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VOICES
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IT'S IMPORTANT NOT to let things build up.
Take a dam for example. A river will be blocked by an enormous wall, water left to gather strength as growing waves crash against the stone. But rather than letting the water pressure grow high enough to destroy the dam from the inside out, engineers designed it so that water from the reservoir would flow over in a more controlled way. As far as Lira can tell, human emotions are the same way. If you let them sit for too long, they'll keep building and building and building until you just explode.
So you can see why the camp has been left essentially in shambles now.
Blake's anarchist methods of control have been failing for some time now. They were good enough the first night when the criminals were drunk on the idea of freedom and revenge, but the problem with whatever the hell we want lies in the words themselves. Yeah, it's whatever the hell we want but it's also whatever the hell we want. Anything goes. You know how that quote Anything is possible is usually meant to inspire people and give them hope to go where no man's gone before? Yeah, well now it's a little bit scarier because, like, anything is possible.
To simplify, it's like Lyra pointed out the second night: There are no rules. Which is a contradiction in and of itself. The entire theory is riddled with loopholes, actually. Whatever the hell we want is a rule, but there are no rules, which already is an oxymoron. Then there's the whole thing with Blake cementing himself as the leader when there can't possibly be a leader because, again, there are no rules besides his flimsy whatever the hell we want and thus there's no requirement for actual leadership. Even though he spent 99% of his time breaking his own rule by acting like a leader, clearly Blake was just acting. Because as of tonight, it's painfully obvious just how much control he really has.
(Which, to clarify, is pretty much none.)
Grievances have been building up against his dam. First there was Jasper and the discovery of Grounders. Blake provided them with a solution though ━━ his wall ━━ and as useless as it might seem in reality, it worked and he kept control. Then there was the acid fog and Atom. Octavia was furious, Murphy apparently did something stupid while Blake was gone (whatever it was has not been specified to Lyra.) Then Wells' near murder and the hanging of Murphy. Next comes Blake's fall from grace when Murphy knocked him out, then very much went against orders and has organised a manhunt for the girl because there aren't really any rules to stop him.
It's important not to let things build up.
But they did, and now everything's exploded right in their faces. The dam is broken.
Wells is on damage control. He's pretty much taken over Blake's previous position, struggling to contain the dozens of kids that haven't sided with Murphy. Monty's out there too, as most of the kids have respect for their former weed provider, and Lyra's not sure but she thinks Jasper and Octavia are doing what they can as well.
Presently she's alone on the third floor with Clarke's still operational wristband.
Like Wells said, they need to contact the Ark tonight. There's no time to run around for a transmitter. Morse code is their best bet.
"OK." Lyra cracks her knuckles, at eye level with the wristband. "I think we have an understanding."
The wristband, because it's an inanimate object (duh), does not respond to her. It does hum with faint electrical charges though, the spokes gleaming a faint and dusty blue.
She reaches out a finger confidently.
The wristband zaps her.
"Ow!" Lyra jerks her index finger back, blowing cold air on it. "We do not have an understanding, we do not have an understanding!"
"Whuzzgoin'on?"
Oh. Right. Seeing as the third floor is the makeshift medbay, Sterling and Myles hauled the then-unconscious Blake up here, per Wells' request.
Well. . . he's not so unconscious anymore.
A violet bruise blooming across the left corner of his forehead, Blake is struggling to push himself up, his limbs quivering. His curls are wild and all over the place, his eyebrows creasing together as he blinks groggily in the weak lighting. Giving up on finding the strength to sit independently, he uses the wall as support and licks his chapped lips. Finally his bleary eyes find Lira.
An incoherent slur slips past his mouth and he coughs before trying again.
"Where am I?" He manages hoarsely.
"Third floor of the dropship," says Lyra, watching him carefully. "I think you have a concussion."
"Why would I have a concussion?"
"Uh... because Murphy hit you in the head with a log?" Lyra asks, unsure of herself because it sounds ridiculous out loud. "You were out for like, twenty minutes. I think."
"Murphy... " Blake echoes vaguely, then his eyes widen with alarm. "Charlotte!"
He tries to stand, his knees buckling. His hands scrabble against the wall to keep his footing and he does, barely. His left hand shoots out to clutch his head and fist his curls as he lets out a low groan of pain, hissing a deep, "Fuck."
"Where are you going?" Lyra asks curiously.
"To find them."
"Good luck with that," she says. "I don't think Octavia's gonna let you two feet outside of camp."
"How do I look?"
"How do you look?" Lyra swears her brain short circuits at that question. "Er... I dunno... you've got a pretty tough exterior and act like you hate the world, but you don't really hate Charlotte, so I'd say you've got a kind heart and maybe are even a little soft - "
He gives a huff of frustration. "The concussion, Jupiter."
"Oh." She observes him again. "Like you got hit in the head with a log."
"Thanks," he says, rather snappily. "I'll sneak out, then. And... ah, shit, I'm not a tracker. You'd better come with me."
"What? Why?"
"Because you've been sneaking out of your tent every night and going into the woods," he deadpans and then, when her jaw drops, rolls his eyes. "What, didn't you think I'd notice? You know the woods better than me, and besides, you were with Finn this morning. He's probably retracing his steps."
"Well... " she looks hesitantly at the wristband, then decides it's not as important. "OK."
When they get to the entrance of the dropship, Blake pauses and holds a hand out to block Lira in the chest before she can walk straight into the camp. The sky is completely pitch black. Moonbeams dapple the rough ground, though they're sparse; thin clouds drift across the inky backdrop and Lyra cannot quite make out the stars.
Blake raises a brow at her. "Twenty minutes?"
She grins. "... oops?"
They manage to slip out the back completely unnoticed. The section hasn't been finished and Sterling, the guard on duty, has fallen asleep ━━ Blake goes to snap him awake, but thankfully Lyra just barely manages to drag him away before he can blow their cover. Then, under the cover of the darkness and trees, the two of them take off.
Lyra's footsteps are completely silent against the forest floor littered with leaves and twigs. Blake moves more noisily, but he also moves faster. His legs are much longer and he seems to be stronger than her. Actually, it's not long before Lyra is huffing and puffing, struggling to keep up with him.
"This is kinda fun, isn't it?" She asks him, her voice bouncy. "Breaking the rules, sneaking out."
"We're chasing down a twelve year old murderer and trying to save her from a guy trying to kill her, who we already hung," retorts Blake, not sharing in her enthusiasm at all. "What about any of that is fun to you, Angel?"
"Oh, there's fun in everything if you try hard enough."
"You sound crazy."
"I don't think I'm crazy," she hums. "But close."
Tightening her pony tail, she hurries to lead him in the same direction Finn had taken her that morning. Part of her wants to skip, but she's decided that would be completely inappropriate for the situation at hand. Also, probably it would bother Blake.
About a half hour later, Blake's jaw is taut. "It's dark as hell and we still haven't found them. Are you sure we're going the right way?"
"No." She keeps moving.
"Perfect," he grumbles.
But he still follows her.
Suddenly, Blake jerks an arm out in front of her, causing her to stumble into it. Letting out an audible Oof!, she looks to him questioningly. He just points ahead to a small figure just barely visible in the distance between the silhouettes of trees, out of breath and stumbling as they hold their chest as if it's painful.
Charlotte.
Making a shushing motion at Lyra, Blake begins to creep forward quietly. He's much more cautious than earlier, probably not wanting to startle the murderer or to accidentally alert Murphy and his murder gang of their whereabouts. Once he's close enough, he surges forward with a burst of speed, wrapping his arms around her waist and hauling her off of the ground.
Charlotte begins screaming, writhing in his grip.
"Shh - Shh - Shh," he whispers, covering with her mouth with his hand to muffle her screams. As she realises it's him, she relaxes and stops kicking.
He moves his hand from her mouth. Then, much to Lyra's chagrin, Charlotte screams louder.
"Let me go!"
"I'm trying - hey!" Blake wrestles her down, his grip on her shoulders tightening as his eyebrows pinch. "Hey! We're trying to help you!"
"I'm not your sister!" Charlotte shrieks as she curls her skinny little fingers, wide eyes flashing with defiant venom rather than childish wonder. "Just stop helping me!"
She manages to wrench herself from Blake's hold, sprinting into the darkness, honey pigtails bouncing against her back.
"I'M OVER HERE!"
Blake grabs her by the hood, yanking her back. "Are you trying to get us all killed?" He hisses.
"Just - " Charlotte looks at war with herself, her eyes shimmering with crystals that hang like dew drops to her lashes. She is quivering all over, cheeks are raw with distress. "Just go, OK? I'm the one that they want!"
"You don't have to die tonight," Lyra says quietly.
"Don't I?" Charlotte's lips tremble, her eyes seething with such immense torment and trauma that for a moment ━━ one painful moment ━━ Lyra almost feels bad for her. Almost. "You can't even look at me!"
Lyra realises with a start that she's right.
But. . . but how could she? This girl ━━ no matter how small, no matter how seemingly innocent with her pigtails ━━ tried to kill Wells. She nearly succeeded. She's just a child, yes, but she's a killer. There is nothing innocent nor sweet nor naive about her doe eyes or her honey pigtails or her lithe and petite frame. She's a monster. . .
. . . isn't she?
What makes a monster a monster?
She isn't quite sure. She looks to the sky, but the stars stay hidden.
All she knows is this: she and Charlotte both have voices. Demons, ghosts, whatever you want to call them. Shadows plague both their minds, but they aren't abstract like phantoms. Their ghosts are sharp, all edges.
A great wave of distress crashes over her, her eyes scorching like fire, but she manages to speak. "We... we both hear voices, OK? Just - just let me try and help you - "
"It's too late," Charlotte whispers, one hand scrubbing at her sunken cheek. "It's too late for me. You can't help me now."
"OK, Charlotte, listen to me." He does not seem disconcerted like Lyra; finality slams his words like a gavel. "We won't leave you."
"Please, Bellamy." Charlotte is begging now, dismissing his touch and his words, agony and despair conquering the war raging inside of her. "MURPHY! I'M OVER HERE!"
"Come on out, Charlotte!" Murphy's snarl echoes in the shadows, sounding so close. "Come on out!"
Cursing loudly, in one, fluid motion, Blake throws Charlotte over his shoulder before grabbing Lyra by the hand and wrenching her forwards as he takes off.
"No - NO!" Charlotte's caterwaul bounces in the dark. "MURPHY!"
Torches waver in the far off distance, enraged flames chewing away at the darkness. Silhouettes bound in time with them, twisted and convoluted and deformed with rage.
Yikes.
The heavens rumble and Lyra recoils at the wet sensation that splatters across the bridge of her nose. Briefly she's reminded of all the blood from when she found Wells and her heart seizes, but then she realises with a start that it's drizzling. Soft droplets of rain tumble from the rolling clouds above, gently pattering against the grasses as they run. It makes the uneven Earth slippery and Lyra staggers, nearly falling behind.
Blake pulls all three of them out of the cover of the surrounding forest, into a clearing smothered with dead leaves. The raindrops are harsher without the trees breaking their fall and Lyra winces at the sudden force of cool droplets. Staggering forwards, Blake forces the thrashing killer to her feet, his breathing ragged. Lyra hasn't even thought of how hard it must be for him to do all this running while still holding onto her.
"Damn it," he snaps suddenly, his steps balking.
Lyra looks over only to find that they've come to a cliffs edge. She doesn't dare look down into what must be waiting for them; a dizzying abyss that disappears into a dark, endless void.
Yikes.
Yikes-ity yikes, yikers - !
"Bellamy!" Murphy crows triumphantly as he bursts through the thicket, torchlight dancing across his blood-stained face as he gives a wicked grin. "You cannot fight all of us. Give her up."
(How many variations of yikes are there?)
"Maybe not," Blake declares lowly, his chest heaving as his gaze rakes over Mbege and the other boys who have chosen to follow Murphy. "But I guarantee I'll take a few of you with me."
"Bellamy, stop!" Clarke lurches over the syllables, practically throwing herself into the clearing, Finn just behind her. Her agonised eyes find Murphy's easily. "This has gone too far."
Silently, Murphy watches her, and Clarke takes this as an invitation to keep talking and even move closer.
"Just calm down," she says slowly. "We'll talk about this."
Quick as a viper, Murphy's arm lashes out and coils around Clarke. He drags her towards him before anyone can protest, her back to his chest as he curls his arm around her so tight that already she struggles to breathe. Then his right arm snakes out, the flinty silver of his knife glinting in the pale moonlight as he holds it against her throat.
Control, I. . . I'm not coming back.
"I'm sick of listening to you talk," he snarls.
"Let her go!" Finn shouts, but makes no sudden movements and only has one hand outstretched in protest, as if Murphy's a wild animal.
"Back off!" Murphy's cold voice rings out like a splash of seawater. His entire body is trembling from head to foot as if he is caged in a storm. "I will slit her throat."
We're made out of stardust, kid.
Finn flinches back.
I'm just -
"Stop!" Lyra bursts, her heart slamming against her chest. "Stop!"
"This doesn't concern you, Loony Lyra," Murphy's entire mouth convulses as he spits the name like a poison. "You should have stayed hidden behind Wells - you'll shut your psycho mouth or I'll kill you too!"
- going home.
"No!" Charlotte's voice is raw with primitive fear, shivering as if a cold and black wave of death has enshrouded her. "Please don't hurt her!"
(Where have the stars gone?)
"Don't hurt who? Loony Lyra or the princess?" Murphy rasps, staring at Charlotte through half-crazed eyes. When she fails to answer, he tilts the knife upwards and glides it across the top of Clarke's skin. "The Princess then? Yeah, I wouldn't give two shits about Loony Lyra either."
Charlotte whimpers loudly.
Control, I. . . I'm not coming back.
"OK, I'll make you a deal." Murphy's lips curl over his grit teeth. "You come with me right now, I will let her go."
"Don't do it, Charlotte," Clarke warns lowly, and then her voice rises when the girl doesn't answer. "Don't do it!"
(Lyra doesn't know how she's doing it. There is a knife at her throat.)
Soundlessly, Charlotte moves forward.
Before she can even get close to Murphy, Blake is grabbing her by his bronzed hand, shoving her backwards, no longer cradling her like a child. There is desperation hollowing his eyes as he looks helplessly between Charlotte and Clarke and Murphy.
"No!" Charlotte splutters, frayed pants bursting from her lips. "No - I have to!"
We're made out of stardust, kid.
"Shh - stop!" Blake seems almost ablaze, turning to Murphy like he is sure he can stop this. Like he has no doubts. Like nothing has changed. "Murphy, this isn't happening."
I'm just going home.
But everything has changed.
Control, I. . . I'm not coming back.
And Blake can't control it.
We're made out of stardust, kid.
"I can't let any of you get hurt anymore." Charlotte is practically melting against the shadows, allowing herself to be pushed back. "Not because of me. Not after what I did."
I'm just going home.
Her screaming eyes turn upon Lyra and she knows what happens now.
The stars are falling.
Tears bleeding down her cheeks, the little girl shudders, maimed with agony. "No more voices."
And the stars become earthbound, no longer featherweight but flightless and frail, like the raindrops heaving from the heavens and spilling across the earth.
"CHARLOTTE!" Clarke screams, ripping from Murphy's grasp.
Yet already the star flails like a shadow without form. Plummeting, crashing, dying out.
I'm just going home.
The earth is silent.
"Bellamy - " Murphy's voice wobbles with terror as slowly the older boy turns to him.
Blake snarls to life. Disfigured by rage, he rockers towards Murphy, and the two drop to the ground like stones with a sickening thud. Every feature is warped by thunderous shadows, eyes on fire, wracked with wrathful quivers as if the devil himself is breathing life into his bones. Again and again and again his fist slams into Murphy, ravaging the boy, mutilating him. Cracks vibrate through the air.
"Bellamy, stop!" Clarke yells. "You'll kill him!"
Lyra remembers Wells' earlier words.
No one is dying tonight.
"Get off of him!" Lyra shouts raggedly, something inside of her blazing.
He doesn't listen.
Her voice cuts through the air like a knife. "Bellamy!"
His anguished face lifts to meet hers, his fist shrinking as Finn takes his moment of reprieve as a chance to haul him off of Murphy. He seems to be deaf to everyone else around them except her, weeping silently. There is such raw pain in his gaze that it practically slams into Lyrs at full force and she can feel her legs going weak.
"He deserves to die." His words are apocalyptic, torn between rage and sorrow.
"He doesn't," says Lyra, softly as the rain, though she feels far, far away. "No one deserves to die."
"She's right." Clarke seems to have collected herself as much as she can, planting herself between Bellamy and Murphy without warning. "We don't decide who lives and dies. Not down here."
His voice is rough with trepidation. "So help me God, if you say the people have a right to decide - "
"No! No, I was wrong before, OK?" Beneath her hardened mask, her lips are trembling, and it's blatantly clear Clarke is holding herself together by strings. "You were right. Sometimes it's dangerous to tell people the truth. Sometimes it's dangerous to get caught. But if we're gonna survive down here, we can't just live by whatever the hell we want. We need rules."
"And who makes those rules? Huh?" He demands, but there's no bite in his words. "You?"
"For now, we make the rules," asserts Clarke firmly. "You, me, and... "
Her questioning eyes find Lyra.
"And Wells," says Lyra, drifting, drifting, drifting. "You and Clarke and Wells."
"So what, then? We just take him back and pretend like it never happened?"
"No! We... "
But Lyra's not listening. She's turned her head skywards, letting the icy rain throw itself against her skin. She feels hot and the freezing water acts like a cooling method, cold against her cheeks.
What is it like, to be a raindrop? To fall from the heavens and wash away the pain that scars the Earth?
What is it like to fall?
Wind in your hair and clouds brushing against your skin. Crying out with unrestrained joy, drunk on freedoms, high on the infinite air. Gods would shudder at the sight. Olympians would wither, Titans would laugh. A dying child with a hunger in her eyes and her teeth bared to the sky, joining the stars. Wholly and irrevocably claiming mortality.
Falling like Icarus.
But Lyra supposes that is the greatest tragedy of the gods, of immortality. For how could they ever learn to fly if they cannot fall?
Because that was the greatest enigma of Icarus' tale. A twist not even the gods could ever hope to recognise, for immortality neglects the fleeting infinite that lets mortals burn bright as stars.
Before Icarus fell, he flew.
" ... Lyra? Lyra!"
Shaking herself from her mind, Lyra looks at Clarke. "Yeah?"
"We're going back to camp. You coming?"
Her eyes flicker across the Earth. Murphy is curled in on himself, his whole chest shaking erratically. Ruby and violet bleed together across his cheeks, intertwining, merging, his veins throbbing like purple live wires.
"What about him?"
"We banished him."
"Oh," says Lyra mildly, even though she's unable to fathom how unfair it is. "OK."
"So... " Clarke shifts from one foot to the next awkwardly, then reaches out a hand for Lyra to take. "Camp?"
Lyra smiles, but she doesn't take her hand. "I'll be right behind you."
"Oh." Clarke looks rather hurt at the rejection. "Um. OK."
Memories spike behind Lyra's eyelids like the spokes of the wristbands and her treacherous eyes find her way to the cliff.
No more voices.
͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙
not sure if i like this chapter.
like, i like elements of it.
but idk abt it as a whole.
like did the Charlotte scenes feel too forced? idk. i struggle w/ writing this part b/c i solely feel bad for Murphy. Clarke and Bellamy both piss me off beyond belief. I get their points of view
(Clarke's best friend just died,
Bellamy's got a weird sister-savior-complex)
but i still j feel bad for murphy. Like. . . this shit fucking sucked for him.
(FUCK CHARLOTTE! ME N ALL MY HOMIES HATE CHARLOTTE!)
(But also low-key feel bad for her in a way. Like she definitely had a depressing reason. And I've seen characters do much worse and still stood behind them)
((Hello, Anakin Skywalker!))
anyway. I need to have some much better Lyra and Clarke interactions, methinks. She literally has barely talked to Clarke. Mainly this is because of my hesitation to establish Lyra as a main character (in the shows point of view), because every Bellamy OC I've ever read is such a main character and I'm trying my best to defer from that.
of course, there's nothing wrong W/ that. I absolutely eat that shit UP when I read it in other books.
Anyways,,, I'm still on Wells' death because I had to watch the episode to write this.
It feels a bit racist in my humble opinion to kill off the only dark skin main character, especially when he was such a huge part of the books. And it infuriates me that he was killed for shock value to this very day.
but ok, I'll stop now.
anyway buckle up for the next chapter - it's finna be BUMPY 🤠🤠
^ this is referring to Clarke asking Lyra to be leader, btw
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