( Clarke nods along with what she says, but she can feel a familiar prick of tears in her eyes. in running for her life, for not knowing if Bellamy was in danger as well, for what Lauralae just did to protect her, and now for disrespecting the physical boundary she's tried so hard to be respectful of-
her emotions are on overdrive and the adrenaline is beginning to ebb away, leaving only the reality of what just happened in its wake. it isn't the first time the Cult has tried to kill her, won't be the last, but she's never been alone before. her breath hitches, and Clarke reaches up to rub a hand across her eyes to ensure any wetness gathering is brushed away. )
I- Thank you. For saving me. Normally I travel with Bellamy because of this-
[ The blood might still taint her, the fear might still cloud her eyes, but Lauralae is direct, forceful as she looks at Clarke. She is venomous with it, a dark curling of anger and passion that slams through her and makes her look more feral than she ever has before. The idea that Clarke might well have been in trouble feeds into the darkness that whispered the human's own demise and she is ferocious in her fury, as if she is a true wolf turned flesh rather than it being the other way around.
She steps forward, her eyes dark, as dark as they had been when she had first met Clarke and been unaware of her, distrusting and cruel, furious in her irritation at being caught but delighted in their newfound education with one another. She is angry, that much is obvious, and as her anger sinks through her it becomes harder for her to control, her fury making her throat tight and her teeth bare. Who would dare harm Clarke?
Death had not been her friend for so long, not since Aramas, but now - oh, now, she would claim the lives of thousands. She would relish the taste of their blood and use their wounds to fuel her power. ]
( Clarke can't help but flinch back at her tone, already shaken enough without the force of Lauralae's voice. she understands, she does, and Clarke isn't necessarily fearful, but the woman before her isn't the same one she'd come to know over the last few months. without thought, she takes a step back when Lauralae steps forward.
part of her doesn't really want to tell her; it's just another person to put at risk that doesn't need to be. Ariadne was involved when they decided to make a move on people who lived at her spire, Jason was already investigating after Daonna, but Lauralae-
she wasn't involved, and Clarke wasn't sure she had it in her to put her at risk. )
I can't. ( Clarke shakes her head, barely. ) Your safety means too much to me.
[ And this is what Lauralae is, deep in her heart, a vicious side of her that had, as much as it could be, been hidden from Clarke's eyes. She is a violent, angry creature, lost to the darkness as much as she tries to fight against it, and she barely notes anything of Clarke's fear beyond the smell of it - the way she steps back, the way that she stares, none of it means anything to her.
She is furious, the anger inside of her a boiling, passionate rage, the same rage that had, once, caused her to draw nails down her arm and try to kill the man who had stolen her heart, torn it from her and tread it into the ground. Her anger is not directed at Clarke, no, but those that would harm her, that would dare walk this world and raise blade or magic against someone that Lauralae had chosen as friend, who had regarded as ally and comfort.
She hisses with rage, feral and dark, dangerous - never let it be forgotten that she is more wolf than girl, at times, never let it be forgotten that there is darkness inside of her.
Behind her, a tree lurches, drawn by her connection to plants, the leaves around her feet seem to sing with her passion, and Lauralae's eyes are hard. ]
There is no safety when you are as I am. Tell me who haunts you!
( part of her considers teleporting away, to duck out from this conversation as soon as possible. because regardless of what Lauralae is, of what she could be, Clarke still values what safety she may have away from things like the Cult. it's taken too much from her already, and it doesn't need to try and take Lauralae as well.
but-
but Clarke also has to have confidence in Lauralae's abilities, has to have confidence in what she can do to take care of herself. to know that she was able to attack Clarke's assailant without hesitation or trouble. so part of her hesitates; she doesn't want to fear Lauralae, doesn't want to fear a friend. )
The Cult of the Fox. Bellamy and I have been running from them since July of last year.
[ Anyone who has existed in the Drabwurld had heard of the Fox, the echo of his power and the hold he had on so many before his demise. He had been strong and those that loathed members of the courts and holders of Shards had been at his side, wishing for his benevolence and his strength and, in his memory, rose up for his cause.
But they wanted Clarke, and Lauralae had never been taken with hatred for shard carriers. She wanted their power, yes, envied it, but had never loathed them for existing.
Making her way forward, step by step, Lauralae's dark eyes skim Clarke. She watches over her, dark and feral, before she breathes. It comes out as a ghosting breath before she tilts her head. ]
( Clarke finds some small piece of relief in having told Lauralae about the Cult. not for the sake of having admitted it -- that part she doesn't care for, she would rather keep that part wrapped up tight, kept between her and Bellamy and few others to try and make sure they don't place others in danger. but there's relief in knowing Lauralae doesn't back away, that she doesn't see Clarke as something to be wary of based on that alone.
forcing herself to keep still where she stands, to not take steps back as Lauralae moves forward. at the request, Clarke glances down at her hands, holding out the one without blood on it, palm up. )
[ For a long moment, all Lauralae does is stare at Clarke, her eyes dark, flicking over her face, taking in her features, dragging along her skin, as if measuring her, shaping her up - but she already knows Clarke. She is literally measuring her, taking in her size, her weight, her strength; Lauralae says nothing, simply draws up her sleeves, ties it near the edge of her elbow, before she pauses.
Then, she bites her own flesh, teeth sinking deep.
Her jaw crashes around scars along her arm, thin things, from nails, a decade ago, sawing through them with the power of her own anger and desire to protect someone who has, somehow, come to care about her. It's a ferocious thing, dangerous and awful, and her eyes snap back to Clarke.
Then, her power flushes around over Clarke. It's not the strongest thing - not as if Lauralae has carved it into her, done anything to push the power into Clarke, but it's enough, a little protection, a little power to keep her safe, and that's all she can do.
When she breathes out, drawing her teeth away, her face and jaw is covered in her own blood, her arm dripping. ]
( her first instinct is to step closer and press her hand to the wound to heal it, the immediate inclination to help, to heal, is one that never changes in her. it takes a real effort to not to it, to push that instinct down, to not pursue it.
there's a moment of complete silence from Clarke before her next exhale comes out in a rush. despite how powerful she knows Lauralae to be, it still manages to impress her every time its actually displayed in any manner. it takes her a moment, taking stock of herself, the beat of her own hearth, the push of air through her lungs, the way her shoulder stings.
she finally reaches up to heal her own wound before taking a tentative step closer to Lauralae; it isn't invasive, doesn't intrude on her space. it's meant as a warning before she actually does continue into that. )
Will you let me heal you?
( and that's it. there's no fear in her for what just happened, no terror or intimidation, no disgust. it's Clarke simply finding her footing again, and moving forward, feeling far less terrified than she had before. )
[ Lauralae's teeth are covered in blood, her lips are coloured with it, trailing down along her jaw, dripping to her dress, her cloak. She will have to bathe, she thinks, she will have to wash her things, but that is not unusual. Blood is second nature to her now, after all, a familiar friend that comes in the middle of the night.
As Clarke's eyes lift back towards her she pauses, her eyes dancing over the other woman before she breathes out. The pain of her arm is nothing compared to the certainty she feels when she looks at her ally, her companion, and the pulse of her heart is a deep and powerful thing, a push inside of her chest that leaves her breathless. It could be blood loss, true, but she doesn't care. Clarke is safe and that is, for now, all that matters.
The step makes her blink, breathing out hard, swallowing, before she bows down, tilting her eyes away from Clarke for a little while longer before she nods. ]
If that is your desire.
[ Clarke is not afraid. Clarke is not put off from her danger, from her nature. Clarke is... Clarke. And it buries inside of her, like a soft purr, making her feel safe and warm in ways she does not want to express. ]
( every movement is slow; not from fear, but the sheer desire to ensure that there's nothing to startle Lauralae. following this, the conversation, Lauralae's actions, and the immediate memory that Lae had killed someone for attacking her- it all breeds the desire to keep her actions measured and careful.
reaching forward, one hand steadies Lauralae's arm while the other hovers over the wound. it's a soft whisper of a spell before the skin seems to knit itself right back together, as though the wound had never existed in the first place, only the remnants of blood left behind to be washed away later. Clarke's sure she remembers a rune that could do it right now, but it isn't worth the risk of writing the incorrect one.
Clarke's shoulders sag after that, exhaustion gripping tightly to her as the adrenaline begins to ebb away, a release that happens far too quickly. reaching up, she rubs a hand across her eyes. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
( Clarke nods along with what she says, but she can feel a familiar prick of tears in her eyes. in running for her life, for not knowing if Bellamy was in danger as well, for what Lauralae just did to protect her, and now for disrespecting the physical boundary she's tried so hard to be respectful of-
her emotions are on overdrive and the adrenaline is beginning to ebb away, leaving only the reality of what just happened in its wake. it isn't the first time the Cult has tried to kill her, won't be the last, but she's never been alone before. her breath hitches, and Clarke reaches up to rub a hand across her eyes to ensure any wetness gathering is brushed away. )
I- Thank you. For saving me. Normally I travel with Bellamy because of this-
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[ The blood might still taint her, the fear might still cloud her eyes, but Lauralae is direct, forceful as she looks at Clarke. She is venomous with it, a dark curling of anger and passion that slams through her and makes her look more feral than she ever has before. The idea that Clarke might well have been in trouble feeds into the darkness that whispered the human's own demise and she is ferocious in her fury, as if she is a true wolf turned flesh rather than it being the other way around.
She steps forward, her eyes dark, as dark as they had been when she had first met Clarke and been unaware of her, distrusting and cruel, furious in her irritation at being caught but delighted in their newfound education with one another. She is angry, that much is obvious, and as her anger sinks through her it becomes harder for her to control, her fury making her throat tight and her teeth bare. Who would dare harm Clarke?
Death had not been her friend for so long, not since Aramas, but now - oh, now, she would claim the lives of thousands. She would relish the taste of their blood and use their wounds to fuel her power. ]
Speak.
no subject
part of her doesn't really want to tell her; it's just another person to put at risk that doesn't need to be. Ariadne was involved when they decided to make a move on people who lived at her spire, Jason was already investigating after Daonna, but Lauralae-
she wasn't involved, and Clarke wasn't sure she had it in her to put her at risk. )
I can't. ( Clarke shakes her head, barely. ) Your safety means too much to me.
no subject
[ And this is what Lauralae is, deep in her heart, a vicious side of her that had, as much as it could be, been hidden from Clarke's eyes. She is a violent, angry creature, lost to the darkness as much as she tries to fight against it, and she barely notes anything of Clarke's fear beyond the smell of it - the way she steps back, the way that she stares, none of it means anything to her.
She is furious, the anger inside of her a boiling, passionate rage, the same rage that had, once, caused her to draw nails down her arm and try to kill the man who had stolen her heart, torn it from her and tread it into the ground. Her anger is not directed at Clarke, no, but those that would harm her, that would dare walk this world and raise blade or magic against someone that Lauralae had chosen as friend, who had regarded as ally and comfort.
She hisses with rage, feral and dark, dangerous - never let it be forgotten that she is more wolf than girl, at times, never let it be forgotten that there is darkness inside of her.
Behind her, a tree lurches, drawn by her connection to plants, the leaves around her feet seem to sing with her passion, and Lauralae's eyes are hard. ]
There is no safety when you are as I am. Tell me who haunts you!
no subject
but-
but Clarke also has to have confidence in Lauralae's abilities, has to have confidence in what she can do to take care of herself. to know that she was able to attack Clarke's assailant without hesitation or trouble. so part of her hesitates; she doesn't want to fear Lauralae, doesn't want to fear a friend. )
The Cult of the Fox. Bellamy and I have been running from them since July of last year.
no subject
But they wanted Clarke, and Lauralae had never been taken with hatred for shard carriers. She wanted their power, yes, envied it, but had never loathed them for existing.
Making her way forward, step by step, Lauralae's dark eyes skim Clarke. She watches over her, dark and feral, before she breathes. It comes out as a ghosting breath before she tilts her head. ]
Hold out your palm, Clarke.
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forcing herself to keep still where she stands, to not take steps back as Lauralae moves forward. at the request, Clarke glances down at her hands, holding out the one without blood on it, palm up. )
no subject
Then, she bites her own flesh, teeth sinking deep.
Her jaw crashes around scars along her arm, thin things, from nails, a decade ago, sawing through them with the power of her own anger and desire to protect someone who has, somehow, come to care about her. It's a ferocious thing, dangerous and awful, and her eyes snap back to Clarke.
Then, her power flushes around over Clarke. It's not the strongest thing - not as if Lauralae has carved it into her, done anything to push the power into Clarke, but it's enough, a little protection, a little power to keep her safe, and that's all she can do.
When she breathes out, drawing her teeth away, her face and jaw is covered in her own blood, her arm dripping. ]
no subject
there's a moment of complete silence from Clarke before her next exhale comes out in a rush. despite how powerful she knows Lauralae to be, it still manages to impress her every time its actually displayed in any manner. it takes her a moment, taking stock of herself, the beat of her own hearth, the push of air through her lungs, the way her shoulder stings.
she finally reaches up to heal her own wound before taking a tentative step closer to Lauralae; it isn't invasive, doesn't intrude on her space. it's meant as a warning before she actually does continue into that. )
Will you let me heal you?
( and that's it. there's no fear in her for what just happened, no terror or intimidation, no disgust. it's Clarke simply finding her footing again, and moving forward, feeling far less terrified than she had before. )
no subject
As Clarke's eyes lift back towards her she pauses, her eyes dancing over the other woman before she breathes out. The pain of her arm is nothing compared to the certainty she feels when she looks at her ally, her companion, and the pulse of her heart is a deep and powerful thing, a push inside of her chest that leaves her breathless. It could be blood loss, true, but she doesn't care. Clarke is safe and that is, for now, all that matters.
The step makes her blink, breathing out hard, swallowing, before she bows down, tilting her eyes away from Clarke for a little while longer before she nods. ]
If that is your desire.
[ Clarke is not afraid. Clarke is not put off from her danger, from her nature. Clarke is... Clarke. And it buries inside of her, like a soft purr, making her feel safe and warm in ways she does not want to express. ]
no subject
reaching forward, one hand steadies Lauralae's arm while the other hovers over the wound. it's a soft whisper of a spell before the skin seems to knit itself right back together, as though the wound had never existed in the first place, only the remnants of blood left behind to be washed away later. Clarke's sure she remembers a rune that could do it right now, but it isn't worth the risk of writing the incorrect one.
Clarke's shoulders sag after that, exhaustion gripping tightly to her as the adrenaline begins to ebb away, a release that happens far too quickly. reaching up, she rubs a hand across her eyes. )
Thank you for protecting me.