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.]
Monday Spam
Like hurt herself in some way.
Stiles grasps onto her arm lightly, gazing at her with intensity.]
Allison. Allison, breathe. Breathe. It's just me.
Monday Spam
[The last word is a scream, sharp and shrill. It's raw panic, and she can't breathe. She can't breathe, can't stop her eyes from streaming, jerks away from that hand on her arm and loses all of that control and composure that is her linchpin.
She's shaking so hard she couldn't notch an arrow if she tried. She's so terrified, so blind she couldn't wield a knife if she wanted to. She's so dizzy from the gulping sobs and gasps she can't stop that a gun in her hand would be more dangerous to her than to anyone else.
She has to get away. Stiles is pack, and she has to get away.
Because this is pity.
He doesn't care. None of them do. To care, to still love her would require forgiveness, and there is none to be had.
They can't forgive her, because Allison can't forgive herself for the things she's done.]
Monday Spam
Stiles only hesitates for a split second before surging forward and wrapping his arms around her tightly. He's strong, but he also knows she could easily hurt him if she wants to. She has skills and training that he'll never be able to catch up to. More than that, she has instincts he'll never be able to match.
He doesn't think about any of this even as he hugs her close, though. He remembers the day she showed up on the Barge. The way they'd both freaked out, but how she'd grabbed him and held on tight, reassured him that everything was okay even though it wasn't.]
Listen to me, Allison. [His voice is hushed and whispered against her hair as he ducks his head close to her ear.] You weren't yourself. It's okay. It's okay.
Monday Spam
He's strong. He's tall. She hits him wherever she can reach, twists and wrenches against his grip. She screams again, and none of the words falling from her lips in a tirade of sobs and howls make any sense.
She has to get away. She has to run. She can't.
It's not okay, and it never will be.
She's not strong enough to keep it up, though, because she needs to eat. She needs water. She needs...she needs this, Stiles holding her and Stiles' voice low in her ear, all the warmth and security and safety of pack...
Allison is strong...but she'll never survive as an omega.
Her struggling dies off pretty fast, but the panicked shrieks are slower to fade...in the end, she's left clinging to Stiles for support because she's shaking so bad, and the lungfuls of air she's gulping have less to do with fear and more to do with the sobs that are wracking her body, making her trembling that much worse.
She's still not making much sense, but with her face pressed to his shoulder, at least some muffled words can be made out.]
...sorry...so sorry...
Monday Spam
Shhh. It's okay.
[It isn't. None of it's okay and he wants Jerry dead, but he's so fucking relieved that she's human again, that she's not a vampire anymore, that she's herself even if she feels guilty and horrible because at the end of the day, at least the people she hurt have also returned to normal. They've recovered. Come back. They're okay. Permanent physical damage wasn't done. It's not a lot of reassurance, and he knows that and he knows she knows that too, but it's something.
It's a start.
He shakes his head at her apologies, reaching a hand up to stroke her hair gently.]
I know. I know you are, Allison. I know. [And god does he know. He knows exactly how sorry she is.]
Monday Spam
Because it's Stiles and he's here, and that missing limb she's been nursing is regaining some sensation. Pins and needles, prickling and painful, but she feels a little more whole.]
It's not...okay...it's not okay, it was...I killed some--I turned Tig, and--and I bit Isaac, and it was black and he bled and bled and...it's...and Scott and...God, Lydia--I thought I was helping! Stiles I can't--it's not...please, it's not okay, don't make it okay, I can't--I shouldn't--
[She can't be forgiven. She shouldn't be forgiven. The comfort he's offering, the safety and the reassurance...it doesn't belong to her, it belongs to her victims.
She has victims. She hurt people and she liked it...]
Monday Spam
I know. I know, Allison.
[His expression is pained for a second as she struggles with words, tries to get out everything that she's feeling all at once, and even if it wouldn't make a lot of sense to anyone else on the Barge, it sure as hell makes sense to Stiles.]
I know. Remember?
[His voice is soft and he meets her gaze before pressing a kiss to her forehead and pulling her close again.]
Monday Spam
She realizes that it's true. He knows...oh, God, he knows. He knows and she knows and he's still whole. Strong enough to hold her now, strong enough to function, strong enough to come here and to fight...
When he pulls her in again, she lets him. She tucks her face against his shoulder and she sobs. She holds on tight, clings to him like a lifeline, because Stiles is safe for this. He's safe, because he knows the blood and the hunger and the joy. He knows everything she did, knew it long before she was bitten because he'd done those things.
So she lets him hold her, she cries until she feels like she might pass out, and she hugs him as much to comfort him as to be comforted.
Not because Stiles is pack...but because Stiles knows.]