heda | clexa

twenty seven

It’s all going wrong.

So, so wrong.

Roan doesn’t know that the girl dressed in an elaborate dress and brightly colored mask isn’t Clarke. He would, if he had any reason to be suspicious and look closer, but he’s trying to keep his head low, so he barely looks at the supposed Clarke.

Roan also doesn’t know what’s wrong when they pass the security gate, but no bombs go off.

The prisoner wagon is separated in two; a part where Clarke-or-so-he-thinks stays, a part where, apparently, one guard stays. He didn’t know about this, but oh well.

He’s sure Clarke has it all under control, and that she has a backup plan for whyever the bombs didn’t go off.

Most important of all, though, is that he doesn’t know that he is not a guard. Yes, it was strange to him that two other guards turned up instead of one (weren’t it supposed to be four guards? well, maybe it was five after all), but he still assumed he was a guard.

He didn’t assume he would be escorted alongside the alleged Clarke. He didn’t assume he would end up here; backstage somewhere, with half-naked guys around him and mostly, very quarter-or-less naked women.

It’s uncomfortable, but at least at that point, everything still seems fine. Clarke doesn’t talk, but that’s Clarke for you. Roan just makes sure she’s well-protected, because he bets she doesn’t like this restrictive dress and the mask covering all her senses.

“Make-up and hair, girl, sit down. Mother and Son, aren’t you supposed to be a professional?” a grumpy old woman asks and forces Clarke down into a seat.

Then, she tears off Clarke’s dress and mask.

Roan is just about to avert his eyes, more than sure that Clarke wouldn’t want him to see her so exposed, but his eyes get stuck when he catches a glimpse of dark hair.

Dark?

Oh shit.

“You’re not Clarke,” he gets out.

The woman looking back at him through the mirror swallows, forehead sweaty and cheeks awfully pale. “You’re observative.”

“Wait, I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”

But Roan is shoved away before the woman can answer. A whole crowd of people is pulling and plucking at the stranger, applying paints and redressing her in the colorful gown and her mask. Roan has a feeling she won’t be keeping either on for long, given all her extensive make-up and the very intricate lingerie she was given.

At that point, he knows the plan failed, but he doesn’t yet know the half of it.

-

“Are you sure you gave her the right key?” Luna asks and Octavia’s glare shoots daggers her way.

“I checked five times. I’m no damn idiot. Something is wrong. Something happened.”

“But we saw the wagon leave, and Bellamy and Murphy were there. Roan must’ve been somewhere. They must’ve picked Clarke up.”

“So it was your bombs,” Octavia says accusatively and Raven drops her jaw.

“What? They’ve never failed. At least they should’ve given a spark, or a bang, or something. Or Emori didn’t set them off! They can’t just roll peacefully into the security gate and do nothing.”

“Spirits, stop your bickering,” Echo hisses. “Fact is, we need to check if Clarke is in the prison and get the hell out of here.”

Of course, they too know that something is wrong, but they don’t know the half of it either.