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.]
spam . cw: mention of self-harm
I'm not weak, though. [She shakes her head, voice still thick with tears and eyes still damp, though she feels so much steadier, so much less like she's coming apart as she wrings Zane's handkerchief between her hands.] I'm part of a pack...I'm not a werewolf, but I'm still part of the pack, and packs make you stronger. For...werewolves, it's the supernatural stuff, but for humans it's different. For humans, it's...it makes you stronger inside.
[Her gaze grows distant as she speaks, tears falling silently. They're warm as they run down her cheeks...leftovers with nowhere to go, and in a weird way they feel soothing as they spill over like rain.]
It makes it so hard to understand why anyone in my family ever hunted them. They're violent, they're dangerous, but so are Argents. Werewolves, though...they feel so much, so deeply, and when that turns to loyalty and love? When they give it to you, to make you stronger? There's...nothing, literally nothing you can't do. Fight, kill...die.
[She takes a deep breath, lowering her gaze to her hands. Hands drenched in blood she can see in her mind's eye...blood she's shed herself, blood her family has shed...her own blood, even, in some not too distant future.
Because stories don't always get happy endings...and when someone has to die, there's always blood. Blood Scott's too pure to touch, blood Lydia sees too much of, blood Isaac's lost to darker things...blood that Stiles had his hands shoved into against his will.
She's strong enough to bear the blood, but her friends won't let her...and deep down, she knows that's how the pack stays strong: she's more wolf than human now, and she has a taste for it. She would take all of it if she could, bathe in blood...drown in it. She does bathe in it...
And when she's about to drown, the four of them pull her out. After, they can wash the blood away...but they can't always get all of it, and that she can't stand. She can't stand that it stains them at all.
She finally blinks, realizing that her distress...there's something wrong with those dark thoughts, softened by understanding. She blinks, then looks to Zane, watery features muzzy with confusion and slow-dawning comprehension.]
Are you...doing something to me? [It's, oddly enough, at least to her, a guileless question: innocent, inquiring.]
no subject
It's what made the difference for him. It's why he graduated.
He understands.
When she notices, he isn't embarrassed. There's just a little bit of a smile. ]
Not much. You're doing the rest.
no subject
She covers her mouth, swallowing back the tears. It still hurts, but...not as bad. And she's almost afraid to feel that fury and grief again, at least just yet.
Taking a couple deep breaths through her nose, steadying herself with relative ease, she uncovers her mouth and tries again.]
Will it...wear off after a while?
no subject
It will. What I'm doing will be gone as soon as I can't see you anymore.
But you might be better at calming yourself down next time.
no subject
Still, she'd be better off telling him to stop.
A long, silent moment passes...and finally, without saying a word, Allison just nods, leaning back more comfortably against the tree, her shoulder pressing lightly against Zane's. It's...weird, but not uncomfortable.
She continues to say nothing, blotting her eyes and occasionally blowing her nose on the handkerchief...with a healthy amount of hesitation and a silent promise to hand wash it and return it to him as soon as possible. She wants to be careful, after all, not knowing if the fine embroidery work will stand up to the machines in the laundromat...]
How are the babies? [She pauses, then manages a watery smile as she examines the rabbit on the handkerchief, shaking her head a little.] Though I still say they don't have names for each other 'cause they're baby bunnies.
no subject
But you don't know, do you.
[ He settles next to her. Maybe it's perceptible, now, how young he actually is: he was barely twenty-two when he got on the Barge. Life in his world ages people fast. ]
I graduated because I found family like that. How you mean pack.
no subject
Well, I'll tell you what: if you can't find homes for all the babies, maybe I can take one. And if I hear said bunny mention a name? I'll concede the argument. Otherwise, I'm right and you're wrong.
[The way he talks, it's pretty clear he understands the notion of a pack at least on a basic level. She's aware, vaguely, that Zane hasn't always been a warden, and it makes her curious as she scoots a little closer to him.]
Was it that simple? You just...found a family, and you graduated?
no subject
Then you can come and pick one out.
[ He shakes his head, on the last question. Considers it, for a moment. ]
Trust was the last lesson.
The first was - stop killing. Take responsibility. And - you're not insane. [ This part is said with a little more hesitation. He had believed fully that he was insane, when he arrived on the Barge. ]
no subject
Knowing him after the fact, though...plus or minus a crazy pillow fort flood...]
Unless your behavior's changed...ridiculous amounts since your arrival, just the day to day stuff...you don't strike me as even remotely crazy. Maybe...different, but there's nothing wrong with that.
no subject
No one could hear it but me. The conclusion was obvious: I was insane.
[ He is matter-of-fact about this, but his sentences are so dry because it's still so frightening and strange to him. ]
Later, I found out that it was God's voice.