A Most Anti-Social Social Event
Lilith fights an urge to take one of the dinner knives and stab herself or, preferably, one of her companions. She’s lodged between Clarke and Lexa on one row of the dinner table, opposite three of Lexa’s more sociable generals, which is to say that they’ll offer more than one grunt in response to a direct question.
Clarke never looks at Lexa, nor Lexa at her, but the careful avoidance of their eyes suggests they’re very conscious of where they’re not looking. When Clarke speaks, Lexa gives no sign of attention, carelessly brushing specks of dust from her trousers or swatting insects away from her head, but the next thing she says is invariably influenced by what Clarke had said. Sometimes she offers a direct critique guised in polite conversation, and sometimes she changes the subject a little too obviously to be natural. When Lexa speaks, Clarke attacks her food with supernatural fury, crashing her utensils so vigorously it’s a surprise the plate doesn’t shatter.
Lilith, meanwhile, slouches on the table, hugging a bottle of wine close to her chest.
“Seems her time away has turned the Ice Queen into a lightweight,” Indra says, unsmiling as ever.
“I’d love to see how you’d manage if you had to make your own booze, you pack of alkies.” Lilith fights the urge to rest her head on the table. It would be unbecoming of someone in her position - whatever that position might be. “So what happens now? Are you gonna return me to my people in maximum humiliation? Or are you just gonna keep me here and bore me to death?”
“This is a social outing, Nia. You should be happy I’m waiting before we talk business.” Lexa drives a hard glare at Lilith, still careful to avoid the woman on her left.
“I’m over the moon.” Lilith catches the dark look in Lexa’s eyes and forces herself to abandon her current line of chaos for an entirely different one. “But what about Clarkey here?”
“What about her?”
“Between the eyefucking and the careful attempts to avoid participating in the same conversation as you, I’d say there’s some kind of history to be teased out.” Lilith stands up, inspired by the last drops of alcohol touching her system. “Or is it because she bested you, Lex? Did you have a good little cry about how the little blond skygirl killed the Mountain Men, and you didn’t?”
A pair of soft hands tug at her elbow. She turns to find Clarke. “You’re drunk, Lilith. Let’s get you to bed before you say something you regret.” Clarke finally looks at Lexa, who’s busy staring at any part of Clarke other than her face. “Or something that’ll get you killed.”
---
KNOCK! KNOCK ! KNOCK! Goes the door. Lilith longs to toss a knife at whoever’s creating the ghastly sound. But then the handle turns, and she slumps into the drool-stain she’d left on the couch.
The door swings open and a burly man barges through.
"Nyko!" Clarke says, with a real smile.
"Sky queen," he mutters, crossing his arms.
Clarke blinks fast and then recovers, like she’s surprised by the cold reception from the big man. "This is Lilith. I mean Nia."
If possible, Nyko's face falls even further. "I know who she is."
"It's alright, Clarke. I've done nothing to deserve a warm welcome. The opposite, truthfully." And not just last night.
“Heda has a message,” Nyko continues. His face is still colored by darkness. “Tonight’s the night of the summer fete. All of Polis will be in attendance. As will the both of you."
Lilith groans. “Not another social event. My head’s still pounding from yesterday.”
“Last night was more like an anti-social event,” Clarke deadpans.
“Ugh,” Lilith says, reeling. “I can’t imagine why Lexa would want to see me ever again.“
“Me neither,” Clarke says. That biting honesty, again. Lilith’s not used to hearing this nastiness from her. “Though she doesn’t seem thrilled to see me either.”
“Should she, Cluno?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“That’s not an answer.” Lilith stretches her legs across the small table in the center of the room. “Still mad at me for stating the obvious?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. And don’t call me that.”
“Humbug,” Lilith says. Turning to Nyko, “I don't suppose this shindig is optional?"
"Naturally, death would be the only excuse."
"Oh, naturally,” Clarke says, gracing him with a sarcastic curl at the corner of her mouth. "What are we supposed to wear?"
"The Commander has asked a tailor to visit you when you are rested."
"And what if we won't be rested until tomorrow?"
“The tailor will arrive in two hours. Welcome to Polis." He walks out.
“Goodbye, freedom,” Lilith mutters into the fabric of the sofa.