Clarke' days are bright and echoing and her nights are long and empty. She's left alone in the cell day in day out, escorted to bathroom at morning and dusk after a tray of food is delivered and eaten. It's a huge, communal thing, with showers down one side and stalls alone the other. The bathroom is how she'd lost the last of her own clothes, that first evening. The replacements aren't bad – soft, comfortable, in a creamy off-white that blends just a bit into the room and makes her think of something that she's made an attempt at studying, somewhere along the line, something to do with colour, or lack of colour – but they aren't hers. She hadn't even heard them being switched, over the sound of the shower, which has decent water pressure and the audio of a foghorn. If these people hadn't kidnapped her, she'd recommend a good plumber.
She starts using the furthest stall from the door, after that.
The rest of the time - and there is a lot of it - she occupies herself as best she can with the bones in the body, the diseases of the nervous system. The first few nights – had it been five? Or was it six now? Raven would kick up a hew and cry when she didn't emerge for the exam, so they would be looking. Just had to wait – she'd slept with one eye open, but as time passes she grows tired of even that.
She has four main points of contact, beyond the guards that patrol the hallway. They aren't exactly silent, but they stop talking before entering what Clarke has come to see as her stretch of corridor. Sometimes she can hear the sound of their voices, if they leave it a little too long, but never any distinct words. It's not as if she'd even understand them. Ontari makes a point of only using English when she's speaking to Clarke in particular and wants her to hear how she's going to slice her up, stab her or, on one particularly memorable day - it had been moderately cloudy, and the drifting had just dropped the room temp a few degrees when Ontari had decided she was done with her silent routine - skewer her slowly on a thin blade. Clarke spends the rest of that day with the half remembered story of some serial killer that had specialised in just that- was it the Floridan Filletter? the Hudson Hooker? - running through her mind, and doing her best attempt at calculating the damage that would cause. It's survivable, by all accounts; knives would be banned otherwise. Unless she pulled it out again, that would be messy. She's never actually followed through on any of her threats, but there's no way that would let her lull herself into complacency. Ontari is always just a hair too close to violence far that.
Otherwise, when Ontari's speaking at her, or at one of the guards, she uses an unfamiliar language, one that sounds like nothing that Clarke's heard before. Clarke's never been good at languages. Her only saving factor with medical jargon was growing up with it.
It takes a while to learn their names – no one goes out of their way to introduce themselves, not to her, and asking questions gets her tazed. Greetings are okay though, unless whoever she talks to is in a mood. At least, she consoles herself, it's not the full body, face meet floor experience that leaves her immobile for what feels like ten minutes – small units of time are another thing that's gone out the window, as had her dignity when she'd gotten into the habit of humming before realising she had guards – in her defense, them bones them bones need calcium is really catchy and the first lot were quiet. Only figured out she had company – at least five under the seas in – when one had started tapping along. Tapper, as Clarke has christened him (she thinks it is a him, hasn't actually seen which guards are which) went from being a sort of okay-ish at least she knows they're there kind of presence to annoying in the space of about two days.
Now she just gets shocked with muscle spazams, pain and fizzy hair side effects. It's positively lenient. She learns to keep her mouth shut.
None of them really interact with her, but the company is almost preferable to the long hours spent alone.
Ontari talks down to her. Taunts, observations of life outside the walls. Enjoys watching her bite back responses while she rests her hand on knife. Sometimes she decides her looks are rebellious enough to warrant the use of her tazercuff. Her visits aren't regular or often, but her presence is enough that Clarke never really finds herself missing her.
The one Ontari calls Roan - he's tall, reasonably good looking, and could probably make a career as a viking if he gave up the whole kidnapping buisness - talks at her while she eats. For the most part he talks about sport, Rugby mostly, and fishing, and occasionally comments on the food if he caught some part of it. Once spent half an hour describing one of the berries, the bush it comes from, the way it looks, so exactly that Clarke could draw them, if she had paper, or paint if she had. Doesn't say a word when he catches her trying to steal his knife. Holds her up against the wall, until her bodyweight starting to stress the seams of her jumper. Lets her drop and pulls out the tazer remote. Does nothing but look at her when she flinches back, puts it away with a look of ... something on his face. It might just be pity. Worse than the most gruesome injuries he describes. Not as bad as Ontari. Stinging pride is no match for knives.
Nia ... Nia watches her, sometimes silently, sometimes talking to Roan and Ontari in that same strange language– usually Ontari, Roan gets a few words, but with Ontari Nia monologues. Clarke would think it funny if she wasn't so utterly terrifying. Out of the four, Nia is the only one who visits without bringing her food or taking her to the bathroom or even talking. Something about her is unsettling, makes Clarke's hair want to stand on end. It's not her height - she is tall, but Ontari is the same size as Clarke and she can loom like no one's business. Maybe it's the coldness in her eyes, the calculation, the lack of emotion that is so present in Ontari. Before she met Nia, Ontari was the scariest person she could imagine. Before Ontari, that was her mother.
Echo is a ghost. Clarke would - she does at first - think her name was a joke. Echo is distant, silent and reserved. She doesn't interact with Clarke at all if she can help it. She's seen her before, in the library and the cafe by the student's union, but has no idea what her course is.
She sees Roan and Ontari the most. They bring her food, take her to the bathroom, and back to her cell, lingering long enough to remind her that she's more than a portable doll.
Day follows day follows day, and each of them are the same. She wakes up, is delivered breakfast by Roan-Echo-Ontari, is escorted to the bathroom by Ontari-Echo-Roan, is returned to her room to wait until dinner, then a return to the bathroom, then sleep and waking to repeat the entire process.
Clarke starts to feel weird as time passes, past what she can say for certain is a week, then two weeks, then three. She should've found some way to mark time. She still could, but what would the point be? She's already lost track, and if anyone was coming for her they would've, and if it's found ...
It's not just the been kidnapped and held in the middle of nowhere with two and a half people to talk to weird, like she's either going insane or coming down with something. It's probably because of the whole kidnapping thing.
She doesn't feel nauseous, not quite, but she does get shivery, not quite an itch but her skin feels tight, and smells, but they're not smells? Like she can taste smells or smell tastes or hear sight or ... or ... something. She can't describe it, even to herself. It's just there. Maddening.
Have they drugged her food? It didn't taste different, but then she hasn't been tasting what she eats for a while now. It's just all so ... bland. Porridge and soup and apples and toast that if she's lucky is warm by the time she gets to eat it. Or maybe it's nothing that they're doing. She hasn't had any of her pills for ... it has to be at least a month now. No wonder her immune system's going haywire.
Ontari looks expectant. Nia, when she shows up, just looks smug. She always looks smug.
She begins to notice something that sets Nia and Ontari apart from Roan and Echo. It's not that they're terrifying – they are, but she has no doubt they could all kill her with plastic spoon. Nia, halfway though one of her five minute inspections – Clarke doesn't know why she bothers, nothing ever changes, but she takes the time to do whatever it's intended to accomplish anyway - notices her trying to figure it out. Is pleased. Smiles. That's scarier than when she's smug. Clarke's retreat to the enclove seems to please her more. She only feels a little temped to move – where?- to spite her.
There's a four day period where she can barely think, when it feels like every breathe she takes is going to shake herself apart.
They don't leave her alone for a minute. If she felt anything but wretched, she'd almost find it nice. Nia seems almost disappointed when she recovers.
Life continues. The food gets a bit better. Ontari takes over from Echo, then Roan disappears. Nothing changes.