#slayxdemons

Despite Louis’ not-exactly-party-conducive mood, the party managed to become festive anyway. It probably helped that the floor held so many parties already, that this specific party could just seamlessly flow from one intention to no intention and still manage to be fun. She wasn’t drunk tonight- the image of Louis’ final moments in the fight still lingered uneasily in the back of her mind, and the couple drinks she’d already had had made her more nauseous than merry- but she was still having fun, especially since the arrival of Louis, broken but in one piece still at least. She didn’t like changes to her life, and having her roommate back and mostly fine if you overlooked his attitude was a reassuring thing, proof that her life would remain unchanged at least a while longer.

“Bellamy!” She grinned at the sight of her shaggy haired professor, practically skipping the last two paces to him. She’d been on Clarke’s other side, her and Octavia between Fox and Bellamy, but that hadn’t stopped her from sneaking looks at the man when he was busy talking to his sister or Clarke. In the noise and bright lights of the arena, he’d seemed less unattainable than usual, and she was feeling more reckless than usual. “So aside from my roommate almost dying, are you having fun?”

Murphy is surprised anyone in the apartment is still awake as he emerges from his early morning video game binge in his bedroom. After grabbing a soda from the fridge he realizes no one’s awake, but his roommate is passed out besides a stack of papers, clearly not having completed his grading. 

With amusement, Murphy takes a seat on the couch beside him, careful not to wake Bellamy as he starts going through his papers. He has a red pen in hand, intent on writing snarky comments in the margins, but before he can, he happens upon an all to familiar name. “Fox?” The name is whispered and he glances again beside him to make sure Bellamy stays asleep. Fox had, in a manner of speaking, caught his attention since they moved in and he knows it’s not just the striptease that’s lingering in the back of his mind. He’d never admit the interest out right, but starts to read the paper, clearly drawn into her ideas to the point where he forgets his original plan. 

Clarke Griffin has been ALONE for a long time.

She’d stopped counting the days weeks -- months? years? -- ago. Now time comes at uneven bursts to her consciousness. Sometimes weeks will pass in what feels like a minute, and she never notices any of the time passing until one day she jolts from what feels like a long sleep; others will drag, the sun moving t a slow tick over the sky. She lives in a world that BURNS, that hasn’t yet turned into ASHES.

She had been LEFT BEHIND.

Clarke relives that day more than she lives in the days she exists in now. Trying to get the ring in the air. Realizing something was wrong. RUNNING FOR HER LIFE through a forest being torn apart by a wave of pure energy and destruction. DON’T WAIT FOR ME. She’d told them not to. She’d told them to go. And they HAD. And maybe that’s what kept her going. The fact that her friends are ALIVE, somewhere, hopefully, floating ( as they had before ) away in space.

None of the IRONY is lost to her.

She’s not sure WHY she’s alive. Or HOW. If the nightblood was still in her system -- if it was some random act of the universe -- if she’s just that damn lucky ( or maybe not ). She has plenty of time to CONTEMPLATE. She spends her days alone now. Talking to herself, because there’s not another soul she’s seen yet. Animals are slowly coming back, she thinks. She’s lucky that there was food in the bunker that survived, that they didn’t take for the ring. But, then, she gladly would’ve STARVED if that meant her friends living. She’s gone through HELL AND BACK -- and if that means they’re safe up there, well, she can keep going a little longer.

She lays on her back on the floor of the lab, the blinding lights off. She doesn’t need them. She knows her way around like someone blind now. Her finger presses against the little black button of the radio in her hand -- a constant COMPANION now. Her only LINK to those she’s lost, even if it’s not REAL.

        there were many things that she could very well do. she knew complicated laws and court proceedings, she could finish a paperback in less than a day and could make up speeches off the top of her head. she was very skilled with a paint brush and had been told she could be convincing on an occasion or two. what no one ever explained to her was how to properly use a washing machine. she had put her laundry in and pressed buttons but nothing was working! the landlord of the damn apartment complex was not picking up his phone this late at night and the laundry room in the basement was empty except for her.

        when she was put here in all the mess that her country was going through, she thought it would be easy. how hard could to be for her to live like an american? her bodyguards took up residence in a floor below her, her apartment was set up with the proper surveillance, her place was decorated to her liking and americans did not know much of any government outside their own. it should be easy. except shes never had to cook herself meals, or use a microwave, or a dishwasher, or a washing machine or call a cab. this was all getting ridiculous and she was starting to lose her mind. and she would go without underwear before she asked her secret service for laundry help.

       luckily there was one person she did know (kind of). he helped her open her mailbox so he had to know how to use the washer. the blonde padded her way down the hall, her ear buds in her ears as she googled easy recipes for dinner, she was unable to hear the yelling on the other side of the door as she knocked on 42B. “no that looks too complicated….” she mumbled to herself, scrolling more before knocking again.

Her head is propped up on her hand while she reclines on the cot, her gaze curious and resting on Bellamy where he sits beside her. Things feel relaxed and content, and while she’s loathe to ruin that - a question has been on her mind all day.

“You’ve referenced mythology a few times now, did you know that?” She tries not to pry too much, instead testing the waters to see his reaction. There are things, she’s learned, he’s not too eager to talk about.

                   ‘  next time you try to kill someone –––  ’    cora let her gaze fall into the boy as she perched down beside him.    ‘  aim for the HEAD, not the chest  ’                        it was ironic really. the plan when she was first arrested upon the ark all those years ago, was to let her rot until her eighteenth birthday. however, fate had other objectives for her. she was kept on the ark as the rest of the hundred hit the earth, only to give a metaphorical finger to the chancellor and follow  down soon after with the rest of the arkers. and finally, for the first time in years, the psychopathic, seventeen year old KILLER was free.