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Allison knows she's lucky to be alive. It doesn't make the burden any easier, however.
In the end, the Oni stole a year of her life: six months in a coma, and another six months in rehab. First, she had to relearn how to breathe without the respirator, then she had to regain the strength and mobility she lost from being bedridden for so long.
The move was obvious: Beacon Hills was no longer safe for her, the deadpool proved that. It was easier for Allison Argent to stay dead...so after a long talk with her father and the rest of the pack, she obtained a new identity and enrolled at Louisiana State University under the name Allison Rappelevie.
Rappele a la vie... it was French for 'recalled to life.' It just...felt right.
School's challenging, especially balancing her classes with working to keep a roof over her head. She has a job waitressing at a local diner...the tips are good, and after the first week the more aggressive male regulars learned not to grab her ass. Martin Delacroix still wears a splint on the wrist she broke.
She teaches self defense at the local Y once a week. She has a favorite Chinese takeout place. Mornings, like this one, she jogs at a local park to keep herself in shape.
There are no more monsters to fight...but she still sleeps with her daggers under her pillow. She found an archery range to practice at four times a week, and she has a handgun registered in her name, along with three others that are unregistered. She still wakes up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, with no breath to scream, because she's dreaming of dying again: of failing to get those last words out, that final warning.
She dreams of living shadows and dark foxes, waiting to finish the job they started.
Last night was one of those nights, so she pushes herself hard on her morning run, pushes until her lungs are screaming and that dull throb in her sternum screams at her to stop.
She does, finally, stopping by a bench bordering the playground to stretch and cool down. The sweat she's worked up is chilling her now, reminding her of how it felt to bleed out. If she tries, she can still hear the distant pitch of Lydia's death scream...
She's distracted from her thoughts as a blonde sits down at the opposite end of the bench. She's pretty hot, which Allison notices. She's always noticed other girls, but somehow boys were just the ones that were harder to resist for her. Still, she sees it--feels it, the appeal of that tan skin, those blonde waves, and that face with a classic beauty that could easily belong to some medieval painting or turn of the century sepia photograph.
Then she sees the baby, and she just...melts.
For several long moments, with a leg propped up on the back of the bench, Allison bends to touch her chest to her knee and just watches the little girl staring quietly up at her mom while she waves a little bear in front of her, making the baby burble happily.
It's not until the mother stops playing with her daughter that Allison realizes she's staring...probably in a creepy way.
Glancing up to meet the mother's gaze, she smiles sheepishly. "I'm sorry, your daughter's just--completely the cutest thing I have ever seen."
In the end, the Oni stole a year of her life: six months in a coma, and another six months in rehab. First, she had to relearn how to breathe without the respirator, then she had to regain the strength and mobility she lost from being bedridden for so long.
The move was obvious: Beacon Hills was no longer safe for her, the deadpool proved that. It was easier for Allison Argent to stay dead...so after a long talk with her father and the rest of the pack, she obtained a new identity and enrolled at Louisiana State University under the name Allison Rappelevie.
Rappele a la vie... it was French for 'recalled to life.' It just...felt right.
School's challenging, especially balancing her classes with working to keep a roof over her head. She has a job waitressing at a local diner...the tips are good, and after the first week the more aggressive male regulars learned not to grab her ass. Martin Delacroix still wears a splint on the wrist she broke.
She teaches self defense at the local Y once a week. She has a favorite Chinese takeout place. Mornings, like this one, she jogs at a local park to keep herself in shape.
There are no more monsters to fight...but she still sleeps with her daggers under her pillow. She found an archery range to practice at four times a week, and she has a handgun registered in her name, along with three others that are unregistered. She still wakes up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, with no breath to scream, because she's dreaming of dying again: of failing to get those last words out, that final warning.
She dreams of living shadows and dark foxes, waiting to finish the job they started.
Last night was one of those nights, so she pushes herself hard on her morning run, pushes until her lungs are screaming and that dull throb in her sternum screams at her to stop.
She does, finally, stopping by a bench bordering the playground to stretch and cool down. The sweat she's worked up is chilling her now, reminding her of how it felt to bleed out. If she tries, she can still hear the distant pitch of Lydia's death scream...
She's distracted from her thoughts as a blonde sits down at the opposite end of the bench. She's pretty hot, which Allison notices. She's always noticed other girls, but somehow boys were just the ones that were harder to resist for her. Still, she sees it--feels it, the appeal of that tan skin, those blonde waves, and that face with a classic beauty that could easily belong to some medieval painting or turn of the century sepia photograph.
Then she sees the baby, and she just...melts.
For several long moments, with a leg propped up on the back of the bench, Allison bends to touch her chest to her knee and just watches the little girl staring quietly up at her mom while she waves a little bear in front of her, making the baby burble happily.
It's not until the mother stops playing with her daughter that Allison realizes she's staring...probably in a creepy way.
Glancing up to meet the mother's gaze, she smiles sheepishly. "I'm sorry, your daughter's just--completely the cutest thing I have ever seen."
