Ilian's Farm, Saturday FT

Octavia was trying.

They'd been at Ilian's farm for about a week, and she was trying. Trying to learn, trying to help. Trying not to think about how her natural urge to address the sheep as strikon kept making her think of her Fandom habit of always speaking Trig to animals. Trying to not be the person she'd been just a week ago.

Trying to fit in.

Even if it was just with one person, this time.

Ilian was good to her. Kind, patient. During the daytime, they worked on the land and cared for the animals, and he taught her about both, and she did her best to listen attentively, to do things as he said, as he did. To be the kind of person he needed to have around on his farm. And when they slept, he wrapped her up in his arms, her back pressed snugly against his chest. She tried to tell herself it was for his own benefit, that he needed the comfort because he'd just lost his family. But she knew that wasn't it.

Things on the farm were peaceful.

But Octavia wasn't. She was trying, but all she was getting was frustrated.

"Are you tilling the soil or stabbing it?" Ilian asked from where he was sowing seeds into the rows that were ready. It was getting to be late in the day, and they'd been working on this patch of land for what felt like most of it.

Octavia stuck the hoe back in the dirt - with a little more force than was necessary, yes. "You know this is dumb, right?" she asked, with enough of a complaint in her tone to elicit a quiet huff from him. "We'll all be dead before anything grows."

"The earth survived Praimfaya once," Ilian replied. "It will again." He sounded so sure of it. "We do this for those who come after us." Another huff. Was he trying not to laugh at her technique? Probably, since he was coming over now. "Let me show you."

( But right then, someone called out his name. They hadn't had any visitors in the time Octavia had been here. )

[ooc: NFB, NFI. Taken from The 100 S4 episode 9. Content warning for graphic violence.]

Polis, Sunday FT

Wasn't really a war Octavia found in Polis. It was a conclave, like the ones they used to use for choosing a new commander. One warrior per clan, in a fight to the death. No guns. The clan whose champion was the last person standing would take the fallout shelter, a bunker underneath Polis, built by a doomsday cult before the first Praimfaya. Other clans would perish.

The timeline of the oncoming apocalypse had shifted. They didn't have months left, they had days. And Skaikru had no fighters trained in hand-to-hand combat, no champion with a fraction of a chance of winning against the best of the other clans.

Enter Octavia.

( The Flamekeepers were presiding over this, the final conclave. )

[ooc: NFB, NFI. Taken from The 100 S4 episode 10. Part 1 of 2. Surprisingly no violence in this one!]