archenemy | clexa

fifteen

Clarke dances all night, with her own people, with the Grounders who dare to get close to her, and she gets hung up on a young woman called Lin. They gravitate around each other on the dance floor firstly, then dance together and as the night progresses, their hands grow more and more comfortable on each other's waists.

Lin is dangerous, because her warm laughter, the way she touches Clarke so unafraid, invites her to eat together and recommends her food- it makes Clarke want to laugh with her and tell stories too and make a Grounder realize how very human she is. She's smaller than Clarke, much more petite yet muscular, and her deep, warm black eyes sparkle like she knows who she's messing with but is willing to do so anyway.

They have deer in peppersauce, sweet red wine, steamed cauliflower and carrots, crispy bread with herb butter, fresh fruits and a desert that makes Clarke's mouth water and her knees go weak. On the Ark, they had packaged portions of chocolate for special occasions, but if Clarke had known how chocolate could taste, she would have laughed at what they'd had up at the Ark.

She's still lost in the warmth of dancing, talking to Lin and the memory of warm, liquid chocolate running down her throat along something she wasn't able to identify when her eyes catch on something much colder.

The Heda.

She's standing by the side of the dancefloor, not at all involved in the events of the evening, perhaps learning from the last time she let herself get carried away and ended up with Clarke in her bed. Her gaze is cold on Clarke, less fiery than it had been at the dropship, less murdering, but icy instead. It leaves a breath of cold in Clarke's ribcage before the Heda turns away and Clarke's focus is back on Lin.

She wonders whether the Heda is failing to tell apart Lin and Clarke's friendly interactions from possibly sexual interactions. She wonders whether the Heda cares if Clarke goes to bed with someone else that night.

Although jealousy is always an interesting game to play, Clarke doesn't plan to play with the Heda any more that night. Although her body is craving the Heda's touch again, although her mouth has tasted all these luxuries throughout the feast but still misses the taste of the Heda's mouth, Clarke doesn't care to throw away perfectly amusing herself that night. War is brewing. Being happy and well-fed is a privilege she's going to enjoy as long as it lasts.

It doesn't last particularly long that night. The feast would've ended much later under normal Grounder standards if Clarke's notes apply to all feasts, but Clarke assumes no one wants the people too hungover the next day.

So, long before everyone's fully drunk and gone for the night, the musicians stop playing and everyone's ordered to their tents. While there's some quiet grumbling and scattered complaining, no one resists. Most take a last drink and a last bite to eat and then the masses of people depart to their sleeping place for the night.

All Arkers are being led away, accompanied by their own guards, except Clarke. She knows she'll have to stay with the Heda, so she makes her way to the large, particularly well-guarded tent in the center of the camp. There are even more guards than usual now because the Heda insisted on keeping all of hers and Kane insisted on guarding Clarke with the same amount of people.

Nobody gives up their stoic, attentive gaze when Clarke approaches, yet she feels like a dozen pairs of eyes are burning into her back while entering the tent in a more official manner than the last time. There's no mask now, no plans for the night, no pressure to escape again.

The Heda's in the makeshift bathroom. Clarke bets she's the only one who doesn't have to share it with a mass of other people. Only Clarke now, and the woman does not look happy about it when Clarke slips past the tent flap seperating bedroom from bathroom.

There's a counter with two large bowls of water and even a somewhat dirty, broken mirror. The Heda stands in front of one bowl with what looks like a stick in her mouth and she visibly tenses when Clarke joins her. Her hand goes from said stick to her hip instantly, covering the handle of her dagger just in case.

"Relax," Clarke says nonchalantly, concerning herself with the other bowl of water. "I'm not here to kill you."

The Heda gives a grunt, probably because she can't make a snide remark with that thing in her mouth, and spits out a gross, green mess before washing the stick. Clarke's eyes are fixed on it with an expression the Heda scoffs at. "Here," she says, now that her mouth is empty, and slides over a wooden bowl in a way that just a tiny amount of its contents spill over Clarke's hand.

Clarke doesn't bother with it, or the way the Heda slaps a stick just like the one she used next to the bowl.

"What's that stuff?" Clarke asks. The Heda deliberately takes a cloth, drenches a corner of it in her water and begins to take off her war paint before answering.

"Your teeth seem fairly healthy," she says. "I assume you've taken on human shape fully, or mustn't you take care of them?"

"Oh. Right."

Taking a closer look, the stick appears to be more of a root, with one rough end. Whatever's in that bowl, it's got herbs in it, and Clarke guesses that this is the Grounder's equivalent of a toothbrush and toothpaste.

Clarke washes her own face after brushing her teeth and after noticing that her paint remains in blotches afterwards, the Heda sighs like she's forced to care for an annoying toddler and points out a bar of soap to Clarke. "Use this, it'll go off easier."

After Clarke's paint is off fully then, the Heda seems to have come to the conclusion that Clarke has no idea how to maintain a body with human supplies and explains the Grounder bathroom contents to her. (Which, Clarke has to admit, is quite useful because the stuff Grounders use looks nothing like what Clarke used up on the Ark.)

"Fine, listen up, I'm only going to go through this once. You use this soap to wash your body, this to wash your hair. You can use this lotion if you have trouble with dry skin. There's face paint for you if you want to use that, touch mine and I'll cut your hand off. If you want to shave, there's your blade, I suggest you're careful or you'll cut yourself. Better take care of it too because these fine ones are hard to get by and I won't get you another one if you get this one to rust or break. There's ribbons, ties, clips and cloths to keep your hair in order. If you... people... even bleed monthly, there's a stack of fresh cotton cloths, they get clean perfectly easy so even you should be able to figure it out."

Clarke nods, taking it all in. "Alright, got it."

The Heda doesn't say anything else and leaves Clarke to her own devices instead. It's only when they've both changed and Clarke wants to get into her side of the bed that the Heda speaks up again. "Like that?" she snaps and Clarke crosses her arms in front of her chest, glaring at her.

"What, 'like that'?"

"Those aren't bed clothes," the Heda comments so harshly, it makes wearing 'normal' clothes to bed look like a terrible transgression.

"Well, mind you, I only have two of everything and this is perfectly clean and fresh. I certainly won't wear the dress."

"You won't wear that either! Not in my bed, I'm already forced to share this space with you and you won't wear outside clothes."

Clarke supposes this is the closest the Heda gets to maturely expressing boundaries, but she still doesn't get it, she washed these clothes for this exact reason, to sleep. So she just raises her brows and says, "This is our bed now, actually. But fine, it's warm anyway, I can go without."

She strips naked and folds up her clothes to put them on her bedside table. Although she looks shaken by the prospect of sleeping next to a naked Clarke, the Heda suddenly appears to have lost her ability to complain. Her eyes are heavy now, somewhere below Clarke's collarbones, somewhere below her waist, and when she raises them up to Clarke's eyes again, they're shamelessly thick with want. "I'll bring a nightgown."

"Why? You had no issue with me being in your bed like this last time," Clarke remarks cheekily and the Heda's eyes harden, though she doesn't tear them away from Clarke.

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