Allie Stoklasa (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pipewrenchfights) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
genessia2018-04-05 02:27 pm
pipewrenchfights) wrote in genessia2018-04-05 02:27 pm
Entry tags:
Let's blow a hole in this town
WHO: Allie Stoklasa, OPEN
WHAT: Allie's master plan to get herself kicked out of Genessia crumbled when she saw firsthand what kind of horrible things people could do, and still stick around. She handles her frustrations poorly.
WHEN: April 10th - Dusk
WHERE: Attleton
Allie chewed absently on the tip of her thumb, the edge of the nail lightly running over the bottom ridges of her upper teeth. Her green eyes were locked on a couple walking down the street, the two companions holding their umbrellas and talking to one another as they passed beneath tree branches that shivered with the wind, and crossed pools of yellow light cast by the street lamps. They didn't seem to pay Allie any mind where she stood with her back against the tree, one ankle crossed in front of the other, as if she were merely waiting for someone and forgot her umbrella at home.
The cold weight of an aluminum can was easily felt through her t-shirt. It was hidden from sight under her flannel shirt and secondhand suede jacket, save for a faint bulge under her clothes that she tried to conceal by crossing her arm over her stomach just so.
Her eyes tracked the pair until they turned the corner, their voices fading in the quiet murmur of pattering rain. She leaned forward and craned her neck, looking down the street, then up. There didn't seem to be anyone else around.
Pushing away from the rough bark of the tree trunk, Allie padded across the grass of the schoolyard. Water squished in her sneakers, and her sneakers squished in the mud. She blinked the rain from her lashes and brushed at her face with an irritated swipe of her left sleeve. The red curls of her hair were dark and plastered to her throat and cheekbones, and both ponytail and tying scarf hung wet and heavy against her back where they threatened to soak through her layers. As she walked, she pulled out the can of spray paint and shook it vigorously.
Not too many years ago, her foster father had been livid to discover that Allie was skipping school in favor of hanging out in the alley across the street from the swimming pool, smoking cigarettes with the other dropouts. He'd given her an ultimatum: go to school, or find herself a new home, because he wasn't going to raise a delinquent.
She went to school. And she did it with a bowie knife strapped to her belt. "I'm gonna cut some bitches!" she'd shouted, stomping up and down the halls until some 'brave' football player tackled her and wrestled the weapon away. It resulted in expulsion like she'd hoped, and as predicted, she was kicked out of the house with nothing to her name but the clothes on her back.
Kind of stupid, now that she thought about it. She tipped her head back, staring at the elementary school wall, the shaking of the can slowed and diminished. If she were smart she would have at least packed a bag first, raided her foster mom's purse for a few dollars, worn a shirt she liked better. But she'd been so damn angry...
Pushing the heel of her palm over her forehead in a futile attempt to drive away a rivulet of water, she popped off the canister lid and let the paint fly with a loud hiss. Crimson dribbled down the bricks as she waved her arm. 'Spirits suck cock.' That's what she wanted to write. What came out was a mess. Rain and spray paint apparently didn't mix all that well, something she would have known had she grown up in a state that got more rain than Wyoming. Upon noticing that her first word had bled into incoherence, Allie grit her teeth and went back to start over. She sprayed longer and took her time, sparing only a brief glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, but the results were the same. Paint ran down the wall and pooled at the cement foundation, soaking into the ground.
"Damn it! DAMN IT!"
She bashed the heel of the spray paint can against the building a few times before whirling around to hurl the rotten thing in the general direction of the playground. The silver can glinted as it spun and plopped to the sodden ground.
What did it matter anyway, really? Getting kicked out of school was one thing, but getting the spirits to kick her out of this place...where men were tortured on public broadcast, eyes and feet and arms removed...what the hell did it take for them to finally decide to boot a victim who just wouldn't cooperate? Apparently Wheel O' Torture wasn't going to cut it, so how much worse would a crime have to be to top that?
She paced angrily over the grass, meandering aimlessly on the vacant schoolgrounds as she grew wetter and more frustrated by the moment. Her adolescent threats with the knife were harmless, but the school officials didn't know that, nor could they afford to take any chances. Allie didn't have the stomach to actually go through with that kind of messed up shit back then, and she hadn't changed so drastically to have a change of heart. Even if she did force herself to do it, to butcher someone, could she really live with herself after that? Even if it actually worked and got her sent back?
Allie stopped in her tracks and threw her head back, blinking rapidly at the assault of raindrops that pelted at her face. "You sons of bitches. You cocksuckers. Why the hell am I here? What do you want from me? I've got nothin'!" Her hands lifted before falling to her sides with a wet slap. "Talk to me, you assholes!"
All of her rage and cursing and demands merited the same results: nothing.
There was a faint choked sound in the back of Allie's throat, which had gone tight for a moment. She threw her middle finger at the sky, held it there, and stormed back toward the street.
"I hate this fucking place."
WHAT: Allie's master plan to get herself kicked out of Genessia crumbled when she saw firsthand what kind of horrible things people could do, and still stick around. She handles her frustrations poorly.
WHEN: April 10th - Dusk
WHERE: Attleton
Allie chewed absently on the tip of her thumb, the edge of the nail lightly running over the bottom ridges of her upper teeth. Her green eyes were locked on a couple walking down the street, the two companions holding their umbrellas and talking to one another as they passed beneath tree branches that shivered with the wind, and crossed pools of yellow light cast by the street lamps. They didn't seem to pay Allie any mind where she stood with her back against the tree, one ankle crossed in front of the other, as if she were merely waiting for someone and forgot her umbrella at home.
The cold weight of an aluminum can was easily felt through her t-shirt. It was hidden from sight under her flannel shirt and secondhand suede jacket, save for a faint bulge under her clothes that she tried to conceal by crossing her arm over her stomach just so.
Her eyes tracked the pair until they turned the corner, their voices fading in the quiet murmur of pattering rain. She leaned forward and craned her neck, looking down the street, then up. There didn't seem to be anyone else around.
Pushing away from the rough bark of the tree trunk, Allie padded across the grass of the schoolyard. Water squished in her sneakers, and her sneakers squished in the mud. She blinked the rain from her lashes and brushed at her face with an irritated swipe of her left sleeve. The red curls of her hair were dark and plastered to her throat and cheekbones, and both ponytail and tying scarf hung wet and heavy against her back where they threatened to soak through her layers. As she walked, she pulled out the can of spray paint and shook it vigorously.
Not too many years ago, her foster father had been livid to discover that Allie was skipping school in favor of hanging out in the alley across the street from the swimming pool, smoking cigarettes with the other dropouts. He'd given her an ultimatum: go to school, or find herself a new home, because he wasn't going to raise a delinquent.
She went to school. And she did it with a bowie knife strapped to her belt. "I'm gonna cut some bitches!" she'd shouted, stomping up and down the halls until some 'brave' football player tackled her and wrestled the weapon away. It resulted in expulsion like she'd hoped, and as predicted, she was kicked out of the house with nothing to her name but the clothes on her back.
Kind of stupid, now that she thought about it. She tipped her head back, staring at the elementary school wall, the shaking of the can slowed and diminished. If she were smart she would have at least packed a bag first, raided her foster mom's purse for a few dollars, worn a shirt she liked better. But she'd been so damn angry...
Pushing the heel of her palm over her forehead in a futile attempt to drive away a rivulet of water, she popped off the canister lid and let the paint fly with a loud hiss. Crimson dribbled down the bricks as she waved her arm. 'Spirits suck cock.' That's what she wanted to write. What came out was a mess. Rain and spray paint apparently didn't mix all that well, something she would have known had she grown up in a state that got more rain than Wyoming. Upon noticing that her first word had bled into incoherence, Allie grit her teeth and went back to start over. She sprayed longer and took her time, sparing only a brief glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, but the results were the same. Paint ran down the wall and pooled at the cement foundation, soaking into the ground.
"Damn it! DAMN IT!"
She bashed the heel of the spray paint can against the building a few times before whirling around to hurl the rotten thing in the general direction of the playground. The silver can glinted as it spun and plopped to the sodden ground.
What did it matter anyway, really? Getting kicked out of school was one thing, but getting the spirits to kick her out of this place...where men were tortured on public broadcast, eyes and feet and arms removed...what the hell did it take for them to finally decide to boot a victim who just wouldn't cooperate? Apparently Wheel O' Torture wasn't going to cut it, so how much worse would a crime have to be to top that?
She paced angrily over the grass, meandering aimlessly on the vacant schoolgrounds as she grew wetter and more frustrated by the moment. Her adolescent threats with the knife were harmless, but the school officials didn't know that, nor could they afford to take any chances. Allie didn't have the stomach to actually go through with that kind of messed up shit back then, and she hadn't changed so drastically to have a change of heart. Even if she did force herself to do it, to butcher someone, could she really live with herself after that? Even if it actually worked and got her sent back?
Allie stopped in her tracks and threw her head back, blinking rapidly at the assault of raindrops that pelted at her face. "You sons of bitches. You cocksuckers. Why the hell am I here? What do you want from me? I've got nothin'!" Her hands lifted before falling to her sides with a wet slap. "Talk to me, you assholes!"
All of her rage and cursing and demands merited the same results: nothing.
There was a faint choked sound in the back of Allie's throat, which had gone tight for a moment. She threw her middle finger at the sky, held it there, and stormed back toward the street.
"I hate this fucking place."