❝ Hell isn't where you go when you die.
It's what you become when everything you love has been taken away. ❞
[ sequel to 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 ]
[ the 100 / season two ]
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The Red;
𝐀s the daylight dwindles, the tension in Clove grows.
Tension driven by the uneasy hours to come; the plan is thought-through, sure, but as they've experienced in the past, that does not ensure it's bulletproof.
Tension driven by the pulsating ache in her thigh, hollering its presence through poorly hidden grimaces of discomfort.
And tension caused by the concerned stare from the man walking alongside her. From his persistent orders for her to return to camp with the others, and her decisiveness to keep going — shutting him up with a brief comment of sorts.
And, fortunately for all three involved, Bellamy Blake knows better than to argue after she's made up her mind. He's on edge, for many reasons, yet believes in her abilities and devotion to protect the people she loves.
And, as his sister had reassured him before they left; the two of them make a good team.
He couldn't argue with that, even if we'd felt the desire to do so. It's true. They do make a cooperative team. And, if there's someone on this damned planet he knows won't hesitate to have his back, it's the persistent blonde at his side.
Clove watches in concealed disgust as Lincoln covers himself in the blood once belonging to the deceased deer at their feet. Her nose scrunches ever so slightly as she reaches for her jacket's inner pocket, handing him the small bag of pulverized limestone, which he also covers his skin with.
"So, we make it to the intake door without any of the real Reapers seeing us," Bellamy recaps their strategy, eyeing the man's actions carefully. "What happens then?"
"I kill everyone. And you slip inside."
"You sure you gonna be okay with that?" Clove cautions, examining his new Reaper-like appearance.
The group had informed her of Lincoln's days in captivity a few days prior, and regarding the procedure involving some kind of drug, she figures it won't be too hard to fall back into it again. Human beings are weak, after all, if challenged with their addiction.
"I have to," he monotones, heaving back to his feet. "Come on. We have a lot of ground to cover before dark."
The gigantic, towering trees work as shelter from the rain, and as they continue further into the landscape, their proximity becomes denser. Every root slithers like a snake through the moist ground, up and down and left and right, unforeseen and impossible to predict before one feels them with the tip of their boot.
And the moss-green leather-clothes do no favors either. It's supposed to be convenient in terms of blending with the environment, but Clove simply finds herself growing irritated at it. Her skin is extremely clammy and heated underneath all the layers, so much so that her hairline has darkened with sweat. She drags a hand across her forehead, nearly feeling the hammering redness of it.
