"i don't like this. i don't like any of it." ↳ manhunt // @godblooded
the roots of allyson's resentment toward her grandmother had spread in the years after michael myers' disappearance. for the way she'd turned the yard that should've been a sanctuary for family into a shooting range, the way she'd turned her home into a mausoleum--none of those feelings ever brought her mother back, of course, but it felt good to put her anger, her hate, her despair toward someone real.
michael myers is--had been, she constantly has to remind herself of the past-tense--a shape of a human being, but he slipped through her fingers like sand. laurie hadn't been. all of that--everything--had to go somewhere.
and yet, here she is, despite all her resentment toward her grandmother, with her guns laid out on her table, long elegant fingers covered in gun oil. her mother had always refused to even entertain the idea of a gun in the house for fear of repeating intergenerational curses, or whatever other shit she spewed. maybe it skips a generation. probably.
"i have a permit--permits," she says, teetering on petulant. she wipes her fingers clean and reaches for alana's hand to tug her in close to where she sits on the chair, long legs spread to accommodate alana between them. "i want to keep you--us--safe. is that so bad?"
