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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[He knows, immediately, when he spots her in the stairwell as he's heading up the steps that she's the Allison from his barge and not the one from this barge. They're both out of place here, but he's hated her for so long that his guard automatically raises. She could out him. Easily. She has no reason not to. Except maybe she does. Maybe her reason for not outing him matches his reason for not attacking her on sight.]

Allison.

[Allison smells him just before she sees him...and despite her new status as a warden, despite having her powers back, she still feels afraid. That fear reflexively lights her eyes feral gold, has a growl rolling from deep in her chest...

She has to think of Lydia to force herself to stop. She has to remember that she's not at his mercy anymore. He can't hurt her...he might even be an inmate. And if he is, this Barge is different.

Here, it's her obligation to help him.

So she forces the wolf back with a few deep breaths, smooths her features into calmer lines, and nods by way of greeting.]

Hello, Stilin--Stiles.

Edited 2014-10-02 17:10 (UTC)

[His eyes flash blue in response to hers flashing gold and he grits his teeth against the urge to attack when she holds herself back. His hands, previously balled into fists, relax once more and he eyes her warily.]

I guess we're on a little bit of a different playing field here.

We don't have to be.

[Taking a deep breath, she takes a slow step towards Stiles, hands loose at her sides, visible and nonthreatening.]

You can't hurt me here...and I have no desire to hurt you. On top of that, we have a couple of big things in common. Things that...maybe we can rely on for a truce, at the very least.

[A truce was a start. They can build on a truce...she can show him her side of the story with Scott. Show him how she feels about Lydia, how badly she wants to try and find a friend within the Lydia Martin she knows back home.]

Maybe we can trust each other just enough to take care of them. Both of them.

[She's so damn sincere. It reminds him of this barge's version of Scott that he met in the arena, and the reminder hurts him now the same way it did then. Because mixed in with the hurt is a flare of guilt that he struggles to shove down. He doesn't want to feel guilt about anything he's done. He's not that Stiles anymore.

But there's something else. Something that doesn't make sense.]

Why would you care about either of them? Especially Scott.

Because I love him, Stiles. [And it's honest. It's honest in the moments she hates McCall, and it's honest in the moments she weeps for the hole he left, the betrayal of The Bite and the realization that he wasn't the boy she'd fallen in love with.

She thought she was past him. She thought she was done mourning him...then she'd met a True Alpha in the arena, and her heart had opened again.]

I never stopped loving him, and I've long since forgiven him...but I can't trust him. He's not the boy I fell in love with, he can't see anything anymore without considering power. With what I could become, I'm not Allison anymore...I'm a threat. And Lydia...

[She trails off, biting her tongue. Everything that comes from Stiles is underlaid with the acrid smell of loneliness because his pack will never truly be his pack. He's so warped by his losses and his hatred he doesn't know how to bring them together...

None of them have ever truly had a pack to call their own in a very long time, and it's only just starting to dawn on Allison that...maybe this is the difference. Maybe this is something she can give them, something she can use to heal them.

She steps forward again, extending her hand.]

I met them, Stiles. [She smiles now, and there's real joy, real hope in her smile.] In the arena...the other Lydia, the other Scott...he's a True Alpha, you know? And Lydia, she's...she's my friend. I talked to them, I fought with them, and I believe that those good and loyal people are still alive in the Scott and Lydia we know.

...and after talking to Lydia in the arena, I have no doubt that something equally great is still alive in you.

[The answer he receives is anything but the one he expected. He's actually startled, and even though he struggles not to let it show, she might see the surprise flicker across his features.

It's when she goes on about the difference between loving Scott and trusting him that for the first time in a long time, he actually understands how Allison Argent feels about something. He loves Scott, has done terrible things for Scott, has killed for him. But he can't and doesn't trust Scott with Lydia. He swallows heavily and looks away.

He misses the Scott he grew up with. The boy that he trusted more than anyone, always. He got that glimpse of him again in the arena. He bites down hard on his tongue, hard enough to draw blood. The coppery tang in his mouth is what makes him look over at Allison once more. He isn't surprised that the Scott on this barge is a True Alpha. His own Scott had been on his way toward that back home, he's pretty sure.

And maybe somewhere deep down that part of Scott is still alive. But even if it is, he doesn't know how to bring it out. He's always needed Scott more than Scott's ever needed him, and he doesn't believe for a second that there's anything he can do to help recover that part of his best friend. Or Lydia for that matter.

It's when she tells him she believes there's something good in him that shakes him out of his troubled reverie.]

You're wrong about that. [His voice is flat. There is nothing in him that's good or worth saving anymore. He's still going to go back to their barge eventually, and he's going to get his damned deal. He has to.]

[Allison shakes her head as she draws closer, hand still outstretched.] Don't think so. Because you miss him, I can smell it.

[She pauses, then lifts her outstretched hand, slowly. She takes another step closer, making sure every move is telegraphed, making sure she doesn't surprise him.]

And you care about Lydia...just like I do. You can't care about anyone if there's nothing left to care, Stiles.

[Her hand drifts forward, reaching for his shoulder...slow, cautious.]

We can save them both. We can have them back...we can be a pack like the people on this ship are. A real one, without fear or hatred...a family.

[Cautiously, she moves to lay her hand on his shoulder, a friendly touch.]

I'm not the girl you knew, Stiles...I can help you get Scott back. If you'll let me.

[He glares at her, but remains silent and still as she creeps toward him and finally lays a hand on his shoulder. He flinches but doesn't pull away. He doesn't want to acknowledge anything she's said as right or possible because it seems impossible.

Even if it feels right.

His heart is beating faster in his chest now and he grinds his teeth together.

In his mind he can hear Scott's words from the arena echoing. I know you, Stiles. You still are. But Scott didn't know the things that he's done. The things that he's still willing to do.]

Just -- just stop. You're safe here, and I'm not gonna bother you. But leave me alone. I can't help you.

[He backs away from her, a flash of unidentifiable emotion flickering over his face before he turns away.]

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

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