She's listening of course, but most of her attention is on the small stone she's turning over in her palms. It's still a little wet with tacky, half dried blood — a mixture of deep, drying red, and dark, can't possibly get any darker black. Clarke'll absolutely drag her eyes up from the rock when Pal divulges about one of the trials he underwent in training, and arches an eyebrow in acknowledgement, that does sound ridiculously hard, and silent agreement, absolute assholes.
But then she's looking back at the stone, holding it up between two fingers, and continuing the not-so-subtle quest for knowledge about magic. She doesn't have a lifetime to learn, but at the same time the only exam to pass would be the destruction of the Captain. Murder isn't hard by human standards, if she could just figure out some basics and the right sigils...
"So what's with this? Is it like — an anchor? Some sort of channeling point? A target for the spirits to attach to?"
no subject
She's listening of course, but most of her attention is on the small stone she's turning over in her palms. It's still a little wet with tacky, half dried blood — a mixture of deep, drying red, and dark, can't possibly get any darker black. Clarke'll absolutely drag her eyes up from the rock when Pal divulges about one of the trials he underwent in training, and arches an eyebrow in acknowledgement, that does sound ridiculously hard, and silent agreement, absolute assholes.
But then she's looking back at the stone, holding it up between two fingers, and continuing the not-so-subtle quest for knowledge about magic. She doesn't have a lifetime to learn, but at the same time the only exam to pass would be the destruction of the Captain. Murder isn't hard by human standards, if she could just figure out some basics and the right sigils...
"So what's with this? Is it like — an anchor? Some sort of channeling point? A target for the spirits to attach to?"