She's never had her own personal concert before, and that is what this moment is gradually beginning to feel like. Surprisingly not at all as awkward as it feels like it should be; Bash commands the stage, microphone, and karaoke machine and for her part, Clarke is a pretty polite audience member. Claps when she's supposed to, occasionally pipes up between songs to ask who the original writer was, and once or twice over the course of the next hour, gets up to venture towards a little refreshment station near the back of the room and comes back to put a chilled water bottle at the edge of the stage.

Sometimes she listens intently to the lyrics, and sometimes just lets the overall vibe wash over her. Some she likes so much that her mind turns towards the likes of Natsuno and Mizuki's mp3 players, wondering how to get a hold of one herself. And she's about to say something along the lines of don't stress yourself, thank you for this when Bash indicates he's out of steam and this is the finale.

But the chords and vocals of Nuclear strike up before she can speak, so she just listens and... Like is a strong word to apply here. And if vibe is supposed to be a positive thing, here it misses the mark. A year ago, fresh from the burning arms of the second coming of Praimfaya, she might have quietly wept. Whispers in the air tell the tale of a life that's gone. Desolation, devastation. What a mess we made, when it all went wrong.

There's such a thing as too on the nose. And by the end of the song, she isn't looking at him. Just the folded, interlocked fingers on her own hands, and breathing in a slow, manually controlled and forcibly calm fashion.