Chapter Text
Lydia had no particular affinity for fire. She’d learned how to make the self-igniting Molotov cocktails because she’d loved zombie movies for ages, and weaponizing the Chemistry room at school had featured in most of her apocalypse survival scenarios.
She’d stopped liking zombies on her sixteenth birthday.
When she knew, when she was planning to help break Boyd and that slut out, she’d picked a flamethrower for a number of reasons. First among them was that it gave her both some range and also area of effect: she could hold a number of werewolves away from her. She was too young to legally obtain a gun, and had no idea how to obtain one illegally. She could probably find out, but she had no familiarity with one, and, if the past few months were any indication, was probably going to end up at a lot of crime scenes with the Sheriff’s son. A gun did not seem like a good idea. Allison got her a taser, of course, but that needed time to recharge. Allison got her a knife, too, but Lydia had already been up close and personal with one alpha, and did not actually need to lose another nine pounds by losing her mind again if she weren’t fast enough. Allison tried to get Lydia to use a bow, too, but that required too much precision. Lydia would be able to acquire proficiency in time, but she did not have time, because they were moving out soon.
Lydia picked a flamethrower because she knew how to build one with items easily acquired with stops at a sporting goods store, a hardware store, and a gas station, and she could rig it up to fit perfectly.
Lydia picked a flamethrower because, even though she didn’t have any particularly strong feelings about fire, Peter loathed it.