( it's a semi-regular event, to find herself in disagreement with someone despite them both trying to tackle the same problem. clarke's got plenty she'd like to hide away about herself, but history proves she can take most accusations on the chin and keep going anyways. lisa's mask had cracked beside the siren pool, and she'd spat vehemence like a wounded snake directly in clarke's face while also trying to break her wrist; if it's just a more extreme version she's slated to face now, she thinks she can take it.
but krouse strikes paydirt with the mention of alternate avenues. her friends are her weakness, start with — some of the levity, the mark of the easy dismissal, drains from clarke's face as her vivid imagination strikes up. she could see natsuno proverbially flaying himself alive just to spite a blonde who thought she could use him as a tool, and shrugging off any bodily grievous consequences with the snap crackle pop of bones shifting back into place. but rita is easy to rankle, easier to hurt. and octavia... well, there's still what feels like distance between them, stemming from differences on earth and cemented by a two year gap since they'd last seen each other. the latter two would be easier to manipulate if tattletale set her mind to it, but all three could be doomed to suffer just by virtue of being associated with her.
clarke is already digging metaphorical graves for her friends in the back of her grey matter, reopening proverbial blisters on her palms from how tightly she grips the shovel and silently berating herself — fuck fucking shit — when krouse drops in with another gut punch.
it should be a nice thing, to be liked. it should be nice to mean something to someone. but it's not. the admission resonates in the air between them, then sets free a swarm of... not butterflies, but moths throughout her abdomen. anyone who decides to like her, trust her, follow her is just another person to inevitably let down, or hurt, or see dead at her feet the next time she makes a mistake. natsuno had at least made an informed choice when it came to befriending her, she'd told him everything. rita had wormed her way in after months of trials and loathing each other. octavia was grandfathered in after having been at clarke's side for most of her atrocities. krouse on the other hand, has no idea what he's getting into by deciding hers is an orbit he feels comfortable existing in, and that's scarier than tattletale.
or at least it's a danger she's more readily aware of. )
Oh —
( the kneejerk reaction is to batten down the hatches here. clarke tenses visibly in the shoulders; takes a deep inhale through her nose while readjusting against the back of the couch, suddenly viscerally uncomfortable but with no easy avenue for escape considering this is her apartment in the first place. there is a patch of rough skin on the inside on her cheek, and she bites into the ridge of scar tissue. if she shakes her head a little bit, it's an unconscious warning signal — then the pieces of her mask slot into place like tectonic plates.
the smile she offers back is wincing at best, but her tone is steady. calm. decided. assuring in its capitulation. )
Okay. I won't underestimate her. Promise.
( but there's a belated flare of... is this indignance? anger? whatever it is, it makes it easier to press her lips into a thin line and shake her head. she does not know this girl's name, and in the grand scheme of things, this is not the biggest problem staring them all down. ) But I'm also not going to allow her "problems" to dictate who I can and can't be friends with. And you shouldn't either.
no subject
but krouse strikes paydirt with the mention of alternate avenues. her friends are her weakness, start with — some of the levity, the mark of the easy dismissal, drains from clarke's face as her vivid imagination strikes up. she could see natsuno proverbially flaying himself alive just to spite a blonde who thought she could use him as a tool, and shrugging off any bodily grievous consequences with the snap crackle pop of bones shifting back into place. but rita is easy to rankle, easier to hurt. and octavia... well, there's still what feels like distance between them, stemming from differences on earth and cemented by a two year gap since they'd last seen each other. the latter two would be easier to manipulate if tattletale set her mind to it, but all three could be doomed to suffer just by virtue of being associated with her.
clarke is already digging metaphorical graves for her friends in the back of her grey matter, reopening proverbial blisters on her palms from how tightly she grips the shovel and silently berating herself — fuck fucking shit — when krouse drops in with another gut punch.
it should be a nice thing, to be liked. it should be nice to mean something to someone. but it's not. the admission resonates in the air between them, then sets free a swarm of... not butterflies, but moths throughout her abdomen. anyone who decides to like her, trust her, follow her is just another person to inevitably let down, or hurt, or see dead at her feet the next time she makes a mistake. natsuno had at least made an informed choice when it came to befriending her, she'd told him everything. rita had wormed her way in after months of trials and loathing each other. octavia was grandfathered in after having been at clarke's side for most of her atrocities. krouse on the other hand, has no idea what he's getting into by deciding hers is an orbit he feels comfortable existing in, and that's scarier than tattletale.
or at least it's a danger she's more readily aware of. )
Oh —
( the kneejerk reaction is to batten down the hatches here. clarke tenses visibly in the shoulders; takes a deep inhale through her nose while readjusting against the back of the couch, suddenly viscerally uncomfortable but with no easy avenue for escape considering this is her apartment in the first place. there is a patch of rough skin on the inside on her cheek, and she bites into the ridge of scar tissue. if she shakes her head a little bit, it's an unconscious warning signal — then the pieces of her mask slot into place like tectonic plates.
the smile she offers back is wincing at best, but her tone is steady. calm. decided. assuring in its capitulation. )
Okay. I won't underestimate her. Promise.
( but there's a belated flare of... is this indignance? anger? whatever it is, it makes it easier to press her lips into a thin line and shake her head. she does not know this girl's name, and in the grand scheme of things, this is not the biggest problem staring them all down. ) But I'm also not going to allow her "problems" to dictate who I can and can't be friends with. And you shouldn't either.