It's a strange sort of discombobulating; she goes down in a cloud of white heat and the first wave of dust falling from the ceiling, and pushes herself up in an all around pristine room. Not caked in ashes, but still coughing up the residue of the explosion. For a second she feels safely (subjective but true) back on board the Serena Eterna, and indulges the coughing fit. There's a voice several feet away, dampened by the ringing in her ears but it doesn't sound angry. Clarke hacks so hard it brings tears to her eyes and leaves her stomach in knots, but once she looks up and takes in the space around her... well, the knot tightens.
And once she rubs her eyes enough to focus on the figure seated in a chair at the other end of the room, the tears well up all over again.
She hadn't really focused on the interior of Cytherea's room enough to immediately place it, and honestly doesn't care. It's whole and quiet and they're alone, and Pal is smiling — though even through the haze of emotional grief, Clarke can figure it's not directed at her like it usually is. It's still not right, but she's so happy just to see him intact.
"Pal?" She finds herself asking, while pushing from hands and knees all the way to her feet. "Palamedes?"
bubble time!!!
It's a strange sort of discombobulating; she goes down in a cloud of white heat and the first wave of dust falling from the ceiling, and pushes herself up in an all around pristine room. Not caked in ashes, but still coughing up the residue of the explosion. For a second she feels safely (subjective but true) back on board the Serena Eterna, and indulges the coughing fit. There's a voice several feet away, dampened by the ringing in her ears but it doesn't sound angry. Clarke hacks so hard it brings tears to her eyes and leaves her stomach in knots, but once she looks up and takes in the space around her... well, the knot tightens.
And once she rubs her eyes enough to focus on the figure seated in a chair at the other end of the room, the tears well up all over again.
She hadn't really focused on the interior of Cytherea's room enough to immediately place it, and honestly doesn't care. It's whole and quiet and they're alone, and Pal is smiling — though even through the haze of emotional grief, Clarke can figure it's not directed at her like it usually is. It's still not right, but she's so happy just to see him intact.
"Pal?" She finds herself asking, while pushing from hands and knees all the way to her feet. "Palamedes?"
Can he at least hear and properly see her now?