The truck ploughed through the sands like it was nothing, as they sped across the barren waste, back to where their home was.
The trip was quiet on the way back. But it wasn't a content-type of quiet; rather, it was slightly more solemn. No places were pointed out—not even Tondc, which Madi had so wanted to see, and there wasn't so much of a glance at the Mountain Men's base when they drove past. No words were exchanged—save for those that were necessary. No stories were said—and when they were, it was formal ones, not those that were funny or made Madi giddy anymore.
No songs were hummed.
...
Clarke had managed to salvage a few radios from Becca's Laboratory—and unfortunately, after turning them on, none of them had worked, which left her a bit miffed and annoyed.
Perhaps considerably miffed would be the better word. It had made her especially annoyed during the midst of a desert, seeing that one of the sole reasons she came here was for the radio parts which would, hopefully, let her reconnect with Bellamy and the rest in space.
Poking the parts didn't work. Neither did deliberately ignoring them and hoping that they'd magically mend themselves, for the matter. But Clarke learned a lesson on unscrewing damaged radios and taking them apart—which was to never do it again because fuck if those parts just had to conveniently get lost in the mass pile of springs and pieces that were stacked in the back of the truck.
However, something caught her eye at the back of the truck. Narrowing her eyes, she neared towards the box—and opening it, she was met with a dazzle of blinkers and springs and knobs and bolts and gears, all mostly-new and whole, as she blinked, trying to comprehend it all.
But then, she felt a smirk worm itself into her features. Of course. Madi.
Biting back a slight sigh in part-exasperation, part-happiness, she rummaged through the parts in the box with her hands, and gathering them up, tried to take in it all—
''I think I might be able to reconnect these...'' Clarke murmured to nobody in particular, as she glanced at the radios that she'd ditched to the side in annoyance to the parts that were in her hands. ''Won't hurt if I try...''
...
Notebook.
(Translated from Trigedasleng.)
Lexa talked to me about it. After I found out everything she did to Carl to save Clarke. I said a load of things and everything's really just a jumble because I don't even know what to feel . She says it's what's necessary if we want to survive but then she also said something about a world that could be better. Where we won't have to care about being Maunon or Grounder or whatever anymore because we're all united. As one. She said it could be true and—and I want it to be true. Because I don't want anyone more to die anymore just cause they're not us like how Carl did.
Journey's really quiet. I got lots of time to think. Sometimes Clarke tries to talk to me and every time I just feel really bad and there's this sinking feeling in my gut so usually I just write back here in this notebook 'cause it's easier avoiding eye contact and being busy writing this than talking to her.
Lexa doesn't try to talk to me. And though I feel kind of mean for saying it, I think I'm okay with it. Cause I need some time especially after what she's said. After learning what she's done .
Put the parts I've found in the truck, in a box to the side. Cause even if they won't work with each other it doesn't mean that they're useless. And I can break them up into smaller pieces and make it work somehow if I get bored of them. Or get angry.
