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taxonomites2010-06-05 09:08 am
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XII: [ visual | location: Shelley ] Would you like me to lie to you now?
Her sarcophagus. Her resting place. She had gone to visit it mere moments ago, as a means of connecting with a past she can no longer return to.
Too many things to ponder on. Too long had she been held in this place, against her will, against her desire. And she can find no means to alleviate her increasing discomfort. Her recent bout with Spike, and even with the vampire leader, had helped little to comfort her. Her conversations with the younger Wesley only confirmed her thoughts.
She had no purpose here. She had no place here.
And yet this realization is not new.
Illyria reaches out to touch her sarcophagus - when the glitch hits.
She watches, disturbed, as her skin, her armor changes. How can this be? She had no desire to look like Winifred. Illyria had not willed it. She throws her head back, closes her eyes - nothing.
She grits her teeth as suspicion begins to gnaw at her. Lashing out, she pushes her sarcophagus away until it crashes and destroys one of the walls.
Amidst the dust and debris, Illyria stands panting. Her tablet, attached to her wrist now, records her movements as she begins to inspect her borrowed form.
Too many things to ponder on. Too long had she been held in this place, against her will, against her desire. And she can find no means to alleviate her increasing discomfort. Her recent bout with Spike, and even with the vampire leader, had helped little to comfort her. Her conversations with the younger Wesley only confirmed her thoughts.
She had no purpose here. She had no place here.
And yet this realization is not new.
Illyria reaches out to touch her sarcophagus - when the glitch hits.
She watches, disturbed, as her skin, her armor changes. How can this be? She had no desire to look like Winifred. Illyria had not willed it. She throws her head back, closes her eyes - nothing.
She grits her teeth as suspicion begins to gnaw at her. Lashing out, she pushes her sarcophagus away until it crashes and destroys one of the walls.
Amidst the dust and debris, Illyria stands panting. Her tablet, attached to her wrist now, records her movements as she begins to inspect her borrowed form.
[visual]
She's silent for a moment, contemplating what she's heard. "You really didn't have a choice," she says, quietly. All the wind has been taken out of her sails and the anger is gone. "Like me, you didn't have a choice in it, at all."
She walks to the counter and sets the sword down. "Maybe we'd better all hope humans are more capable than you think." She gives Illyria a wan smile. Until then, Illyria's almost more trapped than the rest of them. But maybe that isn't such a bad thing. Angel had said she'd been learning how to live in this world, slowly but surely.
[visual]
[visual]
After a few seconds of silence, she looks back up at the tablet, that wan smile back on her face. "You sure pick the most obnoxious way to say that you're lost." She knows about feeling lost.
[visual]
[visual]
"I'm sorry you're stuck. And I'm sorry I died," she adds, more to herself than to Illyria. "I still wish you wouldn't look like me, but-" She shrugs. As long as people know about it, she might be able to deal with it. After all, it's one of the few forms of control Illyria has. She still doesn't understand why the god-king wanted to look like her when she hated the form so much, but there were plenty of possibilities.
[visual]
She looks down on her own form. "An apology," she speaks. "Is this what you expect me to give you? For looking like this?"
[visual]
And yet, Fred doesn't find herself getting upset back. She almost feel like she used it all up (or she's all used up), and now she's just tired. She shakes her head. "No. I wasn't expecting anything. Just statin' facts."