entrancelogs | open | in peace, may you leave this shore.

Entry tags:

open | in peace, may you leave this shore.

Who: Clarke Griffin and your lovely self.
Where: Here, there, everywhere.
When: November 24th
Rating: PG, probably.
Summary: Clarke falls down the rabbit hole.
The Story:

MORNING » BEACH

[ Clarke's first thought is the same one that has been running through her mind since she stumbled back to camp, bloody and covered in mud. Bellamy is alive. Octavia is alive. Raven is alive. She replays the thought over and over, but it never loses novelty. Clarke is no less relieved the hundredth time she thinks it than she was the first; she will never stop feeling so, she suspects, and every breath of hers will undoubtedly turn into a sigh of relief.

Clarke's second thought is— sand.

There wasn't sand on the Ark, the spaceship she lived on until she was nearly eighteen, and there certainly hadn't been any sand out in the woods the dropship to Earth had crashed into. Sometimes, Clarke thinks that she's experienced all she's ever going to — she has already seen so much more than she ever imagined, and it seems like testing fate to wish for more — but this, this is a fresh experience, sullied only by her confusion at how she stumbled upon a beach of all places. ]

Oh my god. [ The murmur slips out of her mouth, unexpected, before she can stop it. Clarke kneels down, pants already getting dirty, and takes a handful of sand, watching curiously as it runs through her fingers. She's read of it before, but no description in a book could have given her the vividness of experience that this does.

In fact, she might be gaping a little bit. ]

AFTERNOON » MANSION

[ Clarke is nothing if not inquisitive, even if she suspects those inquiries will lead her nowhere good. This feels too much like being kept in Mount Weather — there has to be a dark secret behind it all.

Carefully, slowly, she wanders the halls, eyes scanning the rooms for anything that could offer her information. To the outside observer, however, she looks a bit... worse for wear. She's certainly lacking the mud caked on her face, and much of the blood has been wiped away by her mother, but the only thing that can rid her of these scars is time.

There's a young, disoriented woman covered in cuts aimlessly wandering the mansion. ]

EVENING » FOREST

[ She doesn't trust a thing.

Clarke has been burned too many times by promises of warmth, food, and shelter. Although many seem to live within the mansion walls, even that is not a guarantee of safety. She eschews all reason, giving into her gut feeling of suspicion, and sets up camp outside the mansion. Still, she's careful not to stray too far, as she knows what things can lurk in the dark of the woods.

She lights a campfire, the smoke rising and billowing from the twigs. It's a well made fire, all things considered, and it's clear that this isn't her first time sleeping in the woods and it won't be the last.

There is one thing, however, she didn't account for.

Her stomach growls incessantly, protesting her resistance to eating or drinking anything offered at the mansion. She had managed to gather materials to fashion a slingshot from the mansion, if nothing else, and so she does; Clarke creeps along the edges, poised to shoot a stone at any small creature that happens by. (It isn't sophisticated, but it's all she has.) Unfortunately, she runs into someone else instead, her stone only nearly missing them. ]

I'm so sorry, I thought— [ It doesn't really matter what she thought, come to think of it. "I thought you were a squirrel" is no excuse. Her anxiety had made her trigger-happy. ] Are you hurt? I can help you, if you are.

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[ Part of her wants to protest, say that she isn't the type to fret— the last thing she wants is for these people to think she's a damsel in distress who can't handle herself here. She'd come at someone with a slingshot, hadn't she? Surely that's enough to prove her might.

She doesn't protest, however. Instead, she takes his hand, giving him a firm handshake and saying, ] It's nice to meet you, Simon. I'm Clarke.

[ It isn't exactly a typical name for an eighteen year old girl, but she doesn't come from a typical place. In fact, she's known stranger. Atom and Wells and Thelonious come to mind. ]

Sounds like you're a veteran.

Edited (icon!!) 2015-11-24 01:32 (UTC)

[ Her assumption has his grin deepening a hint as he chuckles. ]

I suppose after a year and a half, I've got to be getting close to it, right?

[ He eyes her curiously a moment before nodding his head towards where the flickering glow of her campfire can be seen behind her. ]

The house is safe enough, you know. I know that might be hard to believe at first. Most of the people here are good ones. They're pretty genuine in their desire to help. Granted, you don't know me from Adam. But I spent my first week or so hiding out here myself, convinced that moving in there was just walking into a death trap.

[ He's got a knack for recognizing other people who might have been dragged her from somewhere as shitty as where he came from. Sometimes they're even worse. ]

They don't seem too helpful to you?

[ A year ago, she wouldn't have asked this question. She'd lived a charmed life, then, and people had always been helpful to precious Clarke Griffin. Now, however, Clarke finds it difficult to believe in anything good at all. Mount Weather had seemed unreal, a magic oasis, and it had a dark underbelly despite its helpful, smiling residents. ]

There's nothing like this where I come from. Mansions. Houses, really. I've only ever seen them in books.

[ She's more accustomed to sleeping in tents than she is to having a solid roof over her head, these days. If Clarke has learned anything, it's that if it seems like it belongs in a fairy tale, it must be too good to be true. You never get to have something good without a catch. ]

I'm just being... cautious.

[ Simon gives a laugh. ]

Oh, sure they do. At least until you realize they're all a bunch of paragons and genuinely nice people who've somehow gotten collected here. Not all of them, mind, but the majority of them have hero complexes the size of the moon. Helping people? It's sorta what a lot of them do. Some out of habit, others out of atonement, some even do it as a way of life.

Besides, we were all new here once. Confused as hell and wary of everything people tries to pass our way. Some of us more than others. This place is a lot to swallow - doesn't matter where you come from. Makes it easy to be sympathetic when you know exactly how confusing and disorienting it is for someone else going through the same thing.

[ He squints slightly when she mentions her home, head cocking to the side as he considers her curiously. ]

They don't have houses where you come from?

[ Clarke can't place why she finds it so hard to believe these strangers would have any desire to look out for her, especially when she feels the instinct to take care of anyone and everyone, but she does. The girl who trusted easily and eagerly accepted help is gone, replaced instead by someone disillusioned and world-weary. Try to keep an open mind, she tells herself. But at the same time, she thinks, Don't do anything stupid. She can't do both.

She simply doesn't reply to Simon's defense of the other residents, focusing on his question instead. ]

They used to. I've seen enough photographs to know that.

[ That, however, is the extent of her house knowledge. ]

We don't really have the supplies, right now. We've been using tents.

[ He considers that for a moment, head cocked to the side as he squints at her. Where he came from, tents were far from secure, but relying on pictures of a world all but lost? Not having supplies? That was something he understood all too well. ]

Sounds like you come from a pretty harsh place. Trust issues are probably warranted there.

Most of these people? Still come from the time when everyone still had houses. Had easy lives, easily attained supplies. Worried about things like what clothes to wear today or what they were gonna make for dinner or what movie to go see next weekend. It's a different way of thinking. Not survivalist. Not everyone for themselves.

[ She feels a twinge of bitterness at his description of their worries. Dinner, clothes, movies. Such shallow things. The worst part is that she knows she, too, had similar worries once. Clarke hadn't known much about surviving then. She hadn't known much about anything. Art, medicine, chess — but nothing about the way it feels when your options are kill or be killed, or how to know who to trust. ]

That's kind of hard to picture, honestly.

[ Clarke raises her eyebrows, a tiny, sheepish smile forming. ]

I mean, I'm not saying you're lying. It sounds like you might know a little bit about survival, too.

Yeah, for you and me both.

[ He scoffs out a quiet laugh and shakes his head, glancing up at the mansion again. ]

Yeah, you could say that. Didn't have much choice in it. Where I come from, the world's gone all to shit. There's not many humans left. Plague wiped out most of us, and then it made them get up and hunt us. Zombies, people call 'em. To most people here, that's just something they'd tell in scary stories or watch in horror movies. Supposed to be impossible. My world thought that too until everyone got sick and then the virus decided to spread itself however it could.

[ He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. ] It changes you, when you've got to do shit you might never consider otherwise, just to survive. Make choices that come down to life or death. When you've had to watch friends die, or kill 'em yourself. Even here, it divides people. Sometimes just in the way that some will do anything to get back to the worlds they got taken from and some of us would do just about anything to stay.

Zombies, [ she says at first, incredulity evident in her voice. Then she remembers where she is — Wonderland — and it seems almost idiotic to doubt that such a thing could exist; were she back home, she'd think herself completely insane for believing it. Here, though? It's the rational choice. ]

I know what you mean. About it changing you. I don't even think I'd recognize the person I was before.

[ The girl with an intact family and a living best friend. The girl who was born in space. A privileged, spoiled princess of a girl. ]

You don't want to get back, then? There isn't anyone you miss?

[ He hesitates before shaking his head. ]

There's nothing for me to go back to. Everything I had is dead. [ Metaphorically and literally. ]

Besides, in comparison, this place is pretty much a paradise. There's good people here, the closets give you anything you could possibly want. Sure, things go crazy once or twice a month when the magic... I don't know, does it's thing, but even that's easy enough to adapt to once you come to terms with the fact that whatever happens is temporary.

I get it. I do.

[ There'd been a time when she'd have given anything to be somewhere warm and safe instead of the wild, untamed forest. These days, she still would, but only if she got to take her people with her. ]

I don't suppose the closets give you people.

Unfortunately not. Although I've noticed a trend that it's pretty rare for someone to show up here alone. It happens, but a lot of times someone showing up from a new world will often have a familiar face showing up afterwards. It's not certain, mind - nothing about Wonderland is predictable - but it could still happen.

[ He gives her a sympathetic glance, crossing his arms over his chest. ]

In the meantime, there's others here that'll be happy to be friendly. Me being one of them, though I assume you guessed that one already. Anything I can do to talk you in out of the cold tonight? Or are you planning on staying camping for a while instead?

[ Maybe it's terrible to hope that her people are torn away from everything they know, but she still does. Clarke is exhausted, done with seeing all the death, sick and tired of being sick and tired. The thought of a familiar face is one she can't help but like. ]

—I don't know, [ she admits. ] I don't really know what I want to do.

[ Clarke pauses, thoughtful, for a moment. ]

You swear it's safe in there?

When I came out jogging about an hour ago, everything was all quiet. That's not to say things can't change - they often do in this place, but you're as likely to get caught up in it out here as you are in there. At least there offers food and warmth and a roof over your head in the meantime.

If you want, I can help you find a room so you can get yourself set up somewhere private - you can secure it and fortify it however you'll feel safest. There's also a kitchen, a bar and a diner if you're hungry or if you just want to scope out the other people here. A library. Some training rooms and a gym if you're still too wired to sit still.

Unless this place's magic starts messing with us unexpectedly, the people here are good folk. It's safe. Or at least as safe as we've been able to make it. That's not to say that sometimes bad things or accidents don't happen, but I'm not sure you can say that of anywhere.

( so sorry for the wait! i burned out a bit. it's totally okay to drop this if it's been too long. ♥ )

[ Clarke pauses for a moment, half-amused by Simon's long-windedness and half-grateful for his suggestions. She actually cracks a smile, even if it is a bit wry. ]

Fine — mansion it is, then. But you're telling me more about this magic on the way.

( It's fine, no worries! )

[ Simon flashes her an easy grin and offers her a playful salute in response. ]

I'll do my best. Come on, I'll fill you in on the way.

[ And with that he motions her to follow him as he leads the way off towards the mansion. ]

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open | in peace, may you leave this shore.

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