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
One of his hands come up to rest on her fingers, where they're touching his face. His other reaches up - slow, because no matter what, he doesn't want to hurt her - and brushes her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear.]
Maybe. Just be careful. I couldn't-- If he does anything to you...
[He shakes his head, huffs out a breath. She's going to try it anyway, regardless of what he says. A moment to think of something that might be helpful and then:]
Try Erica. Try helping him with her.
[It feels a little like betrayal, even though he's trying really really hard to keep himself and that Isaac seperate in his mind.]
spam
She sees a lot of the wolf in him, but his human half...dimly, she understands why her counterpart would have chosen to be his mate if she couldn't be with Scott.
It's a long moment before she gathers her wits enough to nod, struck as she is by the unexpected connection she feels to him, by the font of love and compassion behind the eyes of a boy she's come to fear so readily.]
I will...I'll protect them both.