theresalwayshope | 013} the cheapest stuff is all i need / to get me back on my feet again

[Duke has...a lot of interesting stuff in his cabin.

Allison found this out when she was trying to straighten up to distract herself. The place is already fairly neat, so it's a useless distraction from Lydia's snub, from her own impotent fury and the bitter sting of not being trusted by her own best friend. Her heart's not in it...but it wasn't hard to find Duke's liquor.

Or his pot...but she quickly put the joints back where she found them.

She didn't consider the bottle of vodka in his cupboard for long, however, before she got herself a glass of ice and poured herself some. She's never had anything stronger than beer, she doesn't really know what she's doing...but it burns going down, and she feels better in the aftermath of her first sip, loose and warm and good.

After two half glasses, she hurts less. After four, she's well past tipsy. On her fifth, she's well aware she's dangerously close to drunk...so she sips carefully at her next, though she's no longer sure what number drink it is.

When her comm flickers on some time later, the video shows her slouched bonelessly over the kitchen counter in Duke's cabin, her head in her hand. The bottle is visible in the frame, and Allison is visibly fascinated by her drink as she swirls the clear liquid in her glass, ice chinking pleasantly against the equally clear surface. She likes the noise, it's soothing...cheerful.

She's no longer staring at the camera. She seems to have forgotten she flipped her comm on as she mutters to herself, apparently having an internal conversation out loud.]

Stupid boys. Stupid Lydia...Jackson Whittemore is not the biggest douche bag I've ever met, y'know? If you'd...just...had some hot chocolate you'd know that. Jerk...jerkette. [She pauses, smiling a little, amused with her jibe. Her features, however, immediately crumble as she sets her glass down and lets her head thunk against the counter. When she speaks again, she's nearly shouting.]

DUUUUUUUUUKE! Why are you comafied?! I DON'T KNOW IF THIS VODKA IS BAD!

[She pauses, then reaches for her glass as she lifts her head just enough to take a sip, talking around the glass in a very small voice.]

It tastes awful.

[She takes a tiny sip, then smacks her mouth and licks her lips.]

It tasted awful.

[She has another sip, then seems to realize her comm is on and blanches, setting her glass down and reaching for the bottle nearby.]

Hey, guys? Guys! I need to know, 'cause...'cause Duke's comafied. Does...

[She trails off, midway through uncapping the bottle. Torn between remembering what she's drinking and pouring more, she makes an intense and carefully executed operation of pouring more into her glass while nearly pressing her nose against the label of the bottle.]

...vodka give you hangovers? 'Cause I don't want a hangover. I just don't want to be sad anymore about...

[She trails off, and she remembers. Lydia turning her away, Lydia pushing her away. Because that was inevitable, wasn't it? First her best friend, then her best friend's boyfriend...then her werewolf, then Scott, then Kira and Isaac and then she'll be an omega with nowhere to go...

Setting the bottle down, Allison picked up her glass and took a long, healthy swallow...then set her glass down and made a face of pure disgust, complete with her tongue sticking out as she shuddered theatrically.]

Ilch.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[There is no part of that sentence that seems logical because a glass of water is portable, but he's not going to correct her.]

Good. Good.

[He's on his way; it's why the next reply comes as a text instead.]

[TEXT]

never said you weren't

yourealy think that?

it's not an opinion it's a statement

that im toufh n u think im strong?

tig do u trust me

no that I never said you weren't tough

I'm not answering that. That's what you hear before somebody shoves something up your ass that shouldn't be there

[Plan: say gross things, she will back off and stop reminding him of Her and conversation will be easier.

PLEASE DON'T ASK HIM QUESTIONS LIKE THAT THEY ARE AWKWARD TO ANSWER.]

[Even drunk, Tig, the tiny teenage girl isn't fazed by your shock and disgust campaign.]

dont b gros just 2b gross, tig do u trust mee

nothing good ever happens when you answer a question like that.

why do you want to know

coz my BFF dosnt trust me anymor

am i a badpersontig

[Aw, shit.]

I'm not really the person to ask, my threshold's pretty fucked

[And that's about when he gets there. There's a knock, because clearly he doesn't actually have any kind of access.]

It's me.

[After a minute, Allison opens the door, peering out at Tig with eyes that were to bright, a glass of water cradled against her chest with one hand.]

You're a--you're one of the best people I know. Am I a bad person? Should...Lydia shouldn't trust me, huh?

[He chuckles, humorless and dark.]

I'm really not. Ain't even close. You think otherwise, clearly you missed somethin'.

[But he knows that's not anything helpful, not considering her concerns. So he steps into the cabin, steers her in further if she doesn't move immediately. Closes the door behind him then moves to investigate the alcohol selection himself. If he's expected to have this conversation he's absolutely going to need booze.]

You're a good kid. Seem about as trustworthy as a teenage girl can be, I guess. Usually teenage girls hate me, so you got that as a pro or con, depending on how you want to call it. Why?

[Impassive, Allison allows herself to be maneuvered back into the cabin, but when Tig goes looking through the alcohol she comes alive, making her way to him quickly, if a little wobbly...and thankfully, without falling over.

She reaches him in just enough time to wrench the bottle of vodka from his hand, brandishing it like it might bite.]

No! Eeeevil.

[Setting it down, she peers into the small liquor cabinet with an intensely thoughtful look...then pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels and hands it to Tig with a look of sheer relief.]

Here.

[She promptly goes back to being unhappy, hovering at Tig's elbow, if not leaning against him outright as he serves himself.]

My best friend...she doesn't trust me. And Tig you didn't answer the question! I'm drunk, not stupid.

Do you trust me...and-and do you think I'm a good person? Don't tell me what--what I seem. [She reaches up, poking his temple with her index finger.] Tell me what you think. In your brain.

Alright, alright. Relax, kid.

[But there's more amusement in it than annoyance, and he relinquishes the bottle easily enough. Accepts the alternative plenty willingly, it's his personal preference anyway, and pours a generous glass. Takes a sip, lets her linger where she will, if anything only casually drapes an arm over her shoulder. He's tactile by nature, it would be weirder if he didn't.

He does, however, use the contact to steer her over to the nearest seating, drops down and pulls her down next to him.]

Yeah. I guess I do. And you're better than I am, not that it's saying much. Happy?

[Allison flops agreeably down to sit beside him, perfectly content to be steered around and deposited by his side.

And, when he agrees that he thinks she's a good person...and maybe, erroneously, agrees he trusts her, it does make her happy in her drunken state.

With a nod and a small, wobbly smile, she sighs...and promptly burrows against his side, arms around his middle, cuddling as close as she can without actually crawling in his lap.

Because he's Tig, and he's safe...and he trusts her.

So maybe Lydia will trust her later...when Allison is less drunk.

It makes perfect sense in the moment as she snuggles her head against his shoulder and lets out a happy little sigh.]

[He's fairly sure she's mistaken, somewhere down the line. Has to be. But she settles down, burrows into his side, and it's dangerous to let her, he knows that. But she's a warm weight, and it's easy, and she seems to want him there.

He almost asks. Opens his mouth to pry, to try to figure out what had her so wound up, but he closes it a moment later, just keeps his arm draped around her shoulders as she leans. Lets her make the calls; it's the routine, after all. Never take too much, never push too hard, and she might not be his, but the pattern is familiar enough that he adopts it without thinking.]

013} the cheapest stuff is all i need / to get me back on my feet again

[Private]

[text]

[text]

[text]

[text]

[text]

[text]

[text]

[text]

[text]

[spam]

[spam]

[spam]

[spam]

[spam]