theresalwayshope | 015} now look up, well the skies are black {and they're getting darker all the time}

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[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.]

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[For a moment, Allison freezes...but it's just reflex, and she relaxes. Every time she's been identified that way, especially when she first arrived, it always came with something terrible happening...and an eventual exposure of her nature as a potential True Alpha.

That always made things much, much worse.

His reassurance gets a nod, but the hand clutching her biscuit stays tucked protectively against her chest, moving just long enough for her to take another healthy bite as she watches Riddick. He radiates quiet strength, and it's sort of a balm...feels, for a moment, like just talking to him is removing some of her burden, and it makes breathing a lot easier.]

So...this hasn't happened before? People being...replaced? I mean, I know there are floods and stuff, but...[She trails off, shaking her head slightly.] This wasn't a flood.

[She pauses again, taking another bite of her biscuit...then finally setting it on the plate in the middle of her tray and reaching for two more, still struggling not to look as eager as she truly is for a meal that might not be used to torment her.]

It's like a breach, normally. We visit that ship, maybe while its in port. We get turned ito out other selves, maybe. Then it clears up and it's all guilt and ghost memories.

This is... New.

[He idly fills a bowl of stew, leaves it on the counter near her, and steps away to focus on checking the level of one of the other dishes.]

[The moment he goes for the stew, her eyes are trained on his ladle, watching him dish it up and set it down. She doesn't stop to realize she's being served, all she can do is stand there and breathe in the savory aroma of meat and vegetables, hot and hearty...

Her mouth is watering. Her eyes are glowing.

When Riddick is done checking his other dish, he will see, if he looks back at her, that the bowl is on her tray, her body is curled over it slightly, protectively, and she's chewing on a large chunk of meat plucked greedily from the bowl with her fingers...burned by the hot food, but already healed as she licks them clean with her eyes shut and a small, secret smile as her beast trills with a growl of perfect contentment in the back of her skull.

When she opens her eyes, she offers Riddick a bigger, brighter smile, almost childlike in its gratitude.]

Sorry. Everything just...smells so good. [She sucks the last of the broth off her thumb, looking down the line of food greedily.] Tastes good, too. Looks even better.

[He half smiles, wordlessly hands over a soup spoon-- lays it on the counter and backs off a little, like the food.]

Appreciate that. The food keeps this place from feeling so much like a prison that people start to act it. Some days, though, there's not enough food in the world for that, you know?

If you're up for it I could use a hand. We're short-staffed until I figure out who's tolling, who's been replaced, and who's just playing hooky.

If you don't mind. It'd just be a day or two.

[Allison's hand darts out before she can stop herself, deftly picking up the spoon and sliding a little further down the line so she could continue talking with Riddick while snagging bites of stew that earned tiny, quiet little growls of pleasure that are so soft, it's on par with purring.

The mention of working in the kitchen is met with a bright smile and a nod.]

I'd love to! I don't have a warden yet, so I haven't gotten a work assignment or anything. It'd be nice to have something to do...[And she'd like to work with this version of Riddick--

Her train of thought stops dead, her eyes widening as she stares at her hand, where she'd just burned her fingers before.

She's healing. She's strong. She's...

Her gaze shoots up to him, her eyes round as saucers and suddenly bright with shock as she stares at him.]

Riddick...[She pauses, swallowing thickly.] Is...there a way to check your position on this ship? If you're an inmate...or a warden?

[Well HMMM. He holds a hand up, turns sideways to her, fishes out his commnicator. A quick tap and- ]

[WARDEN FILTER]
welcome to the club kid

[Allison frowns at him a little as he turns away, at least until her comm goes off. Reaching into her pocket, she pulls it out, sees the message...

It takes a second, but using filters in the network to identify others is a common enough trick, even on her Barge. Her eyes well up immediately, and a soft, strangled noise escapes her as she covers her mouth to stifle it. She can't breathe for a second, and when she feels like she can safely drop her hand and looks to Riddick, her smile threatens to split her face. The relief and joy in her expression are almost painful to see, so intense and so radiant she looks, for a moment, like she might actually burst into tears on the spot.

She keeps it together, though, and manages to remember the need for air. She breathes, a soft laugh escaping her, head falling forward to stare at her comm again.]

Thanks. [Her voice is small and tight with emotion, but recognizably happy.]

Hey. Being a warden's not a value judgement. I know shitty wardens and good inmates. [He holds up a finger, but the next sentence and his tone is less serious, showing that the protest was just rhetorical.]

But it can be handy.

It may make the kitchen thing difficult, but maybe the Admiral isn't paying attention.

You're gonna be okay. Finish up lunch, a'ight? We're not low on food. You're allowed to have seconds. Right?

[His wisecrack is met with a watery, but merry giggle...borderline hysterical, but it's release rather than an escalation, a vent for everything she's feeling that lets her feel a little calmer.

She needs to talk to Riddick when she gets home. She needs to help him become this man. Somber and sweet, alive in his own quiet way...she will make him pack. She will help him.

She will be a warden on this ship, and she will take home all she learns. She will save everyone.

His directions are met with an agreeable nod and a smile as she wipes the stray tears from her eyes, leaving them dry and calmer again.]

Yes, sir. [She'll be an Alpha one day, but for now she's a good, strong Beta, and benevolent obedience comes easily to her. She'll eat her fill, and when she's done she'll come and help him.

She's still grinning as she slides her tray down the line, filling it with as much food as she thinks she can stomach...but she can't quite stop herself from hovering over it protectively as she gathers what she wants, or stealing bites of it as she goes so it can't be taken from her or ruined or somehow separated from her in some way, shape, or form.]

015} now look up, well the skies are black {and they're getting darker all the time}

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