Hell unravels before her as surely as it had during her coronation. It is slow to rise but quick to catch fire, the tempers of these cold-blooded creatures scalding hot as if to further the irony of their existence. She is aware of Deimos at her side, the stoicism of his face broken by the blood on her hide. Softie, she thinks fondly to herself, for she looks upon the beast with an affection he likely finds discomfort in. “Later,” she murmurs softly to him, doe eyes flickering up towards his handsome, rigid features. As deeply as she desires to tell him, to wage war against the blue cowardly bitch, she will not. Her blood still runs too hot, her head too garbled by her own intense emotions. The time will come. Hotaru is patient.
 
But she is not patient enough for this.
 
Rexanna, Ki’irha, and Sialia lend their voices to her cause, and pride is fierce and hot in her heart. She can envision the entourage they will make; a fox, a wolf, and a mixture of the two. Sleek and beautiful, golds and blues flanking her own rosen frame. It is her only comfort as words lash from her new General’s mouth, countered sharply from a bronze man with a sharp, weathered face. It escalates and her jaw clicks and locks as her teeth grind in frustration. Hotaru is aware of her continuous attribution of wolves to these bodies gathered before her, but it has only ever been a problem when the entirety of the pack comes together. They snap and snarl just like the wolves she regards them as, teeth never sinking in for real damage but snarling enough to burn that comfort down to hell. She holds her tongue as it escalates, for she is no fool. There is a time for the pups to snarl and fight, for them to figure out a working hierarchy. And there is a time for the Alpha to step in, to snatch them by the scruffs and remind them of their place on their backs – respectful, tempered.
 
Deimos reacts as she knew he would, silencing the squabble with the boom of his voice. She slips in behind it, the aftershock, a dagger in the wake of a bomb. Just as deadly, but far more precise.
 
“The magic that lends them their power of protection belongs only to one stallion that we know of. Any metal worker can create the machine, but they would remain inactive lumps, and just as useless,” she retorts as Deimos poses the rhetorical question as to whether anyone has the magic to fix their Sentinels. It doubles as an answer for the umber furred stallion who gazes her way with the Throat’s forgers on his tongue. It is not scathing, nor is it a rebuke. Merely the cold facts that none of them will truly face. She is grateful that Albrecht looks to her to settle this frankly ridiculous matter – intrigued as well, as shown by how her eyes linger upon his frame for a moment too long. “Never place your cards upon a singular, wild variable. If Ulrik does not come to claim his metal, the Sentinels will be transformed into something more useful. However they are honored –” here bicolored orbs snap to Lena, the proposer of such an idea “- will be determined by those who wish for it.” Each word is cogent, a compelling force that quells all future squabbling. Her lethality will put an end to their strife, and if it does not, she will call upon her magic and forcefully remind them that there is far more to be dealt with than Sentinels that have not worked in seasons as it is. Alice snarls quietly at her side, flashing the whites of her canines that salivate with acid. Respect Alpha, she demands in her head, falling quiet only as Hotaru flicks her tail idly and silences her summarily.
 
The pups will learn. She will make them learn, before the cruelty of life has the chance to do so in her stead.
 
One such errant youth is quiet-voiced and gentle, and she turns her pretty face down towards her pink brother in arms. A lilt of a smile, a graceful veneer of poise and control, slides across her lips. “Yes, Johnny. I am now.” If he is attentive he will not miss the fact that she implies how very not-well she had been before Lena’s intervention. But Hotaru is grateful for his concern, and she wanders close enough to lick across his shoulder and nudge him with her snout for a moment to display such gratitude. It is a momentary comfort. 
 
Sharp vocals cut across the dwindling voices, calling them to heel for a second more. Her patience is wearing thin - did none of them care about the threats she and Deimos had confessed to them?
 
“Deal with your problems amongst yourselves, as individuals. This time is for more than such issues.” Cool glance drifts across those gathered, but she can’t help but feel the whisper of Ashamin’s and Thranduil’s absences. It haunts her, just as Rexanna’s words do - where is Thranduil? She can’t answer. She can’t even pretend to know what has happened to the Laurelin. And she will not feed them false information. False hope. Especially not with the conflict that surrounds her heart, the tenuous cords of control keeping her from delving into a pit of despair. She feels so intensely for him, it rattles her to her bones. She cannot speak his name without all of the herd hearing her weakness straight from her own betrayer of a tongue. “If you have anything further to add, seek us out. We will lend our ears.” It is a concise ending to a harrying meeting, and one she is not loathe to commit. Hotaru is already exhausted – it is not her job to babysit or hand hold, and she will not deal with their pettiness this evening. 

Wrapping things up! You can post again if you want to!