They come because they always come, like they have come before and will come again. From the depths and the murk to mingle in the masses. Unexpectedly, your position near the phantom seeker is filled by some brindled bitch with a pissed off expression and an overgrown house cat. You snort at her rudeness but content yourself to sway back and forth, trying to keep your balance under the haze of your drugs. It wouldn't due to fall into the murk now. Promotions are expected- the leaders promised them, didn't they? And here you are, waiting eagerly, ears perked. You know you're better than the rest of them. You know your name will come.

Unfortunately, you're more than disappointed. The phantom seeker is given a promotion almost immediately. But you? The warriors? You're left hanging in the wind, Eris' voice hanging in the air and full of broken promises. Your blood boils. In agitation, you begin to shift back and forth, teeth gritting against one another, whites of your eyes showing (both from anger and from your plants). You almost have to bite your tongue to remain silent, but you manage, somehow. Obviously she has more to say. You'll let her finish. Somehow. You'll find a way to keep silent until it is your turn.

She drones on and on, her girlish voice beating against the drudgery of the place, and you can hardly contain yourself. But then she says it. Speak now. You don't wait. You explode. “Really? REALLY!” Your dark eyes bore into hers, forget the rain that beats into them. “BUT SO FEW HAVE COME!?” You bellow, rage spewing out of you, your desire to run up to the lesbian and jam your horns into her back an almost undeniable urge. You take a deep breath, trying to contain yourself, trying to find some sort of calmness within you. It doesn't come.

“WHY SHOULD I BE PUNISHED FOR THE FAILURE OF OTHERS?” But your voice can only manage yelling so long, and you slip into a quieter tone, but the seething venom is not lost with the volume. If anything, you sound more infuriated now. “Your pets do not come. Pretty Boy is missing, Skywalker is missing.” you spit their names out with disgust, neither Arlo nor Skywalker high on your list of likes. “Why do I have to suffer because they cannot follow commands.” You pause, ears falling back. “And your other warriors! What FAILURES they are.” You glare at lace-face, any thought of lust for her disappeared with your rage. “Which of them have practiced?! Which of them have bled for you? Lace-face? That one?” You motion to vulture. “Only me! I practice, I bleed, I hone my skill. I RECRUIT FOR YOU!” You stamp a hoof to accent your point.

“You demand loyalty but don't reward those who are. You call us a family and yet you still outcast me. WHY?!” You snort, frustration mounting as your long rant continunies. “WHAT MAKES ME SO MUCH WORSE THAN THE REST OF YOUR LUNATICS?” You sigh then, flicking your muddy tail in one last sign of agitation. Your last sentence is the calmest one you've spoken. “You may call yourself a leader, but if you don't recognize what's in front of you then you're not worthy of your title as queen.” You glare at her, your point as made as its ever going to be. You sigh again, shaking your head, swaying with the combined efforts of your ranting and look at her. You'll wait for her words, but you're not sure you're going to like what she has to say. You're ready to walk off.