Allison Argent (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theresalwayshope) wrote2015-05-11 01:14 pm
theresalwayshope) wrote2015-05-11 01:14 pm
31} just like a needle in a haystack, another day when we run with the wolfpack...
{forward dated to tomorrow, because the mun is impatient. :P}
[ACCIDENTAL PUBLIC VIDEO]
[When the feed flickers to life, it shows an unconscious Allison Argent, head half-buried in her pillow. The arm she has flung out towards the camera, fingertips looming large in the shot, show that she's the culprit who activated the transmission: more likely than not, she roused just enough to roll over and, in a sleepy haze, shut off a nonexistent alarm, inadvertently flicking on her video feed.
The dead transmission continues on until it is interrupted...she may be asleep, but Allison Argent's coma is officially over.]
[OPEN SPAM]
[Allison is in a miserable mood by the time she finally showers and gets dressed, heading to the dining hall to eat. For a while, she walks the corridors of the ship, just to stretch her legs and really start to feel awake again, with stops to pick up Brownie and Duchess along the way.
Once Brownie has been walked, unwilling to separate from them just yet, Allison finally heads for the pub. The keys jingle in her hand with a sad, hollow sound.
She files in with Brownie on her heels, surveying the place with a sigh. She'd requested custody of the place just after she realized Duke was gone, then fallen into another stupid coma before she could take proper care of it.
She missed him...Jesus, she missed him.
Taking a deep breath, she walked over to slip behind the bar, setting Duchess down on the end with her bandanna, some hay, and one of her chew toys to amuse her. Ever the responsible "mother," Brownie planted herself to lay on the floor directly under Duchess's perch while Allison began to shuffle around, looking over the glasses, booze, and anything else Duke might have left behind.
It was her place now...she had to learn how to keep it running.]
[ACCIDENTAL PUBLIC VIDEO]
[When the feed flickers to life, it shows an unconscious Allison Argent, head half-buried in her pillow. The arm she has flung out towards the camera, fingertips looming large in the shot, show that she's the culprit who activated the transmission: more likely than not, she roused just enough to roll over and, in a sleepy haze, shut off a nonexistent alarm, inadvertently flicking on her video feed.
The dead transmission continues on until it is interrupted...she may be asleep, but Allison Argent's coma is officially over.]
[OPEN SPAM]
[Allison is in a miserable mood by the time she finally showers and gets dressed, heading to the dining hall to eat. For a while, she walks the corridors of the ship, just to stretch her legs and really start to feel awake again, with stops to pick up Brownie and Duchess along the way.
Once Brownie has been walked, unwilling to separate from them just yet, Allison finally heads for the pub. The keys jingle in her hand with a sad, hollow sound.
She files in with Brownie on her heels, surveying the place with a sigh. She'd requested custody of the place just after she realized Duke was gone, then fallen into another stupid coma before she could take proper care of it.
She missed him...Jesus, she missed him.
Taking a deep breath, she walked over to slip behind the bar, setting Duchess down on the end with her bandanna, some hay, and one of her chew toys to amuse her. Ever the responsible "mother," Brownie planted herself to lay on the floor directly under Duchess's perch while Allison began to shuffle around, looking over the glasses, booze, and anything else Duke might have left behind.
It was her place now...she had to learn how to keep it running.]
[spam]
Patting Tig's chest, right over his new patch, Allison springs to her feet.]
Right. I'm gonna grab a quick shower and change my clothes. Then you're taking me to my puppy.
Re: [spam]
Yeah. Okay. You want me to stick around and wait, or...?
[spam]
Mi casa es su casa, Daddy-o. I don't actually have a kitchen here in my cabin...I should ask the Admiral about that...but there's a minifridge in the office with some bottled water and Snapple if you want while I'm hosing off. I'll be super quick, promise.
Re: [spam]
[spam]
She emerges from the bathroom about half an hour later, wet hair loose, but slicked away from her face, wearing jeans and a tank top, face free of make up for the moment.]
Doggies. [She stretches out her arms, hands grasping as she playfully lumbers over to Tig before collapsing to drape herself against his side, hugging his middle.] Gimme. Let's go.
Re: [spam]
[But he's teasing; he's quick to slip an arm around her in turn, returning the hug before dragging her out the door.]
Thought you drowned in there.
[spam]
Re: [spam]
[Ha. Of course he wouldn't be. He ruffles her hair teasingly, all but giving her a noogie for the trouble.]
[spam]
[She says it fondly, gently...a secret she keeps safe for him, a truth she doesn't tell unless he needs to hear it.
The rumpled hair she accepts with a giggle and a squeal.]
Hey, careful! Not when it's wet, you'll give me mats!
Re: [spam]
[He ruffles her hair again then slings his arm around her shoulder as they start walking, companionable, comfortable.]