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.]
no subject
She'd put her love for Scott behind her a long time ago, but it never did die...and now, looking into his angry features, his hand wrapped around her throat...she knows it never will.
And as she watches him, the ring of red in her eyes grows larger as she reaches up to touch his face, the other back on his wrist to force his hand away from her throat.]
I won't have to. You'll make the right choice. [She turns her head, and she kisses the palm of the hand he had wrapped around her neck, still startled by the ability to overpower him.] You'll come back to me...and I'll wait as long as it takes.
Because I love you.
no subject
She's stronger than him and her eyes are red and he's so fucking terrified that his eyes dart around, making certain of his exits. It's a cowardly reaction. It's a weak one. He fucking hates it.
Her jerks back from her kiss, wrenching his hand to make her let go of him, and takes a few quick steps backwards, up the stairs. He almost stumbles, catches himself against the railing.]
If you think I'll ever come crawling back, you're out of your fucking mind. I don't want to be with someone who wants a different version of me.
[He snarls it out, takes another step back, up, heading for the next landing.]
You don't love me. You love him. Don't get it confused. He was fucking awful at that, too.
no subject
[She straightens as he stumbles back, the gold a thin ring at the edges of her irises, now being swallowed by red as she stands tall before him, serene with conviction and the confidence of her renewed strength.]
Haven't you ever wondered what it could have been like if things were just a little bit different? If every day for us had been like my seventeenth birthday? If you didn't work so hard to try and win me over, show me what a strong wolf you are...if you'd just...wanted to be with me? Why couldn't that be enough?
no subject
Scott recognizes that his thoughts are a tumble of nonsense, spikes of fear, but it's so hard to swallow it down. He can't entirely manage it, but he leans toward her, using the steps up he's taken as a height advantage. His teeth are bared, the snarl on his mouth - but his eyes are wide, and afraid.]
How clear do I have to be, Allison? You're not enough for me.