Posts by --s

Ooh, there's a bite in those words and a balm in the others'. Hasn't been much bite in the Haven for some time, not when soft creatures make for soft, toothless gums. The first to speak of the pair could help fix that little problem. "Not rules I've ever found use for, no siree," says the somali with a flare of her eyes. Many opponents had size on their side, and while she was content to steal a body and make the field even, agility was a useful card to play. So was possessing the offender. Neither classed as playing fair, but the stranger's comment made it clear that fair was not the intent. She could work with that.

An ear flickers as more join them, Juba taking up the niceties as the men gain names, Ver being boisterous as usual. The General takes a moment to observe. Darkknight, or Winifred, and Boywonder, or B. "Call me S. Look at us, working on an alphabet." She can't understand why he'd openly use a full name and have such a short moniker. They seem counter-intuitive, used together, but it's hardly her problem. The pair don't seem to be her problem either, with Ver offering them a tour. "Sounds like you'll both be snug as bugs here," she says, and promptly teleports away. Juba and Ver have this covered.

//out & welcome!

As much as Darkknight tries not to drawn attention, the somali snaps up the opportunity to watch him. A few short months ago she wouldn't have to be so greedy, watching him for signs of injury or aggression, searching for some visual cue of weakness. A few short months ago she would have simply wormed her way into a bird's body, perched on his window sill, and listened. It would have been easy. It would have brought some peace of mind to have something on him and his Boysoldier beyond old returner. It would have been possible if she wasn't a General. So she just watches him.

The familiar voice of Ver lures her attention away and the information offered is quick to secure it. Scent manipulation isn't for brute strength, but it's far from useless. "Ooh, you could make someone think twice about attacking you, Ward Million," she says, tempted to offer more ideas. Altering her scent to smell like the enemy would be an option if she wasn't so distinct. The ability to walk between groups, plucking secrets like fruit, without having to state her other allegiances was another use. S imagines political subterfuge would be in Ver's books if she put her mind to it.

A spotted brow quirks at Draco's comment. "You're one of the soft one's they're protecting, then. Doesn't that make you feel all goey?" It's left enough of the truth that she doesn't feel dirty saying it. Draco doesn't have to be the one they're protecting, doesn't have to be soft. He could get stronger. He could train. But he's a Havener and that training means learning to open your arms to the one who'll stab you in the chest. She looks away.

Absinthe is a strange one, especially when she considers the girl's relation to Orion. Strange, that he's off doing what he's been told, taking the order in stride, while she's here. Strange, that S is just now learning of her power. "Can you talk to them to?" That brow raises again. The Sight could be useful to learn things from begrudging, dead enemies. Could be used to fuel a war with informed facts. The question is how much control Absinthe has over it. "Ooh, is there a spirit here you can question?"

Not being that child is something the two leaders have in common. The somali had had that childhood ripped away from her, scooped out and never quite replaced. Memories of her being worried about losing milk teeth, cuddles, and her parents were buried beneath months of training, killing, and growing. She didn't pity the child that shied behind legs. She pressed to find the child's weaknesses. She wondered what kept the child from being traded away for something more useful. She still isn't sure what kept Absinthe here, but she was an interesting one to pry at.

S appears beside Absinthe, taking in the basket and the goods and the strong bonds it holds. Takes in the Queen who brought it. She can't remember meeting Sangria before but it was hard not to hear of her through the grapevine. Being leader makes keeping you existence quiet, as the General is having to learn for herself. At least the visit allows her to learn more, and learn about things she can actually wants to know. "We're the best we've been since the landslide, us. How's the Kingdom? Anything exciting?" She says. The information she offers is minimal at best, but maybe more than she had given in the past. It's still fishing for information, make no mistake, but not as one-sided.

She hadn't meant to bring Sangria back to her bed, let alone her place. It struck her as far too open, far too vulnerable, far too honest. Her little cottage was hers and hers alone, not shared with a single soul. She had made sure it was far away from those of the people she knew. She had made sure no one ever had an excuse to come over and look it over. She had made sure that the stripped bones, the bookshelves, the cheap medical supplies, the unassuming walls, were all entirely personal. And yet, here is Sangria in her bed.

Relief that the other woman probably didn't remember seeing anything they had passed keeps her eyes closed when she wakes. The new feeling of warmth beside her keeps her still. The arm beneath her neck doesn't fill her chest with the need to push away, and the fingers ghosting along her cheek doesn't make her fingers twitch. S keeps her eyes closed and allows herself to take in the foreign sensations as they arrive. The gentle touches. The softness.

Attending the party had been less foreign than the situation she found herself in. Her years in school hadn't allowed for anything more joyful than an assembly, but she'd been to a party before. She hadn't had anyone show interest in her before, or reciprocated it, or had her sharp words filed back by alcohol and plush lips. It wasn't something she normally even considered, but the opportunity was too novel to pass up. The fact that S had kept her words under control long enough for the two to make it all the way to the break of dawn was nothing short of a miracle.

The fact that she had enjoyed it was a revelation.

Mismatched eyes slowly blink open when Sangria kisses her forehead, coaxed out of pretending to sleep with the hope of more. She could put it down to trying to learn more about the pretty girl in front of her. It's not like S only ever lies to others. The blush dusting her cheeks makes selling this lie to herself a harder sale. "Hey," she whispers back, voice thick with sleep. The idea of biting the numb arm, just for the reaction, just to make sure it isn't an excuse, crosses her mind briefly. She kisses it instead, props herself up, "Tragic, that," and places their held hands in the space between them.

It's a few more seconds before S lies back down. Her hand, the one not holding Sangria's, is at too awkward an angle to explore the plains of the face across from her. She settles for trying to tuck a leg over Sangria's. "Anything else wrong? Hungry? Thirsty? Haunted by the skulls in the room?" The early morning and wonder of being with someone strips her words of their usual venom. It feels odd, not being snappy or snapped at. It doesn't feel bad.

The slight hesitation, the squinted eyes, is something that she would normally take greedily and hold proudly. Doubt me would be the normal taunt that her body language screams in response. It's written into her every subtle mannerism. But here, with the morning light slowly filling the room with gold, with Sangria's smiling face glowing, it raises a smile without menace. The doubt around her actions still exists, oh yes. But the suspicion is playful. Her own actions aren't loaded. She's still learning from the reaction despite the shift, but she's learning some level of trust rather than abhorrence. It makes the kiss to Sangria's arm all the more worth it.

"Ooh, so we agree I should lay on your arm more?" S squeezes back as she gently places words in Sangria's mouth, wondering if they'll be spat back out. Something surges in her chest. The idea of her not being on the arm is a tragedy, mundane disaster. The more she thinks about it the more she enjoys waking up like this, tangled up beside someone, rife with casual contact. The more she wants to know what had actually happened last night beyond the vague good wonderful new.

Her smile softens some when fingers trace over skin and and stop over the sheet, present and welcome on her hip. "They noticed you," she yawns against her arm, trying to save her bed partner from morning breath. Even though she knows the skulls like the back of her hands she looks over them as Sangria does, taking in their dead faces before looking back to one so full of life. An eyebrow quirks at the proposition. "Even if the house was as bare as you I couldn't make it half as pretty, no siree," she leans forward, tries to sneak a kiss below the jaw, "Could be fun." A lie in three words, but she thinks the kiss makes up for it.

The second proposition is met with much more enthusiasm. S never had the chance to learn cooking between the Order and meddling in town affairs. Never had the need. Basic staples, bread, pasta, with the toppings switched up were more than enough to keep her alive. Pancakes struck her as an indulgence, but what about this hadn't been an indulgence? She tries to remember what she has in the fridge and cupboard and tries to imagine what could be needed for pancakes. Unsure if she's lying or accidentally telling the truth, she says, "Starving. I'll die if you don't make pancakes, oh yes, which I have the ingredients for. Lot's of paperwork, dying." Mostly she's interested to see if Sangria can make them. She isn't all that hungry.

She gently squeezes Sangria's hand again, uses her hooked leg to shuffle closer. It's warm under the covers, with Sangria, and S isn't sure if she's ready for the cold again. "We'd have to get up."

It seems strange to her that the visitor would happily arrange herself into such a relaxed position. They might be allies, but this is a Queen sitting before her - shouldn't she be worried about that crown falling, falling, falling from her head and landing before cold paws? The somali notes how at ease Sangria appears, wonders how much of it is genuine. "Wind Haven is even more willing to accept the help, yes siree," she lies with a grin. Accepting help means admitting weakness, the very thing she has been careful to guard. It's why she doesn't mention Juba being missing. Why she only brings up the landslide now that they're recovered.

She knows she should offer to help in the face of raids, but the words sour in her throat. Giving up herbs and resources for nothing seems wasteful. Makes her wish Juba was here to make the offer instead, but he's probably in the infirmary. The suggestion for a party quickly steals her mind away from the purer politics, lights up her face. She hasn't been to many parties but the last one was useful. Maybe she'll go to this one with her own face. "Ooh, yes, parties are always sharp," she agrees with Kira, sparing the scarred man a brief glance before Sangria recaptures her attention. "It could be held in the Kingdom, spare your oh-so-wounded the trouble of walking up here. Or here, if you need less organisation on your plate. Easy as the dawn either way." The girl shrugs a little, preferring the first option but seeing sense in the second. Both present her with the opportunity to learn more.

What a strange week this has been. As far as Agrelos is concerned it was seven sunsets, seven sunrises, the usual dance of the sun and world and moon. Nothing strange about that. Strange was the dance that the Agrelosians took part in themselves despite the lack of obligation. Attending ally events. Electric new experiences. Learning treacherous secrets. All of them happening in such a short span of time was what made them weird, but not bad. All of them informative. All of them curious. The somali was content with weird.

She jumps up onto the Shepard's Stone and looks over the slowly gathering crowd. It's small. Nothing unusual about that, she supposes, but the growing pile of oddities for the week had made her hopeful. Though, her taking this week's meeting is an oddity she did not appreciate. "Meeting, meeting, it's time for a meeting," she says, voice hardly louder than normal. S can already feel the uncomfortable itch crawling over her shoulders. The flick of her tail sends a curse to Juba, too busy in the thick of healing to host when it was his turn. "Juba is still recovering, not dead. Ooh, wouldn't that be interesting, though? A dead General?" The thought process makes her feel better, just a little, about being the host this week.

"Not many joiners, no siree, but a welcome to kira anyway," the somali looks for the burned man in the crowd as she speaks. She doesn't know much about him, not really, and the suspicion that she won't know any more rears its head. "Not many rank changes, either. eridanus r.r.b.x. is on her final warning while WINTERNIGHT goes up to Prior. LEMON! should lookout for canons to train under his herby hooves. Ver has given up her Ward title and secrecy all in one, and isn't that fun?" There's a sliver of satisfaction, knowing that the child S had risen in ranks alongside had dropped off when the competition got hot. Less so at knowing it could be one less dedicated Havener. Even less so, knowing that the General now has to praise other dedicated Haveners. " Ver Million and Draco Reaver-Break get shout-outs for their returning or continued presence."

After that mass of information it feels wrong to give more, even if it is information owed to the Haveners. All of it was, really, but that didn't make her suspicions any less glaring. She sets her shoulders. "The Coven has invited us to a snowball fight, and it sounds like we aren't the only ones going, oh no. Fight clean if you go. We're also planning an event with Solaris Kingdom, so have eyes and ears and interest ready for that." There had seemed to be interest for it already, but the General is particularly inclined for it to go well. "Weekly tasks are also available if you're bored."

This part of the meeting is the one that would have excited her most when she was in the Order, if the Order was daft enough to have meetings. She'd only heard of it herself through whispers. That made it oh so much better in her mind. A dangerous little secret cracked open by the Cartel's meddling paws, squirreled away by her own greedy paws. "The Cartel came to us recently with information about the Thunderlands. If you haven't heard, you don't need to. We'll talk about it, Juba and I, and decide where to go from there. If I hear anyone bring it up I'll make it hard for you to bring anything else up. It's delicate as a spider web, so don't get your dirty little fly selves stuck in it.

"Dismissed."

The idea that someone would readily relinquish power seems just as odd to her now as it did when Ninja and Lemon stepped down. Didn't adults just love being in power, to boss people around, to say jump and get a chorus of how high? Then again, maybe this Spiritline is as soft as the two previous Generals had been. There's almost enough information to grasp a basic concept - that not all authority figures see abuse of power the most logical route, that not all see brutal necessity as necessary, that not everyone came from the same stock. Almost enough, but not quite. Instead of an epiphany the information gets a slight nod.

Her expression brightens like light through an ill-intending magnifying glass. "We're not all alright, oh no," she starts her lie, the grin wavering before it drops. Her skills were more in the words than selling a lie bodily and it shows in the flutter of her cheeks. "We've got injured members - a healer, too," a truth for structural support, "Herbs would be oh so appreciated, Aphrodite." She can't see the harm in stocking up on some herbs, especially if any store well. They might not past the landslide, but Juba really was hurt, and S really isn't above the twisted truth.

//this thread is a follow on from this thread and may make vague reference to the topics. I'm going to try and keep explicit reference to a minimum to minimise my own discomfort.

There are some moments when she really despises being General. This is one of them, make no mistake. If she was not a General and trying to organise ally events with the Solaris Kingdom, she could have been a little mouse at the border when Asimov visited. She could have heard his accusations in person, watched with eyes that weren't her own, listened with ears that she stole, and taken the information with her too. Ooh, the information he had was a tasty little treat to gorge herself on. If it's true. If it's true it's the best, deepest, darkest secret she's found on any ranking creature in Agrelos. If it's true and she wasn't there to here it, she'll hold her rank in contempt.

Once the somali has had some time to mull the rumored information she tries to find Juba. She stole this information from the grapevine, plucked it from gossipping lips, held it to her own, drank it in. With it she stole the fact that her co-General wants to act on and talk about the information. His concern is the only reason she seeks to act now. His concern could be very easily misplaced and put the Haven at a disadvantage rather than advantage. His concern needs to be nipped in the bud. "Juba, a little bird tells me we need to talk."

// JUBA

The bark, echoing around the cottages like it was final rather than beginning, is followed by a flash of auburn fur and the shine of white teeth. Any information freely given is sweet to the somali, and Ver is oh so generous at times. Not one on one, not when information is actively pursued, but at the bleeding heart of it all the dog is happy to give information. Handing away her travel plans without even a pulse of concern confirms S' opinion on the matter. Whatever the reason, Ver is willing to tell the masses what she can't tell someone intimately.

The two men present register in the back of her mind as she notes their contributions to the farewell. Temporary farewell. She's pleased that the Ward who soaked up so many of their medical supplies wouldn't be leaving. Even more pleased that she's shirking the Ward title and its protections. In the action the General sees willingness. To fight, to protect, to live. It isn't a pleasure that she allows the light of day to greet. "Ooh, did my nickname hurt so much you healed?" She asks, a spotted brow rising. The General isn't sure how she can poke at Ver now that Ward Million is no longer on the table, but she'll find something. "Don't lose any more guts on the way there and back."

She stops in her place when Juba turns to her, her stance strong as the trees surely watching this conversation. She does not sit or decide to keep walking, forcing the three-legged man into a cruel game of catch up - she adopts a perfectly still posture for this conversation. Ooh, walking and talking could disorientate the man and get him to agree with her quick-smart, but she needs information from him. Opinions, but information no less. "What would you do if it was just you behind this oh so big decision?" The somali asks, mismatched eyes boring into him, wide, unblinking. Once she knows his opinion she can give her own. She fully intends to take his concerns and place them where she thinks is best, but that involves knowing his concern first. It's a dance she takes pleasure in leading.

This is a strange tidbit of information to fall into, she's sure. Draco, the soft-spoken boy who all but flinches at S' mannerisms, is joining the Hellraisers. It's under a flimsy pretense, too. She wonders what is going on behind the scenes, in his nervous mind, to compel him. Blackmail? A family member in peril? She knows there has to be something, even if she has no evidence, not yet, so her mismatched eyes squint at him above her oh so many teeth. "If the Hellraisers keep their distance like they currently do, I'll be calm as a puddle about it," the General says. If it was her apprentice joining a violent clan she'd be satisfied to have a man on the inside. She isn't close enough to Draco to even consider that route. He's too nice for it anyway. "If they attack like they know more about the Haven than they should, ooh, I'll be calm as a storm."

The tip of her tail flicks as she follows along with Juba's words, noting the logic for what she had assumed it would be - concern. "That's probably what every other group is thinking, that Thunderlands make for bad allies. I betcha their allies are dropping like flies because of it," she points out, grin growing somewhat. Ooh, if the accusation is true then it makes sense for the jungle group to be left without an ally to stand on. It would make them desperate, weaker than the Haven, in need. "We could use the information as an ultimatum, oh yes. If they try to drop us for any reason under the sun, we say we stuck by them and they'll have to keep us. Have to ply us with their local herbs, their prey when we run low, their labor when we need to build, build, build again."

Her attention darts over his face, wondering how he'll react to her proposition. She would take it to further extremes if she was leading by herself. She would threaten to turn away any Thunderlander in need, to redirect aid to anyone attacking the group, to ignore cries for help. All for the Haven's loyalty during a time of accusational hardship. Though, she imagines Juba is too kind to take kindly to that reason. "We avoid confrontation and false confession. Isn't that want you want? Isn't that what you need in your gentle healing heart?"

"Ooh, look at you, back again. I hear that's rare for ambassadors," the somali muses once she's teleported beside Absinthe. She gives Blackweed her usual big, empty, brimming grin before her attention turns to the basket. A big one, that basket. There's probably a good deal of good things tucked away inside it, things freely given in the name of good clan relations. It still strikes her as odd that the Haven doesn't have to turn over a single child to get all these supplies. If that's a resource the Dynasty wants to deprive themselves of, then so be it. The next best thing is to snake information from them, too. "Anything exciting happening in the Dynasty? Ooh, any leadership changes? There's a bit of it going around." Considering how recent Aphrodite had updated the Haven on the Coven's leadership, she imagines it isn't too far fetched to ask about.

Any similarities between the cat and dog are outside of the somali's peripheries. Her focus is on expanding the expanding the traits she knows about Ver, not pointing out similarities. She doesn't want to point out that they both gain information in whispers and shouts, one from lovers and one from angered acquaintances. That they both fought for big causes; one a personal moral choice, the other forced into it by starving family. That they're both here in the Haven, carefully twisting policies to house the scared to suit their own needs. No, she doesn't need those similarities, she needs new, uncharted information. Information she doubts she'll find, oh yes, but information she'll dig for anyway.

"Stranger is a better fit for me than sex, Ward Million, yes siree," the General points out with her own raised brow. It's a call back to one of the first few times they'd met and gone through the actions of a verbal spar. She can already see that they might be throwing themselves into the same ring, armed with the same fists and blows. Her grin flares for a moment, deciding to open the ridiculous discussion so that she had something to work with. "What would you ask to make me something other than a stranger? My favourite colour? My hobbies? Ooh, maybe it's not a question, but an action?"

//whines this is super late, sorry!!

The dull ache of the pinch helps wake her up a little, just enough to think about the words that follow the action. It's a tragedy we both can live through. She snatches at other details to build a case for hope. Sangria's words aren't followed by a soft push away, or a gently sad smile, or any of the myriad of other things that would signal finality. It's not enough to build a strong case, one that could withstand questions at a trial, but it is still a case for hope. Hope that this would happen again, that the same night events would lead to the same awkward morning with the same beautiful woman. It's enough, and it draws a hum from closed lips.

She tilts her face ever so slightly so lean into the hand holding it, enjoying to warmth, marveling at the closeness of it all. S hadn't had any preconceptions about how close you had to be to someone, emotionally, before it could become physical. Hadn't ever been close in either sense. But, she can't deny that it feels nice to be this close to Sangria, to have light touches set her nerves on joyous fire. It's not something the woman had even allowed herself to consider before, too close to danger to let relationships make her hesitant, but there could be room in her life for more of this. More of a not-relationship while she's in not-danger.

"And if I'd known you were so bad at lying, I could have offered lessons instead." Still new to the concept of intimacy, S is only aware of her kiss being teasing as sunlight on a cloudy day could be aware. There's undoubtedly more, more that she would enjoy giving and taking, but she can't see how it's being held back by her own actions. The sunlight blocked by clouds, her actions blocked by a want for food. It's very easy to forget the idea of pancakes when she's looking into Sangria's eyes. Very hard to look away.

Feeling the gentle rise and fall of her partner's body as she breathes makes it harder still. Vague snapshots hidden behind the filter of good wonderful new fit snugly alongside the sensation of lying together like this. Like they could spark and ignite and roar to life at any second. The idea is tempered only slightly by the easy, affectionate way that Sangria holds S' face, foreheads close, grins shared between them. "Ooh, you wound me," she returns with a roll of her eyes.

The actions that follow go in rapid fire, leaving her hand and cheek suddenly cold but her lips oh so warm. Free from the awkward but comfortable embrace she rests a hand behind her head, torso shifting so she can watch. She doesn't know not to watch. Golden hues linger everywhere on Sangria's body that S wishes she could, light snaking through the blinds to indulge in the temptation. She eyes the tattoos that adorn the woman's skin, appreciating the location, guessing at the meaning. Longing for the memories of the night before so she could remember how it felt to touch the inked skin. It's a shame to see them hidden beneath material again.

The little furrow in her brow holds S' attention as she feels eyes appraise her in a different light. Worry, a tiny thing, a greedy thing, begins to sprout in her chest. Questions would ruin their short morning before it could even properly begin. Questions about her scars would cut it shorter, quick smart. She forces herself through the action of breathing but even so, when the questions go unasked, relief escapes quietly with her exhale.

She joins in with the laughter, quiets it with a bite of her lip. "Like this?" Her thigh shifts closer to Sangria's hip rather than away, temptation dancing closer again. It would be easy to take back her lie about wanting to eat. But she doesn't, instead accepting the ache of swinging her leg away and sliding off the bed. Goosebumps join the scars in covering her body as she walks to find clothes, slipping on fresh underwear, shrugging on the coat she'd worn the night before. Shorts are an afterthought.

The woman combs her fingers with her hair and gives up when it resists. It's not like they had plans to leave the house just yet, and messy hair would be the least of her concerns if that was the plan. S tugs the coat closed and offers a hand to Sangria, head tilting to the door. "Committed to the pancake plan, me. If you tell me what you need I'll get it out, quick-smart." Despite her words she feels her primary need is to crawl back into bed, but she'd heard Sangria's stomach, and her own curiosity about making pancakes is compelling.

The somali quietly notes the creatures that flock to the scene like so many sheep, refusing so much as a tail twitch, keeping her eyes trained on Blackweed. She's thankful that all Draco offers is water, nothing they're short on, nothing they'll miss. More thankful that the visitor declines. "Ooh, yes, always the same as always. Us too, same as always," she rattles on, tucking away the information on the lack of leadership change and drawing away from her interest in it. Maybe there wasn't as much of it going around as she thought. Or maybe there was. S leaves the subject in favour of the big gift basket. "What did you bring us to keep up relations? I hope it's rare, oh yes, rare and valuable and oh so scarce."

If the Haveners appearing to greet the lion before the General arrived was considered luck then that luck was running thing. Leonidas' luck was bound to run out, faster than child soldiers fleeing a collapsing army. S was bound to show up at some point. She was bound to hear about the shining beacon of morality, to catch the whispers as they make their way from sentient creatures to prey, to hold the information in stolen paws and consume it readily. Even her duties as one of the leaders of the soft mountain-dwelling group couldn't keep her from this information. Her duties limit her ability to snoop, oh yes, but her connection to her former comrades always emerges stronger. Her connection to Leo even more so.

The somali appears in her own body, her own auburn fur flashing in the sunlight, her own mismatched eyes boring into the lion, her own grin wide. He's grown up since he last visited. There's more of a mane along that neck of his, more bulk coating bones. Less of a child. She grins up at him despite the realisation that they're both adults, both the things they were trained to protect. It was a realisation that she'd let slip quietly by when she turned a year old. One she bundled up and held when she was promoted to General. She grins because it's familiar and it's easy and it feels oh so familiar to when she shared a bed with a friend.

"No one expected her here, no siree. Plenty in these mountains people don't expect," like you, she adds silently. She remembers seeing the beast in knight's armor broken, battered, bruised a few months ago, but hadn't expected to have him come back. Isn't against it either. She's only against the lack of clarity between them, the way his eyes follow her with unearned concern, the way she isn't sure if his actions are goaded or genuine. At least with Haveners - Absinthe, Draco, Juba, Ver and all - she knows where they both stand with clarity.

Even if she's recently learned that something does have to be clear to be good, the somali doesn't let affection seep into her words. Can't control the brief jump in her pulse. "Ooh, you'll enjoy your stay, little knight. Stutters aplenty and morals to match."

The rabbit reminds her of Windwaker and she's just as quick to wonder at just how he's alive. If someone were to gobble him up, those horns would pick teeth clean and tickle on the way down. She's tempted to order Darkknight or Ver to bite at the visitor, just to see how the meat gets chewed up. Just to spite the news. She and Juba had only recently agreed that they wouldn't drop the Thunderlands for the accusations leveled at their neck. The somali had big, bright, beautiful hopes of using the secret to blackmail the group into remaining allies forever. Her co-General had agreed to it. Dante's words strip the plan quick-smart.

Slippery as a fish the secret and its leverage slips, slips, slips from her paws and swims away. Ooh, other clans are probably relieved to hear that something was done. Asimov is probably delighted that something came from him sharing the news. Despite her grin, despite the wide mismatched eyes and alert stance, S couldn't be more disappointed. "I knew there was a lot of leadership changes going around, yes siree, and this just fits right in." She must be getting rusty, missing such an obvious consequence as the accused stepping down. Luca would laugh at her for it. While the other Haveners offer their supplies, she says, "You'll scurry back here when there's another leadership change, keep us in the ever-tightening loop?"