You ever see a cheerleader get absolutely and unabashedly bodied by a linebacker? This moment is not dissimilar. Clarke had just been walking along down the corridor lined with cabin doors, fully immersed and entrenched in her own thoughts. All of which likely ranged from full blown morbid in regards to their entire situation to mildly peeved about the continual mess throughout the ship that serves as the ghosts formal statement of strike. At some point the people here would have to come together and either agree to stop shooting holes in walls, busting doors off their hinges, defacing property, breaking dishware, throwing chairs, blasting fireballs, and willfully bashing up the fake potted plants — or they're going to have to at least agree to clean up after themselves.

Then a door slots open immediately to her right. A white, and red and black all over freight train of a person slams into her abruptly. And while Clarke doesn't go sprawling, she does stumble back and instinctively reach up a hand to massage at the shoulder that'd taken the brunt of the impact. The look she levels Gideon with is reproachful, tinged with bitter; then wary, when the first thing she truly focuses on is that two handed sword strapped to the human bowling ball's back. Then on to some strange mix of pissy and pouting and a flicker of confusion once looking up at the other girl's face — struck suddenly with a niggling thought about that face paint that hasn't quite hit home yet. Like hearing retellings of fairytales but suddenly confronted face to face with how the main knight actually wore their armor. ...huh.

"...Don't worry about it," Clarke says after a beat, clipped but calm. Drops her hand from her arm and even goes so far to give a casual half-shrug; no harm no foul. "Just be a little more careful? There's kids around, and a lot of people around here are pretty on edge."