( again, from a hallway on board the serena eterna to another hallway.
this one is made of thick stone, covered over with the same bleached tiling of a hospital. everything is white, and it smells of high grade disinfectant. there's hand sanitizer dispensers next to each room, and small workstations with vials upon vials of blood, transfusion i.v. bags, and paper charts. stamped on the wall in worn lettering are the words MOUNT WEATHER QUARANTINE WARD. the doors are numbered with little plaques beneath the porthole windows set with reinforced glass.
and the one to your right is standing wide open. room 302-4. you can see inside just enough to tell the inside decorations are stark white, but full service. there's a bed, a couch, end table sink, toilet, privacy curtain in the corner. even a large ornate painting that screams of being an original degas. you can't see more than a hint of who's inside, but there's the distinct swish of blue ppe and the sound of a pressurize nozzle spraying. that's where the smell of cleaning solutions is emanating from, and that's probably what your eyes should be drawn to first.
but the real surprise is going to come from the door on your left, room 302-5 as suddenly the window busts out with a crash, and the flash of a long metal rod which was used to bust it. quick as it happened, the dismantled i.v. stand withdraws and an arm sticks out among the jagged bits of glass. contorts downwards to undo the lock on the outside with the very tips of fingers. then the hiss of a girl and the scrambling hand recoils. blood drips generously from the broken window, violently red against the white backdrop. briefly, you hear the occupant gasp in pain and breathe heavily, but then the handle turns and she steps out properly.
in this memory, clarke griffin is also dressed in all white. the shirt is sheer enough to see the white of a sports bra beneath it, the shorts stop just above the knee, she's barefoot, and from armpit to knee on her right side has already become a smeared mess of blood spatter. near predatory, she is absolutely fixated on the person in the blue hazmat suit in the room across from her and quickly drops to her knees to pick up a sliver of glass.
and it's only then that she notices the third party. who is standing way too close not to be deemed the more viable threat. there's a pause as feverish blue eyes scan the stranger from head to toe, a sharp intake of breath as surprise and urgency war within her. the odds of a one-on-one no longer seem like they're in her favor, but there's no stopping now. she needs to find monty, she needs to find all of them. and so —
welcome to the ground. welcome to mount weather. you are pretty immediately shoved up against the nearest wall, barely avoiding spilling dozens of specimen vials, and a sharp piece of glass finds its way to the underside of your chin, already smeared with blood. she brings their faces close, errant strands of blonde hair sticking to the sweaty edges of her cheek and catching in the spit-damp corners of her mouth. nose to nose, eye to eye, and absolutely growling: ) Where are my friends?
QUARANTINE
this one is made of thick stone, covered over with the same bleached tiling of a hospital. everything is white, and it smells of high grade disinfectant. there's hand sanitizer dispensers next to each room, and small workstations with vials upon vials of blood, transfusion i.v. bags, and paper charts. stamped on the wall in worn lettering are the words MOUNT WEATHER QUARANTINE WARD. the doors are numbered with little plaques beneath the porthole windows set with reinforced glass.
and the one to your right is standing wide open. room 302-4. you can see inside just enough to tell the inside decorations are stark white, but full service. there's a bed, a couch, end table sink, toilet, privacy curtain in the corner. even a large ornate painting that screams of being an original degas. you can't see more than a hint of who's inside, but there's the distinct swish of blue ppe and the sound of a pressurize nozzle spraying. that's where the smell of cleaning solutions is emanating from, and that's probably what your eyes should be drawn to first.
but the real surprise is going to come from the door on your left, room 302-5 as suddenly the window busts out with a crash, and the flash of a long metal rod which was used to bust it. quick as it happened, the dismantled i.v. stand withdraws and an arm sticks out among the jagged bits of glass. contorts downwards to undo the lock on the outside with the very tips of fingers. then the hiss of a girl and the scrambling hand recoils. blood drips generously from the broken window, violently red against the white backdrop. briefly, you hear the occupant gasp in pain and breathe heavily, but then the handle turns and she steps out properly.
in this memory, clarke griffin is also dressed in all white. the shirt is sheer enough to see the white of a sports bra beneath it, the shorts stop just above the knee, she's barefoot, and from armpit to knee on her right side has already become a smeared mess of blood spatter. near predatory, she is absolutely fixated on the person in the blue hazmat suit in the room across from her and quickly drops to her knees to pick up a sliver of glass.
and it's only then that she notices the third party. who is standing way too close not to be deemed the more viable threat. there's a pause as feverish blue eyes scan the stranger from head to toe, a sharp intake of breath as surprise and urgency war within her. the odds of a one-on-one no longer seem like they're in her favor, but there's no stopping now. she needs to find monty, she needs to find all of them. and so —
welcome to the ground. welcome to mount weather. you are pretty immediately shoved up against the nearest wall, barely avoiding spilling dozens of specimen vials, and a sharp piece of glass finds its way to the underside of your chin, already smeared with blood. she brings their faces close, errant strands of blonde hair sticking to the sweaty edges of her cheek and catching in the spit-damp corners of her mouth. nose to nose, eye to eye, and absolutely growling: ) Where are my friends?