of the early on observations clarke had also noted were: no concept of personal space, grating, suspicious, and mean as sin. but krouse had asked for a physical description, not the gut instincts that left a sour taste on the back of her tongue, and there's one more to tell. she illustrates again, bringing up her left hand to drag the nail of her pinky finger idly from the corner of her mouth to halfway through her cheek. )
A couple scars. She had a purple notebook and a fanny pack at one point.
no subject
the moment's over, right? clarke had followed through on returning the loan, krouse is inspecting his gun for general wear and tear, the door is still open a crack and in short order he'll probably turn to leave. and then she'll be alone in this simultaneously barren and messy apartment, and have to turn her attention towards mentally preparing for tomorrow's coffee hour and acknowledge a special sort of uselessness that comes with having no idea how to proceed next in this place. he will leave and she'll turn to her murderboard and stare at the lurid yellow pages for the millionth time, like some revelation will spring out from between the faded blue lines. and when it inevitably fails to manifest, she'll fish her kidney jar out of the cupboard to remind herself how utterly enraging it is to be stuck in a place like this again, and try all over. then she'll get a headache, and try to lay down to sleep, but had drunk too much coffee and will become painfully aware of how rapid her heartbeat is and inevitably go for a walk — marveling at nothing but how alone one can feel in a city bustling with people.
a few seconds of silence reign while clarke preemptively plans out the rest of her day, eventually interrupted by a classic krouse half-joke which earns a light snort in response. a sling shot. she should probably take this moment to apologize for leaving him (being forcibly separated, but it's the same thing) without even her knife in exchange back in the maze. though it wouldn't have done much to help him in the well...
but he's got a follow-up question all of a sudden, and despite a measure of surprise at the return to topic, it's easy enough to answer. )
Oh. Um, blonde. About this tall — ( an illustrative palm held flat, guesstimating roughly at lisa's height. ) — with green eyes, and...
( they'd met before the other girl had attempted to drown her, back at the very beginning of the maze. a few of the early on observations clarke had also noted were: no concept of personal space, grating, suspicious, and mean as sin. but krouse had asked for a physical description, not the gut instincts that left a sour taste on the back of her tongue, and there's one more to tell. she illustrates again, bringing up her left hand to drag the nail of her pinky finger idly from the corner of her mouth to halfway through her cheek. )
A couple scars. She had a purple notebook and a fanny pack at one point.