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Violent-Medic
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Clarice's expression on watching Conrad basically beg the cameras for freedom was one of irritated, slightly embarrassed confusion. Even if there had been a chance of them listening, begging the terrorists for freedom—or watching Conrad do it on her behalf—made her stomach turn.

“Ugh, don't even bother with that,” she said, her voice coming out harsh. “They're not gonna kill thousands of children then let us go because we asked nicely. They're probably getting off on it. And don't go smashing shit, they'll just kill you.” She said that last part in a tone that suggested that she totally hadn't been about to kick that camera.

She dug her fingers into the fence, pressing her face against it and peering out at the ocean glittering in the sunlight. She couldn't see it completely, because the stupid fence obscured it.

“Besides, we ain't the only two here. I gotta find Scout, if she's around. Dad and Debbie'll kill me if I don't.” She paused, then awkwardly said, “Not the best turn of phrase to use right now.” She made a face. “I do wanna find people, but there's gonna be some idiots who start shooting.” There were a lot of people she wouldn't put it past. And as much as she'd love to believe her class was the exception to a rule proven five times over...

She glanced at the halberd Conrad held in his grip. For a split second, she felt jealous that he'd gotten an actual weapon. Then she felt relieved. At least she couldn't be tempted to use something she didn't have. But then again, there was a difference between murder and defending oneself. But then again times two, how did she find the line between defending herself and murder when the weapon in question was a fucking halberd?

“Isn't that heavy?”
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The Calm Before the Storm · Northwest Cliffs