Allison Argent (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theresalwayshope) wrote2014-09-05 12:24 pm
theresalwayshope) wrote2014-09-05 12:24 pm
Entry tags:
- allison: come find her,
- allison: has a temporary inmate,
- another werewolf?!?,
- because i love you,
- brothers in arms,
- duke crocker,
- erica reyes,
- i'm here to save my best friend,
- isaac lahey,
- lydia martin,
- mindy macready,
- needy lesnicki,
- scott mccall,
- stiles stilinski,
- the boy who runs with wolves,
- tig trager,
- verse: the last voyage
009} tell me, tell me, can you feel the pressure?
[Public Video]
[The first thing that's clear, to anyone that knows Allison from home, is that something's...off. Her expression is a little harder, her jaw set a little differently, and he's holding herself with a little more authority, a little more readiness.
She seems a little more not like the head of the Argent clan they know, but the head of the Argent clan that Gerard molded in his own image.]
That pillow fort flood was kind of interesting, but I wanted to kinda touch base about the stuff before that. The..communications glitch thing? I was curious: who all did everyone get to talk to? Was it good for you? Or was it...rough?
[She's in the CES today, where off to one side, she's been visibly busy putting arrows in the trees. The location resembles a clearing in the Beacon Hills Preserve she favors for shooting, since it's a pretty broad clearing with a minimal risk of someone taking a stray shot unless they plant themselves directly in front of the paper target she's got tacked up. At the same time, she swears she can occasionally catch the cold, crisp smell of brine in the air...she's blaming her recent conversations with Duke about his hometown in Maine and her own distant memories of a couple months spent living in Augusta.
Her comm is propped on a low tree branch, which is still almost at head height, but she's standing back far enough that she can be seen to the waist, at a slightly downward angle. Her bow is slung across her back, her quiver over one shoulder, and she's still wearing both her arm guard and her glove.]
I know it was kinda nice for some, and for others...
[She trails off, thinking of Tig as she swallows thickly, and of her father as she draws a shaky sigh. Her expression is a little colder, a little more distant.
She doesn't finish. Instead, she gathers her composure and swaps between filters for a few specific messages.]
[Private to Mindy Macready]
So, random question: would you hate me if I wanted to do something? Like, ridiculous and ubergirly and probably unnecessary, but...it could be totally fun, and I really, really think it could be awesome? It's actually related to me asking if you had any interest in the basic training course Bucky Barnes is doing. Most of my friends are doing wit with me, and you're one of maybe a couple people that's missing.
So...I'm asking if you want to do boot camp, and asking if you...well, let's call it the Barge equivalent of a makeover-slash-shopping spree.
Interested?
[Barge Pack Filter - includes Beacon Hills folks, Duke Crocker, Tig Trager, Needy Lesnicki]
If you can see this, you're...part of my pack. My pack, I mean...I'm still getting to know some people, so I know we're all not necessarily best friends with everyone else's best friends. But, uhm...friends and pack mean different things to me, some of you may already know that. I've got a growing list of friends on this ship so far, but if you can see this? You're more than that. You're family, you're...sort of...mine.
Losing any of you would be losing a limb.
Anyway, I just wanted a way to talk to you all together for personal stuff, so first order of business? If you're not already in Bucky's boot camp, get there. Sign up, get permission from your wardens, whatever. Because if you don't, I'm going to mercilessly badger you. And if you're a macho manly type, I will resort to dirty female tactics. Like crying. All over you. Big, ugly, howling female tears in public places.
[The threat is real, but it's delivered with a small smile that makes her look a little less severe.]
[Private to Scott, Stiles, Lydia, and Isaac]
[There are definite cracks in the chilly veneer now...as evidenced by tears in Allison's eyes as she takes a wet, wobbly breath.]
Erica's on the Barge. I saw her message when she arrived, I...don't know if any of you have talked to her yet or seen her. I...haven't spoken to her yet.
[She pauses, and covers her mouth with one hand as she fights to hold it together. When she tries to speak again, her voice is thick and breathless, and her hand is shaking as it pulls away from her mouth.]
The Alphas may have killed her, but...I'm responsible for her death. If she'd stayed with Derek, if...if I hadn't drawn her and Boyd out...
[The rest of the sentiment finishes in her mind, unspoken.
She died because of me.
Allison knows Erica will come for her the second she knows Allison is on board. The second she's healed, the second she's ready.
And Allison isn't entirely sure she won't be killed, but she doesn't really care. For once, she's making light of the death toll. If Erica feels she has to go that far, Allison doesn't really know that she can stop her without killing Erica herself.
And she won't do that. Not now.]
I don't know where to start. I don't know what to do.
[CES Spam]
[After she cuts off the feed completely, the bow and quiver come off and are laid aside so she can move for freely, and for a while Allison finds a nearby tree to sit beneath and cry. She's alone, there's no one there...for a second, she's safe.
Tears turn into open weeping. Weeping turns into sobbing. It's the ugly kind of sobbing you don't get to see on TV or in the movies. It's not shrieking hysterics and beating fists...it's more like strangled, broken screaming she swiftly loses control over. It's snot and drool and bits of dirty leaves clinging to the damp places until she gives up and lays down, curling on her side and letting the hysterics claim her.
She cries for Erica. She cries for herself, she cries for her friends...for everyone her own death touches and destroys. She gives in to the fear and the rage and the pain of isolation (because she's by herself and it's safe to let go but she needs someone arms to hold her together a voice to bring her back God she needs to not be alone) until she finally cries herself sick, rising from her huddled place on the ground and darting behind her tree to be physically ill.
After she wipes her mouth once her stomach's empty, she feels weirdly better. Empty and numb, but more in control.
She uses the rest of her time alone to gather herself up again. She can easily be found packing away her things and removing her arrows from the nearby tree, a process she lingers over in a meditative fashion. She's since used a towel in her gym bag to wipe her face and neck, but her eyes are still puffy and nose red from crying, and she's a little bit pale from having been sick.
Beyond the CES, she can be found heading back to her cabin on Level 2.]
[The first thing that's clear, to anyone that knows Allison from home, is that something's...off. Her expression is a little harder, her jaw set a little differently, and he's holding herself with a little more authority, a little more readiness.
She seems a little more not like the head of the Argent clan they know, but the head of the Argent clan that Gerard molded in his own image.]
That pillow fort flood was kind of interesting, but I wanted to kinda touch base about the stuff before that. The..communications glitch thing? I was curious: who all did everyone get to talk to? Was it good for you? Or was it...rough?
[She's in the CES today, where off to one side, she's been visibly busy putting arrows in the trees. The location resembles a clearing in the Beacon Hills Preserve she favors for shooting, since it's a pretty broad clearing with a minimal risk of someone taking a stray shot unless they plant themselves directly in front of the paper target she's got tacked up. At the same time, she swears she can occasionally catch the cold, crisp smell of brine in the air...she's blaming her recent conversations with Duke about his hometown in Maine and her own distant memories of a couple months spent living in Augusta.
Her comm is propped on a low tree branch, which is still almost at head height, but she's standing back far enough that she can be seen to the waist, at a slightly downward angle. Her bow is slung across her back, her quiver over one shoulder, and she's still wearing both her arm guard and her glove.]
I know it was kinda nice for some, and for others...
[She trails off, thinking of Tig as she swallows thickly, and of her father as she draws a shaky sigh. Her expression is a little colder, a little more distant.
She doesn't finish. Instead, she gathers her composure and swaps between filters for a few specific messages.]
[Private to Mindy Macready]
So, random question: would you hate me if I wanted to do something? Like, ridiculous and ubergirly and probably unnecessary, but...it could be totally fun, and I really, really think it could be awesome? It's actually related to me asking if you had any interest in the basic training course Bucky Barnes is doing. Most of my friends are doing wit with me, and you're one of maybe a couple people that's missing.
So...I'm asking if you want to do boot camp, and asking if you...well, let's call it the Barge equivalent of a makeover-slash-shopping spree.
Interested?
[Barge Pack Filter - includes Beacon Hills folks, Duke Crocker, Tig Trager, Needy Lesnicki]
If you can see this, you're...part of my pack. My pack, I mean...I'm still getting to know some people, so I know we're all not necessarily best friends with everyone else's best friends. But, uhm...friends and pack mean different things to me, some of you may already know that. I've got a growing list of friends on this ship so far, but if you can see this? You're more than that. You're family, you're...sort of...mine.
Losing any of you would be losing a limb.
Anyway, I just wanted a way to talk to you all together for personal stuff, so first order of business? If you're not already in Bucky's boot camp, get there. Sign up, get permission from your wardens, whatever. Because if you don't, I'm going to mercilessly badger you. And if you're a macho manly type, I will resort to dirty female tactics. Like crying. All over you. Big, ugly, howling female tears in public places.
[The threat is real, but it's delivered with a small smile that makes her look a little less severe.]
[Private to Scott, Stiles, Lydia, and Isaac]
[There are definite cracks in the chilly veneer now...as evidenced by tears in Allison's eyes as she takes a wet, wobbly breath.]
Erica's on the Barge. I saw her message when she arrived, I...don't know if any of you have talked to her yet or seen her. I...haven't spoken to her yet.
[She pauses, and covers her mouth with one hand as she fights to hold it together. When she tries to speak again, her voice is thick and breathless, and her hand is shaking as it pulls away from her mouth.]
The Alphas may have killed her, but...I'm responsible for her death. If she'd stayed with Derek, if...if I hadn't drawn her and Boyd out...
[The rest of the sentiment finishes in her mind, unspoken.
She died because of me.
Allison knows Erica will come for her the second she knows Allison is on board. The second she's healed, the second she's ready.
And Allison isn't entirely sure she won't be killed, but she doesn't really care. For once, she's making light of the death toll. If Erica feels she has to go that far, Allison doesn't really know that she can stop her without killing Erica herself.
And she won't do that. Not now.]
I don't know where to start. I don't know what to do.
[CES Spam]
[After she cuts off the feed completely, the bow and quiver come off and are laid aside so she can move for freely, and for a while Allison finds a nearby tree to sit beneath and cry. She's alone, there's no one there...for a second, she's safe.
Tears turn into open weeping. Weeping turns into sobbing. It's the ugly kind of sobbing you don't get to see on TV or in the movies. It's not shrieking hysterics and beating fists...it's more like strangled, broken screaming she swiftly loses control over. It's snot and drool and bits of dirty leaves clinging to the damp places until she gives up and lays down, curling on her side and letting the hysterics claim her.
She cries for Erica. She cries for herself, she cries for her friends...for everyone her own death touches and destroys. She gives in to the fear and the rage and the pain of isolation (because she's by herself and it's safe to let go but she needs someone arms to hold her together a voice to bring her back God she needs to not be alone) until she finally cries herself sick, rising from her huddled place on the ground and darting behind her tree to be physically ill.
After she wipes her mouth once her stomach's empty, she feels weirdly better. Empty and numb, but more in control.
She uses the rest of her time alone to gather herself up again. She can easily be found packing away her things and removing her arrows from the nearby tree, a process she lingers over in a meditative fashion. She's since used a towel in her gym bag to wipe her face and neck, but her eyes are still puffy and nose red from crying, and she's a little bit pale from having been sick.
Beyond the CES, she can be found heading back to her cabin on Level 2.]
[pack filter]
She wants to lash out, and a few months ago she would have. The vault had put a few things in perspective for her, and her screaming right now wasn't going to change a damn thing. It was just another reason for her to stay as far away from them as possible.
An empty, almost hollow look enters her eyes. She's been on her own in most things her entire life. The idea of a pack was new and as far as she was concerned, her pack was dead - Isaac dating Allison the final nail in the coffin.]
There's no point.
[She's not talking to him.
A tiny voice whispers in the back of her mind that this never would have happened if she'd just accepted her fate and not taken the admiral's deal. That she might have died, but she'd have possibly gotten to see Boyd again. He'd become a close friend, someone who deserved a better life. A hot tear escapes, earning a look of disgust before she ends the video feed. She didn't need to hear anymore - about how happy there were or how it was healthy to continue on with your life.
A hunter dating a werewolf. A hunter who'd almost killed his pack members... Well, old pack members. She takes a shaky breath, attempting to come to terms with the facing the true price of her new life - dealing with what she'd left behind.
It's a price she's not sure she can handle paying. She takes a shaky breath, as the weight of it all sets in - eyes fixated on her now dark comm.]
[pack filter]
It's a while later, after he turns the comm back on, sees Erica's last response (and that in particular breaks something in him, because of course there's a point: they're still pack, closer than family, but she's been dead to him for months and he loves Allison, and both of those facts are true and they both hurt) and replays the whole conversation.
He should have been the one to tell her. In person, in private. She deserves better.
He really fucked this up.
It almost feels like he's having a panic attack, like the walls are closing in around him, his breath coming out in short bursts. He shuts that feeling down as best he can, then plunges in before he can talk himself out of doing it. He doesn't switch the feed to private immediately, though he thinks about it; it's his mess, let the rest of them see he's trying to fix it.]
Erica?
[pack filter]
[Lydia doesn't really expect this reaction, the way Erica just shut down. She immediately sends a quick message to Scott, but when she sees Isaac's face showing up on her screen, she turns her attention toward him.
Apparently this is a bigger deal than she assumed and she hates the way Isaac looks. Hurt, guilty. He better not hurt her best friend.]
GO find her, Isaac. Talk to her. [But don't mess this up for Allison. Don't you dare hurt her.]
[pack filter - not here]
She lets out a broken sob, chucking her phone on her bed as the panic slowly sets in.