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BELLAMY BLAKE |
PLANS
SUMMARY OF KNOWN DETAILS TIMELINE OF EVENTS
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| ( codes by whambam ) |
Entry tags:
[He spends most of January getting through the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, and when he finishes, there's this weird sense of emptiness and being unfulfilled. Like he needs more. Bellamy's already studied the Romans aplenty. But it's books, it's pages, and potential access to more than he's ever had before that sends him shooting off a quick message to Waver about swinging by the Barrel in a day or so.]
[Leaving Rhea with Clarke, he teleports to the Barrel - landing right inside of the building. It's empty on a Sunday, otherwise he'd have transported elsewhere and gone in normally, but it's nice to know the Cult can't watch him walk into it this way.]
Knock Knock.
[He is incapable of most manners, which would usually include actually knocking first, but at least he projects his voice to carry and bounce around.]
[Leaving Rhea with Clarke, he teleports to the Barrel - landing right inside of the building. It's empty on a Sunday, otherwise he'd have transported elsewhere and gone in normally, but it's nice to know the Cult can't watch him walk into it this way.]
Knock Knock.
[He is incapable of most manners, which would usually include actually knocking first, but at least he projects his voice to carry and bounce around.]
[Waver's perched atop the Barrel's counter when Bellamy arrives, like some weird giant bird that's stooped over a book. Which he is, happily devouring a new mystery novel. Around him, the rest of the Barrel is clearly closed up. Chairs are turned upsidedown, resting on top of the tables, the floor's clean and without any mud or sand or stones tracked in from outside, and just outside the windows, it's clear the gate that leads into the Barrel is closed.
He looks up from the book, shuts it, and hops off the counter.]
And arriving safe and sound I see. [Waver beams.] C'mon downstairs. I was going to have lunch when you got here.
He looks up from the book, shuts it, and hops off the counter.]
And arriving safe and sound I see. [Waver beams.] C'mon downstairs. I was going to have lunch when you got here.
[Dripping with that jackassy quality he's perfected:] I prefer it to the alternative.
[Pass on arriving dead. But Bellamy follows after him, pinged by the idea of lunch even if he came for book reasons. Eating out isn't something he does much of anymore, but here he could trust it. He spares one last cursory look out the window, fueled by paranoia that's kept him alive the last few months, before descending the stairs.]
[Pass on arriving dead. But Bellamy follows after him, pinged by the idea of lunch even if he came for book reasons. Eating out isn't something he does much of anymore, but here he could trust it. He spares one last cursory look out the window, fueled by paranoia that's kept him alive the last few months, before descending the stairs.]
[Waver's used to leading those he trusts down the steps of the Barrel and into the part of the building that is home. He vaguely asks Bellamy to close the door behind them, and then heads down the steps that are carved into the cliff itself, into the spacious living room.
The Barrel's home is entirely a part of the cliff, with great windows looking out onto the terranced garden and then beyond that, the sea itself. Even in February, with the garden dormant, the ocean sparkles in bright blue, and gives the whole cave home a lightness to it. Waver hangs a sharp left, going right for the kitchen.]
Sandwiches okay? We got some lettuce in, cured meats, some cheese, and bread from the baker's yesterday.
The Barrel's home is entirely a part of the cliff, with great windows looking out onto the terranced garden and then beyond that, the sea itself. Even in February, with the garden dormant, the ocean sparkles in bright blue, and gives the whole cave home a lightness to it. Waver hangs a sharp left, going right for the kitchen.]
Sandwiches okay? We got some lettuce in, cured meats, some cheese, and bread from the baker's yesterday.
[He pauses for a moment to take in the view. He might've been in the Drabwurld about a year now, but he still spent twenty-three years in space - new views, spacious like these, always draw his attention.]
Sandwiches are practically gourmet. [Being picky about food has never been afforded to him before, so even here, there's very little Bellamy won't eat.] Don't suppose you have radioactive panther?
[That's. A joke. He's joking.]
Sandwiches are practically gourmet. [Being picky about food has never been afforded to him before, so even here, there's very little Bellamy won't eat.] Don't suppose you have radioactive panther?
[That's. A joke. He's joking.]
Edited 2015-04-14 02:26 (UTC)
--No but I'd pay money for you to boon one.
[Waver's joking too, but he knows sometimes that stuff is taken seriously. But while he ponders a radioactive panther, he's also piling sandwich ingredients onto a tray, to be carried into the study.]
We can DIY inside. Study's this way.
[Waver moves swiftly through the living room again, now down the other corridor and into his study. In addition to the bookcases, a sketch of the Barrel that Clarke gifted Waver for Yule, and miscellaneous other odds and ends, there is a sofa and two chairs towards one part of the room, all gathered around a coffee table. The table is actually a map of the Drabwurld, one Waver's used time and again to understand troop movements and strategic points. But for now, it's a place to put the tray of sandwich fixings.]
[Waver's joking too, but he knows sometimes that stuff is taken seriously. But while he ponders a radioactive panther, he's also piling sandwich ingredients onto a tray, to be carried into the study.]
We can DIY inside. Study's this way.
[Waver moves swiftly through the living room again, now down the other corridor and into his study. In addition to the bookcases, a sketch of the Barrel that Clarke gifted Waver for Yule, and miscellaneous other odds and ends, there is a sofa and two chairs towards one part of the room, all gathered around a coffee table. The table is actually a map of the Drabwurld, one Waver's used time and again to understand troop movements and strategic points. But for now, it's a place to put the tray of sandwich fixings.]
Only if I can boon it already dead. [It took several shots to kill it last time!! Not that. He killed it. Moving along.]
[He trails after Waver into the study and takes in the layout, gaze flickering on the statues and Clarke's sketch and, of course, the books. He should probably ask if there's a preferred place to sit, but he just takes a chair once the tray is placed on the table, and immediately reaches for some of the bread.]
[There's a moment of hesitation. He knows no one saw him come here, knows Waver got the food before anyone could have possibly poisoned it - but it's instinctive. He pushes through it and starts to make a sandwich.] Would it surprise you to know books are why I'm here?
[He's never been good at polite transitions.]
[He trails after Waver into the study and takes in the layout, gaze flickering on the statues and Clarke's sketch and, of course, the books. He should probably ask if there's a preferred place to sit, but he just takes a chair once the tray is placed on the table, and immediately reaches for some of the bread.]
[There's a moment of hesitation. He knows no one saw him come here, knows Waver got the food before anyone could have possibly poisoned it - but it's instinctive. He pushes through it and starts to make a sandwich.] Would it surprise you to know books are why I'm here?
[He's never been good at polite transitions.]
Not at all. And hell, it's a nice change from people visiting me because something horrifying is about to go down.
[Waver smiles at that, thin and rueful. IT was the disadvantage of what he had set up for himself with his little information collective. Bad news was ever forthcoming, with little reprieve. He snatches a few scraps of meat off the tray, and piles them onto one of the bread slices.]
[Waver smiles at that, thin and rueful. IT was the disadvantage of what he had set up for himself with his little information collective. Bad news was ever forthcoming, with little reprieve. He snatches a few scraps of meat off the tray, and piles them onto one of the bread slices.]
[He piles on a variety of meat to his own bread, only adding the cheese once he's satisfied with the combination.]
I finished that book. [THE BIG FAT ROMAN ONE. Bellamy apparently cannot reference it like a normal person.] We don't exactly have books back home, as I'm sure you've been told. Wanted to know if you had any more. [He pauses, masking the hesitation by putting some lettuce to complete his sandwich.] On Rome, specifically.
I finished that book. [THE BIG FAT ROMAN ONE. Bellamy apparently cannot reference it like a normal person.] We don't exactly have books back home, as I'm sure you've been told. Wanted to know if you had any more. [He pauses, masking the hesitation by putting some lettuce to complete his sandwich.] On Rome, specifically.
I don't, as my preference is for ancient Greece, but I can tell you where I picked it up at the Station. Actually-- [Waver pauses, bringing his sandwich half up to his chin.] Did the information about the internet stay with you up to your point in time?
[Something in him deflates with her promise. Bellamy knows there are things beyond either of their control that are working against it, against them, but he takes it right now. It's so fucking impossible to think about a life without Clarke; they've become so entwined and dependent on one another that anything else just doesn't make sense anymore. He would do anything in his power to keep Clarke alive, and if that means keeping himself alive too, so be it.]
[He pulls away enough to look at her face, close enough that he can smell the blood smeared across her chin and lips, but he looks at her wholly, steadfastly, his hand still holding the back of her head. She's wiped out. He doesn't answer her right away, but the yes is clear in his expression, alongside that fierce anger constantly in his veins, but at least now it's shifted more against foxes.]
[Yes, it was the Cult. It feels like the start of something that's only going to keep getting worse, and he is so prepared to do whatever it takes in this fight. Clarke has promised not to die and he'll help her keep that oath.] Who else? [He closes his eyes for a moment.] I'm going to strangle that bartender.
[He means every word of it, but he also has no intention of leaving this room yet, even if he had the strength to move. His arms feel like lead.]
[He pulls away enough to look at her face, close enough that he can smell the blood smeared across her chin and lips, but he looks at her wholly, steadfastly, his hand still holding the back of her head. She's wiped out. He doesn't answer her right away, but the yes is clear in his expression, alongside that fierce anger constantly in his veins, but at least now it's shifted more against foxes.]
[Yes, it was the Cult. It feels like the start of something that's only going to keep getting worse, and he is so prepared to do whatever it takes in this fight. Clarke has promised not to die and he'll help her keep that oath.] Who else? [He closes his eyes for a moment.] I'm going to strangle that bartender.
[He means every word of it, but he also has no intention of leaving this room yet, even if he had the strength to move. His arms feel like lead.]
He probably didn't have a choice.
( while she's sure that Bellamy is just as exhausted as she is, Clarke can't help but sag in his arms just a little more at the confirmation. as though the heads weren't enough, as though the pain of that wasn't enough, now they had to watch their backs. she knew it was a warning, they both did, but it doesn't make this any easier to swallow.
she exhales slowly, can still feel a bit of a rattle in her chest, and it's obvious she needs to heal both of them more. the idea of even trying it right now is laughable, though. )
I'll heal the rest of the damage it caused later, I just- I just need to sleep a little first.
( while she's sure that Bellamy is just as exhausted as she is, Clarke can't help but sag in his arms just a little more at the confirmation. as though the heads weren't enough, as though the pain of that wasn't enough, now they had to watch their backs. she knew it was a warning, they both did, but it doesn't make this any easier to swallow.
she exhales slowly, can still feel a bit of a rattle in her chest, and it's obvious she needs to heal both of them more. the idea of even trying it right now is laughable, though. )
I'll heal the rest of the damage it caused later, I just- I just need to sleep a little first.
Unless he was bribed. [He doesn't trust people easily, and more than anything, the bartender could be a start, a lead into discovering more on the Cult, as though it hadn't just nearly succeeded in killing them off.]
[ (The bartender will already be dead, by the time Bellamy gets there.) ]
[She sinks into him further, and Bellamy refuses to let her fall - but she's right in one thing. They're still damaged, and he can't stay upright with her much longer.]
[He curls an arm around her and just - lays down on the floor, taking Clarke with him. They're covered in blood and laying in blood, but there are so many 'at least it's not -' that he can't bring himself to care. It's such a relief to be flat, less on everything inside him that still aches from the poison, and he's got no energy to carry both of them to the actual bed.] You're healing yourself first this time.
[ (The bartender will already be dead, by the time Bellamy gets there.) ]
[She sinks into him further, and Bellamy refuses to let her fall - but she's right in one thing. They're still damaged, and he can't stay upright with her much longer.]
[He curls an arm around her and just - lays down on the floor, taking Clarke with him. They're covered in blood and laying in blood, but there are so many 'at least it's not -' that he can't bring himself to care. It's such a relief to be flat, less on everything inside him that still aches from the poison, and he's got no energy to carry both of them to the actual bed.] You're healing yourself first this time.
Ancient Greece is fine too. [ESPECIALLY MYTHS but no ok calm down, be cool Bellamy.] We had something like it, on the Ark - more about databases and interlinking tech, with pretty limited access - not much like what's available at the Station. Clarke and I have used it there before.
I have a few things. Play scripts, my copy of the Odsessey that came with me when I arrived, and a few books on Alexander the Great. [If only for Rider to go through and laugh.]
All right, well, the Station has internet access. An online encyclopedia - Wikipedia - will give you all the basic information on Rome you could ever hope for. Of course I'm honourbound as a professor to note that Wikipedia's not a definitive source and that more than basics should be taken with a grain of salt since the information isn't vetted by scholars in the field all the time, but for your purposes? You could spend days there reading everything available.
All right, well, the Station has internet access. An online encyclopedia - Wikipedia - will give you all the basic information on Rome you could ever hope for. Of course I'm honourbound as a professor to note that Wikipedia's not a definitive source and that more than basics should be taken with a grain of salt since the information isn't vetted by scholars in the field all the time, but for your purposes? You could spend days there reading everything available.
( it wasn't exactly expected. while she had been in the area to scope out the best place to camp or spend her days with the clegs that gathered nearby, the animal had approached Clarke all on its own. it also- stayed with her. continuously. no matter where she ventured or how far she would go, the dog stayed right at her heels the entire time. too soft-hearted to send her away, Clarke had eventually bent down to find the dog had no collar, was in desperate need of a bath, and was all too happy to receive any sort of affection Clarke might grant. a stray, she concluded.
which- well, is why she didn't exactly try to stop the dog from tagging along at her heels as she made her way back to the spire. Clarke easily could have made the trip infinitely faster, but she didn't want to risk the chance of it not taking the dog along with her if she did so. the sun is only barely beginning to set by the time Clarke lets herself into the house, the dog practically hiding behind her legs as she sought out Bellamy.
only when she comes to a stop in the living room does the dog sit directly behind her, effectively hiding behind her legs. )
We have a new roommate.
which- well, is why she didn't exactly try to stop the dog from tagging along at her heels as she made her way back to the spire. Clarke easily could have made the trip infinitely faster, but she didn't want to risk the chance of it not taking the dog along with her if she did so. the sun is only barely beginning to set by the time Clarke lets herself into the house, the dog practically hiding behind her legs as she sought out Bellamy.
only when she comes to a stop in the living room does the dog sit directly behind her, effectively hiding behind her legs. )
We have a new roommate.
[Bellamy hears her come in, and he hears something extra too - by the time she gets into the living room, he's already suspicious, and the dog does a poor job of hiding, tail occasionally flopping out from behind Clarke's legs.]
[He stares at her, glances at the dog, then back up at her.] Says who?
[He stares at her, glances at the dog, then back up at her.] Says who?
[His eyes sort of light up at the drop of the Odyssey, because it's the goddamn Odyssey. He knows the story, but it wasn't like his mom ever got her hands on a full and legit copy of it.] What about the Iliad? [Because both?? Could exist here? Maybe???]
[He can't help but snort though.] Even with his biases, it's still probably more of a definitive source than anything we had in that it exists at all.
[He can't help but snort though.] Even with his biases, it's still probably more of a definitive source than anything we had in that it exists at all.
One of my friends here has it. I can ask him if you can borrow his copy, if you'd like? [Rider likely wouldn't mind, as long as it was returned.
But, back to academia.] Ah, Wikipedia's a thing that anyone can edit. Everyone contributes information, which is both good, and bad because it can include misinformation if no one catches it. But it will be infinitely more definitive than other sources you had access to, that much is certain.
But, back to academia.] Ah, Wikipedia's a thing that anyone can edit. Everyone contributes information, which is both good, and bad because it can include misinformation if no one catches it. But it will be infinitely more definitive than other sources you had access to, that much is certain.
content warnings: blood, animal violence/gore/killing, hanging references, strangulation references
word count: 1155
Bellamy tries not to remember most of his dreams, because a sufficient portion of them are nightmares, or at least, they turn into nightmares more often than not. He knows how to get through the next day even when they keep him up longer than he likes. Alongside the bodies, he starts to hear music. Soft, far off, just as haunting as his ghosts, and it hammers down against the guilt in his chest, which in turn just makes him angry, because his anger has always been a good tool against the unknown.
What’s weird is how angry he keeps finding himself outside that – not just one day, but the next and the next, even at night when he yanks up the blankets like he wants to rip them in half. He’s always simmering with anger, but this prick of it has him irritated at every little thing, even when he’s not exhausted. A man bumps into him in the streets at the Third Spire, and he mouths off, fighting back the urge to shove him back, hard. It wasn’t even on purpose, but Bellamy glares and it genuinely scares the man. It’s only the distant sound of some sort of chimed music that holds him back, distracted by the familiarity of it. He scowls off the confrontation and practically stomps all the way back home, grabbing his crossbow for practice and his axe to go hunting.
The woods are quiet, or at least, they’re supposed to be. He pauses, crossbow aimed at a deer when he hears the harp again. And staring at this animal at the mercy of his weapon stirs of memories of everything else he’s ever done at the other end of a blade. He fires the arrow in the midst of them, his aim off, and it pierces the deer’s back leg instead of the chest.
He’s hit with a feeling of just – killing. Of being so angry that he takes someone else’s life. He thinks about the desire to kill Murphy after he found him again, his hands wrapped around the other man’s throat, because how fucking dare he waste their gunpowder. Bellamy can feel the rope around his neck as Murphy tried to hang him and feel that rage crawling up his skin now, in the woods, and the next thing he knows, he’s just sliced open the deer’s neck, far more deeply than necessary. He steps back, his hands shaking as that anger still races through him, and the temptation to hack up the deer is a strong one, only blocked by the need for its meat to eat, his inner survivalist winning out this time.
His dreams that night are full of headless deer, except when there are only antlered heads, talking ones that whisper the names of the dead in his ear and churn up his guilt like a hurricane.
The harp echoes at the same time as Murderer, murderer, murderer.
Charlotte laughs and then she dies, her hands dripping with Wells’s blood as she begs Bellamy to save her. He stands at the cliff and hears the splash, the harp mixing with the water, like the waves are lapping at it.
He wakes up in a cold sweat and spends the day irritable again. After working on some of his fire magic, and nearly burning his eyebrows off in a huff, he hits up a tavern and gets into a fight over some stupid disagreement he can’t even recall, barely fifteen minutes after his first drink meant to be relaxing. On the walk home with a busted lip, he hears the harp again, and his stomach drops with guilt instead of anger. He shouldn’t have punched that guy, he shouldn’t have been so angry. What if he killed him, killed someone else?
The music plays as he slips inside his house, and his chest feels heavy with the notion that he will never be a good person.
By the time he falls asleep again, he’s face to face with more ghosts, only this time in front of them, leading them like an army, is Octavia.
“You left me again,” she hisses at him with an arrow sticking out of her leg and blood on her face like war paint. “Fucked off into the woods and now you’re a world away. Do you even want me around? How’re you supposed to do anything for me anymore?”
The Arkers behind her swallow her up, and he hears the harp once more, like it’s still surrounded by water. Does he have to jump, like Charlotte did, to atone for all his crimes?
He follows the sound, the hands of those culled from the Ark dragging at his legs and piling more and more guilt on him, so much that Bellamy’s almost overcome and forced to crawl before it crushes him. He pulls himself from them, his voice weak as he mutters useless apologies over and over.
But the harp needs to stop. He can’t take it anymore. It’s been plaguing him for days, and every time it plays it’s like he loses part of himself to it.
He finds it at last, after long venture through bushes and trees, his hands scraped up and bleeding from the forest. He sits up on his knees and stares at the harp, sitting in the middle of the river – the same one he’d thrown the radio in, condemning over three hundred people to die.
One of the chords hits him hard enough that the guilt shifts into anger again, and his anger he can use. Bellamy hauls himself to his feet with it and splashes through the shallow water, each note striking hard and reminding him of how much he hated everyone on the Ark. Maybe they all deserved to be Culled. Nobody stopped the Council from locking up his sister and floating his mother. He thinks about Kane arresting him, acting like he knew better and ignoring the authority Bellamy had earned for himself, and he’s never felt more angry in this life, even if it is only a dream.
He reaches the harp and glares at it. The water laps at his feet and he can hear Octavia in his head, telling him softly: may we meet again.
Bellamy lunges, grabbing the harp with both hands and hauling it up in the air. Channeling all the rage the instrument fueled in him already, he lifts it high before smashing it down hard with an anguished cry. It shatters in the water at his feet, the pieces swept away as the river rushes on.
There’s silence, for a few moments, before he surges awake.
He blinks out into the room and feels his fire flicker, his ire dimming out. It’s the easiest and most level headed he’s woken up in days, so much so that when sleep comes again a few minutes later, it’s welcome and it’s a relief.
word count: 1155
Bellamy tries not to remember most of his dreams, because a sufficient portion of them are nightmares, or at least, they turn into nightmares more often than not. He knows how to get through the next day even when they keep him up longer than he likes. Alongside the bodies, he starts to hear music. Soft, far off, just as haunting as his ghosts, and it hammers down against the guilt in his chest, which in turn just makes him angry, because his anger has always been a good tool against the unknown.
What’s weird is how angry he keeps finding himself outside that – not just one day, but the next and the next, even at night when he yanks up the blankets like he wants to rip them in half. He’s always simmering with anger, but this prick of it has him irritated at every little thing, even when he’s not exhausted. A man bumps into him in the streets at the Third Spire, and he mouths off, fighting back the urge to shove him back, hard. It wasn’t even on purpose, but Bellamy glares and it genuinely scares the man. It’s only the distant sound of some sort of chimed music that holds him back, distracted by the familiarity of it. He scowls off the confrontation and practically stomps all the way back home, grabbing his crossbow for practice and his axe to go hunting.
The woods are quiet, or at least, they’re supposed to be. He pauses, crossbow aimed at a deer when he hears the harp again. And staring at this animal at the mercy of his weapon stirs of memories of everything else he’s ever done at the other end of a blade. He fires the arrow in the midst of them, his aim off, and it pierces the deer’s back leg instead of the chest.
He’s hit with a feeling of just – killing. Of being so angry that he takes someone else’s life. He thinks about the desire to kill Murphy after he found him again, his hands wrapped around the other man’s throat, because how fucking dare he waste their gunpowder. Bellamy can feel the rope around his neck as Murphy tried to hang him and feel that rage crawling up his skin now, in the woods, and the next thing he knows, he’s just sliced open the deer’s neck, far more deeply than necessary. He steps back, his hands shaking as that anger still races through him, and the temptation to hack up the deer is a strong one, only blocked by the need for its meat to eat, his inner survivalist winning out this time.
His dreams that night are full of headless deer, except when there are only antlered heads, talking ones that whisper the names of the dead in his ear and churn up his guilt like a hurricane.
The harp echoes at the same time as Murderer, murderer, murderer.
Charlotte laughs and then she dies, her hands dripping with Wells’s blood as she begs Bellamy to save her. He stands at the cliff and hears the splash, the harp mixing with the water, like the waves are lapping at it.
He wakes up in a cold sweat and spends the day irritable again. After working on some of his fire magic, and nearly burning his eyebrows off in a huff, he hits up a tavern and gets into a fight over some stupid disagreement he can’t even recall, barely fifteen minutes after his first drink meant to be relaxing. On the walk home with a busted lip, he hears the harp again, and his stomach drops with guilt instead of anger. He shouldn’t have punched that guy, he shouldn’t have been so angry. What if he killed him, killed someone else?
The music plays as he slips inside his house, and his chest feels heavy with the notion that he will never be a good person.
By the time he falls asleep again, he’s face to face with more ghosts, only this time in front of them, leading them like an army, is Octavia.
“You left me again,” she hisses at him with an arrow sticking out of her leg and blood on her face like war paint. “Fucked off into the woods and now you’re a world away. Do you even want me around? How’re you supposed to do anything for me anymore?”
The Arkers behind her swallow her up, and he hears the harp once more, like it’s still surrounded by water. Does he have to jump, like Charlotte did, to atone for all his crimes?
He follows the sound, the hands of those culled from the Ark dragging at his legs and piling more and more guilt on him, so much that Bellamy’s almost overcome and forced to crawl before it crushes him. He pulls himself from them, his voice weak as he mutters useless apologies over and over.
But the harp needs to stop. He can’t take it anymore. It’s been plaguing him for days, and every time it plays it’s like he loses part of himself to it.
He finds it at last, after long venture through bushes and trees, his hands scraped up and bleeding from the forest. He sits up on his knees and stares at the harp, sitting in the middle of the river – the same one he’d thrown the radio in, condemning over three hundred people to die.
One of the chords hits him hard enough that the guilt shifts into anger again, and his anger he can use. Bellamy hauls himself to his feet with it and splashes through the shallow water, each note striking hard and reminding him of how much he hated everyone on the Ark. Maybe they all deserved to be Culled. Nobody stopped the Council from locking up his sister and floating his mother. He thinks about Kane arresting him, acting like he knew better and ignoring the authority Bellamy had earned for himself, and he’s never felt more angry in this life, even if it is only a dream.
He reaches the harp and glares at it. The water laps at his feet and he can hear Octavia in his head, telling him softly: may we meet again.
Bellamy lunges, grabbing the harp with both hands and hauling it up in the air. Channeling all the rage the instrument fueled in him already, he lifts it high before smashing it down hard with an anguished cry. It shatters in the water at his feet, the pieces swept away as the river rushes on.
There’s silence, for a few moments, before he surges awake.
He blinks out into the room and feels his fire flicker, his ire dimming out. It’s the easiest and most level headed he’s woken up in days, so much so that when sleep comes again a few minutes later, it’s welcome and it’s a relief.
Edited 2015-04-20 04:04 (UTC)
Says me. And also her, kind of. Seeing as though she wouldn't stop following me home.
( she glances down over her shoulder at the poorly hidden dog, trying not to start laughing. instead, she gives her a gentle nudge, and the dog pokes her head out from behind Clarke's legs to look at Bellamy, tilting her head to the side in curiosity, ears perked up. )
( she glances down over her shoulder at the poorly hidden dog, trying not to start laughing. instead, she gives her a gentle nudge, and the dog pokes her head out from behind Clarke's legs to look at Bellamy, tilting her head to the side in curiosity, ears perked up. )
[Conceal don't feel.] If it's no big deal. Is there another copy of the Odyssey too?
[He half nods along with the description.] Anything that's accessible to more people's better than something reserved for the few. [Spoken like a true proletariat.] It's not like scholars exist much at home. I'm not behind on the basics though - we just don't have the sources anymore.
[He half nods along with the description.] Anything that's accessible to more people's better than something reserved for the few. [Spoken like a true proletariat.] It's not like scholars exist much at home. I'm not behind on the basics though - we just don't have the sources anymore.
( she doesn't try to argue with his assessment of the barkeep -- it's possible the person serving them drinks wasn't even the real pub runner, that it had been the Cult all along. but it's not something she wants to discuss right now, not something she has the energy for.
when they reach the floor, Clarke doesn't waste time on pretense. they've been sleeping against each other for a few weeks now anyway, so she doesn't feel any awkwardness in curling up against his chest. it gives her a sense of comfort, of safety, and there's no time spent caring about any blood they're lying on top of.
she drops her head to his shoulder, eyes already closed when she does, the exhaustion weighing heavy in her bones now. )
Whatever you say.
when they reach the floor, Clarke doesn't waste time on pretense. they've been sleeping against each other for a few weeks now anyway, so she doesn't feel any awkwardness in curling up against his chest. it gives her a sense of comfort, of safety, and there's no time spent caring about any blood they're lying on top of.
she drops her head to his shoulder, eyes already closed when she does, the exhaustion weighing heavy in her bones now. )
Whatever you say.
--You know what, you can just come here and read my copy until you're done with it.
[Waver won't let it out of the house - hell, he's physically chamred it so it can't be moved, but.-
The actual primary sources are pretty easy to find online as long as you know the titles. The translations can be a bit wonky - I'm not going to get into copyright law - but they are mostly there and you can get access to them at the Station.
[Waver won't let it out of the house - hell, he's physically chamred it so it can't be moved, but.-
The actual primary sources are pretty easy to find online as long as you know the titles. The translations can be a bit wonky - I'm not going to get into copyright law - but they are mostly there and you can get access to them at the Station.
[He makes a very Grumpy Face, and he's about to further protest because just - they've already got enough on their plates, they don't need to add more - and then the dog peers around Clarke, and Bellamy's gaze drops back down.]
[Maybe she's a little cute.]
And I'm sure you did absolutely everything in your power to dissuade her.
[Maybe she's a little cute.]
And I'm sure you did absolutely everything in your power to dissuade her.
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