05-07-2018, 02:11 AM
[align=center][div style="max-width: 600px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt;"]Like Jacob, powers are not something that Melantha has the privilege of possessing. Her father, Cataclysm, is crazy powerful. The one time she witnessed him utilizing them to fight off a hungry bear, Mel was sure Papa was some sort of God. She's older now, though, and she knows that some people are just blessed with being extraordinary. But not she. Her siblings can speak with ghosts and control the elements, but all Melantha is good at is being completely, and utterly normal. There is a part of her that is a little bit jealous of those who can do amazing things; supernatural things. And there is a part of her that has embraced her normalcy. A certain kind of beauty exists in being perfectly, utterly normal. Or maybe she just tells herself that so she doesn't hate herself anymore than she already does.
The youthful huntress passes nearby the scuffle, two or three snow hare carcasses dangling from her crimson-stained jaws. Admittedly, the girl is not in much of a hurry to inspect what is occurring, content to observe from a safe distance while she casually strolls all the way home to dump off the excess food and dine on the rest. Too much time spent alone makes it difficult to reprogram the mind to be mindful of others. Hence, the significant delay between the time she notices a stranger engaging in an altercation with Aizawa and actually moving to do something about it. And she does it quite begrudgingly. Perhaps one of these days she will overcome her antisocial tendencies. Melantha is close behind Jacob when a strong gust of wind nearly knocks her off her feet, but she shifts her weight to her haunches, lowering her body and sinking her claws into the ground so to stabilize herself. "What in the...?" Sudden gusts of wind are not uncommon on the flat, open tundras, but this one seems especially strange.
Melantha leaves the questioning to Jacob as she approaches silently behind him. In her opinion, Aizawa looks perfectly fine so she feels no need to baby him or whatever. But that seems to be Jacob's niche--you know, like, caring for people and stuff. Still, pallid olive eyes sweep over the lion's emaciated figure, checking to make sure that he's alright physically. "Some scumbag, probably," answers the mountain lion even though she knows the question wasn't directed towards her. Does she care? Not really.
The youthful huntress passes nearby the scuffle, two or three snow hare carcasses dangling from her crimson-stained jaws. Admittedly, the girl is not in much of a hurry to inspect what is occurring, content to observe from a safe distance while she casually strolls all the way home to dump off the excess food and dine on the rest. Too much time spent alone makes it difficult to reprogram the mind to be mindful of others. Hence, the significant delay between the time she notices a stranger engaging in an altercation with Aizawa and actually moving to do something about it. And she does it quite begrudgingly. Perhaps one of these days she will overcome her antisocial tendencies. Melantha is close behind Jacob when a strong gust of wind nearly knocks her off her feet, but she shifts her weight to her haunches, lowering her body and sinking her claws into the ground so to stabilize herself. "What in the...?" Sudden gusts of wind are not uncommon on the flat, open tundras, but this one seems especially strange.
Melantha leaves the questioning to Jacob as she approaches silently behind him. In her opinion, Aizawa looks perfectly fine so she feels no need to baby him or whatever. But that seems to be Jacob's niche--you know, like, caring for people and stuff. Still, pallid olive eyes sweep over the lion's emaciated figure, checking to make sure that he's alright physically. "Some scumbag, probably," answers the mountain lion even though she knows the question wasn't directed towards her. Does she care? Not really.