rogue, lydia/allison, after the wolves destroy everything, they're all that's left
"They say there's people in Detroit." She says, polishing the blood off her knife. She using a t-shirt she stole from a rotting corpse.
"Oh." Lydia says, eyes running over the pages of a book.
She always does this. Reads the books they find before they burn them for heat.
Allison sighs, tucks the knife into the holder on her belt.
"Wake me when it's next watch?"
"Mmm-hmm."
Allison lies down, presses her cheek against the cold, hard floor.
The rustle of the pages eventually lull her to sleep.
--- "Werewolf Apocalypse'..."
"White House Down..."
"Rabid animals..."
"...appear human..."
"...no closer to finding a cure."
"impulsive, aggressive..."
"...can not be stopped..."
"...not human..."
---
She wakes with a start, beads of sweat on her forehead.
"Allison," Lydia says, hand on her shoulder, cool to the touch. Allison breathes, leaning into it.
"No," Lydia says harshly, shaking her. "We have to go. Come on, Allison, we have to go now."
Her instincts kick in, she's on her feet in seconds, her left arm protecting Lydia, the gun with wolfsbane bullets outstretched dangerously in her right.
"No," she says, "not yet."
Allison's not quite all there, head still filled with overlapping voices and wrangled carcasses of wolves she once knew.
It takes her three scans around the room for her to process what Lydia says.
"How soon?"
There's a loud crash, a snarl, and the shuffle of someone probing the remnants of the broken home they've taken cover in.
Lydia meets her eyes. "Now."
Allison's hidden in a matter of seconds, weaponry digging into her palm. Lydia's in the middle of the room, wide-eyed and gazing, ready to play victim.
She whimpers, and Allison can feel the moment it stops rummaging and starts following the trail of Lydia's scent. The thing about the wolves: they thrive on fear.
It kicks the door open, eyes hungry and searching, red.
Not red like an alpha. Red like the blood pouring from her mother, her father, Scott.
It goes straight for Lydia, she lets it get close, close enough to run it's nose along her neck. Close enough to where it's intoxicated by the scent of a possible kill.
She stabs it in the heart.
It stumbles backward, surprised, and it eyes transform to outrage. It swings back it's arm, but by the time the claws brush her cheek, Allison's already got two arrows in his back.
It whimpers, falls to it's knees. Lydia starts the fire.
They drag it, toss it into the blaze.
Lydia sighs as she lets her book follow after it.
Allison stares, watches as it's engulfed by flames. Lydia starts to move about, gathering up what little they have. She talks while she does so, but Allison doesn't hear her, only hears the crackling of the embers.
She doesn't come to until there's a hand placed in hers. It's warm.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2013-07-22 04:32 am (UTC)"They say there's people in Detroit." She says, polishing the blood off her knife. She using a t-shirt she stole from a rotting corpse.
"Oh." Lydia says, eyes running over the pages of a book.
She always does this. Reads the books they find before they burn them for heat.
Allison sighs, tucks the knife into the holder on her belt.
"Wake me when it's next watch?"
"Mmm-hmm."
Allison lies down, presses her cheek against the cold, hard floor.
The rustle of the pages eventually lull her to sleep.
---
"Werewolf Apocalypse'..."
"White House Down..."
"Rabid animals..."
"...appear human..."
"...no closer to finding a cure."
"impulsive, aggressive..."
"...can not be stopped..."
"...not human..."
---
She wakes with a start, beads of sweat on her forehead.
"Allison," Lydia says, hand on her shoulder, cool to the touch. Allison breathes, leaning into it.
"No," Lydia says harshly, shaking her. "We have to go. Come on, Allison, we have to go now."
Her instincts kick in, she's on her feet in seconds, her left arm protecting Lydia, the gun with wolfsbane bullets outstretched dangerously in her right.
"No," she says, "not yet."
Allison's not quite all there, head still filled with overlapping voices and wrangled carcasses of wolves she once knew.
It takes her three scans around the room for her to process what Lydia says.
"How soon?"
There's a loud crash, a snarl, and the shuffle of someone probing the remnants of the broken home they've taken cover in.
Lydia meets her eyes. "Now."
Allison's hidden in a matter of seconds, weaponry digging into her palm. Lydia's in the middle of the room, wide-eyed and gazing, ready to play victim.
She whimpers, and Allison can feel the moment it stops rummaging and starts following the trail of Lydia's scent. The thing about the wolves: they thrive on fear.
It kicks the door open, eyes hungry and searching, red.
Not red like an alpha. Red like the blood pouring from her mother, her father, Scott.
It goes straight for Lydia, she lets it get close, close enough to run it's nose along her neck. Close enough to where it's intoxicated by the scent of a possible kill.
She stabs it in the heart.
It stumbles backward, surprised, and it eyes transform to outrage. It swings back it's arm, but by the time the claws brush her cheek, Allison's already got two arrows in his back.
It whimpers, falls to it's knees. Lydia starts the fire.
They drag it, toss it into the blaze.
Lydia sighs as she lets her book follow after it.
Allison stares, watches as it's engulfed by flames. Lydia starts to move about, gathering up what little they have. She talks while she does so, but Allison doesn't hear her, only hears the crackling of the embers.
She doesn't come to until there's a hand placed in hers. It's warm.
"So, Detroit?"
The hand in hers squeezes. She smiles.
"Detroit."