<div class="floatright">(https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQbgyjauXhO1CEQQmnGiDe8O0jXLFBLToZgKysWmzMC_63iTaLkxPcPie5lUa77LKvxDJc&amp;usqp=CAU)</div><br/><strong> Tuesday afternoon, library stacks  </strong><br/><br/>Said alleged snowball looked up with the alertness of the scout at the watering hole. No getting lost in a book for her, no being so absorbed in the words or knowledge that her surroundings faded away. Nope, for the redhead, she was always on edge, senses tense, honed to be aware of anyone approaching closer than most people would ever notice. The paranoia of prey, of those who knew full well what could happen to the unaware, the naive.  The sheltered. Not everyone had that luxury. Little Alundra's head snapped up at the first scuff of foot on ground. And the rest of her body followed as if she had less bones than the shapeshifter, rolling up smooth and fast, not a hesitation between realizing her lack of solitude and halfway to her feet. Like gravity wasn't as relevant, like her synapses fired faster than usual or her muscles had been so trained that they didn't need to wait for her brain to even catch up.<br/><br/>But one thing she failed to control, for once, was the expression on her face. Oh fuck no she didn't need to be almost alone with Pinkie Pie the untrustworthy. She was not happy, not at all comfortable with the idea of someone who could change everything about her very being. How could you trust something like that? How could you build a secure life if everyone had to be suspected, if any friends or allies made could be imitated effortlessly? And the tiny crack in her composure, that fissure in her iron grip in her demeanor showed abomination.<br/><br/>It was just for a second, a flash before the Alundra look took back over. But her posture was still stiff, defensive. Jaw set. Hands clenched on the book as if throwing it as the blob pretending to be a person was both on her mind, and a potential option. Hard to tell that it would be to buy her time to flee the scene and her vast comfortableness. But the sentient goo rubbed the redhead entirely wrong on a very, very deep level. Part of it was the entire school, such a different environment where her normal survival skills and knowledge of danger was skewed. But oh so much more than that was at play, the inherent wrongness of the changeling setting off all kinds of toxic channels in the traumatized girl's brain. She was already doing that not-making-eye-contact thing, keeping her gaze towards the.... thing, but not connecting. Observing,  watching, tracking even. The poor girl really was flustered, scared even. Straight up took a step backwards unconsciously, turning slightly to walk away. But not breaking that gaze of someone who felt herself in danger.