[ it's his answer that gets her to let go. she jerks her hand away from his arm, almost spits on him like touching him was offensive, and suddenly her defenses are back up. it was a stupid idea, stupid words from a stupid girl — what is coming back with her to her apartment going to accomplish? they don't have anything to talk about, they have nothing in common. (except, of course, the fact that they have too much in common.)
she isn't sure she's ready to have luke castellan in her sanctuary away from camp, anyway. it would be almost intimate, walking not into the shared ares cabin for inspection, but into her own personal haven, custom tailored to her interests and not necessarily the interests of her brothers. of course there's overlap here and there, but to bare herself like that to him — she isn't sure she can do that.
she can defend herself with amour and shields, battles of wit and sarcasm, leave nothing on display except the face of war and the casualties it brings — but her apartment has no defenses. she'd be bringing in an enemy into defenseless territory where everything is on display for him, where every little thing — every poster, every mug, everything — has meaning. one less piece of the clarisse la rue puzzle left to be solved. ]
No. Yours.
[ it's a command. years of commanding her fellow campers on the front line has instilled her with such a high sense of authority, it's only natural it comes out from time to time. he'd been going that direction, anyway, right? if they're going to do anything, it's going to be on her terms. he has no defense left, nothing left to hide. and even if she enters the deepest pits of tartarus, she'll still have her pride. ]
no subject
she isn't sure she's ready to have luke castellan in her sanctuary away from camp, anyway. it would be almost intimate, walking not into the shared ares cabin for inspection, but into her own personal haven, custom tailored to her interests and not necessarily the interests of her brothers. of course there's overlap here and there, but to bare herself like that to him — she isn't sure she can do that.
she can defend herself with amour and shields, battles of wit and sarcasm, leave nothing on display except the face of war and the casualties it brings — but her apartment has no defenses. she'd be bringing in an enemy into defenseless territory where everything is on display for him, where every little thing — every poster, every mug, everything — has meaning. one less piece of the clarisse la rue puzzle left to be solved. ]
No. Yours.
[ it's a command. years of commanding her fellow campers on the front line has instilled her with such a high sense of authority, it's only natural it comes out from time to time. he'd been going that direction, anyway, right? if they're going to do anything, it's going to be on her terms. he has no defense left, nothing left to hide. and even if she enters the deepest pits of tartarus, she'll still have her pride. ]