( rita's indignance is met with... almost offense. it had been a question, and one that clarke could draw direct tangents toward their current situation from. but a moment's pause; a deep breath, a reminder that not every new face here would be a new enemy to play strategic games of battle chess with. then she blinks a little, tries to smooth out the lines in her forehead, and holds up her hands — both palms also burnt and blistering, but less severely than her face — in an unspoken woah. )

I'm sorry.

( as sorry as one can be without knowing what insult they've uttered. this is still her first and thus best peek into the inner workings of magic, and for the sake of figuring out if gal friday was lying to her or not, clarke will make herself understand. )

So you start off lighting a match, but before you know it you're burning down a whole building without even thinking about it?