( there's a warbling uptick in inflection at the end of the word that almost causes it to cross over into the realm of a question returned. but it is not one. it is a statement well chewed over in the span of the several seconds it takes clarke to work her way around the consonants and truly grasp what he's asking.
something has krouse balanced on a razors edge here, and in mirror discomfort, clarke's face contorts in preemptive defense. her brow furrows, the corners of her mouth drag down, and when given the choice between two answers she still tries to forge her own middle ground.
she is well familiar with the facts of their acquaintance; he'd willingly cheated a game with her, he'd dawdled at her side in the woods, conveniently not been a mass murderer keen to set on prey in their weakest moments, carried her message, protected her identity, warned her off potential threats, pressed a gun in her hand and let her keep it for far too long. he'd made her laugh, and tried to absolve her of her sins. and while she'd never actively sought him out, there are the beginnings of a patterned relief every time he just shows up. he'd kicked the door closed all the way, she'd heard the latch click, and her gut instinct had not been one of fear at being locked in a room together.
but being asked to sum up everything those series of events made her feel in a single word? weighted. tense. a little nerve wracking. the same pit in her stomach that had threatened to swallow her whole every time she made a new alliance stretches now, wide and dark and terrifying.
and then there's the fact krouse looked so pressingly, sickeningly concerned before asking, little lines of his practiced facade easier to pick out like marionette strings against a curtain. and had prefaced the ask with the caveats that she couldn't ask why, which was smart because that's absolutely the next thing on the tip of her tongue. why?
why do you seem so... scared? )
I mean, it's not like you've lead me astray yet.
( she knits her brow and curls in her lower lip to anchor in place with her teeth. that's about as close to an explicit yes as she clarke can offer without knowing more, and there's no point in chasing answers that seem like they'll inevitably land at her feet in the next few seconds. )
no subject
( there's a warbling uptick in inflection at the end of the word that almost causes it to cross over into the realm of a question returned. but it is not one. it is a statement well chewed over in the span of the several seconds it takes clarke to work her way around the consonants and truly grasp what he's asking.
something has krouse balanced on a razors edge here, and in mirror discomfort, clarke's face contorts in preemptive defense. her brow furrows, the corners of her mouth drag down, and when given the choice between two answers she still tries to forge her own middle ground.
she is well familiar with the facts of their acquaintance; he'd willingly cheated a game with her, he'd dawdled at her side in the woods, conveniently not been a mass murderer keen to set on prey in their weakest moments, carried her message, protected her identity, warned her off potential threats, pressed a gun in her hand and let her keep it for far too long. he'd made her laugh, and tried to absolve her of her sins. and while she'd never actively sought him out, there are the beginnings of a patterned relief every time he just shows up. he'd kicked the door closed all the way, she'd heard the latch click, and her gut instinct had not been one of fear at being locked in a room together.
but being asked to sum up everything those series of events made her feel in a single word? weighted. tense. a little nerve wracking. the same pit in her stomach that had threatened to swallow her whole every time she made a new alliance stretches now, wide and dark and terrifying.
and then there's the fact krouse looked so pressingly, sickeningly concerned before asking, little lines of his practiced facade easier to pick out like marionette strings against a curtain. and had prefaced the ask with the caveats that she couldn't ask why, which was smart because that's absolutely the next thing on the tip of her tongue. why?
why do you seem so... scared? )
I mean, it's not like you've lead me astray yet.
( she knits her brow and curls in her lower lip to anchor in place with her teeth. that's about as close to an explicit yes as she clarke can offer without knowing more, and there's no point in chasing answers that seem like they'll inevitably land at her feet in the next few seconds. )