Maybe you would've responded to the filly. Struck up a conversation, engaged in an interesting debate. You don't disagree with anything she's saying, really, and she seems just as eager to discuss it as you are eager for it to be over. You might reply with something witty, or funny, or even just normal, but you find you cannot. You cannot, because before you're given a chance to her eyes travel down, and you catch a glimpse of unmistakable pity in her blue-and-white face, and just like that anger and self-consciousness flare up within you, drowning out the usual exuberance as, once again, attention is brought to your barren side. Questions you can take, blatant curiosity, even weird touching by strange fillies, but pity, pity...

Pity, you hate.

You might've retreated then and there, returned to the safety of your growing crowd (read: two) of Falls dwellers, but you've successfully caught the attention of everyone now, and there is no retreat from the spotlight. One of the paints calls you over, her green eyes fierce as she promises you won't be harmed (something you hadn't feared until she mentioned it, thanks), and despite your anger with the filly you feel yourself smiling uncertainly at the older mare, accepting her invitation to stride a little closer. You nod your agreement, wishing Isopia hadn't decided to react with violence, wishing Cowboy hadn't been such a bitch in the first place- but what were you going to do? You aren't a leader, just a friend, and all you can do is offer your support, try to soothe feathers while still being her cheerleader.

"I'm Zer- Zèklè," you clarify, with a glance toward the snowy filly. She doesn't get to call you by your nickname. More mares come before you can speak, one of them (Raeden, you catch) talking about the possibility of war. Alarm lights up your face - "War?! That seems like a little bit extreme, don'tcha think?" you exclaim, a nervous laugh on your crooked smile, thinking this to be quite an overreaction. Do they really want to go to war over this? Over a bag? You glance toward Ranjiri, willing the Czarina to step in and take over this clearly failing attempt at diplomacy, but nobody comes to your aide. Instead the other painted mare speaks, and you realize this is Alysanne, the Queen, and the source of all this conflict to begin with.

Sort of.

It's more complicated than that, you know, but you really wish it could just be simple.

Still, she's quite nice and you nod as she attests that she, too, was doing what she thinks is right. You don't doubt that, really, the same way you don't doubt Iso- you just think maybe they have vastly different opinions on right. You really want to acknowledge and express this, too, but before you can Erthë is talking again, and boy does she have a lot to say.

You listen in silence, irrationally irritated, your bright eyes narrowing as she carries on. She thinks and supposes an awful lot, you note, and there seems to be no end to her trail of speech (perhaps a bit hypocritical, from one as chatty as you). She's mean, you decide, a thing made of splintering crystals, pretty but sharp, all sparkles and smooth edges until you get too close, and then, slice!, you've lost a hoof. Who even is she, anyway, judging you and everyone else?

"What?" you blurt into the silence left by her bizarre tirade, your voice less accusing than bewildered, utterly at a loss for how to deal with this thing. What was her point, even? Steal shit and never mind the consequences, but don't let them actually be bad consequences? Disregard the usual code of conduct (whatever that is), but make sure to follow the rules as you do? It makes no sense to you, and you glance back over at Alysanne and Iona, hoping for some hint of clarification from the older, and presumably wiser, mares.