He Keeps My Heart From Getting Broken

[John Murphy]

As the moments ticked on Murphy knew he couldn't merely go on staring at the damn thing, not with Bellamy watching him. He had to either discard it or choose to reclaim it, and with Bellamy's comment came the urge to do one or the other quickly. Before the other man mistook his silence for sorrow, although it wasn't entirely absent, buried beneath. If it had been anything else, Murphy may have cast it aside, belongings were just things after all. But this torn emblem held significance. Its origin, its meaning, the memories it carried, and to Murphy's discontent... the relevance of Mbege saving it. It may have been a poor attempt to undo events, to retrieve a part of their friendship once Murphy had gone, but perhaps that in itself meant something. 

With the emblem still in his hand, he looked to Bellamy, the other's comment requiring some sort of response at least. To share the story with him seemed redundant yet there was an urge to tell it anyway, but Murphy pulled his gaze away before he gave it any further consideration. He didn't owe Bellamy any explanation, not that the other had yet pushed for one. "Not really." Despite the reply to infer it was nothing special, he slipped the emblem into his pocket, the action seeming a contradiction to his claim. One of which he was aware of enough to refocus on Bellamy to offer a faint smirk, to at least attempt to distract from the fact he'd kept the item after his feigned nonchalance over the contents of the pack. Wondering whether or not Bellamy knew anything of his history on the Ark, and figuring it was unlikely. More reason to keep it to himself perhaps. "Surprised you didn't confiscate it... now you're a 'real' guard and all."

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy watched Murphy verbally dismiss the importance of th emblem, but his actions revealed differently. The way he had looked at it, and then pocketed it, showed that there was some significance; an importance to the object. One that Bellamy didn't know, nor was it his place to inquire about it now. He had performed his duty of delivering the materials to Murphy on behalf of Mgebe. That was as far as his involvement ran when it came to the two of them and their complex relationship. Murphy then shifted the focus back onto Bellamy . . . onto his position as a guardsman. The position itself was one that had once been highly desired by Bellamy. Mainly, in attempt to cease his mother's actions with Grus, and to better protect his family. He had been terminated from the guard, only to pose as one, defy them . . . and now offered the position as if it required no second thought. The weight of what this meant was not lost on the older male.

How could it be when he was still burdened by Mount Weather, and the culling . . . and his recklessness that had caused his mother's death. But this was what the people needed of him; this was where they needed him to be. And for that, he had accepted. Besides, it was really just a more formal version of his makeshift militia. One that had consisted of Monroe, Harper, Miller, and so on . . . all of whom were guardspeople along with him. His own faction if you will. But that was not what Murphy had asked. Whether he meant it as mockery, or meant to make a jab . . . Bellamy's gaze remained on him, stoic as always, not letting the weight of his jacket show how burdened it was on his shoulders.

How it held him down like an achor; all too aware that he could make a decision that could cost the lives of others. Just as he had done before. "Does that surprise you?" He asked, returning the question, wondering if there was sincere surprise there. "My people come first, before my duty as a guard.." Meaning, that he would do what Mgebe asked of him, rather than carry out his formal protcol as a guardsman. The words meant to reveal where his loyalty was; whom he was truly staying here for . . . who he had always tried to prioritize. No. That was a lie. It was after Charlotte's death, after he had decided to stay, that he learned where his true loyalty lay. With the 100. And whether it meant something or not, that included Murphy now.

[John Murphy]

He held his gaze locked with Bellamy's while the other watched him right back. Their first interaction way back when they'd landed had presented with Bellamy dressed in a guard's uniform, though the pretense had apparently been dropped even before Murphy had pointed it out. Regardless, it had been suspected. Already odd that they would sacrifice a guard, but proof of the charade more evident with how the other spoke, how he carried himself... but perhaps that was just Bellamy. Here he was now a guard after all, and despite the changes in the other man which Murphy had noted since his own return to the camp, it was still the Bellamy he knew. For better or worse. 

Not that Murphy could gauge the reaction to his comment just yet, the other now concealing any clear feeling on the matter for the moment. Meaning Murphy was unsure if the remark had caused offense or not, though there was a part of him that had intended it even if it lacked the punch of a full blown insult. As for the question of Bellamy's choice to leave the emblem in the pack, any true surprise was a mere afterthought. His diverting from obligation wasn't exactly a shock, even if it was done for Murphy. Or perhaps simply for Mbege's sake. 

A matter Murphy wasn't quite clear on, leading Bellamy's following claim to hang between them in the silence as if sent up for inspection. Or at least with possibly an unintentional provocation to question it. My people. Maybe that was easy to believe but just who was a part of that was another matter. A select few, Murphy suspected, or at least only those who slotted in as part of the 'society' here. Along with a wayward sister, or a princess in distress, absent or otherwise. Whatever it meant, Murphy responded to the inital question. Twisting to face Bellamy with a shrug and a grin as cynical as his words. "I don't know... am I your people, Bellamy."

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Murphy's question was a fair one. A more than understandable one. Because Bellamy's past actions had indicated that he was not in fact, one of his people. Granted it was a time prior to Bellamy's whole hearted committment to them . . . but he didn't dare justify the appeasment of allowing a man to get brutally beaten, and hung. No. That had been a mistake. His acceptance of that was perhaps what also further nullified his anger at Murphy for murdering two of their own and shooting Raven. Crimes, most certainly. But he supposed that if there was a person to blame, it would be himself.

For not stopping the one incident that had caused that downward spiral of events. Had he stopped it . . . Charlotte would still be alive. The others would not have fallen under Murphy's wrath of vengeance. Things would have been, different. "You are," Bellamy told him, instinctively moving closer to the younger male without even realizing it. He knew that now; that he would protect Murphy. That he would not allow the same thing to happen again. That he would so easily give his life for him if it meant his safety . . . just as he would one of his own people.

Because that was what Murphy was. It was odd, this reflexive loyalty Bellamy had to him . . . yet there was something different about it. Perhaps due to their past? He didn't know. Only that there was something different in his willingness to protect him . . . knowing how much he had wronged him before. Bellamy wasn't arrogant or naive enough to believe that anyone actually wanted to be one of his own people. No. He was thinking more of a grander scale; being one of the people or Arkadia. An Arker.

"The question is . . . " He continued, now standing fairly close to Murphy, umsure why but only that he was, his gaze locked onto the facial features of the former banished individual. "Do you want to be?" One of them. Among them. Call himself an Arker, had he ever stopped doing so? Bellamy couldn't entirely blame him, but he supposed now, he was truly bringing forth the question of what Murphy's intentions here were: to stay or go. Yet, with a more intense depth to them.

[John Murphy]

You are. He wasn't quite sure what he had expected in reply. Not an answer that said so much with such plain simplicity. Maybe a brusque remark to try to shut down his sardonic approach to the matter, but not this. Not so directly at least. Had Bellamy snapped back with a confirmation framed with a mild insult, it might have been easier to respond. Or easier to ignore. But the words along with a closer step and a fixed gaze gave him pause. 

For all that had happened along with the conversation once he'd returned to camp, on moving forward or attempting to do so, he was still set apart. Always, potentially. And he'd be fine with it or accepting anyway, the status nothing new to him. There had been a point where he had been one of them in the most basic sense, before they were sent down here. Once on the ground he'd found something to be a part of, no matter the extent of his instinct to choose to stand beside whoever might be the victor in their new home. Beyond that had been the recognition of possible friendship, a focus for loyalty, and the prospect of belonging somewhere. But it had been an illusion. 

Now Bellamy posed his question and the intensity of his gaze, proximity having moved closer still, along with the significance of the inquiry itself had Murphy tensing up just a little. Unsure wholly as to why, no matter how slight, and unable to draw his gaze from Bellamy's just yet. Did he? Despite what he would maybe claim later on down the line should the occasion arise, being that he didn't need to be a part of anything, something deep down told him he had no choice about it anyway. On the outside looking in. At least he might have the option of turning away should he need to, but this current circumstance had him in a sort of limbo. He could just be stopping by on an extended stay. Whatever it was he didn't like the question turned around on him in this way, but he remained focused on Bellamy save a brief glance to the other's mouth while he formed a reply anyway, if only to avoid a real answer. Voice quiet to counter the closeness between them and perhaps to resist any faltering in his tone. "You mean I have a choice this time?" The truth was, he didn't know.

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: John Murphy

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy wasn't sure what it was, but something was shifting in the air. Perhaps it was his own disillusioned mind. His attempt to try and make amends, even though he didn't deserve it. Not just from Murphy but from everyone. It was a self destructive mission to even try, yet it was all Bellamy had to hold on to right now. It had been the driving force of going into Mount Weather; the need to protect the delinquents as he was the one who had killed their loved ones due to the culling. Making up for his misdeeds seemed to be a constant state of existance . . . and right now, seemed to be no exception. He didn't fail to notice the way Murphy's eyes briefly glanced lower at Bellamy's lips, the action causing the older male to reflexively moisten his lips with his tongue, as they suddenly felt incredibly dry.

Murphy's answer was another question, inquiring as to whether he had a choice this time around. "You always had a choice," he assured him in a low voice. Bellamy's manipulation probably seemed as if he hadn't though. For he knew who to rally, and he knew what to say to have them join his cause. The two Johns were among his first recruits. "But that doesn't answer the question . . . " Bellamy was close now, too close. Invading whatever concept of personal space may have otherwise existed between them. It was as if his body was moving of its own accord, his emotions trumping any rational thought -- which wasn't an entirely unusual circumstance for the guardsman. He tended to act more on emotion than anything else. "Of whether you want to be." With them. One of them.

[John Murphy]

The response suggested Bellamy had misunderstood. Had inferred that Murphy had some qualms about his 'recruitment' into Bellamy's group when they had landed. Sure, perhaps he had a choice about that, however poor or wise the alternative might have been at the time. But the matter of choice Murphy had spoken of was in regards his betrayal and exile. If he had ever even been one of Bellamy's people, that had changed in a few dreadful moments with the other's silence followed by compliance with the crowd and eventual leading of Murphy's punishment. 

He was ready to snap back to clear it up, or to indirectly highlight how Bellamy's misunderstanding had him missing a vital point of their past. But he knew Bellamy hadn't. Things were no longer the way they had been and despite the urge to correct the other man, Murphy declined to labor the point. One which both were painfully aware of otherwise it seemed. Instead, another faint smirk to let the mistake pass unchallenged. If indeed it was a mistake at all.

Any further thought on it faded as Bellamy went on, seemingly demanding an answer along with Murphy's full attention, standing so close that it elicited both slight unease and an oddly welcome familiarity. To deflect the other's question again would be suspect, or worse, revealing in some way despite the reluctance to reply. Though to give a straight answer... yet harder still. Maybe in his own way...  

He cast a glance to Mbege's pack on the table, lingering on it as if he were almost hoping the right words were hidden inside too. Buying time before he conceded, though he wouldn't see it as such. His gaze shifted back to Bellamy, with a vague gesture of his arms to each side and that smirk still in place, though it faltered a touch as he spoke. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Tag: Bellamy Blake