[ Clarke had been more or less minding her own business until she spotted a slightly bedraggled looking puppy, clearly in that gangly stage between adorable newborn and fully developed dog, but with a charm that kept her crouched by its pen as she let it lick her fingers and wondered if she ought to spend some of the money she's been given on it.
She's so taken by the little animal that she would've ignored the person who walked by, if they hadn't, you know, walked into a secret door. Of course she had to follow; sheer curiosity demanded it. And that is how she can be found: seated at a booth, drinking what's certainly a more finely-crafted alcoholic beverage than anything she's had before, and surreptitiously sneaking pretzels to the tiny dog who she couldn't bear to leave behind. ]
II. Expressionism Yourself.
[ Clarke had been an artist for as long as she can remember, and it's what she falls back to in times of stress. It's fairly safe to say that being in a strange new world of uncertain provenance -- with magic masks and the undead, of all things -- is reasonably stressful, though not the worst she's felt. But c'mon. Someone just left the paint sitting right there.
She starts by trying her hand at that weird sigil she keeps seeing, just for reference sake. But then it becomes something else; symbols etched onto her memory; the ones from that alien device that had taken them from world to world. If she could remember enough of them maybe she'd be able to paint the ones that could take her home.
It's wishful thinking, but at least it's pretty. ]
[ Want to do something else? PM or find me at speaksincolor and we can chat! ]
Clarke Griffin | The 100 | OTA
[ Clarke had been more or less minding her own business until she spotted a slightly bedraggled looking puppy, clearly in that gangly stage between adorable newborn and fully developed dog, but with a charm that kept her crouched by its pen as she let it lick her fingers and wondered if she ought to spend some of the money she's been given on it.
She's so taken by the little animal that she would've ignored the person who walked by, if they hadn't, you know, walked into a secret door. Of course she had to follow; sheer curiosity demanded it. And that is how she can be found: seated at a booth, drinking what's certainly a more finely-crafted alcoholic beverage than anything she's had before, and surreptitiously sneaking pretzels to the tiny dog who she couldn't bear to leave behind. ]
II. Expressionism Yourself.
[ Clarke had been an artist for as long as she can remember, and it's what she falls back to in times of stress. It's fairly safe to say that being in a strange new world of uncertain provenance -- with magic masks and the undead, of all things -- is reasonably stressful, though not the worst she's felt. But c'mon. Someone just left the paint sitting right there.
She starts by trying her hand at that weird sigil she keeps seeing, just for reference sake. But then it becomes something else; symbols etched onto her memory; the ones from that alien device that had taken them from world to world. If she could remember enough of them maybe she'd be able to paint the ones that could take her home.
It's wishful thinking, but at least it's pretty. ]
[ Want to do something else? PM or find me at