20} didn't hear the confession...walking through the procession...

[theresalwayshope]

[SUNDAY SPAM]

[...something isn't right.

The whole day is off, and Allison can't...function properly. In the dining hall, she gets her usual blood bag, but she finds herself skipping the apples she usually grabs along with it. The food on the line smells good, the savory aromas drawing her attention...

Before she knows what she's doing, she's grabbed a couple of croissants as well, and not unlike her first day, she takes her food on deck to eat. The blood, and the croissants, do wonders for her mood.

And that's the most difficult part of the day: her mood. As she slinks through the corridors as she trails her friends through the ship...as she checks on Isaac and Tig, she's having a harder and harder time setting her feelings aside.

Something isn't right. All day, something is wrong, and she can't...quite...put her finger on it...]

[MONDAY SPAM]

[Allison is gone.

She hasn't left the ship, but there's no sign of her anywhere. She doesn't show up for meals in the dining hall, she doesn't stalk a soul, she's completely absent, a non-presence on the ship.

Because Allison is sitting in her cabin, in the dark, on the floor in the corner of her bedroom. The stakes gifted to her by Jerry's mirror counterpart are clutched to her chest, and she's armed with every single weapon she can comfortably stash on her person: her ring daggers, her father's gun, every folding knife she can possibly conceal, her quiver propped up beside her, and her recurve bow laying beside her on the floor.

She's not afraid of an attack: the weapons are her. They keep her rooted in the present, they remind her of who she is, how she thinks, what she feels.

She doesn't eat, but her stomach growls. She doesn't go for water, but her throat burns with thirst that blood won't slake.

Eventually, she will have to leave and seek out nourishment. Eventually, she will have to face the rest of the ship. Eventually, Allison will have to face the reality of truly being an omega, because this is bigger than fighting with Lydia.

She remembers everything she did, everyone she hurt...those she killed and nearly killed.

She knows that now, after all that...she is truly, completely alone.

And she will have to leave her cabin to face that eventually...she just can't bring herself to do it just yet.]

Comments

[with_my_teacup]

[There's a knock at the door.]

Hey, Argent. Heard you were eyeing food with an actual nutritional content the other day.

[theresalwayshope]

[She hears the knock, and in spite of herself she rises from her crouch to venture further into her cabin, leaving her bow behind, but keeping the stakes tight in her hands.

Riddick's voice is muffled, but recognizable through the door. Riddick, who saw her every day when she came to the dining hall for her blood rations...

Tears well in her eyes as she leans in the doorway of the living room, watching the door wobble and shift in her vision, just barely lit by the digital display on the DVD player and a desk lamp in her father's office she'd forgotten to turn out at some point.]

If you're asking if I'm human, the answer is yes. [She raises her voice to be heard through the cabin door, and it's empty, hollow...desolate as she shuts her eyes, the tears spilling over as she rests her head against the door frame.] I'm alive. You should go.

[with_my_teacup]

I'm implying you're human and also mentioning you didn't show for breakfast.

I got a plastic thing of soup. You want?

[hearrrtofgold]

[Duke is up and about on Sunday, still shaken from his encounter with Tig. He won't admit it, but Tig and Allison are why he's carrying an extra gun today, and three vials of Troubled blood -- one in each pocket, one in the sleeve of his jacket. It's heavy preparation for walking the dog, but Duke doesn't believe in leaving his weaknesses unguarded.

When they find Allison on the deck, Brownie doesn't growl like she did at Tig. She gives a friendly bark and sits down, awaiting the ear-scratches she's grown to expect from Allison. Duke hangs back, one hand in his pocket, watching Allison eat the bloody croissants.]

You look like Hell.

[theresalwayshope]

I feel fine.

[It's a lie, because she feels like crap. She's half done with her first croissant, chasing each bite with a swig from her blood bag...and oddly, the food is helping just a little. It helps take away the suddenly unpleasant texture of the blood...too thick, the flat metallic flavor suddenly unpleasant instead of savory, and lumpy with clots that are forming...

When Brownie doesn't recoil from her, warmth blooms in Allison's chest. It's a little more potent than usual, catches like velcro on fabric for just a moment as she smiles a little and starts to reach for her.

Then she remembers that she's not supposed to care, and stops. She bares her fangs at Brownie with a snarl before she takes another bite of her croissant.

Brownie growls right back at her, but seems to be treating it as more of a game as she continues to wait patiently for the petting she assumes Allison will deliver as long as she plays along.]

[hearrrtofgold]

You don't have to lie to me.

[Even a stranger would have been able to see that she's not fine. Duke knows her better than that, and knows how disgusted and humiliated she'd be if she was in her right mind.

Duke tenses up when she snarls, hand drawing a few inches closer to the gun, but Allison doesn't move and Brownie simply sinks down into a play crouch. Keeping his guard up, he drops Brownie's leash with a stern "stay" and slowly walks over to Allison. He pulls the gun from his belt as he does, letting her see he's keeping it up and aimed away from her.]

If you're really fine, there's no reason I need this. Should I drop it?

Don't answer if you won't tell the truth.

[Monday Spam]

[400yearsofsurvival]

[ Unlike on the other barge, Jerry had taken a very hands-off approach with Allison. He'd been very involved with the progress of those he'd turned on the mirror side. But both Mickey and Chris had been so much more receptive. They'd listened to him. Done as they were told. But not Allison. Yet another frustrating limit on his power. But having turned Mickey twice, he had a decent sense of how long the whole thing would stick. And he needed to know if it was the same on this side.

So he was waiting for her when she finally emerged from her cabin. Perched against the ceiling, immediately above her door. Once she was out of her room, he dropped down, putting himself between her and the door so she couldn't duck back inside. He only needed a moment to assess her state. She was human again, just barely. So the time limit was, in fact, the same. ]

Not feeling so well, Allison?

[ He actually sounded concerned. Looked it, too. The perfect ruse. Though he expected far more violence than the other two had shown. He doubted she'd ask to be turned again. ]

[Monday Spam]

[theresalwayshope]

[She stilled when she heard his voice, didn't turn to face him. She was starving, thirsty, and in pain...

...and she was armed to the teeth. What's more, there wasn't a single soul around to stop her.

She turned to face him, pale and haggard looking. She was relatively harmless looking in a slip dress, tights, boots, and a heavy cardigan to ward off a chill...to feel warm after being cold for so long...

Her sleeves cover her hands, just the tips of her fingers showing...and one of those hands is wrapped around the other Jerry's keepsake: one of his stakes, solid and rough and ready in her fingers.]

I'm feeling. You know what else I am? Alone.

[Her lip curls in a vicious sneer.]

And so are you.

[She's not faster or stronger than him. Right now, she is small, angry, and weak, in his eyes. Too emotional, too human...shattered by guilt, drained by a need for human sustenance she hasn't yet fulfilled.

She has adrenaline, and she has surprise.

And she no longer cares if she's demoted or not.

She moves towards him abruptly, but she doesn't rush him: she walks, purposeful strides. She doesn't reach for a weapon or strike a blow, she just charges.

She rears back with one hand, a feint to draw his attention, and throws the entire weight of her body forward as she raises the other, stake in hand, the laser focus of her aim directed right at his heart.]

[Monday Spam]

[400yearsofsurvival]

[ He expected her to attack, but he also expected her to be far more emotional about it. Their first encounter had thrown him, with how cold she'd been. But he'd managed to tear that to shreds in the intervening months. Replacing that cold and ruthless teen hunter with a girl terrified of him. She'd been so scared of what he'd done, she wouldn't even speak of it. So he was more than a little confident.

He fell for the feint. A split-second mistake he realized when the stake wasn't in that hand. He gave her the opening she needed. The stake slams into his chest, into his heart. And in an instant, the fight goes out of him.

He drops to his knees, curling forward, his hands clawing at the stake. But it's too late. As if the thing were red-hot, his skin and clothes start to blacken around it. Embers spreading out from the wound. His head rears back and he lets out an unholy roar of pain as the strange heat seams to spread through his chest.

His face transform. At first it seems as though it's turning more monstrous. More teeth, black eyes, pointed ears. But as wound seems to be cracking, tendrils spreading up to his neck, it becomes all too human. More so than the vampire had ever been. It's subtle, but his features seem to soften. All of the anger fades as he looks at her, his face starting to crackle.

Smoke and embers seem to be consuming him whole. He manages to speak a few very soft words, as a bloody tear escapes the corner of his eye. ]

...I'm sorry, Allison...

[ He is consumed, collapsing into an ash so fine it seems to dissipate into the air immediately, leaving behind nothing but a thin smoke and a few fading embers as the stake clattered to the floor. ]

[text/private]

[routemistress]

[after the conclusion of this thread]

sry Allison I had to kill Tiggy a bit.

[text/private]

[theresalwayshope]

[When she gets the message, she's already feeling worn. The emotions she could lay aside and call up at will are failing her, catching like rough nails on clothing and velcro on hair: sticking and bothersome, and painful when she finally shoves them away.

The message from Iris fills her with fear and anger, and a sense of regret she's been struggling with all day.

She chooses anger, since she can't seem to get rid of it, when she answers.]

i'll decide whether or not i'm going to kill you after i've checked in with him.

[text/private]

[routemistress]

[Iris has had a bad enough week, what with being threatened and stalked by someone she cares about, someone she knows would never have chosen to hurt her.

Someone who frightened her, while it was happening. Iris doesn't show fear, has trained herself over centuries never to show it. That doesn't mean it doesn't flood her system with its neurotransmitters, or that coming down off it with her own load of guilt has no effect.

That effect is, largely, that it makes her pissy.]

You can stick that where the sun doesn't shine, Allison. You sodding well vampired him, lady, you do not get to threaten me over the steps you forced me to take in self defense.

[SUNDAY]

[termofendearment]

[Tig isn't anywhere to be found.

Well. Not at first, anyway; it's Sunday that his mocking and stalking finally catch up to him, a friendly face turned murderess in the face of too-harsh malicious cheer and false biology, and when he's finally back in one piece it's to white walls and harsh lights and a wall of exhaustion and he's not supposed to feel like this anymore.

He finds his communicator tucked away in a pocket and absently turns it over between his fingers after fishing it out. He feels like he got run over by a truck and his chest feels like it's going to fucking explode and it wants to keep expanding and contracting like he needs to breathe but it hurts. And on top of everything else he's starving, a gnawing, churning feeling mixed with the unsettled stomach the Toll's already given him but he thinks about opening a throat to fix it but the thought doesn't make him practically drool like it has been. He wants a beer and a cheeseburger and that's fucking ridiculous.

Eventually he taps out a message.]


[TEXT -- locked to Allison]

your mission statement sucks

[SUNDAY]

[theresalwayshope]

[By the time Tig texts her, Allison's already heard from Iris, and she's livid. She's angry, she's concerned for Tig, she's...

Upset. Afraid. Guilty.

She's still trying to force those feelings away when she storms into the infirmary...quiet, but still angry...and finds his bed, about five minutes after she receives his text. Dark eyes burn with fury, but the visible worry for him is there as she reaches for his hand.]

How bad is it? [Translation: does the tiny teenage vampire have your permission to kill Iris for killing her vampire biker daddy?]

[SUNDAY]

[termofendearment]

[Worn out from the death toll on top of the downward spiral of his borrowed condition (or at least that's what he assumes, everything kind of sucks right now and it's hard to differentiate) and he looks as much like a bag of ass as he feels; dark circles hang under his eyes, fever-bright against the paleness of his skin. He pushes himself to upright, grits his teeth and snarls, but it's decidedly a human gesture, human sounds.

It hurts to talk, hurts to suck in the breath to force the words out, but he pushes through it anyway.]

Well it's not great.

Monday Spam

[voluntaryapnea]

[He sits outside her cabin, back to the wall, knees pulled up to his chest and arms resting on them as he stares blankly at the opposite wall. It's probably not safe considering Jerry's out there still, but he's tired of hiding.

It's been a shitty few days, with Allison turning and then trying to turn Isaac. With everything that's happened. He doesn't know what to do, so he sits and waits.

There's probably no one she knows on the ship more aware of how awful it is to have your own mind and body turned against you, to hurt people that you care about than him. So he waits, silent and still. More still than he usually ever is.]

Monday Spam

[theresalwayshope]

[After Riddick's visit, and a reminder of his food, Allison can no longer deny the hunger still gnawing in her belly. She hasn't eaten decently in days, and she feels it, like the death toll turned inside out, she feels rotten and hungry and tired and miserable all at once.

When she leaves her cabin, Stiles is the first thing she sees...and that sight is met with tears in her eyes and a look of fear, raw and primal.

Not because she fears Stiles proper...but right now, facing any member of her pack, her family, after all she's done...it's more than enough to terrify her.]

Monday Spam

[voluntaryapnea]

[He's been waiting for a few hours now and he's almost dozed off half a dozen times. He feels like he hasn't slept in ages. But he starts when he hears her door open and he looks up, spotting her standing there immediately. Her mouth is agape, tears in her eyes.

She looks terrified.

He scrambles quickly to his feet, holding up his hands.]

It's okay.

[Monday Spam]

[semifreakingnormal]

[She smells different. That's how he knows. He doesn't go looking for her, not after their fight, but he can smell the change outside her cabin. So he slows, and stops, and stares at her door for a very, very long time.

He doesn't know if she wants him there. If feels like they've been at opposite ends of a book for a long time, and they're not sure how to meet each other halfway.

But he can't just walk off, he knows that much. So he knocks. And he hopes she'll answer.]

[Monday Spam]

[theresalwayshope]

[When the knock comes, if Scott is listening he'll hear her heartbeat jump from zero to jackhammer in an instant. Within her cabin, she flinches visibly at the sound, because anyone could be out there.

And she's not ready for that. Riddick...maybe, and he was just trying to feed her, he was sneaky about checking in...

When her voice lifts, even muffled by the door, it's quavering audibly.]

Go away!

[Monday Spam]

[semifreakingnormal]

[He hears it. He closes his eyes, with his forehead resting on the door, and exhales slowly. She needs to calm down.

She needs to know he's not a monster.]

It's me.

[He speaks softly, hoping she'll hear him.]

It's Scott. Let me in? Please?

sunday spam;

[freezerburns]

[This week - absolutely one of the worst weeks of Isaac's life - has fallen into a strange hellish kind of routine after he gets himself patched up and lets go of just enough guilt to get himself healing again.

Sometimes he feels like he's dreaming it, it's so messed up. He gets up, he eats something, and then sometime during the day he finds Allison or she finds him, he spends time with this utterly wrong twisted version of her, because he can't bear to be away from her and because of how badly he failed her. It's like penance. Some part of him feels like he needs to watch her to keep her from hurting anyone else or to keep anyone else from hurting her. Maybe death toll would be the way to reset her, but he can't kill her. He can't let anyone else kill her either.

So he checks up on her or waits until she checks up on him and every time he sees her or smells her it feels like it's ripping another hole inside him. By Sunday, he's almost used to it. That's the worst thing of all.]

Hey.

sunday spam;

[theresalwayshope]

[She's trailing him silently through the ship, but he knows she's there. She can tell, she can sense it...

It's old maple syrup, sticking to her insides. Seeing him up and walking around slides through her with the sweet, warm touch of relief and a stronger bloom of affection than she's used to. Pushing it away is hard, she can't just wipe the syrup away with a napkin. It sticks, it clings, and it makes her feel unclean...dirty with guilt and regret...

When he faces her, she comes out from the corner she was hiding behind. She's not crawling through the ceilings of the ship anymore, it takes too much effort. When she looks him in the eye, her expression is neutral...but her eyes are too bright with interest as they move over his face, sharp and alive and shadowed with that cloying remorse she can't shake.]

You probably shouldn't be up.

[Because he looks awful. Because she did that. Sure, she was trying to help him, but...

She did that. And it matters today more than it did yesterday.]

[Monday Spam]

[lydiascreams]

[She hasn't seen Allison. Not all day today, anyway. She saw her yesterday and she felt something off. But not in a bad way. Allison felt more-- there than she had when they first met up on the deck.

Lydia's asked around. No one's seen her. She hasn't been to the kitchen to pick up a blood bag.

It's the crash Lydia warned her about from day one. She knew it was coming, she expected it'd take longer, but apparently it's already here.

So she grabs one of the blood bags herself and heads over to Allison's room. Although she knocks on the door, she doesn't say a word.]

[Monday Spam]

[theresalwayshope]

[Allison was just starting to give under the strain of hunger and thirst when the knock came.

She doesn't know if she can stand it. Facing more people, dealing with what she did...

There are too many people who terrify her right now.

Still, she has to leave. She has to go to the dining hall, she has to eat. Riddick's stew is long gone by this point, and she feels like she hasn't eaten in weeks, she's so hungry...and she needs water, maybe a soda...God, a soda sounds good...

When she cracks open the door, her reaction isn't at all different from the one that both Scott and Stiles got: raw, primal fear.

It's no better. This time it's worse, in fact, because Lydia...]

Go. Leave me alone.

[There's no anger in her tone...they're barely words, little more than breath as Allison Argent cowers behind her door, because her best friend is standing outside.

It's more pack, more guilt, more of that thing that lived in her skin for a full week come back to haunt her.

And Allison is terrified.]