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.]
Spam
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.]