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❝ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇss ❞ ᴄʟᴀʀᴋᴇ ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. ([personal profile] resourceful) wrote in [community profile] pivot2016-06-05 10:27 pm


[ the trading post doesn't offer the best protection, but it offers good company and a roof over her head. there's an agreement between herself and niylah, where she wanders a little ways away from the trading post to try and hunt, refining her rather mediocre skills in trying to gut the wild beasts lurking around the hut and attempting to learn how to throw a knife. the latter reminds her too much of the dropship camp, and so she tries to stick to launching herself at her prey instead. in exchange, clarke remains anonymous, a woman without much of an identity to any who pass by and look at her a little too long for anyone to be comfortable. ]

[ she should change her hair, wear a hood, perhaps even mark her face to look something horrid, but a part of clarke wants her blonde hair to be a beacon of the deserving pain she knows hunts her. there's something clarke needs to do, and she'd been hellbent on charging for polis for her answers, but over the days that have trickled into weeks, she's grown weary and wary of ever passing the border of that particular city. her heart always pounds in her chest every time she thinks of a particular face. ]

[ this evening, when she's struck with the urge to hunt for something for niylah to cook and trade the fur of, she finds herself successful in her quest of being someone who isn't a girl from space. she doesn't bring back an animal as large as the panther, but a smaller cat with pointy ears and a freckled coat. she thinks niylah may be able to get some use out of it regardless of its size and the way its fur isn't as sleek and dark as the panther's had been. ]

[ with it in her arms, she struggles to open the door. it's dark out, and there's hardly anyone around to assist her — it's not like she'd let anyone do so, anyway; the last time she'd allowed someone to help her, she thinks she got a knife in the back and almost lost too many of her own people to count. using her shoulder and a well-aimed kick of her muddied boots against the wood, she gets it open and walks inside of the trading post. ]
Niylah, I think you'll be able to make a warm coat out of this — [ with her entire body humming with elation and success, there's a large smile on her face when she turns around and finds that warm curve to her lips falls off at the sight before her. ]

[ she doesn't drop the cat. it's heavier than it was moments ago in her arms. in a way, it protects her from the woman who stands in the middle of the trading post, looking as sleek and elegant as ever. niylah remains in the shadows, leaning up against the wall, almost ready to duck beneath that blanket of darkness. clarke doesn't really see her expression at all as she stares at lexa, firstly with wide eyes and surprise etched into her face, and then they narrow. the blood smeared on her cheek, behind her ear, and along her neck and collarbone make her look more comical than any supposed commander of death, but her heart races in her chest and panic swirls within her, and clarke finds that anger she'd misplaced during her days of growing complacent here rears its sharp and ugly head. ]

[ her tone is almost fitting for azgeda. ]
What are you doing here?
givnes: (153199020)


[personal profile] givnes 2016-06-14 01:32 am (UTC)(link)
I came to find you. [ Lexa turns in time to catch that initial surprise on Clarke's face and to watch as it fades into anger. Her own expression remains carefully neutral, that blank still face she adopts ninety percent of the time. But she can't stop herself from running her eyes over Clarke, taking in her condition, her clothes, the kill in her arms, searching her for signs of her health and hints at her mind. It's quick, but it's obvious. Her eyes stay just a little too big and a little too soft afterward, the way they have always been for Clarke since that day in the woods with the gorilla. That will be obvious, too, now that she knows what they look like. ] Hello, Clarke.

[ Her voice is soft and even, steady. She doesn't smile, though there is a part of her that wants to. She had wanted to believe the rumors and the sightings, but until that door opened and she heard her voice, Lexa had still feared she was dead. Whatever happens next, it is a weight off her mind and a rush of relief just to see her alive and on her feet and capable of smiling.

(She isn't sure what to make of that split-second of joy on Clarke's face. Lexa's never seen her look like that before. She's never seen even a sliver of that sort of warmth and satisfaction. She's barely seen her smile at all. It makes her feel flushed, feverish, her stomach flipping over, but not in a good way. Not in the way she expected she'd feel seeing Clarke's grin for the first time. She didn't cause that; she killed it.) She swallows hard, and turns to briefly make eye contact with Niylah, her stare harder than the trader deserves. To Clarke: ]

I need to speak with you alone.