10-12-2018, 10:23 AM
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<center><div class="ilmacontain"><div class="ilma"><i>Ilma</i></div><div class="ilmagrad"></div><div class="ilmaquote">And there's a lesson waiting to be learned<br>the firestarters always get the burns<br>and the good guys never get the girl</div><div style="padding-left:10px;padding-right:10px;"><p class="ilmamess">
She’s still getting used to her new form, dragging herself through the trees to go back to a good hiding spot; a redheaded ghost waiting to see if her treats can lure their quest-giver in.
There’s shadows, however. Shadows moving through the trees, seemingly wanting to hunt down something. Some of them move past her, perhaps another contestant is close or she’s not the target; two human-shaped (she only recognizes them as similar to her own new shape) figures stumble upon her treats and begin to devour them. Wait, but that’s not fair. ”Hey!” Waving her arms, she stumbles forward to chase them away. ”Go find your own food!”
They listen – look at each other, then look at the white, ghostly-looking woman who’s still getting used to her new legs. Too late, she recognizes them for what they are: parodies of her friends. One with antlers on her maroon-coloured hair, and dressed in a leopard-print tunic, nutmeg eyes looking at her as if she will be a better meal, perhaps. Ilma steps back, perplexed. ”Kag, don’t, I’m not food.” But apparently the word ‘not’, is not something that registers well with the henchman – or woman – as she threatens forward.
The other, however, seems to intervene. This one is male – how she recognizes these things she isn’t entirely sure – and his intense blue eyes give away the origin of his duplication, if it weren’t the firm jawline or the dark blonde hair on his head, and the overall feral look he has. He has no antlers – he has claws, and is already changing shape, a lion, with deep black eyes;
He doesn’t come for her, though. He defends her, but, somehow she knows he’s only doing that so he can eat his prey undisturbed. The henchmen hiss at one another, the Kagerus-lookalike, having found some kind of dagger, charging the lion-one, and someone is screaming, between the shrieks and hisses and kicks and screams – oh wait, that’s her.
Terrorized by the scene of her two best friends fighting, she completely forgets to run.
When it’s over, it’s the lion that’s left standing, but it’s not over for Ilma yet. He’s charging; she’s finally coming to her senses and runs – to be overtaken quickly. Only when she steps on the hem of her white dress, falling down, she turns around. Just in time to see teeth and claw, lashing out at her.
But suddenly she’s angry. ”CUT IT OUT!” Her grabby hands find a rock, hurling it at his face. ”I want the real Svedka back, and you better heal Kagerus, too!” More words, flowing from her, they seem to let the lion hesitate. And he’d better. She’s furious, finding more rocks and tree sticks and a skeleton head and a pumpkin, all of them fly in his direction.
And it seems that she’s become too much of a challenge for one fake-lion, at least, one that’s already been hurt. And it looks like the Kagerus is moving too.
But she’s still drawn to tears as she watches them fight until death, and shudders when she can’t do anything about it, and when one antler pierces the lion and a lion claw rips open the human Kagerus’ throat, she cries.
</p></div><div class="ilmaquoterepeat">and shooting stars cannot fix the world</div></div></center>
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<center><div class="ilmacontain"><div class="ilma"><i>Ilma</i></div><div class="ilmagrad"></div><div class="ilmaquote">And there's a lesson waiting to be learned<br>the firestarters always get the burns<br>and the good guys never get the girl</div><div style="padding-left:10px;padding-right:10px;"><p class="ilmamess">
She’s still getting used to her new form, dragging herself through the trees to go back to a good hiding spot; a redheaded ghost waiting to see if her treats can lure their quest-giver in.
There’s shadows, however. Shadows moving through the trees, seemingly wanting to hunt down something. Some of them move past her, perhaps another contestant is close or she’s not the target; two human-shaped (she only recognizes them as similar to her own new shape) figures stumble upon her treats and begin to devour them. Wait, but that’s not fair. ”Hey!” Waving her arms, she stumbles forward to chase them away. ”Go find your own food!”
They listen – look at each other, then look at the white, ghostly-looking woman who’s still getting used to her new legs. Too late, she recognizes them for what they are: parodies of her friends. One with antlers on her maroon-coloured hair, and dressed in a leopard-print tunic, nutmeg eyes looking at her as if she will be a better meal, perhaps. Ilma steps back, perplexed. ”Kag, don’t, I’m not food.” But apparently the word ‘not’, is not something that registers well with the henchman – or woman – as she threatens forward.
The other, however, seems to intervene. This one is male – how she recognizes these things she isn’t entirely sure – and his intense blue eyes give away the origin of his duplication, if it weren’t the firm jawline or the dark blonde hair on his head, and the overall feral look he has. He has no antlers – he has claws, and is already changing shape, a lion, with deep black eyes;
He doesn’t come for her, though. He defends her, but, somehow she knows he’s only doing that so he can eat his prey undisturbed. The henchmen hiss at one another, the Kagerus-lookalike, having found some kind of dagger, charging the lion-one, and someone is screaming, between the shrieks and hisses and kicks and screams – oh wait, that’s her.
Terrorized by the scene of her two best friends fighting, she completely forgets to run.
When it’s over, it’s the lion that’s left standing, but it’s not over for Ilma yet. He’s charging; she’s finally coming to her senses and runs – to be overtaken quickly. Only when she steps on the hem of her white dress, falling down, she turns around. Just in time to see teeth and claw, lashing out at her.
But suddenly she’s angry. ”CUT IT OUT!” Her grabby hands find a rock, hurling it at his face. ”I want the real Svedka back, and you better heal Kagerus, too!” More words, flowing from her, they seem to let the lion hesitate. And he’d better. She’s furious, finding more rocks and tree sticks and a skeleton head and a pumpkin, all of them fly in his direction.
And it seems that she’s become too much of a challenge for one fake-lion, at least, one that’s already been hurt. And it looks like the Kagerus is moving too.
But she’s still drawn to tears as she watches them fight until death, and shudders when she can’t do anything about it, and when one antler pierces the lion and a lion claw rips open the human Kagerus’ throat, she cries.
</p></div><div class="ilmaquoterepeat">and shooting stars cannot fix the world</div></div></center>
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
Robert Jordan, Wheel of Time