heda | clexa

fourteen

“Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl who disguised themselves as perfect on the surface, but who truly were weak to the devil’s whispering voice.”

“Ohh, dramatic, I like it,” Clarke comments and purses her lips when she receives Lexa’s stern glance. “Sorry, continue. Um- shortcut, do they die painfully and everyone else is advised to pray more?”

“Clarke.”

“Sorry, okay, hit me with it.”

Lexa inhales deeply and focuses back on the page in front of her.

It has been like this for days now. Clarke can't seem to sit still, and focusing on the lesson at hand? Nearly impossible. Her raccoon (which she creatively named Clarke Jr.) always rests on Clarke's lap and Clarke seems busier with brushing the animal's fur than she is with listening.

Infuriatingly, though, whenever Lexa confronts her with a question, Clarke answers all of them more or less perfectly.

Clarke never gives Lexa any lessons the way Lexa does; when she teaches Lexa about her culture, she explains her tattoos, makes food or weaves a basket out of grass, anything that does not require sitting on a couch for several, boring hours.

She tries her best though. Once again, now, she buries her hands in Clarke Jr.'s fur and waits for Lexa to continue. Ten more minutes, and she'll have a break.

“God loved his children very much,” Lexa continues. “So much that, in fact, he held onto them and he fought for them as the devil tried to darken their souls. However, the boy and the girl did not know how to appreciate this enough, and so eventually, the devil filled half of them with evil, the other half remaining pure and full of God’s wonderful light.”

“Like a black-and-white chocolate bar?”

Lexa’s jaw ticks, but she doesn’t take her eyes off the page this time. “Even though God helped the boy and the girl and welcomed them still under his glory, in all his kindness and forgiveness, the devil still had one trick up his sleeve.”

“I didn’t know the devil wore clothes. Ohh, what type of style do you think he has? I’m saying gorgeous leather dresses and black eyeliner. He doesn’t need the red lipstick.”

“Clarke, please, would you listen to me?” Lexa asks exasperated. “This story and then we can take a break and I’ll warm you up some pancakes?”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says and sits up from her slouched position on the couch, reaching out to squeeze Lexa’s hand. “It’s just so fun to annotate.”

“Can you annotate in your head?”

Clarke pouts. “But then you won’t think I’m a fun annotator.”

“I don’t think so either way.”

Clarke laughs and bites her lip to badly hide her grin. “Fine, you win. Pancakes with syrup?”

“We can’t afford that.”

“I have money.”

“Money that belongs to you?”

Clarke shrugs. “Now it does.”

“Clarke,” Lexa hisses and Clarke raises her hands. 

“Sorry. He was wearing a golden knife, he won’t miss a handful of coins.”

“A handful?”

“Don’t get a panic attack, fried potatoes. I’ll get syrup and won’t talk about it ever again.”

“No,” Lexa says tensely. “Pancakes with berries, that’s it. No syrup.”

“But-”

“End of story.”