theresalwayshope | 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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Wh-what did you just...? [He didn't pull away as she was doing whatever it was; he didn't even realize until too late, it was just subtle enough. He's left staring aghast in shock at the blackened veins standing out against her skin, the look of discomfort on her face.

Once she's finished, looking at him like she's sorry...he slowly lets go of her and carefully flexes his hand. He's so used to it normally, it takes him about two seconds to even realize.]

It doesn't hurt anymore. You healed me? You can heal? [Now it's his turn to look at her in wonder.]

Uh...no, I can't. [The unabashed awe on his face warms her a little as she smiles sheepishly.] It's the pain...werewolves can ease suffering by taking away the pain of others, but it's only temporary. It'll come back eventually.

[She's openly, genuinely apologetic in both tone and expression as she watches his face.] But I can always take it again...taking it doesn't hurt me at all. [Her bright expression dims just a touch when she thinks of Yukimura on her own ship...how she's never far when someone's in pain, and never far from Allison because she can't bear to see another living being suffer...

Taking a deep breath, she refocuses on Derek, her smile returning full force as she dismisses it with a little shrug.]

It's no big deal. I just thought it would help.

I had no idea. [He'd never heard of werewolves doing this, on this ship or otherwise. He looks from her face to his hand again, and then after another beat looks back as he slowly lets it drop.]

Thank you. I'm truly grateful. But you don't have to keep doing that. I'm -- I've gotten very used to the pain. It's so minor comparatively, and I tend to force my way through these things anyway... [He tries to smile again, but can't. Not while they're talking about this. His transformation, his ruined body. Ruined life.]

I've been living with it for a year now, Miss Argent. Allison. I do the best with it I possibly can.

[And if it's never before occurred to her, on her own ship, that their Blight was something else once as well as someone, well. That was all a pretty big giveaway, wasn't it.]

[It does, then, and she wonders if there's hope for him...for Blight. She's smelled it on him: the man is dying, and there's probably no changing that...but maybe the hope isn't in saving his life, but letting him die whole.

Even she knows it's probably futile...but she saves the idea rather than discarding it: helping Blight remember who he is.

Smiling at him gently, she lays a hand on his shoulder and leans up to kiss his glowing cheek. It's warm under her lips, but it's a quick, sweet little peck before she withdraws again.

The gesture is friendly...but as she pulls back, she presses her cheek briefly to his, marking him with her scent.

Warning any other wolves with ill intentions on the ship that Derek Powers is hers.]

Well, I'm here, so I'll help you. For as long as I'm aboard. I promise.

[The kiss, the cheek to cheek gesture: to him it's mildly puzzling, but he can tell there's obviously significance to her. So he simply lets it be.

This time when he tries to smile back at her manages something a little bit better.]

Likewise. I may not be able to do much, I'm not a warden here. But if you ever need a hand. I'll do my best to keep you informed...or merely safe.

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

[spam]

[spam]

[spam]

[spam]

[spam]