Allison Argent (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theresalwayshope) wrote2014-09-29 09:22 pm
theresalwayshope) wrote2014-09-29 09:22 pm
015} now look up, well the skies are black {and they're getting darker all the time}
[SPAM;VIDEO]
[When the scream rings out, Allison drops like a lead weight.
It's a sound she knows well, the banshee's howl. It's painful, it's terrible, and it's terrifying because she's helpless. She would fear a dupe, if she hadn't smelled Lydia personally, if she hadn't known her for the short time they ran together...
As it is, she can't think of anything. The scream won't allow for it.
She regains awareness in the middle of the earthquake and the dark, confused and terrified and totally without direction.
Something breaks. The dark is endless.
Then...it's over.
Blinking against the sudden light, Allison flinches at the assault of new sights and sounds. She's in a room she doesn't know...a living room space, warm and neat yet lived in.
Her nostrils flare, sorting through the scents: human (Allison), rabbit, hay. There's gun oil, lead and gunpowder (bullets), the distant smells of cosmetics and breath mints and old traces of her father's aftershave. Turning in a slow circle, she spots pictures on one wall, photos of her...and on the coffee table, she takes note of a folding combat knife sitting next to some magazines.
Reaching out, she picks it up...flicks it open, then shut again.
All clues point to this space...belonging to her somehow, but there are weapons in it.
Tucking the knife into the back of her jeans, she fumbles in her pockets, looking for her comm. Finding it, her hands shake as she flicks it on, her face filling the feed a moment later. The fear is open on her features...and those that know Allison Argent well, as well as those who met her in the arena, may note enough differences in her demeanor to determine that something's very wrong.]
Everyone in the pack, please check in...I think there's something wrong.
[Allison kills the feed, then puts her comm back in her pocket, venturing cautiously out of her cabin. The doors in the corridor are familiar, but somehow wrong...
The number on the door matches. The infirmary is just down the hall. There is no question in her mind, this is her cabin. If not for the strange doors and the absence of her old room at home behind her door, she'd have sworn this was her Barge.
But, as she goes cautiously investigating the different levels of the ship (excluding warden areas at first, because she obviously doesn't have access), she slowly comes to realize that she's not where she belongs.
This ship is not the Barge she knows.]
[When the scream rings out, Allison drops like a lead weight.
It's a sound she knows well, the banshee's howl. It's painful, it's terrible, and it's terrifying because she's helpless. She would fear a dupe, if she hadn't smelled Lydia personally, if she hadn't known her for the short time they ran together...
As it is, she can't think of anything. The scream won't allow for it.
She regains awareness in the middle of the earthquake and the dark, confused and terrified and totally without direction.
Something breaks. The dark is endless.
Then...it's over.
Blinking against the sudden light, Allison flinches at the assault of new sights and sounds. She's in a room she doesn't know...a living room space, warm and neat yet lived in.
Her nostrils flare, sorting through the scents: human (Allison), rabbit, hay. There's gun oil, lead and gunpowder (bullets), the distant smells of cosmetics and breath mints and old traces of her father's aftershave. Turning in a slow circle, she spots pictures on one wall, photos of her...and on the coffee table, she takes note of a folding combat knife sitting next to some magazines.
Reaching out, she picks it up...flicks it open, then shut again.
All clues point to this space...belonging to her somehow, but there are weapons in it.
Tucking the knife into the back of her jeans, she fumbles in her pockets, looking for her comm. Finding it, her hands shake as she flicks it on, her face filling the feed a moment later. The fear is open on her features...and those that know Allison Argent well, as well as those who met her in the arena, may note enough differences in her demeanor to determine that something's very wrong.]
Everyone in the pack, please check in...I think there's something wrong.
[Allison kills the feed, then puts her comm back in her pocket, venturing cautiously out of her cabin. The doors in the corridor are familiar, but somehow wrong...
The number on the door matches. The infirmary is just down the hall. There is no question in her mind, this is her cabin. If not for the strange doors and the absence of her old room at home behind her door, she'd have sworn this was her Barge.
But, as she goes cautiously investigating the different levels of the ship (excluding warden areas at first, because she obviously doesn't have access), she slowly comes to realize that she's not where she belongs.
This ship is not the Barge she knows.]
Video
With a sigh, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head.]
I don't know if you noticed, Vergil, but this isn't our boat...I'm sorry, I don't have time to flirt.
Video
Don't worry your pretty head, we'll take over right quick.
[ He cant be serious about anything.]
Video
Vergil? I'm not in the mood, you're incredibly obnoxious...and one day, I'm going to be an Alpha werewolf.
Do you want to know what one of the wonderful things about Alphas is? Injuries they inflict on other shifters take longer to heal. Almost human speed.
[She lifts a hand into the feed, claws extending.]
Keep annoying me, and when I find my power? I will give you something to worry your pretty head about. [She pauses for effect.]
Both of your pretty heads.
Video; CW; Sexist remark
Oh come on, Princess. That's no way to be. I thought we were friends!
[ He mocked a bit then waved a hand in annoyed way.]
Fine fine, you start threatenin' the parts that matter I know it means leave you alone until next week. Catch you on the flip side.