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
Don't ask questions you don't want answers to, Duke. It won't end well for--
[She cuts herself off, looking at Brownie again, still swishing her tail and waiting for attention. She does not see any other animals.
Anger flares in her eyes as she drops her food, both croissant and blood bag in favor of a hand shooting out with the intent of grabbing Duke by the throat.]
Where the hell is Duchess? Did you leave her alone in your cabin? Are you kidding me?
no subject
Oh no. I don't care what the answer is. Whoever you are now, you're still --
[He doesn't get a chance to finish before she grabs him by the throat, hands like a vice-grip. He presses the gun against her temple, cocking it.]
Yes, I left her alone! Inside the cabin with mountain ash in and outside the door. Did you think I was too stupid to block her off from all of you?
no subject
One she hadn't thought about in days. One she was thinking about now, fixated on...a sweet little rabbit that wasn't used to being alone, and now she was because she wasn't with Allison where she belonged.
That was her fault.
The words kept chasing around in her head, her fault, her fault...my fault...
She was leaning into the press of the cold barrel without thinking, squeezing Duke's throat and pressing into the unyielding sting of the gun.]
On a good day, you don't aim a gun you aren't prepared to shoot...and you damn sure don't aim a gun at me unless you're going to pull the trigger, so what the hell are you waiting for?
[Her fangs were bared, her eyes were dark...but suddenly, with the right shift of light, they were too bright, too liquid...possibly even damp.]
no subject
If I killed you now I'd be cleaning up your messes for the rest of your life.
Stop it. You are not the vampire Lestat. You are not the queen of the night. And sure you can kill me, but you are not going to scare me away.
You're just sick.
It's okay, Allison.
no subject
...damp.
She reaches up to touch her cheek, pulling it back to find tears wetting her fingers, sliding down her cheeks. Too many feelings, all of them sticking. She's emotional fly paper, and they're all coming over her at once...Tig and Isaac and Lydia, and everyone Tig hurt, everything she's done since Jerry turned her into a...
...she's a...]
Nothing is okay.
[She grits her teeth, then shoves him as hard as she can...but her strength isn't what it was the day before, and that's not right.
She's supposed to feel great. She's supposed to be powerful. She's...]
Nothing is okay, nothing is okay! [Her voice is rising in volume as she advances on Duke with every intention of killing him...for making her feel, for making her hurt, for making her--
A dog barks. A warm pressure bumps against her leg.
Looking down, she finds Brownie next to her, body pressed to Allison's leg, tail swishing, still begging to be petted. Brownie, Duchess's best friend, Brownie who sat with her when she was breaking apart with her hatred of Jerry...
She starts trembling as she sinks slowly to her knees. Brownie moved in closer, and immediately started licking Allison's tear-streaked face.
She can't move. She can't breathe...she's breathing, why is she breathing? Why is she letting a dog lick her face? Why isn't Duke dead?
Why is this happening?]
no subject
He immediately claws for the vial of Troubled blood in his cuff, pries at the stopper and is about to spill it on his hand. He won't kill Allison -- maybe he can't -- but he can restrain her, he knows, and he can talk to her.
Only Allison isn't bearing down on him anymore, screaming like a bloodthirsty harpy. She's... crying.
She's feeling.
Duke stands, only to crouch down next to her. He lays a reassuring hand on the back of Brownie's neck, then holds the open vial up to Allison.] Hey. Listen.
You know what this is, right?