( experience, confirmed. trust, re-established — like it ever truly wavered; clarke has already slammed down blocks the thickness of blast doors between the terrifying experience with that natsuno in relation to her own version of him. he's always first on her speed-dial, though in this instance a voice chat is way easier than a video. )
I'm pissed off, and —
( anything missing? honestly, she hadn't stopped to take note. upon reviving clarke had taken stock of her freshly beating heart, two working legs, two working arms, and a head still attached to her shoulders. there'd been no gut-deep burning pain like had drawn her to palamedes that first time, no vision loss, all the teeth in her mouth seemed perfectly situated... but when natsuno's question fully registers she has to stop her angry stomping through the edges of the town and really consider.
he is treated to a brief interlude of heavy nasal breathing, clothes rustling, a slight grunt as she sits down to take off her shoes, and then — )
...my sigils.
( they'd never spoken about the tattoos. it'd been mostly shame on clarke's part, that all consuming feeling of less because she'd only ever been human, and thus drawn to magic like a moth to a bug zapper. but part of her also assumes he knows what she's talking about; her best friend had always been wickedly observant, and long sleeve shirts couldn't conceal everything. even if they did, any inspection of that vicious bite wound from darcy lejeune would have told all. )
no subject
I'm pissed off, and —
( anything missing? honestly, she hadn't stopped to take note. upon reviving clarke had taken stock of her freshly beating heart, two working legs, two working arms, and a head still attached to her shoulders. there'd been no gut-deep burning pain like had drawn her to palamedes that first time, no vision loss, all the teeth in her mouth seemed perfectly situated... but when natsuno's question fully registers she has to stop her angry stomping through the edges of the town and really consider.
he is treated to a brief interlude of heavy nasal breathing, clothes rustling, a slight grunt as she sits down to take off her shoes, and then — )
...my sigils.
( they'd never spoken about the tattoos. it'd been mostly shame on clarke's part, that all consuming feeling of less because she'd only ever been human, and thus drawn to magic like a moth to a bug zapper. but part of her also assumes he knows what she's talking about; her best friend had always been wickedly observant, and long sleeve shirts couldn't conceal everything. even if they did, any inspection of that vicious bite wound from darcy lejeune would have told all. )