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meadowlarklogs2019-06-09 06:08 pm
- !arrival log,
- blade runner: kd6-3.7,
- dceu: diana prince,
- detroit become human: markus,
- detroit become human: north,
- devil may cry: v,
- doctor who-verse: ianto jones,
- gangsta: alex benedetto,
- kingdom hearts: riku,
- kingdom hearts: sora,
- legacies: hope mikaelson,
- mcu: daisy johnson,
- mcu: peggy carter,
- npc: gaby,
- overwatch: soldier 76 (jack morrison),
- persona: goro akechi,
- star wars: cassian andor,
- star wars: jyn erso,
- starfighter: cain,
- stargate atlantis: elizabeth weir,
- stargate atlantis: john sheppard,
- stargate atlantis: rodney mckay,
- the 100: clarke griffin,
- the expanse: james holden,
- the gifted: marcos diaz,
- the man from uncle: gaby teller,
- the vampire diaries: caroline forbes
ARRIVAL LOG 011
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: November 5
WHAT: The eleventh arrival
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Coercion, loss of autonomy. Further notes at end of log.
Awareness comes to you in blurred snatches, cloudy fragments of sound and light, color, sensation. Hazy and difficult to grasp on to, but slowly aligning into focus. A series of regular, rhythmic beeps. A medicinal, astringent smell. The sensation of movement, a low hum and accompanying vibration under you. Your eyes are heavy, hard to keep open, but in the glimpses between slow, dark blinks you see four people in black body armor seated opposite you, as well as a man in dark gray scrubs.
You realize there are others next to you. All of you in white scrubs, hair recently cut but at various stages of growth, restrained by straps across your chests, arms, feet, holding you to the bench under you. To your left, an armored interior door, two more people visible, the movement of streets passing through a windshield. You try to open your mouth to speak, but it's as if your tongue is coated in tar, and you manage nothing more than an empty parting of lips.
The vehicle stops. The guard opposite you stands and comes to unbuckle you from the bench, helping you to your feet. Your limbs feel wooden and heavy, slow to move. One guard opens the back of the vehicle, and false, colored light, illuminating the streets in the distance will first alert your senses of being somewhere else, combined with air that's only cooled with the setting of the sun. The nurse moves to stand at the back, checking each passenger over one by one just before they're helped out of the vehicle, quick and methodical. He doesn't climb out after you, moving to sit as the last passenger is unloaded. The guards keep their heads down. Their actions are quick, firm, but not entirely unkind.
"Stay here," one of the guards barks, right before looking to the guard to their left. "You've got the honors of passing on the message from the boss?" he asks. The woman nods, and then steps just in front of him. "Now listen up, everyone! This is way warmer than I'd ever go for, but he's got a soft spot for you." She offers a twisted smile, as if she isn't keen to play messenger. "Hello, everyone. You're likely wondering how you got here." She pauses to roll her eyes at the joke – because it is a joke, albeit a bad one (in her opinion). "That's not something I can share right now. There are too many hands invested in this pie. But I need you all to stick to the festival, and not go looking for trouble. Don't hurt anyone. Don't look for a police officer. Have fun out there until it's time to process you. I don't actually know how that goes, but the ones like you? They've got it down to a science." She pauses here, looking puzzled. She's read this message in advance, but there are still aspects of it that stand out. Oh, they were warned about the others. To avoid them at all costs, because they'd be looking. "And sorry for the scrubs – I know they aren't great for a party, but they make you stand out. Have a good time. Just don't get arrested out there. I can only pull out my Beijing contacts so many times." This message is read entirely off her neural implant – not that the people dressed in scrubs in front of her would realize that.
After she's done, the last of the guards turn to climb back into the vehicle and close the doors. The engine powers up again, and then the bus is gone.
You're left alone in an alley, with no idea of where you are or why you've been brought here.
Around the corner of the alley, there are many food stalls selling foods in mason jars, as well as a stage off in the distance with people in colorful outfits moving in unison. It seems that you've arrived at some kind of festival, and believe it or not, this is low-key compared to some of the last.
◉ Though entirely capable of independent action and thought, new characters will find themselves completely, unquestioningly compliant to any verbal statement which could be taken as a command or request – and that includes the lengthy message passed on from the mysterious patron.
The message from El comes the same as usual: insistent, not waiting for any active attempt to open it. Scrolling within your vision as if being written while you're reading it.
Well, everyone, it's time for another round of saving your newly arrived displaced kidnapees. This time they're not blending in at all. It's white scrubs all the way. Probably doesn't really go with a harvest festival – is that some corn-in-the-cob in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? Anyway, have fun out there.
The New Amsterdam Annual Harvest Festival begins with a parade bright and early in the morning. Rather than being dressed up with large holographic displays with AR functions that interact with everyone's neural implants, this parade is au naturale. The floats themselves are handmade with careful craftsmanship and designs, especially given the lack of wood available in this world. Everything is bright and colorful. Between each float, there are large dancing troupes dressed in lavish costumes full of colors. Some of the dances featured are unique to this world and its future, while others pay homage to harvest festivals of the past, hailing from regions of Japan, Korea, China, India, Nigeria and the Philippines. The garb itself is unique to these regions – relics of a previous world, celebrating the harvest and promise of what may come in the future.
Unlike many New Amsterdam events, there is very little room for technology and heavy advertisements. While numerous subsidiaries provide donations for the harvest festival, they do so with the understanding that their involvement will be obscured. The harvest festival is meant to act as a way of celebrating the natural way of the world, and of stepping away from technology for a time. That said, there is little emphasis on any artificial intelligence or mentions of the Xelkoven War – it seems as if this celebration is meant as more of a pure revelry of what the Earth used to provide, rather than what humans managed to avoid.
Once the parade is done, there is a large festival in progress. Every worker at the harvest festival is there because they believe in this celebration, and thus they volunteered to be involved. Anyone who wants to be there because they chose to volunteer can. As for the native volunteers – a large number of them will be sporting numerous tattoos of unique symbols that have been seen around the city (most notably the Insomniac's Ball and the shrines to the Displaced). They'll look at any of the Displaced that they recognize with admiration, but won't be quick to engage with them.
The harvest festival is just a one-day event, but it's jam packed full of things to do!
> HARVESTS
While the hydroponic farms around New Amsterdam are always working to keep the citizens fed, they celebrate their harvests once a year at the harvest festival. Many of these farms come together and sell their vegetables in mason jars and even create various sauces for citizens to purchase. Want some delicious spaghetti sauce that's ready to go? What about taco sauce or something to make quick tikka masala? These food stalls have everything ready to go – and they're all too eager to share what they've made. The stalls all offer discounts to anyone who buys their jars in bulk, hoping that they can happily impart their delicious and natural foods to the citizens of New Amsterdam. While hydroponic farms on a whole are "less natural" in how they grow food, these jars of food are less processed. What's in there is, for the most part, pickled or cooked down into a sauce, making it so that New Amsterdam citizens can enjoy a flavorful meal.
> CHARITY
In a continuation of the mindset during Halloween, the harvest festival doubles as a site for charitable activity around the city. Gaby will ask Morningstar's people to set up a booth to collect any clothing donations, and it'll be obvious that while this booth is not noticeably linked to Morningstar, it's set up every year in hopes of gathering these clothing donations for people in need. The Morningstar booth isn't the only of its kind, and many of the food stalls with mason jars will also have a box for people to donate goods should they want to help people in need. Unlike every other New Amsterdam festival, there are no food trucks. Instead, there is an all-day buffet that constantly rotates out food so that people who are hungry can have a full meal as the day goes on. Everything is free. However, this buffet includes no alcohol – as if to counterbalance the drunken revelry during the Halloween celebrations, there is none on the premises here.
> FERTILITY
In the past, harvest festivals have almost always been linked to fertility. While fertility is less of a concern in 2511 – thanks to the rigid population control – there is a sense of hope that Earth itself, as well as the terraforming colonies, will eventually give way to a future where these mandates aren't as necessary. For now, the harvest festival celebrates the idea of fertility, as well as allowing the Earth to replenish itself. Fertility is an aspect in that, after all. One section of the festival's stalls is dedicated to this ideal, and has a unique tradition brought over from Japan. Each of the stalls feature large phallic structures on the top, and like the parade floats, these are newly made every year from scratch. In addition, the food stalls also partake in an all-natural popsicle contest (after all, it wouldn't be a New Amsterdam festival without some kind of food contest). These popsicles come in all different flavors – from strawberry to pickle brine – and are all slender and phallic in their presentation.
> DANCING
Throughout the day, music will always be playing while some form of dancing goes on on the main stage. Most of the day, this dancing is thanks to the dance troupes that come in and perform, even though they've already done it at length on the parade routes. Many of the volunteers will be put in charge of keeping these dancers fed and hydrated so that they can keep at it – though they're always happy for the opportunity that the festival offers them. When these staged shows aren't happening, they have interludes where festival-goers can come on stage and learn more simplified versions of the different dances from the Earth's cultural history. Once it's dusk, there is a two-hour long dance contest where these troupes compete with one another, putting on a unique show that they've prepared for the event.
> WRESTLING
The other event that goes on all day is an event borrowed from Korea: ssireum. Multiple people enter this wrestling contest, and thanks to the amateur-nature of it, there is little concern about who wrestles with one another (outside of age, of course). The sport itself involves two opponents holding on to each other's red and blue band called a satba. Throughout the contest, they try to put the other person down, making it so that their upper body touches the mat. There are rules set up to ensure that no one brings any real harm to their opponent, and since it's wrestling, there is no room for any dirty tricks like punching, kicking, biting or anything similar. When it's over, the person who's wracked up the most wins throughout the day is given a sash that declares them "The Most Powerful."
Located under an abandoned hover-bike garage, access to the safehouse is a hatch in the floor beside a rusted set of metal shelves that used to hold tools and supplies. The immediate area is similarly abandoned: full of rundown and dilapidated warehouses and forgotten businesses, where numerous people squat in hopes of having some stability because they can't afford a place themselves. A dark haired woman called Gaby is ready to greet the new arrivals and get them settled in, brusque and no-nonsense – she'll be open for in depth questions later, but will advise everyone to ask the people who brought them in for the beginning bits of information.
◉ The safehouse is a large space with multiple rooms for storage, with the largest of the rooms filled with rows of basic cots set up to sleep a large amount of people. Basic, but outfitted with everything necessary for daily life. A few doors lead to back rooms for storage, medical care and a large communal bathroom, and past the long rows of cots there is a communal kitchen, fully stocked, and an eating area. Privacy is at a minimum.
◉ New characters will be asked to pick their beds, and provided with a change of (second-hand, mismatched and somewhat threadbare) clothes and basic toiletries.
◉ There is a mini-bar set up in the kitchen. The quality of the alcohol inside is akin to what someone might get from the well, but it's well-stocked.
◉ Gaby will make it clear to all new arrivals that if they have any requests or queries, they should contact her or El.
◉ The drugs making new characters compliant will remain in their systems for a few hours after their arrival at the safehouse before finally beginning to fade. They will be gone entirely after a night's rest. In the meantime, they may want to be careful of what others say to them.
◉ New characters will be given rudimentary access to the network on arrival in the safehouse, but will not have their ID set up yet. They will be able to make posts and replies, but their messages will be anonymous and they do not have inboxes yet.
◉ New characters will not be allowed to leave the safehouse until NOVEMBER 09 (JUNE 17). These 4 days are for them to adjust, learn about the world they've arrived in from their fellows, and for El to speak with them and work on setting up their IDs.
Welcome to Meadowlark, newbies! You're now free to post to the network and logs comms. To reiterate, your characters will have no IDs or inboxes, nor be allowed out of the safehouse until NOVEMBER 09 (JUNE 17). At that point it's expected they'll have gotten a good idea of their new situation from their fellow characters, and will have discussed their background and job potentials with El in order for their false IDs to be set up.
As a note: all new characters arrive after the parade ends.
If you have any questions or ideas about how you'd like to get your character involved in the world, please head over to the plot engagement post and drop us a comment! For questions specific to this log, there is a thread below.
Please check out our June calendar rundown for a look at things happening this month, as well as some additional notes from the mods.
As a note to the entirety of our playerbase, we are at 58 players, which is 2 players away from our game cap! This is very exciting for us as moderators, especially as we quickly head toward our one year anniversary! There is a very good chance that this will be our last "full" arrival log for a while, though we have plans (and ideas!) in mind for future months.
As a reminder, AC for new characters accepted in June will be 10 comments across 2-4 threads, while current characters will need to provide the full AC of 20 comments across 2-4 threads. AC will be posted on July 1 at 12 AM UTC and close on July 8 at 12 AM UTC. If you do not reply to AC, you will be considered idled and dropped from the game. We will not post a warning list.
ii-ish
Her movements are swift and automatic. Put away the sketchbook, stand up, across the way. If Bellamy were here, he'd do the same. There wouldn't be any hesitation in reaching out to his sister. (Funny how untrue that is depending on the Bellamy in question.)
Her hand rests on Octavia's shoulder (against cloth, careful not to touch skin), pressing down and pulling her in a way to make her turn. She knows Octavia's been like a wounded animal for a while, all since Lincoln's death. Since before that—always on edge, always making demands of her. She knows the two of them have been on shaky grounds.
But Octavia is her people. So she's here. Reaching out.] Octavia, it's me. I can help get you some clothes. [She nods toward the woman working the table.] Keep what you have. I have something for her.
no subject
She knows it, a little needling at the back of her brain. But her pride is greater, in the moment, and she jerks away like anyone unused to physical contact as anything more than a prelude to violence would. Tense, defensive, every muscle tensing to brace.
The sight of Clarke doesn't make it any better. It doesn't make it worse, either, even as she unkindly thinks she would have preferred her brother over Clarke. Clarke, who she thinks — bitterly — will clamber to unite as she always does. Clarke, who will insist they stick together when Octavia has always felt left behind.
Sanctum feels like more definitive, solid proof of that fact. ]
I don't need your charity, Clarke. [ As if warding off the ghost of Clarke's help, she rolls her shoulder back. Never mind that she's standing at a charity donations box; it's Clarke's brand of charity Octavia struggles to even consider, let alone accept. ] You know her?
[ Her chin tilts toward the woman currently handling the table. Despite the set to Octavia's jaw, determined, there's a wildness in her eyes she can't hide, as if her world has been thrown off its entire axis. That might as well be true for how she's arrived here, for how Clarke speaks to that stranger like they've established a rapport. ]
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That little bit of defiance makes Clarke check herself. It's true. Octavia does need help.
Her hand doesn't leave Octavia's shoulder.] I don't know her, but she's here to help people, and I have other resources to help you. That's all. [The apology is already in her tone, but she speaks it soon after.] I'm sorry. I didn't come here to cause problems. It's just—Octavia here is a friend of mine. I wanted to help her.
[The way she feels obligated to, having them come together and unite. That tactic had failed with the Displaced. It's why she had her big diatribe about the efforts to force it. Clarke has spent months ruminating over why it couldn't.
Octavia isn't exactly proof that it worked back home, either.]
I'd like to go somewhere private to talk, [she tells Octavia, not yet issuing a command. Careful.]
no subject
Clarke's help always comes with caveats and consequences. She isn't interested in finding out what they are this time. ]
We haven't been friends for a long time, Clarke.
[ For longer than those six years trapped in a bunker. Longer than that time spent leading her people to the Valley. Friend is too generous a term. Even if it weren't, Octavia takes a moment to think — with humorless amusement — friendship with Clarke is as damaging as becoming her enemy. ]
I'm not going anywhere with you. [ The woman they've dragged into their squabble looks increasingly uncomfortable. With a tight smile, she ignores them both and returns to the clothing pile to sort it, though it's clear to Octavia that she's still listening. Waiting, maybe, to interfere. It would be a bad decision on her part. ] Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of these people.
[ If you trust them so much, goes unsaid. It's as much a play at resentful defiance as it is testing the extent of Clarke's trust over allegedly helpful strangers. ]
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As it is, she murmurs an apology to the woman, and steps closer to Octavia.] You're going to come with me back to where we need to go. You're not going to argue, or fight with me, or anything until I say you can. I'll ask you questions, and you will answer them.
[It's the type of thing she's never had to do here. But Octavia is volatile. There is a chance that she won't listen to Clarke. It's time to ensure that it's possible.]
Now. [Direct.] Come with me, Octavia.
[She steps back, and turns, starting to walk in the direction of the safehouse.]
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You still think you're a leader? [ For all that Clarke has given her commands, there are loopholes to be found, and anything in the context of arguing is too vague to completely uphold without something worming its way through. Octavia's feet might trail after her, but the specificity of it doesn't keep the disbelief, almost mocking, from her tone. It's hardly an argument or a fight when Octavia believes her words to be pure observation. Facts to accept. ] You're nothing here. Just like me.
[ If what Octavia has heard from others rings true. But she still pretends she has power, still pretends she's better than them. That, Octavia thinks, is the Clarke she's always known. Let her; Octavia knows the truth, even as her feet move unwillingly after her. ]
After we're done here, we're finished. For good.
[ Clarke is finished. Though Octavia doesn't yet know when the drug in her system will fade — if it will ever fade — the message remains, not a fight but a warning: you'll pay. ]
no subject
Octavia is her people. Nothing changes her definition of that, as far as she knows. (And she won't know for some time.)]
Who we are here doesn't matter. Only what we are to each other. [That's her way of making her intentions clear: without Bellamy, without Kane, without a whole lot of people, Octavia is now her responsibility. A messy one. Clarke is already daunted by the idea.]
So, what do you remember last? [Odd question as a transition? Maybe. Clarke doesn't care. She goes on to add:] For me, it's ending up in a green stretch of land and taking a break. Exploring the area. It was about sixty days outside of Praimfaya. I tried to reach you all in the bunker, but I couldn't. I wish I could, because the Nightblood solution worked.
[Yes, she vomited up a fair bit of blood, but she wasn't trapped down in a hole.
And she was alone. Desperately, painfully alone.]
no subject
Concentrating on the helpless position Clarke has forced her into would only push her toward weakness she isn't willing to show. More than that, Clarke is too astute to be trusted with it. ]
I was in a forest on Sanctum.
[ It isn't the complete picture. Octavia waits for the drug in her veins to wring the honesty out of her, but it never comes. Evidently, honesty — however vague — does the trick. Some satisfaction rises in her, having that control remain; if Clarke wants more than that, she'll have to work for it.
She might have to comply, but now she knows she doesn't have to make it easy. ]
I know the solution worked. [ However petty, it feels like waving a card that proves she knows more than even Clarke. Something small that gives her an advantage. ] Too bad your green land didn't make it.
no subject
Some part of Clarke has been afraid of this reality for some time. No, she hasn't known, but nothing good ever lasts as far as she's concerned. The purposefulness of her movement comes to a complete halt, all stiff and rigid limbs as she processes this information. Your green land didn't make it. Her salvation. The one thing that offered her the chance to live.
(Obviously, she lacks a whole picture.)
She turns toward Octavia, debating her next question. No, she won't ask about that. Sanctum is the important part.]
Tell me about Sanctum. On Sanctum sounds—[she searches for the word]—well, it's different from being in Sanctum.
no subject
[ That's the simplest explanation. Beyond that, there isn't much to tell. Octavia had seen little of it before she'd been exiled, before she'd been taken to this new world — bustling and full of life. She goes quiet, only the sound of her footsteps penetrating through the silence, until she speaks again: quieter, hoarser. ]
Monty found it. He thought it would be a new start.
[ But that same hopefulness hasn't found a home in Octavia, evident in the skepticism that slips into her voice. Without Wonkru, without Earth — it's difficult to determine who she should be, or to leave behind what she'd once been. ]
He and Harper weren't there to see it.
[ She leaves it at that. For whatever bad blood that had existed between them all, he deserves that respect. His sacrifice doesn't deserve to be mocked — not even to injure Clarke. ]
no subject
Monty, who's good. Jasper's best friend. Who helped them take out Mount Weather. And Harper, who was one of the hundred. She had callously decided that Harper wasn't good enough to make it onto her list. But she was there, eager to help ensure that everyone got off into space.]
I don't understand. I'm sorry. [An apology that feels more like a space filler than anything. Clarke's face tells the story: how hard this is to hear. What she can't wrap her head around.]
How long has it been? Were you—did everyone get out of the bunker? And down from the ring? [A beat, as Clarke thinks, rewording her question.] How long did it take for people to get out?
no subject
[ To save them. Monty had believed they could be better, do better — that they might know peace. Sanctum, however, has brought Octavia no closer to finding respite from the demons — raucous and haunting — she harbors.
She'd stripped herself away to become Blodreina. To discard it all, to begin anew, is a daunting feat. Clarke hasn't demanded Octavia to give voice to that skepticism and inner turmoil, and so Octavia bottles it up tightly, pressing her lips together like they might spill out of her if she isn't vigilant.
They don't, but the answers Clarke desperately seeks burst free, one right after another. A rush of syllables brought on by the earlier command, impossible to resist even as Clarke reframes her wording. ]
Not everyone survived the bunker, but everyone made it down from the ring after six years.. [ Ask your mother, Octavia wants to bite, wounded and lashing. There's no room for it, compelled to choke down that bitterness. Still, the frustration twitches in her expression and tightens her jaw. ] That's how long it took to free Wonkru from the bunker.
cw: suicide mention
It hits her hard, and it's painful. Of course, Clarke is missing the actual picture. The actual pieces. There's no way for her to know.]
I ... I did what I could to get your people out, but I couldn't do it alone. [And as far as Clarke knows, she was alone. Suffering. Barely keeping it together.
Nearly committing suicide.]
I'm sorry. [An easy fallback. As if she didn't order Octavia to follow her.]
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[ You don't seem sorry, Octavia wants to snap, quick and lashing as sharply as a whip. The implication wedges itself between the words — what isn't said, can't be said, from the near-gag order Clarke has placed on her.
Her frustration only builds. There is no comfort to be found in venting it on Clarke, at the end of it all, to worsen the pain twisting in Octavia's chest. Not this Clarke, at any rate, so laser-focused on scavenging out answers that Octavia has to believe it's sincere rather than a well-performed act.
Knowing that doesn't end her resentment, even so. ]
Forget it. I don't want your pity. It means nothing. [ More so, if Clarke is carrying a fragmented memory. ] If that's all you have to ask, let me go.
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Once we get there, I don't care what you decide. ["We're done" she had said, and Clarke remembers it.]
For what it's worth, I am sorry. For a lot of things. [Would she do it differently? Could she? Clarke has her doubts.] And I bet I'd be sorry about things in the future. My future. It's just ...
[She huffs.]
Look, for now. I'll get you to the safehouse. We can work it out from there. Or not, I guess.
no subject
Clarke can let her go any time she pleases. The difference is simply that she won't. Octavia can't help but to resent her for that fact, too.
As it stands, she has little choice but to swallow the words down, stinging like acid in her throat. ]
From where I'm standing? You don't look very sorry to me.
[ Octavia gestures to her legs, the pace they're keeping. For however apologetic Clarke feels, it hasn't prevented her from assuming control as she always does. By this point, Octavia isn't convinced she's pushed herself into that dominant role for any other reason but comfort, but habit. In her mind, bending others to her will has come naturally to Clarke Griffin each and every time. ]
What's left to work out, Clarke? You don't remember, and I don't care. [ Narrator voice: she cared very much, hence being so bitter. ] That sounds like the end of it to me.
no subject
And here she is again, feeling the same as before. Like she can't apologize enough, or do enough. Probably because she can't.]
I didn't think you would come with me. [There's some reluctance behind these words, but Clarke could fill a chalkboard with reasons as to why Octavia Blake would decide to be stubborn about this. They've worked together in tandem, yes. Octavia even got her a meeting with Bellamy once, and saved her when needed.
But that feels like eons ago. Clarke now knows it feels like even longer ago for Octavia. Instead, she undoubtedly feels those final moments more strongly. Clarke taking the bunker because she was afraid, being the last person to make the mistake of not believing in Octavia.
It's something that crosses her mind a lot here—in this world, separate from all of that. Has crossed her mind. Clarke knows that being too reactive can cost someone.]
Staying out for too long can cause problems. People have gotten arrested. [Plus, what are the odds that Octavia hurts someone? Very high. Obviously, she doesn't know the spiel Octavia got. They aren't great at communicating, so why would she know?
Plus, if Octavia had managed to hurt someone, what would happen next? What would come next? She's seen it before.]
I had to get you back. There's no negotiating about it. [You're my people. The words die on her tongue. Clarke knows better than to say that, despite how truly real it feels.]
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[ Mistaking it for commiseration would be foolish. Octavia's mouth twists, bitter, to dispel that possible interpretation. The destruction in her wake holds no meaning to Clarke, memories from a time she has yet to experience — but six years without any sign of humanity beyond Madi, beyond herself ...
That leaves a lasting mark. It has to. ]
You can save the warnings, by the way. I got them from our hosts.
[ The follow-up comes dryly, as though she hasn't deliberately tried to survey Clarke's anxieties and poke at them, but the bite at its edges hasn't entirely faded. Before Clarke had come along, it had been — nice, almost, to be surrounded by those that hadn't flinched in fear or repulsion. Those that hadn't seen her primitive and violent, hadn't known her to be the fear-mongering Blodreina.
It's impossible not to feel sour, as if that, too, has been taken from her in one fell swoop. ]
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Look, this isn't about warnings. It's—[Wait.
Hosts.
Who does Octavia think she's spoken to? In a twist of wonder, Clarke begins to think that Octavia doesn't know about the full depth of humanity here. The fullest amount of people involved. And how could she? The festival itself has enough, but it could easily be misinterpreted. Maybe she thinks this is all tied together.]
Wait. Who are these hosts?
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[ There's a slow measure to the words, now that Clarke has given some indication the full picture is more nuanced than Octavia had originally believed. Being dumped out of a vehicle and stranded had seemed straightforward enough, regardless of the enigmatic intentions. Straightforward and strategic, more than that, for how precise and efficient the process had been.
It hadn't been their first time. That much is clear.
Her feet stall for only a flickering second, barely noticeable, as she tosses Clarke a meaningful look. ]
You don't know them?
[ It seems impossible. Clarke would have her interest piqued already, a meeting in order, if she was familiar with them. ]
no subject
[It's a difficult line to handle. They are beginning to know more, but how long until that feels true. How long until they can even begin to paint a picture?]
We don't know how we got here. Why we're here. People have guesses. I'm not sure I like most of them, I just—[She breathes out.]
Would you believe I thought this might be a second chance for me? For some others, too? [A candid addition, one that she only releases so freely to Octavia because she sees her as her people. That might be a line they need to figure out. But Clarke hasn't let go of that concept. Not yet.]