[She bites back a hiss at the burning lines along her forearm, but the blood boiling and sputtering out of the wounds do that for her. Those five words hurt more than her partner's claws, and she couldn't even say why—it wasn't even close to the most harmful thing said in this exchange. That kind of disappointed scorn picked at her regrets, reminded her how ashamed she's been about her recent behavior, and she couldn't stop herself from feeling indignant in response. Fang initially resists the urge to stand up, to tower over Vanille, to accuse her of doing this on purpose—then yields to it, surging to her feet.]
[Which proved to be a bit of a mistake, standing up too quickly in her condition. Spots swarm her vision and Fang's balance jerks to the side, but she manages to remain on her feet and quickly draws up to her full height. That swirling nausea in her gut steals the edge from her anger, even if it adds to her frustrations.]
What, then? Go on, spit it out. You've clearly got all the answers. What do you want to do, Vanille?
aaaand then whiplash
[Which proved to be a bit of a mistake, standing up too quickly in her condition. Spots swarm her vision and Fang's balance jerks to the side, but she manages to remain on her feet and quickly draws up to her full height. That swirling nausea in her gut steals the edge from her anger, even if it adds to her frustrations.]
What, then? Go on, spit it out. You've clearly got all the answers. What do you want to do, Vanille?