[ All her life, Isabel has been told to hide who she is, and for good reason! People don’t tend to react well when you reveal that you’re an actual alien, especially when you live so close to Area 51. Her experiences with authority have only proven what was mostly her brother’s paranoia to be founded on truth and reality. Still, when she looks through the dust and sees people being attacked by some sorts of enormous wolf-creatures, she knows that sitting back and pretending to be ordinary is the wrong choice.
Taking a deep breath, Isabel uses her telekinesis to fling the hounds away from others who have shown up in the dust storm in ways similar to her. The trailer, their last hope for escape, seems to be driving off into the distance, so Isabel acts again, causing it to move in reverse, albeit slowly. She winces, the overexertion of her abilities causing an increasingly potent headache. ]
Get in the trailer! [ She shouts to any and all stragglers. She can’t hold the trailer for long and soon it’s back on its regular route, driving away from the storm. Isabel’s eyes roll back into her head and she falls to the ground, exhausted. ]
Welcome To The New World Order
[ She should have known that using her abilities would have consequences. Being pigeonholed as a ‘Freak’ is bound to be only the first of many. Already Isabel feels so alone in this place, more alone than she does at home and, being isolated, alone comes with the package.
A fashion-plate like Isabel shouldn’t be wearing a 1930’s housedress, either. This place isn’t winning her over in any way. She felt a little too much like a blonde Dorothy Gale, minus the ruby slippers.
Moping, and still nursing that headache, she wanders the carnival grounds looking for something to eat, hopefully with tabasco. ]
Isabel Evans | Roswell | Freak
[ All her life, Isabel has been told to hide who she is, and for good reason! People don’t tend to react well when you reveal that you’re an actual alien, especially when you live so close to Area 51. Her experiences with authority have only proven what was mostly her brother’s paranoia to be founded on truth and reality. Still, when she looks through the dust and sees people being attacked by some sorts of enormous wolf-creatures, she knows that sitting back and pretending to be ordinary is the wrong choice.
Taking a deep breath, Isabel uses her telekinesis to fling the hounds away from others who have shown up in the dust storm in ways similar to her. The trailer, their last hope for escape, seems to be driving off into the distance, so Isabel acts again, causing it to move in reverse, albeit slowly. She winces, the overexertion of her abilities causing an increasingly potent headache. ]
Get in the trailer! [ She shouts to any and all stragglers. She can’t hold the trailer for long and soon it’s back on its regular route, driving away from the storm. Isabel’s eyes roll back into her head and she falls to the ground, exhausted. ]
Welcome To The New World Order
[ She should have known that using her abilities would have consequences. Being pigeonholed as a ‘Freak’ is bound to be only the first of many. Already Isabel feels so alone in this place, more alone than she does at home and, being isolated, alone comes with the package.
A fashion-plate like Isabel shouldn’t be wearing a 1930’s housedress, either. This place isn’t winning her over in any way. She felt a little too much like a blonde Dorothy Gale, minus the ruby slippers.
Moping, and still nursing that headache, she wanders the carnival grounds looking for something to eat, hopefully with tabasco. ]