Description: Bellamy Blake was, simply put, kept to himself. He hung out with a few friends, worked on his degree, and had the early shift at a coffee shop. So when his sister, Octavia, decided to drag him out to some shitty bar on a Tuesday night, he didn't expect much. But fate had something different in mind for him – or rather, someone different in mind.
Disclaimer: I don't own The 100, any characters you recognize from the show are not mine, and I make no profit. However, the plot, OC's, and actual poetry (unless otherwise stated) is in fact mine.
Chapter One: Bellamy
Bellamy Blake did not want to go out to some shitty bar in the middle of the week – he had papers to grade, an evaluation to write, and work in the morning. Honestly, if anyone other than his sister had asked him, he would have flat-out said no. In fact, he did flat-out say no, but then she started ranting on and on about how he was "becoming a hermit" and "needed a little culture." So now here he was, sitting in a shitty bar on a Tuesday night, his sister talking his ear off while he waited for their fries.
"I just love this place, don't you Bell?" Bellamy sighed, returned his focus to her, and answered, "No."
Octavia scowled, then pouted, and made a show of eating the newly arrived fries in a miserable manner. "Fine, O, I guess this place is alright." She perked up, her mouth split into a huge grin, and she reached over and patted his arm. "Honestly, Bell, just wait until they start performing. My friend Clar – "
"What do you mean, 'performing'?" He interrupted. "I was literally telling you about it like, 10 minutes ago. This just goes to show how fucking great of a listener you are. I mean really, Bell?" she paused, obviously waiting for her brother to say something, but he just shrugged. "Ugh, it's Slam Night, Bell. You know, like poetry and shit? They stand up there," she pointed to a tiny makeshift stage, with a single microphone, "and they recite stuff they've written. And enough with that face, it's not all bad – some of it's really good. Like I was saying, my friend Clar – "
Octavia was once again interrupted by two lanky arms wrapping around her middle, and two tan hands covering her eyes. "Monty, Jasper, get the fuck off me." She tried to look angry, her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. But that frown quickly dissolved into a smirk and then she was hugging both the boys and ushering them to sit down.
"Hey guys, O drag you here too?" Bellamy asked, already familiar and pretty friendly with Jasper and Monty. In fact, he might even call them friends, even though they're two years younger than him and are a little too familiar with the affects of marijuana. "Nah," Jasper replied, "Monty and I come here all the time. He's big into poetry, I'm big into cheap beer, and this place – conveniently – has both."
"Why do I take you places? Why?" Monty put his head in his hands. "He's just upset that I don't 'appreciate the true art of spoken word' or 'value the pain and suffering that each poet pours into their work'," Jasper mocked the boy, adopting a whimsical, high-pitched voice in the process. "Why do I love you? Why?" Monty again placed his head in his hands, and this time decided to add in some very dramatic fake sobs. Jasper smirked and said, "because I can do that thing with my – "
"OKAY! That's enough, you guys are cute and all but I reeeeeally don't want to hear about that," Octavia interrupted, apparently just in time. Bellamy was starting to get bored; checking his watch, he asked what time this poetry thing was supposed to start. Octavia opened her mouth to answer, when a huge man covered in tattoos grabbed the mic and announced that the poetry was about to commence. "As always," he said, "please keep yourselves respectful and your cell phones silenced. I'm Nyko, that's Lincoln over at the bar, and welcome to the Ark." Everyone cheered, and even Bellamy found himself clapping half-heartedly. The sooner it starts, the sooner I can leave, he thought.
Nyko called one name after the other, each poet mounting the stage and taking up about 3 minutes of his time. About two hours later, Nyko announced that they were going to take a 10-minute break before their closer, and again told everyone to go buy a drink at the bar. Jasper got up and ordered beers for the four of them, for which Bellamy was grateful. "If I have to listen to another person describe the fucking sun, or hear one more fucker talk about the damn oil crisis, I'm gonna blow." Octavia sighed, threw her arm around her brother's shoulder, and lovingly said, "Oh Bell, you cynical piece of shit." The whole table laughed, even Bell.
"Seriously, O, every one of these poets takes themselves waaaay too seriously," he continued, while Monty rolled his eyes and Jasper shouted "here here!" He was so annoyed that Bellamy almost missed the wink the bartender threw at his sister, and he almost missed the way she smiled and bit her lip. Almost. Octavia made some lame excuse, hopped off her chair and practically skipped over to the bar, where she leaned against the counter and flirted shamelessly with the caramel-skinned, tattoo-covered man. Bellamy was just about to get up, planning on interrupting them and escorting his sister back to the table, when Nyko hopped on stage. "Who's ready for our closer tonight?" He yelled into the microphone, and every person in the bar exploded into cheers. "You've all met her before, she's the Statewide Champion Slam Poet, soon to be the Nationwide Champion when she wins this summer in Oakland," the crowd erupted once again, cheering and clapping, "please welcome our magnificent C to the stage!"
Monty was screaming, and even Jasper was cheering and seemed genuinely excited. Bellamy watched as Nyko offered his hand to someone, and pulled on to the stage one of the most attractive girls he'd seen in, well, a while. She had dirty blonde hair, wrapped up in a braid (it looked like a halo around her head), she wore simple yet skin tight jeans that clung to all her curves like a second skin, and the heavy sweater she wore left everything to the imagination, and shit, was he imagining things.
Her little hand gripped the mic confidently; where most of the other poets seemed nervous, she seemed at home, completely comfortable with her surroundings. She spoke, loud and clear, "Hey everyone," the crowd cheered in response, "I hope everyone is having a great time tonight! I'd like to thank you all for coming and supporting this wonderful art form. I'd also like to say thank you to the wonderful owners of the Ark, Nyko, Lincoln, and Anya – you guys are my family, and it feels great to be home." At this point, she saluted the bar, and Nyko, Lincoln, and a woman he assumed was Anya raised their glasses and smiled. "This is an old one, very angry feminist, but I hope it'll sound new to some of you. Ok," she breathed deeply and stretched her arms over her head, "here we go."
She spoke of rape and rape culture, of the many girls who came to her, crying, because they thought it would never happen to them. She rang out statistics, anger dripping from her voice and venom laced in her words. She called people to action, called for education and justice. She attacked victim blaming and the patriarchy, and Bellamy had goose bumps all over.
"Did you know there are more animal shelters than rape crisis centers in America?" she continued, "We treat women like animals, seen as nothing more than livestock, I am not better than a dog, and maybe that's why you think it's alright to call me a bitch." And with that final line said, a silence hung throughout that large room, until Monty stood up and started clapping. The entire bar joined in, and he could see Octavia standing on the bar hollering, "That's my friend! I know that girl! That's my best fucking friend!"
The girl on stage was blushed red with adrenaline. She gave a small smile, bowed lightly, shouted "thank you" one more time, and exited the stage. She took refuge behind the bar, as everyone in the place flocked to her.
Octavia flounced up to the table, grinned at Bellamy's shocked expression, and stated, "That's Clarke."