Allana smiled gratefully at her boyfriend as he obviously made an effort to tone down his disapproval over the whole affair into joking and mild concern. She reached up and covered the hand he’d laid on her shoulder with one of her own, twining their fingers together for a moment and squeezing gently in a gesture that was meant to convey: I may not completely understand why you’re still with me after the Imperial Cruiser sized buckets of drama I bring to pretty much every encounter but I am very glad you do. Please continue doing whatever strange drug it is that makes you so irrational.
In truth, if Allana had felt like she had any choice in the matter she would have been far away by now too. She was tired of Lawrence taking people and twisting them, the way it seemed to bring out the worst in everyone. It had occurred to her lately that she wasn’t the girl she’d been when she’d arrived in Lawrence, defiant and scared, but delighted by her newfound freedom, drinking for the first time, making her first friends her own age, and treating earth like her own personal playground. Now Rose and Elliot were gone, Jen was dead again, the cousin she’d gone to Vegas with was recovering from going Sith and slaughtering an orphanage, and she was working with Sam Winchester against the last remaining member of the old group that she’d relied on through most of her time in Lawrence. None of it was a vacation from real life responsibilities any more. So just get on with it then.
When the headache had passed, or at least when she had subdued the twinge of strange pain with concentration, she shook her head slightly at Kon, sticking her tongue out at the comment. “Not just yet, don’t worry. Headache, I guess? No one’s in trouble that I can feel and I’m not getting any demon presences nearby so…I guess I need more sleep? Right,” she smiled wryly at Kon, “remind me to pencil that in right after detox and right before whatever the seal throws at us next,” she added, making a face and continuing on towards the house. -- The presence in the basement stirred in agitation as footsteps creaked on its front porch and then into the front hallway. Empty, let it be empty, empty empty empty. The steps were moving towards the basement now, voices too, and all of it like salt in an open wound, stinging, stirring, making it impossible to be still. Impossible to rest. Let it be empty the footsteps came down the basement stairs and the shade of the man who had died there one night when he had nowhere else to go lashed out as instinctively as an animal attacking. -- “Right I’ll just put the pack down and we can get started with—“ Allana cut off abruptly and raised her hands to her head as the uneasiness she’d been trying to subdue suddenly spiked in an expulsion of energy that was completely unlike anything she’d ever felt before. It wasn’t the Force, in the same way nothing here really was apart from the signatures of her family and Siri, but it carried all the hallmarks of something wrong something not in its proper place. Something lashing out she thought, just in time to see an old pitchfork come streaking towards her from the shadows at the bottom of the stairs. There wasn’t room on the stairs for her to move aside (or for Kon to push in front of her and take the blow if he had been so inclined), and, her boyfriend’s invulnerability temporarily forgotten in the heat of the moment, she remained in its path instead of simply ducking, and threw out her hand, scrambling to both make a Force barrier and slow the pitchfork’s trajectory. Oh kriff I’m not going to be able to--
The pitchfork stopped about six inches from her face, caught just in time, and she exhaled a shaky breath. “That was—“ she started, and then cut off as a can of paint, a two-by-four and quite a bit of dust suddenly renewed the assault. This time, however, her Force shield was already in place and she was confident enough in its power to look over her shoulder at Kon, obviously completely bewildered, “Um, do you have any idea what this is?”