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And I have the feeling you're trying to imply something with both those statements.
[Or he might be projecting. But he veers defensive, even (or maybe especially) when he's unsure.]
Head wounds always bleed like a bitch, Clarke. That's something else we all know.
[Or he might be projecting. But he veers defensive, even (or maybe especially) when he's unsure.]
Head wounds always bleed like a bitch, Clarke. That's something else we all know.
All right, we need to back up a bit.
Just to be clear: to the cat part. Not to where you think I'm accusing you of anything.
How do the cats factor into a head wound?
[Clarke doesn't know if that's enough to disarm the defensiveness, but it's worth a shot.]
Just to be clear: to the cat part. Not to where you think I'm accusing you of anything.
How do the cats factor into a head wound?
[Clarke doesn't know if that's enough to disarm the defensiveness, but it's worth a shot.]
[In the end, it's a combination of solutions. They all alter their genetic makeup, but they also need to find a way to shut down the nuclear reactors around the world. The latter proves to be the most difficult, but they manage it. Or, to be more clear, they manage to buy another hundred years, certain that they can prevent this problem from happening again. In a hundred years, Clarke won't even be alive. In a hundred years, none of this will really matter.
It's odd to think of it that way. They're buying themselves time.
If there's anything that she can learn about human civilization, it's how much things will change. In the past few weeks, those changes have happened rapidly. Arkadia blew up, and with it went the last few remnants of her upbringing. Her people have begun to build new villages, new towns and hints of civilization that can grow. They begin to separate, free from the fear of their inevitable death and the need to be constrained by the space-born ideals of the Ark. Clarke doesn't know what to think of it. Some part of her knows it's good. Another part worries—if they separate, will they truly be able to call each other the same group of people? Will they all still be "Skaikru"?
Maybe it's not the most important question to ask. Or to worry about. She knows it isn't. And she knows even worrying about it makes her selfish. This is what they had always wanted to return to the ground for in the first place.
Before she decides where she's going—Roan has an open invitation for her to retake her room and place at Polis as an ambassador—she has chosen to sit outside of the ruins of Arkadia to help other people off in the direction that they might like to go. Some are, as previously stated, heading off to new villages. Others are leaving with Luna, to help her rebuild her society. And some are like Clarke, uncertain if they want to assimilate with the Grounders now that they're on equal footing.
Her arms rest on her knees, pulled back, and she sees a familiar face out of the corner of her eye. Murphy. Believe it or not, he's been with them through all of this.]
Are you headed off for good? [It's a question that doesn't come with an accusation, even if she wouldn't be surprised if he'd read that into her tone. Murphy's survival has always been at the forefront of his decision-making. Now that the terrain will prove to be a political landmine, she wouldn't be surprised if he chose to take off for ... just about anywhere that's safer than here.
After all, what would their people be like without war? There may be new civilizations blooming, but that only increases the chances.]
It's odd to think of it that way. They're buying themselves time.
If there's anything that she can learn about human civilization, it's how much things will change. In the past few weeks, those changes have happened rapidly. Arkadia blew up, and with it went the last few remnants of her upbringing. Her people have begun to build new villages, new towns and hints of civilization that can grow. They begin to separate, free from the fear of their inevitable death and the need to be constrained by the space-born ideals of the Ark. Clarke doesn't know what to think of it. Some part of her knows it's good. Another part worries—if they separate, will they truly be able to call each other the same group of people? Will they all still be "Skaikru"?
Maybe it's not the most important question to ask. Or to worry about. She knows it isn't. And she knows even worrying about it makes her selfish. This is what they had always wanted to return to the ground for in the first place.
Before she decides where she's going—Roan has an open invitation for her to retake her room and place at Polis as an ambassador—she has chosen to sit outside of the ruins of Arkadia to help other people off in the direction that they might like to go. Some are, as previously stated, heading off to new villages. Others are leaving with Luna, to help her rebuild her society. And some are like Clarke, uncertain if they want to assimilate with the Grounders now that they're on equal footing.
Her arms rest on her knees, pulled back, and she sees a familiar face out of the corner of her eye. Murphy. Believe it or not, he's been with them through all of this.]
Are you headed off for good? [It's a question that doesn't come with an accusation, even if she wouldn't be surprised if he'd read that into her tone. Murphy's survival has always been at the forefront of his decision-making. Now that the terrain will prove to be a political landmine, she wouldn't be surprised if he chose to take off for ... just about anywhere that's safer than here.
After all, what would their people be like without war? There may be new civilizations blooming, but that only increases the chances.]
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