Sighing, Allison leaned back against the kitchen counter, so she didn't have to lean on her fucking crutches, and shook her head as the little silky terrier and sleek black tomcat with pigmented corneas switched breakfast plates on her. It was a not uncommon occurrence, but considering that Beta was on a weight control dog food and Todd was taking glucosamine with his breakfast, it was a problem at least for the time being.
No matter--she'd give Todd treats later, and the glucosamine in Todd's food would be good for Beta's joints.
Letting the pair finish each other's food, Allison grabbed her crutches and started hobbling towards the bathroom, cursing the stupid cast that encased her foot for the millionth time. She hated not being able to hit the street, she hated the stupid plastic fucking bag she had to wear over the goddamn thing, she hated...
...crossing the threshold into the hallway of her apartment, Allison found herself outside.
The situation wasn't unfamiliar to her--once upon a time, it had been a train and not some dusty road, with a monstrous pink building looming in the distance, and a song on the air that stirred strange feelings, had her turning on her crutches to better face the distant structure, to start hobbling forward a few steps to go towards it.
The problem now was that she had a sinking feeling that came with knowing. That she wasn't where she was supposed to be, that she had no recourse, no escape...
That, for the second time in two years, she'd been taken from her home.
So she started hobbling along the crappy dirt road on crutches, with one bare foot and her cast getting filthier by the second--gathering dirt the way rage gathered in her chest, hot and cold at once, burning instead of hurting.
She didn't care about her cast, didn't care what she would look like as she approached what looked like a hotel in cutoffs and a sports bra, or the questions that she might raise with the scars littering her noticeably muscular bare arms and tattooed torso--among those being a couple of bullet grazes and plenty of old knife wounds. And that didn't even include the aged green and yellow bruise still marring her shoulder from the last bullet her body armor deflected, nor did it include the sheath clipped to the inside of her cutoffs, the handles of her ring daggers pressing a comforting weight into the small of her back.
Allison didn't care about a goddamn thing as she struggled up to the door--not the music that propelled her along the road, not the dust, not anything.
She only cared that she was further from home than she had ever been--not just Beacon Hills, but Darrow. Darrow was home now, with her cozy apartment and her pets and her blood soaked second life. She had friends like Tris, family like the Inseparables and Newt. Darrow was where she didn't have to struggle to belong.
She'd been taken from Darrow, and it hurt. It hurt like hell...but she'd endured far too much pain in her life to be able to survive more of it, more loss and grief and regret.
So no, she wasn't scared or aching for home.
As she furiously hobbled up towards the hotel, Allison Argent was seriously pissed off.
assigned threads!
Sighing, Allison leaned back against the kitchen counter, so she didn't have to lean on her fucking crutches, and shook her head as the little silky terrier and sleek black tomcat with pigmented corneas switched breakfast plates on her. It was a not uncommon occurrence, but considering that Beta was on a weight control dog food and Todd was taking glucosamine with his breakfast, it was a problem at least for the time being.
No matter--she'd give Todd treats later, and the glucosamine in Todd's food would be good for Beta's joints.
Letting the pair finish each other's food, Allison grabbed her crutches and started hobbling towards the bathroom, cursing the stupid cast that encased her foot for the millionth time. She hated not being able to hit the street, she hated the stupid plastic fucking bag she had to wear over the goddamn thing, she hated...
...crossing the threshold into the hallway of her apartment, Allison found herself outside.
The situation wasn't unfamiliar to her--once upon a time, it had been a train and not some dusty road, with a monstrous pink building looming in the distance, and a song on the air that stirred strange feelings, had her turning on her crutches to better face the distant structure, to start hobbling forward a few steps to go towards it.
The problem now was that she had a sinking feeling that came with knowing. That she wasn't where she was supposed to be, that she had no recourse, no escape...
That, for the second time in two years, she'd been taken from her home.
So she started hobbling along the crappy dirt road on crutches, with one bare foot and her cast getting filthier by the second--gathering dirt the way rage gathered in her chest, hot and cold at once, burning instead of hurting.
She didn't care about her cast, didn't care what she would look like as she approached what looked like a hotel in cutoffs and a sports bra, or the questions that she might raise with the scars littering her noticeably muscular bare arms and tattooed torso--among those being a couple of bullet grazes and plenty of old knife wounds. And that didn't even include the aged green and yellow bruise still marring her shoulder from the last bullet her body armor deflected, nor did it include the sheath clipped to the inside of her cutoffs, the handles of her ring daggers pressing a comforting weight into the small of her back.
Allison didn't care about a goddamn thing as she struggled up to the door--not the music that propelled her along the road, not the dust, not anything.
She only cared that she was further from home than she had ever been--not just Beacon Hills, but Darrow. Darrow was home now, with her cozy apartment and her pets and her blood soaked second life. She had friends like Tris, family like the Inseparables and Newt. Darrow was where she didn't have to struggle to belong.
She'd been taken from Darrow, and it hurt. It hurt like hell...but she'd endured far too much pain in her life to be able to survive more of it, more loss and grief and regret.
So no, she wasn't scared or aching for home.
As she furiously hobbled up towards the hotel, Allison Argent was seriously pissed off.