Lion's Roar (Clexa)

2. The Opening Act.

"Well..." Bellamy's gaze drifted up toward the ceiling as he thought about this. "It's not exactly my circus. I'm only the assistant ringmaster. I'll have to take this up with Kane in the morning, but could I ask you a question first?"

Clarke was slightly surprised that this well-dressed, professional-sounding guy wasn't actually in charge as she'd presumed, but she nodded her consent anyway and Bellamy continued. "I don't want to sound rude, but do you actually have any... talents?"

Clarke faltered, not expecting such an interrogation. She'd left in such a spontaneous rush that she hadn't even considered the possibility of there being any kind of interview process.

"Any talents at all, or just, like, specific circus talents?" she queried in what was a twofold attempt to acquire context and buy a little extra time to come up with a (moderately professional, at least) response.

Bellamy sighed, looking sympathetically at the bedraggled Clarke, clearly sensing the fact that he'd caught her well and truly off guard. "Either. Both. Just tell me what you can do and I'll try my best to spin it to Kane in a way he'll take you in. Fire away."

"I'm okay at art, I guess," she began a little shyly, and he could tell by the echoes of suppressed pride in her voice that this was definitely an underestimation. "I'm good with animals, and I've been told I have strong leadership skills?" She let the her voice rise into a question as if to ask confirmation of whether a three-trait list was sufficient. Bellamy nodded distractedly, scratching his chin, thinking.

"I think we can make something of that," he decided, face unfolding into a soft and caring smile, "but right now I think we should both get some sleep. You look exhausted. Take the couch. I haven't got any extra blankets, but you can use my coat."

"Thank you," said Clarke gratefully, finishing her coffee and smiling at the assistant ringmaster, who had opened the caravan's [small] closet and was perusing its contents presumably in search for the aforementioned coat. "Thank you so much."

****

By sunrise the storm had subsided, leaving in its wake a scattering of puddles across the field. Still and silent, each gave a perfect reflection of the silvery sky above. The still-damp grass gave off a rich, earthy smell that found its way into every corner of every tent and was all but inescapable. The only sounds were the distant hum of engines on the highway, the croaky chorus of a hundred hidden frogs, and the occasional quacking and whistling as ducks emerged from the woods to dredge the puddles for worms stirred up by the heavy rain. There was a sense of rejuvenation in the air.

Clarke awoke to scattered beams of sunlight streaming in through the cobweb-laced window above the caravan's tiny sink, illuminating the millions of particles of dust suspended in the still air. She cast her eyes around the room in search of some sort of timepiece, and found an ancient-looking alarm clock residing on the wood veneer table. It was just after nine, and Bellamy was nowhere to be seen. There appeared to be a note of some kind stuck to the refrigerator.

She rose from the couch, stretched, and wandered over to examine the note.

Clark ~

Sorry I'm not here. There's bread in the big cupboard. Make yourself some breakfast and then feel free to wander around and meet the rest of the crew. I'll find you later to discuss your position.

~ Bellamy.

Clarke turned to the aforementioned cupboard, tugging the plastic handle to open it. The door was tight - most likely it had expanded from the humidity that came with the rain - and the cupboard jerked open, standing Clarke stumbling backward. Bellamy wasn't kidding when he said there was bread in there: she counted at least seven loaves of the stuff, in various flavours, and the cupboard contained nothing else. Was he some kind of freakish bread hoarder? She'd definitely have to ask him for an explanation.