xiii.

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✧】xiii

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✧】xiii. i know you【✧

[ contents under pressure - day trip ]

THE SOLE BARRIER between Amery and endless arguing takes the form of a thin sheet of fabric next to the dropship. On the second level, Clarke and Bellamy have been screaming at each other for what feels like ages, and at some point Amery's eye rolls at the incessant sounds turned into a full-fledged effort to move all necessary radio equipment to a tent outside.

She's not sure how much of the heated debate that's been raging since the dropship hit the grass is due to real differences in ideals and how much is due to the fact that really, clearly, Clarke and Bellamy have some sort of weird romantic or sexual tension going on and refuse to acknowledge it. She's also not sure whether she's more amused or exasperated because of it, especially given Finn's little fling with the blonde.

They're fighting about what to do with the Grounder Bellamy managed to chain up, the one brought in during the storm. Amery learned later that it was indeed the Grounder who stabbed Finn. The one Octavia somehow manipulated into revealing the antidote to whatever was poisoning Finn. It was impressive, Amery will give her that, but she doesn't see why Bellamy and Clarke aren't letting Octavia have any say in what to do with the Grounder when she's the only one who's had any success.

Raven had disappeared to the second floor at some point during the storm and come back looking two parts enraged, one part satisfied, and Amery could only assume she'd gotten in her punches for what he did to Finn. Amery wishes she could have a go at the Grounder who hurt Cash. He's in a tent with Keaton, who still won't talk to Amery—not that she's tried, really. She's not making the first move.

Maybe that's too proud. She doesn't care.

So while Bellamy and Clarke continue to have their lover's quarrel, while Raven fawns over Finn and ignores the reality that he cheated on her with Clarke, while Keaton takes care of Cash and ignores Amery like his life depends on it, Amery and Monty sit side by side, working to establish video connection to the Ark. They're aiming to channel the audio through a headset, decreasing the likelihood of eavesdropping on what are bound to be very personal conversations.

Now, the only sounds are those of metal and electricity, Monty's soft breathing and occasional light laughter, and the voices in Amery's head sounding an awful lot like Keaton at the moment.

The familiarity of it all is grounding. Amery's hands move of their own accord, the silent language of mechanics flowing between Monty and herself like a natural spring. And on top of that, the attention to electronic detail gives Amery's eyes and hands something to focus on while she and Monty converse in real language, too.

"It's weird, right?" Monty is saying, eyes narrowed in concentration as he maneuvers a wire into its designated port.

"What is?" Amery's brows furrow as she snaps a metal panel into place against the back of the transmitter.

Poison Sumac | Monty GreenWhere stories live. Discover now