Who; Alison Young, Open
What; It's Christmas Eve, clearly a good time to get wasted
Where; Some dive bar
When; Forward dated to tomorrow night
Rating; Language



It wasn't like Alison had a large collection of happy holiday memories to compare this year to but at least in prior years she hadn't felt so damn alone on Christmas Eve. It felt weird to her, that she could go buy herself an actual turkey, that she wouldn't be hearing the machines overhead while they celebrated and that logically this should be her best Christmas if only for the fact she wasn't knee deep in an Apocalypse, but it wasn't. She already hated it. She knew a few people here but nothing to the point of asking them to join her for the holiday. And she couldn't help but let her mind linger to last year's Christmas. With the people she'd called friends, most of whom were killed in the months that followed, but for that one night things were good, things were almost normal. As normal as they got at least. And as always when she let her mind wander to her life before this, her life before she died, it was his face that she saw. She mentally chided herself for being such a fucking idiot and forced John Connor from her thoughts. For all she knew he was dead right now. Killed by that fucking metal bitch with her face because she screwed up.

She took another drink from her beer and glanced around the bar. It was probably one of the worst in Colligo she imagined, but then it really wasn't classy joints that stayed open to let people get tanked in public on what was traditionally a family holiday. She'd been working it if she could if only to keep her mind off things, but hers was the kind of bar that closed for such days. Bummer.

"Now why'd you go and ruin such a pretty arm with such an ugly tattoo there sweetheart?" someone to her right asked and it pulled her from her thoughts.

She glanced to the older man giving her a look over and down to her arm, the barcode a stark black against the pale skin of her arm. She could still vividly remember the pain of it being burned into her skin, the feel of metal holding her arm down to do it. She took another drink and looked back to the man. "Didn't chose it, and don't call me sweetheart," she replied with a smirk though the look in her eyes plainly spoke do not fuck with me at this moment. Alison had a glare from hell when she wanted and she more than wanted right then. Though part of her hoped he kept going, it had been a while since she'd punched someone and it would probably help the antsy, unsettled feeling she had.

The man held up his hands in surrender and moved down the bar. She peeled at the label on her bottle and took another long drink to finish it off. Alison motioned for another from the bartender and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. She officially hated Christmas.