The clack of wood on wood filled the air of one of the many private courtyards in the Palace, interspersed with grunts, shouts, and other exclamations of effort. All of which was treated without much in the way of attention by the various staff and guards, the overwhelming majority of whom went about their duties without pause or much more than an absent glance in that direction. After all, it was hardly uncommon for the sounds of training to echo through these halls, what with their Heda and her Kostia wanting to keep their skills sharp. Especially during a Conclave. The fact that a Chosen was finally residing in these hallowed halls as well only made it more expected.
Of course, this particular situation was a bit stranger, but as interesting as the Commander's guest was, watching Heda, Kostia, and Chosen Ontari pick her apart in the salle was only just so engaging, especially when one had pressing duties to attend to.
The girl in question —one Klark, no clan name given— was currently sprawled on her back, staff knocked clean from her hands for what had to be the tenth time in as many minutes. Sweat plastered blonde hair to her forehead, her borrowed training clothes already sporting dark patches of perspiration, her chest heaving with exertion and a grimace on her face as she rubbed her arm where she had been struck.
"You telegraph your strikes," Ontari said, circling like a predator. Her own movements were fluid, economical, the product of years of harsh training. It was easy to see why she had been widely considered the best contender to claim the throne of Heda from Leksa, before she had opted to content herself with her current position and let others have the chance to advance themselves. "I can read your intentions before you've even decided to move."
Klark grimaced, pushing herself up with a groan to give her training partner a small glower, huffing heavily to get some hair out of her mouth. It…wasn't the most intimidating expression, to be sure. Honestly, the three grounders found it more cute than anything else, possibly due to the fact that she clearly wasn't actually angry. "Maybe because I've never held one of these before this morning? And that you're obviously Chosen for a reason?"
"All of that is true, and all of that is why we're here. To help you improve." Leksa confirmed, watching carefully as the blonde sky-girl rose to her feet and tried to tidy herself up a bit, her expression intent but guarded. "That being said, you didn't exhibit the same tendencies when you were using a shortsword, and I'm curious as to why. Previous experience? It is quite similar to that…what did you call it? The blade that you were carrying when you met Niylah and Kostia."
"A kukri. A long dagger or shortsword from a land on the far side of the world, called Nepal. And yes, previous experience. The shortsword you had me use wasn't significantly different, so it was easy enough to fight with. I knew my reach, I knew my style, I knew my techniques. I don't know any of that with this." Klark confirmed, pending to pick up her staff, three sets of eyes falling to the glimpse of pale flesh of her chest that the motion revealed. Not much, compared to some of the other things she had worn, but it was enticing all the same.
"Then you won't have any bad habits to unlearn, which is good. You also have a strong foundation to start from when it comes to short blades, which is also good. Though you have some bad habits that need to be worked on their, they're more the sort that come from your only experience being practice spars with poorly-weighted training weapons than anything else." Ontari told her, still circling her slowly. "Let me guess, you spent most of your time with training dummies? Just practicing the same techniques over and over and over again on a completely static target?"
"Yessss…" Klark agreed slowly, frowning faintly, not yet seeing the relevance, or at least not entirely. "I mean, I sparred against the guards plenty of times, and some of the other kids, too, once I showed them the basics."
"So you only occasionally sparred with others, all of whom were either equal to or less than you in ability and training? And the rest of the time, it was just you hammering away at a dummy?" Ontari pressed, making a mental note of what Klark had just said. Any scrap of information that they could collect from their future wife and leader was worth remembering and being pooled, especially when it came to her old home and the people that lived there. When Klark nodded, Ontari gave her a reassuring smile. "Then you're doing fantastic already. Training dummies are good for the very beginning, and later on when you're in a pinch, but a lot of the time they do more harm than good. You get so used to using techniques perfectly against an immobile, unliving target that you have no idea how to handle things when those two things are no longer true. That's how most people get killed in their first real battle. Now that you're here, with us, we can make sure that that doesn't happen to you."
Klark couldn't help but smile at Ontari's words, despite her sore muscles and bruised pride. "So basically, I've been practicing all wrong my whole life?"
"Not wrong," Leksa interjected, stepping closer with a grace that made Klark envious, judging by the look on her face. "Simply... incomplete. And from what little we know about the place you call home, that makes sense. Your people haven't had to fight for their lives with weapons like this, as we have, and there is always going to be a gap between practiced theoretical knowledge and practical knowledge used in a real life-or-death fight. They gave you a foundation, and we will build on it. Before long, you'll be a deadly, graceful fighter in your own right, equal to any in the clans."
"It'll be a few more bruises before that happens." Klark muttered, shifting her grip on the staff, flexing her fingers and rolling her shoulders, trying to loosen muscles already stiffening from repeated impacts with the ground. She winced as her neck cracked audibly, though the sigh she gave in response approached something like relief.
Kostia approached from where she'd been observing, and Ontari took a moment to marvel at the utter silence of her footsteps. She had, until recently, had very few encounters with the Scout of Scouts, but it was obvious at least one part of her reputation was entirely well-deserved. "The staff is an extension of yourself," she said, adjusting Klark's hands on the wood, shifting the placement and tightness of her fingers on it's length. "Not a separate thing you're trying to control. Feel its weight become part of your arms. As trite as it might sound, the more aware you are of it's 'separateness', the more difficult it will be for you to succeed. There will always be a hesitation there, and that hesitation will cost you.
Klark nodded, visibly taking note of the changes that Kostia had made, and just as visibly recognizing the differences that they made. The improvement to her grip and balance, the way her range of motion had likely been increased, and Ontari couldn't help but smile. As strange as it was to think the words, Klark was obviously an attentive student that took to things quickly.
A part of her, a perverse and wicked part of her, wondered just quickly Klark could take to certain other skills and talents. She had certainly taken to the position of domina, and though she played coy, Niylah certainly didn't seem to have any complaints about Klark's attentions and ability when it came to bed. Not that such thoughts should be anything resembling a priority right now!
"Better. Now, your stance is good. Solid, angled to protect your torso and minimize the target you represent, but you're standing like you're going to be cutting with a slashing weapon. Which is well enough, with a sword. Considerably less helpful for a thrusting weapon like a spear. Put your feet like this." Leksa added, adjusting the position of Klark's feet, the angle of her joints, and Ontari couldn't help the spike of annoyance that ran through her or the brief scowl that creased her expression. These two, with their gentle hands and soft advice. Meanwhile, she was the one putting Klark in the dirt and giving her bruises, and that was hardly fair, was it?
Not that she was in love with the girl, or anything as absurd as all of that. They barely knew each other, after all. But she did know that Klark was very beautiful, seemed to be a wonderful person and an honor to her ancestor, despite her inexperience and -though she meant no ill will with the word, it was simply an accurate description- ignorance, and was willing to work hard on herself to improve. Not to mention the fact that she was, by her own choices for the course her life would take, destined to end up marrying the other girl. So no, she wasn't in love with her yet, but it was a yet, and she could tell that -unless something drastic changed-, it was really only a matter of time before it happened. Thus, it was perfectly reasonable for her to be a bit aggrieved that her fellow future sister-wives were managing to avoid creating sour feelings with Klark.
"Very good, again." she heard Leksa say, and she both saw and heard the staff whistling towards her body a heartbeat later. Her body moved on its own, deftly batting the blow aside with the top of the haft before threading the bottom between Klark's arms. A deft twist and should-check later, Klark was on the ground again as her staff clattered to the ground a few feet away.
"Oh, come on! You weren't even paying attention that time, and I still couldn't land a single hit!" she groaned, staring at the sky with a dark scowl, one far more genuine than those from earlier in the day, and Ontari shot a quick and somewhat concerned glance at Leksa, who was eyeing Klark with some small concern as well, then to Kostia, who shook her head slightly. They were done with training for the day, then, which Ontari agreed with under the circumstances. Not only was Klark sore and tired, she was also starting to grow despondent by her apparent lack of progress. Understandable, given the pressures she was under, and at the moment Ontari wasn't sure how well she would take reassurance that she was making progress. She, understandably, might feel that they were -to use a pre-war saying she had come across once- 'blowing smoke up her skirt', and Ontari rather doubted that she would take such a thing in good humor. Especially at the moment.
"To be fair, she did have some forewarning thanks to Leksa's words." Kostia pointed out a bit soothingly, which had the benefit of both being true and being a good foil for Klark's frustrations, and the golden-haired girl subsided with a grumble. Grinning slightly, Kostia glanced to the side and made a beckoning motion to Niylah, who had been waiting patiently off to the side. The thrallina darted forward, helping her domina sit up. "Niylah, go ahead and escort your domina to the baths. We three are going to discuss the best training regimen for her and then join you. The first contests for the Conclave start tonight, and I think we all want to clean ourselves up a bit before then."
Klark allowed Niylah to help her to her feet, wincing as various muscles protested the movement. "Fine," she said with a sigh, leaning slightly against the thrallina. "But I want it noted for the record that I'm not giving up. Just... strategically retreating to regroup."
Ontari couldn't help the smile that touched her lips at that. The sky-girl's spirit was admirable, even when her body was clearly at its limits. "Noted, noted." she said, inclining her head slightly, sure her eyes were dancing with repressed amusement. "Now go rest. Recovery is as important as training."
As Niylah guided Klark away, the blonde's gait stiff and measured, Ontari turned to her companions. Leksa's eyes lingered on Klark's retreating form before shifting to meet Ontari's gaze.
"She has potential," Leksa said, her voice low enough that no one besides the three of them would be able to hear. "She has good instincts, and her reaction time is impressive. She's raw, untrained, but I think she'll do well under our guidance."
"She's impatient, aggressive without the ability to follow through. It's better than being too tentative, but it's still less than ideal." Ontari countered swiftly, not arguing per se, but well aware that this wasn't a time for couching her opinion or for prevaricating on the issues at hand. Stooping to pick up Klark's staff, she continued. "She expects too much, too quickly. She is rushing, and at the rate she is going, she will injure herself. Or worse."
"She has a time limit, we all know that. The more time we have to spend training her, the less time she has to accomplish her mission, in her mind. Even with our reassurances from the other night, the pressure is looming over her." Kostia chimes in, running a hand through her hair and tugging on one braided strand thoughtfully. "Not to mention the fact that her pride is wounded. She says that she was the best fighter her people had to offer, and I'm inclined to believe her, as strange as it might sound under the circumstances. She went from being the very best, to someone that can't even land a single point in a spar. Her self-confidence is badly shaken, if not broken, in a way that the fight with the maunon couldn't do. After all, they had guns and she only had a knife, not to mention she had been on the ground for barely a day, so they had a significant advantage. That makes it more…acceptable, to her mind. This? This has none of that, and it has to be gnawing at her."
"She shouldn't be comparing herself to us, especially not Leksa and I. No offense Kostia." Ontari protested, the redhead shrugging, fully aware that she wasn't the warrior that the two Conclave victors were and having long-since come to terms with it. "We've spent our entire lives training for and participating in Conclaves, not to mention regularly fighting Reapers, Maunon, and bandits. I even told her as much, told her that she was doing better than someone else in her situation would be doing!"
"Yes you did, and I'm sure she agrees with you, in her mind. Her heart is another matter entirely." Kostia agreed calmly, giving Ontari a wry half-smile. "Take it from someone that spent a good portion of her life trying to measure herself up against Leksa and finding herself wanting in every way that mattered: it doesn't matter how well she's doing 'under the circumstances' or 'for someone in her position' or even 'compared to others'. All that matters is that she is failing, and people are watching her do it."
"Kos…" Leksa said softly, reaching out for her lover, but her Shadow simply shook her head and smiled at her.
"It's fine, love. I stopped letting it bother me a long time ago." she reassured, though Ontari wasn't sure how much she believed that, and from the look on Leksa's face, her sister felt the same way. "The point is, Klark is basing everything she is right now on proving -to us, to herself, and to them- that she is capable of saving her people. It's all she has to hold onto, which is one reason I'm so pleased to see her and Niylah bonding so quickly. It's not healthy for her to obsess like that, she needs something outside of her duty to spend time on. Give her heart and her mind time to rest."
Leksa nodded thoughtfully, absently twirling a throwing knife that she had pulled out of somewhere in her right hand. "You're right, of course. We need to remember that while we've had our whole lives to come to terms with our positions and responsibilities, she's had barely any time at all." She glanced in the direction Klark had gone. "Perhaps we should adjust our approach."
"How so?" Ontari asked, leaning against a nearby column, her expression pensive.
"Instead of focusing on all she can't yet do, we should build on what she can," Leksa replied. "She said she was comfortable with the shortsword, and we all saw the difference in skill between sword and staff. Perhaps we start there, make her feel competent again and help her fix the flaws she has in her swordsmanship, then gradually introduce other weapons."
"Hmm. You might have a point. We've been treating her like we would most recruits or novitiates, but for all her skills and her age, she really isn't." Ontari agreed, though she also frowned as she continued. "Though I'd like to point out that going too far in the other direction isn't likely to end well. If she thinks for even a moment that we're throwing matches, or deliberately taking it easy on her just to make her feel better about herself, I can guarantee that it won't go well, to say the very least."
"No, we won't do that," Kostia said, firmly in agreement with the Azgeda Chosen. "But we can be smarter about how we challenge her. Set her up for small victories that she earns legitimately, while still pushing her to improve."
Leksa nodded, her eyes distant as she formulated a plan. "We should also consider that she comes from a different world than ours. She grew up in a very different environment from us, one that is smaller and tighter, with little room to maneuver. Their combat would naturally be different—more contained, less reliant on natural surroundings."
"Close quarters fighting." Ontari mused, seeing where Leksa was going, and evaluating her spars with Klark in light of the new explanation. "That might explain her comfort with shorter weapons. She's used to fighting in corridors or small rooms, probably against single opponents coming directly at her, not in large open spaces where they have room to maneuver or where she might face more than one enemy at once."
"Exactly. And she said she trained others, which means she can teach as well as learn." Leksa placed her throwing knife back in its hidden sheath, sounding pleased. "Perhaps we should ask her to show us something from her home tomorrow. Let her be the skilled teacher instead of the struggling student. Not to mention the fact that it will better prepare us for what we can expect from her people when they arrive. I don't expect there to be much conflict, certainly don't want any conflict, but I'm going to plan for it to happen all the same."
Both of her companions gave hums of agreement at that, frowning faintly as they recalled what Klark had told them so far about her home and it's leaders. It was entirely possible that her people would be foolish once they reached the ground, and though Leksa had quietly started sketching out plans for a slow, carefully controlled integration into Coalition society for all of them, no one aware of those plans believed for a moment that it would be smooth sailing. That being said, having an overwhelming disparity in strength and one of their own people as a well-regarded, high-ranking person in Coalition society ought to make it smoother sailing than it might otherwise be.
"Well then, we have something of a plan, which means that we ought to catch up with our friends before Klark begins to worry that things are worse than she thought." Kostia decreed, clapping her hands slightly with a smile, one that took on a distinctly wicked glint. "After all, poor Niylah can probably only distract her for just so long without resorting to desperate measures, hehehe. I wonder if it's started already?"
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"Sunshine, I thought that the idea was to get me cleaner, not dirtier?" Clarke didn't even try to keep the amused affection, and the kindling desire, out of her tone as she leaned back against the wall of the baths, looking down -if only slightly- at the form of her thrallina, her lover, as Niylah diligently massaged her breasts.
Niylah's eyes sparkled with mischief as she continued her ministrations, her skilled hands working over Clarke's tender muscles with just the right balance of pressure and gentleness, thumbs occasionally thrumming at rapidly-pebbling nipples. "I find that sometimes one must get a little... dirty... before they can truly appreciate being clean." she replied, her voice a honeyed purr. "Besides, you were so tense after training. This is medicinal."
Clarke couldn't help but laugh at that, the sound echoing off the tiled walls of the bath chamber, though the laughter caught in her throat as Niylah found a particularly pleasant spot. "Is that what they're calling it these days? Medicinal? And for a portion of my body so uninvolved in staff training as well."
The warm water of the bath lapped gently around them, steam rising to cloud the air and soften the edges of the world. Every touch of Niylah's skilled fingers sent dual sensations through her body—relief from the day's exertions and a slowly building heat that had nothing at all to do with the temperature of the water.
"Everything is connected, domina." Niylah informed her sagely, briefly turning her attention to the curve of Clarke's neck and shoulders. Despite her teasing and the distinctly perverted attentions, she did know what she was doing when it came to giving a massage. She wasn't as good as the attendants assigned to the palace, but that was hardly a fair comparison, and it occurred to Clarke just what Niylah spent her free time -which is to say, whenever she wasn't at Clarke's side- doing now that she wasn't running a shop anymore. Speaking of which…
"Niylah, are you sure you're okay with giving up your trading post to serve me full-time? I appreciate your company," she asked slowly, ignoring the giggle that her use of the word 'company' elicited, save for a small smirk. And if that smirk happened to be a bit smug and a bit perverse, well, who could blame her? "I really do, but I don't want you to throw away everything your parents and you worked for your entire lives just so that you can be with me."
"Domina, the maunon already destroyed everything my parents worked for, everything that I maintained and built up after they died." the submissive girl informed her calmly, shrugging in a way that did wonderful things with her breasts. "I could start again, quite easily and quite well-off, thanks to all the gifts you have given me, but why would I? Why would I want to go back to living alone in the woods, scraping by a living and hoping that bandits, Reapers, and maunon don't come for me, when the other option is staying with you? And don't think I'm only with you because of greed or wanting an easy life, either, thank you very much. I could have had that anytime I wanted by giving myself to someone else, but I didn't want to give myself to anyone else. I'm yours, and I am very happy that way. Maybe someday I'll run a shop here in Polis, but it isn't really something I would say I aspire to. I'd rather stay home, service you, help care for your Household, and look after your children."
Clarke nearabout choked on air at the 'c-word', eyes wide as she jerked back slightly and stared at Niylah, who only blinked back at her innocently, and though her eyes were warm, there wasn't a sign of falsehood in her teasing. She was dead serious about raising Clarke's children, and somehow Clarke didn't think she only meant by adoption. Abruptly, she was reminded of the fact that ALIE had told her that the clans not only expected her to bring about a new Golden Age for mankind, but establish a dynasty to keep it that way.
"Children?" she finally managed splutter, her face flushing beyond what the warm bath and her arousal combined could possibly hope to explain. "I think you're getting a bit ahead of yourself, there, Sunshine."
"Am I?" Niylah asked, though it sounded less like a question and more like an amused comment, slipping around behind Clarke to massage her neck, her thumbs rolling the knots out of the muscles there as she continued talking. "Perhaps it lies in the more distant future than the immediate, but I see nothing wrong with planning ahead. Looking forward to that future, if I am going to be honest. But I think you're meant to have children, domina, meant to raise them to be strong and wise and kind."
Clarke sank a little deeper into the water, both from embarrassment and to give Niylah better access to her aching muscles. "I haven't even figured out how to properly hold a staff without getting knocked on my ass. I think babies are a bit further down the priority list. Not to mention The Council has their own ideas about relationships."
"What do you mean by that, Klark?" Kostia asked curiously, and Clarke looked up at her voice, only to freeze and stare. Kostia, and indeed Leksa and Ontari, were all totally naked. Naked and standing far, far closer than they had been the last time that she had seen them in this state, and she wasn't as distracted either. Which meant that she was able to take in far more detail than she had been able to back then. And what she saw had her mouth going dry…and something else growing warm.
Her eyes caught first on Lexa, drawn almost instinctively to the girl that always seemed to command whatever room she was in, carrying a magnetic presence even when completely -and unashamedly- unclothed.
The Commander's body was a living testament to her life as a warrior—lean and powerful with the visibly defined musculature of someone who had trained since childhood. Her shoulders were broad but feminine, tapering to a narrow waist that flared out to strong hips. Not the 'perfect hourglass' that books and magazines and movies on The Ark had upheld as the ideal, but then again, how long would one of those soft, pre-war models survive the life Lexa had lived? Not very long, Clarke mused, as she looked at the evidence of that life. Across Lexa's tanned skin, a constellation of small scars told stories of battles survived and lessons learned—a thin white line across her right bicep, a puckered mark on her left shoulder, and several smaller nicks across her ribs and abdomen. Some, especially on The Ark, might have found those scars to be ugly, detracting from her beauty, but in Clarke's opinion they only enhanced it. It was hard to quantify how or why, exactly, but she was sure that they did.
Her breasts were smaller than Clarke's own, high and firm with dusky rose nipples that seemed to harden under her gaze, and Clarke absently remembered something about how more physically active girls tended to have smaller breasts. A tattoo ran down her right side, intricate patterns of curves and lines that made their away around to her back, and Clarke couldn't help but wonder what the rest of it looked like. As for the cleft between her legs, well. She wasn't clean shaven, but she was immaculately groomed, and somehow that tidy patch of hair made her even more enticing.
Ontari was next, looking much the same as Lexa, though she was at least a cup size bigger in the chest and had a few more scars, including some that looked like they might have been near-fatal. Like what appeared to me a rather deep stab wound to her lower-left abdomen, and Clarke marveled at the fact that she had survived it. She'd known that the Ice Nation Chosen was strong, but she hadn't known that that strength surviving injuries of such severity. It was impressive, and more than a little humbling. She was also a bit paler, which Clarke presumed had to do with…wherever the Ice Nation territories were, and she made a mental note to ask about seeing a map sometime, because she was clueless. Her tattoos were extensive and impressive though, and Clarke was reminded of the classes on The Ark about ancient cultures, about how tattoos represented personal feats or parts of a warrior's life.
Then came Costia, and by the time Clarke's eyes returned to her, she had noticed the golden-haired girl's staring and had decided to show off a bit with a pose that could politely be called 'provocative'.
Costia's body was a study in contrasts to the other two warriors. Where they were built for direct combat and contests of strength, she was lithe and graceful, with the toned muscles of someone whose talents lay in agility and endurance rather than raw power. Her frame was smaller overall, but perfectly proportioned, with gentle curves that belied the deadliness Clarke had witnessed in their brief encounters with danger. Her breasts were fuller than Lexa's but not as large as Ontari's, and her waist dipped in dramatically before flaring to hips that swayed hypnotically as she stepped into the bath.
Unlike the other two, Costia bore few visible scars—a testament to her skill at avoiding direct confrontation rather than surviving it, and Clarke was willing to bet it had something to do with the fact that she didn't participate in Conclaves as well. A single thin line traced across her collarbone, and another curved along her hip. Interestingly, she didn't have a single tattoo on her body, and her pubes were completely bare.
"See something you like, Klark?" Costia asked with a sly smile, shifting her weight to one hip in a way that accentuated her curves, sending her breasts swaying and making the natural liens that led to her sex all the more prominent, and Clarke felt her face burn brightly as she snapped her head away, stammering in embarrassment at getting caught staring so obviously. Giggling and sliding into the water, Costia continued. "Don't get all flustered, we don't mind you looking, do we girls?"
Ontari and Lexa both agreed, though Ontari was blushing a bit even as she said the words, and Clarke huffed at them, watching from the corner of her eyes as they submerged themselves, swallowing heavily as their skin took on a glistening sheen from the water and the steam.
"I—um, sorry," Clarke managed, trying to gather her composure. "You asked about The Council. Right. They have these laws about...relationships. Population control measures, mostly, to prevent inbreeding or resource exhaustion." She cleared her throat, grateful for the distraction from the three beautiful women now sharing the bath with her. "Back home, relationships are heavily regulated. Marriage requires approval, if the marriages aren't quietly and firmly set up for you, and having children even more so. Unauthorized pregnancies are..." She trailed off, her expression darkening.
"Are what?" Lexa prompted gently, moving closer through the water, her eyes intent on Clarke's face.
"Punishable." Clarke said flatly. "The mother is given a choice between termination or imprisonment until birth, followed by floating—execution—once the child is delivered and taken for placement with an approved family."
The three grounders exchanged glances, their expressions shifting from surprise to something harder.
"That is...strict." Ontari offered diplomatically, her tone almost painfully neutral, and Clarke snorted harshly.
"It's one of the things that got me sent down here, actually. One of my closest friends, Octavia, was a secret child. Her mother and brother raised her in their room for fifteen years, hiding her inside the floor whenever anyone else was there. She was never allowed to leave, until last Unity Day." she said, dropping her head back against the cushion of Niylah's breasts and closing her eyes as she remembered it. "Her brother was in training to be a guard, managed to sneak her out of the room and into the celebration, which is where she and I met. I knew right away that something was up. I knew all the kids my age, and there was no way I would have missed a girl like her. I knew she was new, different, even with the masks that everyone was wearing."
The others, Niylah included, exchanged glances of her head, traces of amusement and concern in equal measure in their expressions. It was almost cute, in a way, the tone she used to talk about 'Octavia', the casual and entirely serious way she admitted that she would have noticed and remembered her if given the opportunity. On the other hand, it meant the potential for more sisters, and sisters that didn't go through the Conclaves at that. Which could make things…interesting when it came to the general populace, when the time came.
"Introduced myself, made small talk, got her laughing. Introduced her to some snack foods that she'd never had before. She loved them, it was like watching a little kid. She was a little kid, I guess, no matter how old she actually was." Clarke continued with a small smile, but it was a fleeting one, and her expression and her tone both darkened. "There was a systems failure, from a solar flare. O's brother tried to get her out, but it was too late. She was caught, he was stripped of his position, and their mother was executed. Half the Council wanted to execute O right away, the rest of them wanted to lock her up until she turned eighteen."
"And you? What did you do?" Lexa asked softly, sensing a connection. She had said that Octavia's story was one of the things she got sent down for, after all, and Lexa had the feeling that this was important to understanding.
"Forced my way into the Council chambers and tore them apart. Verbally speaking, of course. Shamed them into exhibiting a bit of basic decency. Well, no. Less shame and more threatened." Clarke answered, grinning -or at least baring her teeth in something that could politely be called a grin- as the mental image. Another look was exchanged over her oblivious head as she talked. "Painted a mental picture for them of how the people might feel about them executing a girl just for being born, instead of letting them live like in other circumstances. They tried to talk about how it was 'different' because O was older, but that didn't work out too well."
There was a dark sort of satisfaction to her tone, one that the four girl with her didn't think that they had ever heard come from the normally kind-hearted but driven young woman, and all four made note of the fact that Clarke clearly had some harsher, more ruthless tendencies at times. If she percieved the cause to be just, at the very least, and while it didn't escape their notice that this cause seemed to be very just indeed, that didn't entirely eliminate the threat such a personality trait represented. Not that any of them were going to judge her for it, most of them weren't terribly different themselves, when circumstances required it, but they were also entirely aware of those habits and worked hard to control them.
"I'm going to assume that the Council wasn't happy about that." Kostia's words weren't a question, and Clarke snorted.
"No. They would have locked me up for trying to follow through on my dad's behalf anyway, but the fact that I was already so rebellious and problematic and 'had issues with authority figures' sealed the deal, not that I regret it for an instant." she responded, before shrugging slightly. "Anyway, all that aside, relationships are pretty rough back home at times. I was always pretty sure they, or at least the Chancellor, were planning to set up breeding programs when we got down here. Not just subtle suggestions, either. I think they'll be in for a surprise though."
"You're certainly right about that. We don't force people to get married or have children with people they do not care for. The social stigma for putting undue pressure on someone in such a way is bad enough, but attempts to use force or intimidation are treated no differently than someone that tries to circumvent that thrall protection laws." Ontari interjected firmly, harshly, reminding Clarke of what Niylah had told her about people that did just that: that, more often than not, they were swiftly executed. "And we won't tolerate them trying to do the same thing with your people when they arrive, either."
"I know you wouldn't, any of you, and I love you for it." Clarke told her, oblivious to the reactions that garnered. "Frankly, I don't think the majority of our people would go for it either. It's one thing to tolerate draconian measures when there are such limited resources and space, but here, on Earth? I think the Council would find their hands full if they tried to press the issue."
"Alright, that's it, I'm putting my foot down." Niylah declared firmly, pouting outrageously in both tone and expression. "No more serious and depressing talk in the baths. Baths are for relaxation and fun, not discussing the manifest issues with the world! What we should be focusing on is how good we all look, how much fun we had the other night, and the upcoming Conclave events! I have spoken!"
The atmosphere, which had been growing steadily darker and heavier, was promptly banished, and as they laughed and acquiesced, all of them meant every word of their agreement with her demands. She was right. Their time together had been of more serious subjects lately, and thought that was both appropriate and necessary in the outside world, it wasn't needed here. This place, if no where else, was their sanctuary. A place to let the worries of their ranks and positions and duties fall away in the face of simple, warm, companionship. That, if nothing else, needed to be preserved.