( yeah, i'd rather be a lover than a fighter )

[baring]

who: bellamy blake (baring), clarke griffin (skaikru), her adopted people, and YOU! | ( 3 open prompts, 1 semi-closed )
when: mid may, post-party
where: various locations
summary: there's no getting around the fact that clarke's been here for months. there's also no getting around bellamy's refusal to leave her side. time to face the damn music and figure out a new normal.
warnings: blanket warning for the 100's everything. nothing graphic or violent planned but the meta of both bellamy and clarke will probably go to some dark and unfortunate places. feel free to opt-out here on his permissions post.

I'M IN NEED OF A SAVIOR, BUT I'M NOT ASKING FOR FAVORS. | clarke griffin + bellamy blake ( VARIOUS LOCATIONS, SEMI-OPEN TO EVERYONE BUT EBALON AND LA PLUMA 🙃 )

( friends, enemies, casual acquaintances, neighbors, and begrudging allies — you've all met clarke griffin, right? 5'5", blonde, best described as fucking reckless and angry, but like, with a purpose. she's been here since the beginning, jumped off the serena eterna and very publicly died against the side of pirate jenny's galleon. got her arm chopped off in the televised battle royale, and recently took a pair of lobster crackers to the captain's head while sitting in his lap in the middle of a party. basically always looks like she's about to cry, punch someone in the face, or grind her teeth so hard they crack under the pressure of all her anxieties. bleeds black blood, still looks a little crispy from maybe-dying in a nuclear apocalypse. exudes an air of forlorn loneliness, and begrudgingly started making friends. only really gets excited about antibiotics and chocolate cake. doesn't wash her clothes enough, has been the doomsday caller on the corner insisting they were all going to die from day one...

well guess what, you're about to start see her smiling. a lot.

small, still-sad smiles; like tragic inside jokes are being passed back and forth between her and the young man who arrived just recently, and seemingly immediately glued himself to her side. and her to his.

catch them walking through the hallways together, oddly mirrored images of emaciated, battle weary youths. or spot them sitting in a corner table of the dining halls, her picking at a sparse plate of meat whilst he hunches over a bowl of soup. or maybe you see the two of them out on deck, clarke gesturing all about like a tour guide — look, that's where pirate jenny swelled from the sea and almost drowned us all; that's the direction the skiff from the island returned from; there's no fish in the sea; that's the bridge up there; here are the most strategic points i've found in the event of an on-board war, etc — while bellamy takes it all in with a perpetual air of disbelieving acceptance. they're probably also found in all and sundries, clarke shoving bottled water, prepackaged snacks, and soap into his arms before giving him the rundown on how to "check out", despite no actual money being necessary. or maybe at the mouth of the newly erected tommy bahama's, neither complaining about the gaudy patterns all that much — still not quite over the novelty of new and clean.

anywhere along the ship, those few who have become friends and confidants may be flagged down by clarke with an almost unnatural air of enthusiasm. anyone else who approaches will be politely greeted, and introduced to — )

This is Bellamy.

( unless it's ebalon or la pluma, in which case clarke's immediately clamming up, and putting hands on bellamy to usher him away. )

MY WHOLE LIFE I'VE FELT LIKE A BURDEN. I THINK TOO MUCH AND I HATE IT. | LIBRARY, OPEN.

( if there were any informational texts to be found, clarke would already have them stashed and earmarked. that isn't good enough. what purpose does a library have, if not to help people educate themselves?

bellamy has to see the library with his own eyes and make his own judgment call on whether it's useless. he trusts clarke; this isn't about that. it's about books. actual physical copies of books were limited on the ark, rarities in the form of personal collections that either passed hand-to-hand or were kept aside, criminally untouched in private collections. most texts were accessible via tablet, presuming you had the credentials. classes were generally lectured from flawed memory, arbitrarily passed to the next generation by word-of-mouth. he runs his freshly scrubbed fingers over the spines, skimming titles and authors in quiet wonderment. is this what people on earth had, before? stories that weren't crumbling to pieces, water or fire-damaged, missing pages?

he pulls several in his rummaging, opening them to thumb through the pages, puzzling over the binding on hardcover copies.

up and down a ladder, he inspects the uppermost shelves as well, probably with a goofy smile on his face.

just wait until he tells octavia ab—

expression darkening, he closes that particular book in a snap and stows it away where he found it. eventually, less sulkily, he winds up cross-legged on the floor with a semi-circle of books around him. the running theme seems to be shakespeare and any roman-themed ( greek will suffice ) fiction he can find.

when he isn't surveilling the ship, collecting supplies like a retriever and/or following clarke like a menacing shadow, he can be found descending down the literary hole with tunnel vision. he's either startled out of his reverie with a, ) Did you say something?

( or more inquisitively, disturbing another reader to ask, )

Fifty shades of what now? ( SQUINT ) But there aren't that many.

( please humor the man. he is clearly handicapped by a lack of taste, what with that shirt, those socks and really impractical khaki pants that are too tight and without nearly enough pockets. )

I'M SO USED TO BEING IN THE WRONG, I'M TIRED OF CARING. | TUAVA ( BUT CAN BE TWEAKED TO WHATEVER BAR ), OPEN.

( you ever have one of those nights where you can't stand anyone or anything? you can't sleep because you're too exhausted but too alert to give yourself permission to rest? can't eat it away, can't shower it away? in a hopeless attempt to cross everything off the list, he even tries jogging in start-and-stop laps around the sports deck. the runner's high gives him a head rush stronger than any deprivation while an alarm was blaring in space. all it does is make him miss raven and echo, and being knocked flat on his back repeatedly. so naturally, he runs that much harder to steal the wind from his own lungs. bellamy exercises until his hands are on his knees and he's a heaving mess, concerned he's about to lean over the railing and hurl up his soup from dinner earlier.

the edginess lingers after his second shower of the day, doesn't go swirling down the drain with his shampoo like he wishes it would.

he wanders the many shops and entertainment without any real direction in mind, giving clarke her first real solitude since his arrival and allowing himself to shake out the feelings he's been bottling up on purpose.

his feet lead him to a whiskey bar of all places. he stands in the entry for a whopping thirty seconds—don't do this, you don't do this—and then he shrugs off the little voice in his head that reminds him incessantly of his responsibilities ( how clarke needs him to be strong, how their people are probably waiting for them to come home ). but for the next hour, bellamy wants to sit slouched in a loveseat with a leg drawn up, bent at the knee but preoccupying the entire piece of furniture with how he's spread out. a half-full glass rests on his thigh with his hand over it. if anyone happens to look up or moves to sit across from him, he'll raise his glass in answer. but, he doesn't have much to say.

he's spent the last six months playing clue in his head, wondering who would kill who with what and where, if he didn't unplug the oxygenator first because they could all be so aggravating in close quarters. only, for tonight, he misses them. because for the first time without octavia in his life, he still had a family. there were these people around him constantly, filling a wound in him.

lamely and without more than a tired smile, he tilts his head to the side and gestures with his free hand. )

Can I buy you a drink? ( sorry, friend, he's running on empty. )

LOVING NEVER GAVE ME A HOME, SO I'LL SIT HERE IN THE SILENCE. | ADULT POOL, OPEN.

( reasons why we do not drink in our ripe old age: The Hangover. The Hangover, different than a hangover ( lowercase ), finds you, cracks you over the head with the nearest blunt object ( a flamingo-shaped bookend ) and plays some god awful bubblegum pop song on a loop until you die. maybe that latter part is more the serena eterna than bellamy, but he can't be sure this song wasn't on maya's ipod that jasper inherited. was it? is this hell?

when he accomplishes crawling ( yes ) out of bed and finding a pair of shorts, he blearily stumbles to the pool deck for some much needed sunshine with some weird sandals and chunky pink, plastic sunglasses. his curls may or may not be defying gravity in whatever manner they please. the towel around his shoulders like a cape is the closet bellamy gets to locating a shirt in his zombie shuffle to one of the beach chairs.

forty-five minutes later and this man is staring at the water like an uninterested cat, nodding off in his chair. this is what the kids are calling suntanning, right? unintentionally falling asleep and gaining more freckles? okay, cool.

except every time he almost falls asleep the umph tiss umph tiss starts up and he jumps, heart-racing, panic! at the pool, party of one. )

This is not what dreams are made of. I've got to get out of here.

( ABORT PLAN!!!! ABORT!!! it's too late, he's standing at an unfortunate time, rising as someone approaches to sit next to him and now here they are, nose-to-nose(ish) - height differences, you know. someone flails, there's grabbing, a teeter-totter effect and then maybe this ends in a meet-cute and not murder. that happens, doesn't it? surely, two people can plummet into a beach chair and not go to battle. )

Comments

In need of a savior

[hellonspectacles]

[Palamedes hadn't learned much about Bellamy during their brief meeting a few days before. Though they hadn't even exchanged names, he had discovered that the young man had lived on a space station, that he knew nothing about the Houses, and that he had a fondness for constellations. Plus, he'd had a world-weariness about him that meant he had undoubtably seen far more in his short life than anyone should.

Based on that information alone, Pal should have guessed that he and Clarke knew each other.

But he would have had no way of predicting that Bellamy was someone who could make Clarke quite this happy. Hell, he didn't think anyone in the world could. Now, beaming as she walks up to him with Bellamy in tow, she's like a whole different person.]

We've met. His favorite constellation is Pleiades [Pal smiles warmly and offers his hand.] Though we never did get around to names. Palamedes.

[skaikru]

( months of anxiety, tightly corked personal trauma and selfish mourning, obsessive plotting and a frothing at the mouth in search of some sort of solution to their communal problem; weeks of new lows and new horrors in the vein of dying horrifically, being forced into murder games, very publicly trying to assassinate a creature with an eating implement, and utterly failing at any semblance of a rescue mission; the suffocating press of inadequacy while confronting magic and gods and the unknown, that feeling of barely keeping one's head up by treading water as her legs screamed for a break — maybe just give in, it doesn't even matter...

...basically all of that has been successfully undermined by the arrival of bellamy blake, and everything his presence offers her. the confirmation that, if she'd died on earth before waking up here? it hadn't been in vain. they'd made it to the go-sci ring and turned the oxygen on, then managed to survive for at least six months — could potentially go on to survive for many more, and at least in that context, clarke has confirmation the human species was persisting past the end of the world again. then also the comfort of a familiar face. an ally she didn't need to stare up and down and consciously decide it was worth the risk to trust, because their interpersonal history had run the gauntlet of trust and betrayal already, and still ended up with the two of them as separate sides of the same coin. separate organs in the same body, functioning in chorus.

and that dangerous feeling of invincibility. the firm footing on a pedestal, raised on even the most uneven playing field. that sensation of home, where one could almost consider themselves safe when pressed against a gun and knowing how it'd fire when the trigger was deployed.

...all of this to serve as an explanation for why, at least in the days immediately following bellamy's arrival on board, clarke seems like she's had an ounce of personality breathed back into her body. she can smile a little, gestures around them with an odd sort of nervous energy, and for once speaks his name with an tone of endearing instead of mourning. and when they run into pal, she's even got a smile for him too. )

Oh, you have? ( ...well, a smile after an initial brush of surprise, that's quickly overcome by aforementioned grin. there's a slight flash of teeth digging into her bottom lip as she looks between the two young men, biting back the desire to express how good it feels that they've already met.

if they're going to shake, clarke's content to wait in the wings while that happens, but can't contain chiming in again.

to pal: ) He's from my home world. ( obviously, sure, but deserving of all the recognition.

then to bellamy, with an ounce of hesitation. i'd consider, i think he's... hm, no, speak with conviction. ) And he's my friend. Who can also do magic.

[baring]

( like driftwood bobbing in the waves, directed by the sea, bellamy meets each of clarke’s footfalls with his own, slowing his step to match hers. this is the first introduction that doesn’t start iffy on jagged rocks. by now he expects clarke to understand that he means to be off-setting, after all this time. his bark is what he has because in comparison, he isn’t the strongest, the smartest, or even the most crafty when it comes to constructing a strategy from fumes with people who weren’t raised to be soldiers. but palamedes doesn’t receive the side of him that’s all teeth and force because bellamy isn’t going in blind here. he doesn’t have to try to dominate the conversation out of imagined necessity — clarke is in danger because she’s always in danger, because she’s a bad judge of character ( example a ), because he’s incapable of yielding to the idea that she doesn’t need him; she hasn’t.

there’s a childlike spark to the soft and undiluted grin, still amazed by the novelty of being known by someone that could be a friend. not just two people down in the trenches, paired by life or death. he remembered his favorite constellation. witness the man feeling an emotion and then looking distressed about it, such is his nature. almost happy, his signature look. his body language is open, feeling no such compulsion to cut off clarke by stepping into her path. )

He likes Andromeda, which is a subject of some speculation. ( he confides in clarke, giving her a peephole view into their short conversation. the pleasure of their acquaintances gets clocked, held under his tongue for now. after all, he has an extended hand to shake firmly in his. ) I guess learning the names of people I thought I was getting away from as soon as possible slipped my mind.

( he whips his head towards clarke, less outright judgment than general exasperation, dropping pal’s hand with a disbelieving scoff. )

Can they all do magic?

( are they the only two people on board that lost the lottery? )

[hellonspectacles]

[The pair of them move together in a way that is effortless and instinctual—they even seem to lean towards each other slightly with each gesture and movement—and Palamedes is struck with sharp familiarity. It takes him a moment to place it, but then he does: they move like necromancer and cavalier. Maybe they had never looked at each other and said one flesh, one end as he and Camilla had, but the sentiment is there.

He’d told Clarke where I come from, we do things in pairs, and had never had the opportunity to really explain what he meant. Now, he realizes that maybe he didn’t have to.

He chuckles at Bellamny’s observation about their conversation, a little flattered to have been remembered.] Mm, yes. I like to be contrary. [For Clarke's beneift] We were comparing the celestial views outside our respective space stations.

[He offers a rueful kind of shrug.] Guilty as charged. Necromancer, to be exact. [Pal waves his hands in an incredibly nerdy-looking ta-da! sort of gesture.]

[skaikru]

( it's a hard earned dynamic, born somewhere between killing off an entire army and trying to save the world for the umpteenth time. and yet also the most easy and natural, in that clarke hadn't realized just how much she'd felt like a useless, incapacitated partial player until another half of herself had manifested on the ship in the form of bellamy blake. not one flesh, one end but still tied together at their roots. this new and uncannily delighted clarke griffin the people of the serena eterna get to see during the next few days — before reality sets back in, and it's back to the grindstone — is entirely because, with bellamy at her side, she can be those things. not just the worry-line riddled husk of a human, hellbent on a given task with zero regard for her own life.

in fact, bellamy and palamedes recap their discussion about constellations for her, and clarke mostly just smiles softly at them — as if each took turns hanging aforementioned stars. but then they shake, and bellamy shoots an aggrieved sidelong glance her way and — )

Not all of them, ( she promises bellamy. they're not the only fish out of water here, and the second one starts to look at magic as nothing more than advanced science, it's not hard to play catchup. )

But the smartest people I've met here can. Like Pal — if you give him a piece of paper, he can tell you when, and almost by whom it was written. He can put hands on a person and and divine exactly what organ's missing inside of their body.

( pointedly not expanding on how she knows this. she'd only told bellamy there was a cost to death, and before that had begged palamedes not to tell anyone about the absence of her left kidney. )

...And then sometime he makes shields out a thin air.

( which is invaluable, but also objectively hecking cool. )

[baring]

( not all of them magic is still enough of them that do. bellamy wants to glower, wants to put worry solidified right back in the crease of his forehead but it’s unexpectedly strenuous while standing between palamedus with his quirky hand gestures and clarke animated by whimsy. yeah, she’s whimsical. as close as she can get to that, though he gathers that she’s nitpicked it down to science or a trick of light. whereas octavia saw a biolimmuniscent butterfly and felt wonder, clarke never completely fell victim to that naivety, not while he was standing nearby, anyway. it’s too wholesome to haul back with all of his strength to crack it, so he doesn’t voice his every anxiety.

he’s oblivious to what’s transpired between them. bellamy turns his face to look at palamedus. he’s looking at him but inquiring after the truth from clarke. he’s certainly permitted to speak for himself. )

Why would he need or want to know about anyone’s organs? ( such a weird tidbit of trivia, clarke. ) You've got an interesting skillset.

[skaikru]

( externally, she's perfected the mask of the perpetual almost-smile — the one she's worn since that initial wave of relief, joy, sorrow, and comfort following bellamy's arrival finished crashing across rocks and smoothed out across the shore.

internally, she's screaming a bit threateningly about DOCTOR PATIENT CONFIDENTIALITY, PALAMEDES. CONFI.DENTI.ALITY. )

[hellonspectacles]

[Don’t worry, Clarke, even 10,000 years in the future they believe in doctor-patient confidentiality. Or at least Palamedes does.

He looks at Bellamy blankly.] To ensure they’re working optimally, of course.

[He could leave it at that. If he was a slightly less weird nerd, he might have. But then he wouldn’t be Palamedes Sextus.]

Atrial fibrillation—or an irregular beat in the heart’s upper chambers—can increase one’s chance of blood clots, stroke, and heart failure. It isn’t particularly uncommon among necromancers, who tend to be born with a constellation of minor cardiovascular concerns. Using a simple necromantic theorem, I can detect such irregularities and identify the cause. I have also experimented with a few methods for correcting some of the underlying structural issues, which can be vital in circumstances when A-fib is exacerbated by additional congenital or acquired illnesses.

Just as an example.

[skaikru]

( there's a vague vibe of ta-dah! following palamedes' explanation. that was beautiful, and informative, and makes her former healer-to-be heart sing before flicking slightly green with envy. it really does feel like she's a fish out of water, surrounded by magic users and different species with human faces, and so horribly unprepared to face the next crisis that knocks at their door.

it'd be a lie to suggest she didn't want some scraps of those powers. imagine all the good that could have been done on board the ark, amidst an empty medical bay with ancient, decrepit scanning technology if they'd been able to diagnose on touch where an internal bleed was coming from? imagine how much grief could have been avoided if they had the capacity to stitch up the dead and make them rise again —

er. wait.

anyway, it's a tadah moment! and she's beaming at bellamy before raising an eyebrow in challenge. see? useful! )

Exactly.

[baring]

( for the record, the first answer would suffice. bellamy’s life is not that concisely chopped down into bite-size pieces, instead he gets the deadpan answer and then the wordvomit one, all in one go. he tries to pay rapt attention through all of it - as much as he can follow, he does. to be perfectly clear that is to say that he digests piece of it, mere particles, glancing at clarke in the middle of it like she somehow has time to interject the medical jargon with real people words. palamedes breaks down some of it and rest comes with context clue, though overall bellamy is staring at a fixed spot over this man’s shoulder.

he glances between them as emptily as he approached this topic, mimicking clarke. ) Exactly.

( ??? )

You keep people from getting dead without a medical degree. That's what you're telling me? You can just feel everything our doctors study a decade or more for? ( a sort of what the fuck juggling scale motion with his hands. ) Magic. Invasive magic, but magic.

[hellonspectacles]

[Palamedes offers Clarke a small, pleased nod—see? she understands!—then turns back to Bellamy and lifts an eyebrow. It isn’t that he’s annoyed by the show of disbelief; it’s more that Pal doesn’t always understand that some questions are meant to be rhetorical.]

No. What I’m saying is that I have studied medicine for a decade. I merely have a different set of tools at my disposal, which allow me address patient care through a wider variety of approaches than I might be able to otherwise.

[Yes, Bellamy, you would be correct to assume that that means he started studying medicine as pre-pubescent child. What can we say? He’s a genius.]

Necromancy, to be precise. But colloquially, yes. Magic.