( for a death mechanic that's well and truly familiar by now, it still comes as a bit of a surprise that she wakes up. after all, this was a new world with new rules and new ruling powers that didn't seem all that excited to spell out the specifics (not a new concept!). not that long ago clarke had argued pettily with rita mordio that it made no sense to just let them die here, not when they were purported saviors of their universe. staking a claim to that side of the argument didn't necessarily mean she believed it, however, and she'd certainly had no desire to be the first to test it.
but, suddenly here she is. blinking awake 48 hours after being murdered by the doppelganger of herself and her best friend. the sun is low, her body aches from laying in one spot for so long (under an empty dumpster? inside an empty dumpster? half buried under construction gear and dirt in the nearby lot? to be decided!) and as clarke stares at the sky and traces back through the darkness of death to the last time she'd had this view —
she bolts straight upright. frantically scans around for any sign of her attacker or its grinning shadow that might as well have been a distorted reflection. she's free of the mind control, or at least the part that'd kept her paralyzed and defenseless but still flooded with the overwhelming fear and urge to run. still so indignantly angry that any of this even happened, to the point something like a vice has seized around her heart. and, finally on her feet and speed walking away from her temporary gravesite, she pulls up the display of contacts without even thinking much. grabs at that first and most familiar name and all but screams — )
Oh, that bitch. That fucking mirror image bitch, she killed me.
( had her killed, technically. but clarification will have to wait a moment, clarke's clicked off this call momentarily to also ring up rita mordio. righteous fury cannot be contained to a single conversation apparently. )
voice | un: griffin (backdated, early doppelganger event)
but, suddenly here she is. blinking awake 48 hours after being murdered by the doppelganger of herself and her best friend. the sun is low, her body aches from laying in one spot for so long (under an empty dumpster? inside an empty dumpster? half buried under construction gear and dirt in the nearby lot? to be decided!) and as clarke stares at the sky and traces back through the darkness of death to the last time she'd had this view —
she bolts straight upright. frantically scans around for any sign of her attacker or its grinning shadow that might as well have been a distorted reflection. she's free of the mind control, or at least the part that'd kept her paralyzed and defenseless but still flooded with the overwhelming fear and urge to run. still so indignantly angry that any of this even happened, to the point something like a vice has seized around her heart. and, finally on her feet and speed walking away from her temporary gravesite, she pulls up the display of contacts without even thinking much. grabs at that first and most familiar name and all but screams — )
Oh, that bitch. That fucking mirror image bitch, she killed me.
( had her killed, technically. but clarification will have to wait a moment, clarke's clicked off this call momentarily to also ring up rita mordio. righteous fury cannot be contained to a single conversation apparently. )