I'm so glad this is funny to you.

[ Times like this, Darcy can feel her anger bubbling from somewhere deep inside her. It's outrage more than anything else. She's just finally connected the dots that the situation is hopeless and not only does Clarke already know, she's joking about it. Like Darcy isn't going to have to sleep at night knowing one day she'll be used to hurt Undine, or Skulduggery, or Stede, or Lucius or or or. She already feels like a weapon made flesh, more useful for hurting than anything else, unable to get close to anyone without cutting them, and now Clarke is mocking her for it. Fucking 'cool knives'. How dare she. ]

I hope you enjoy being right, Clarke. I really hope it makes you happy. When the Captain makes us hurt each other over and over again, I hope you get to sit where you're sitting and laugh at us all for thinking we might actually stand a chance if we worked together. Fuck you.

[ Darcy spits at her feet. It's all she can do not to aim it at Clarke's face, which she's presuming is smug. Not that she's looking. ]