[ the chaotic aftermath makes it nearly impossible to navigate her way through the city.
then again, she isn't trying to travel very far, not initially. the first few hours proceeding the attack are spent slotting together what information she can, salvaging market displays and calming the local populace, before she pays any attention to the cold sweat forming on the back of her neck. it's stubborn, admittedly, but she resists as extensively as she can until the ache becomes too much — and an evident cue she isn't as unaffected as she would prefer to believe, but that much can be faulted on her patrol schedule.
of course she would be chosen to guard the market district when it's been chose as the prime target for a chemical ambush, but there's little time to pettily resent being assigned to that particular job. the network is already clogged with posts the moment she does pause to scroll through the information, and the sanctuary isn't any different when she steps through the door in immediate search for clarke, needing to wriggle her way through the gathering crowd to peek over the tops of heads and around cots alike to hone in on that familiar head of blonde hair. ]
Clarke. [ it's nearly a shout to get her attention and be heard over the chatter and (warranted) unease, but it seems the attempt is enough to earn her some wriggle room through the gathered natives and refugees to make her way closer. ] I need your help. [ direct and straightforward. she struggles visibly to bite the words out afterward, but she does ultimately manage. ] Would you mind looking me over? It should only take a few minutes.
[ ... mostly because she doesn't intend to stay afterward, but semantics. ]
» clarke.
then again, she isn't trying to travel very far, not initially. the first few hours proceeding the attack are spent slotting together what information she can, salvaging market displays and calming the local populace, before she pays any attention to the cold sweat forming on the back of her neck. it's stubborn, admittedly, but she resists as extensively as she can until the ache becomes too much — and an evident cue she isn't as unaffected as she would prefer to believe, but that much can be faulted on her patrol schedule.
of course she would be chosen to guard the market district when it's been chose as the prime target for a chemical ambush, but there's little time to pettily resent being assigned to that particular job. the network is already clogged with posts the moment she does pause to scroll through the information, and the sanctuary isn't any different when she steps through the door in immediate search for clarke, needing to wriggle her way through the gathering crowd to peek over the tops of heads and around cots alike to hone in on that familiar head of blonde hair. ]
Clarke. [ it's nearly a shout to get her attention and be heard over the chatter and (warranted) unease, but it seems the attempt is enough to earn her some wriggle room through the gathered natives and refugees to make her way closer. ] I need your help. [ direct and straightforward. she struggles visibly to bite the words out afterward, but she does ultimately manage. ] Would you mind looking me over? It should only take a few minutes.
[ ... mostly because she doesn't intend to stay afterward, but semantics. ]