Allison Argent (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theresalwayshope) wrote2014-11-23 10:51 pm
theresalwayshope) wrote2014-11-23 10:51 pm
20} didn't hear the confession...walking through the procession...
[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.]
[...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.]
no subject
About a minute or two after he makes the offer, the doorknob twists, and as it opens, a haggard and miserable looking human teenage girl peers out at Riddick with eyes that refuse to stop filling with tears.]
no subject
Heard you had a rough week.
no subject
When she trusts herself again, she nods a little, unable to stop herself from cracking open the container to peer at its contents.]
You...you could say that.
[She breathes in the savory scent of the oxtail stew, and right away her stomach growls, gurgling audibly at the promise of a hearty meal.]
no subject
Having your biology hijacked, it sucks. Having your brain hijacked... Is worse.
no subject
She's lost everything that matters to her...she has to try and rebuild.]
The pathetic thing is, it's not the first time. [She hesitates, then pushes the door back a little more, stepping aside to give him access.]
Do you...want to come in? [Because eating her stew in the doorway with him just standing there...yeah, seems a little impolite.]
no subject
Same guy both times?
no subject
Three times...and same guy twice. The first time, it was my grandfather. My mother had just died, and...he used it to manipulate me.
[She opens her soup, and she stops to breathe it in again. It makes her stomach growl audibly again, her mouth water...the way fresh blood had just a few days before, and she's so grateful to be hungry for broth and meat it brings tears to her eyes...tears she hides by taking her first taste.]
I hurt a lot of people before I realized what he'd done...God, I don't think this is me coming back from the undead, this is the best. Where did you learn to cook, Riddick?...
no subject
[He's letting her change the subject-- he'll let her steer back to where it's hurting in her own time. He's pretty sure if he pushes she'll just curl tighter around her wounds.]
no subject
My family comes from Paris. So we have a lot of soldiers and a lot of pastry chefs in my family tree...muffins are my favorite thing to make. Remind me, I'll show you a few of my favorite recipes sometime.
no subject