For what seemed like forever, Valmúa had been stuck in a quarantine arranged by her delusional brother. Something had made him believe that she had been planning some kind of massive and ridiculously complex takeover of the Watch by use of matchmaking. In fact, the reasoning for her grounding was not important. What Stjornuati and Solpallur and Rokkvi had done, effectively, was clip her immense and fiery wings to something pathetic and foul.
Kigipigak now held no interest for her, refusing to interact with her the way he once had. Quickly and readily, the brothers had collectively turned the fire woman to an ashy dust of her former self. She had transformed with the snap of the proverbial finger from the fire woman to the poppy girl once more.
And she was fucking tired of it.
Kigipigak had whatever the fuck leeway he had, being the non-target and accessory to the offence. But she... she had lost the thing that @Stjornuati fucking knew was most precious to her. The thing he knew made her happy. She also knew very well the wrong that he saw, and any shitty pipe dream of what could be with her on top disappeared the moment that @Kigipigak left her side. She felt alone, and raw, and unloved.
The day was cold and clear when she sought out her brother. She sneered to herself as she went to him. She came to him to beg. She came to pledge allegiance, fully and surely, to his stupid, forceful power. She loved him. Dearly. The fire in her still burned and wanted, but she knew that what she wanted and what he was building could simply not coexist, and so she reneged on what she had told herself as a poppy girl long ago: you will be Queen of all.

Her brother appeared to be out, or otherwise preoccupied. The poppy girl went to turn away to find something else to possibly amuse herself, thinking of the stash of mushrooms she had hidden away. It was then that she found an unfamiliar...
Her hackles raised. An unfamiliar scent in the air, close. Male.
Valmúa flipped around, startled by the sound of a male she did not know. He attempted to rehearse some kind of sexual advance toward her, she took a step forward to attack him, and then she stopped.
What could possibly bother her brother more than flirting with a random lone male within their borders? The fire woman saw an opportunity, and she took it. Her fur relaxed. She flicked an ear sideways, pretending to be annoyed. She thought playfully to herself, I could kill him. That wouldn't be nearly as fun.
It is rude to ask for a name without giving a name first, she said, but the way she said it didn't match the discipline of her statement. Her words were silky, burning, wanting. She stepped forward slowly, her tail raised completely in dominance, but the rest of her incredibly relaxed. Play my game.

She wanted to pull his face off his stupid, brash head. Inwardly, a fire stoked and cracked and blazed angrily as he gave her a disgusting southern name. Inwardly she already had every cause she needed to tear him to pieces and chew on his worthless, stinking bones. Yet the only show of this was the calm, slow lick of her canine.
She looked at his stupid expression, and took a slow, sensual step forward, grinning slyly. My brother is going to kill you, and my punishment will be worth how funny it is. She thought cruel, dangerous things, funnelling them through the guise of sexuality as she drew nearer.
Is that so? She inhaled his scent. He stank. What gives you this hugmynd - this thinking that you are worthy to, she paused her approach, 'get down' with me?
Stjornuati was going to give her pain over this, but she didn't care. This was her game, and only she knew the rules.

The skíthaus had the confidence and vile foolishness to meet her eyes, which held the cold, cruel violence of a blade. The nameless one had a dull-witted golden stare, the sort of stare that had expectations and brashness beyond what she thought an experienced man was capable of.
Because of this audacity, she continued her game by holding his gaze hostage like a cat. She held him in a staring contest as she stepped closer again. So, babe, am I right, or am I right? Silky words drained like venom from a snake, you are something. Another lick of her teeth. The fur on her neck grazed his as she moved another step at an angle toward him. She could feel the heat from his body, and longed to tear into it. Right is not right word, maybe kjánalegur.

Stjornuati flew from nowhere, transformed from cool and collected to helvítis hundur. As he viciously bowled into the lone male, the man cursed while he was pinned. Valmúa inhaled a sudden breath in surprise, and then abruptly fell onto her side.
She exploded into racious, intense, snorting laughter. Her legs flailed about and she rolled from one side to the other, hyperventilating as her chest heaved with terrible, hysterical convulsions. It was ugly, and mean. She stood herself back up, snorting in half-breaths and half-laughs, watching the unnamed idiot struggle under her brother's weight.

She couldn't stop laughing. Like a hyena on nitrous oxide, she wailed with horrendous cackling, curled over herself as though her insides might well fall out. At last she stood fully, just in time to hear the moron insult her, referring to her merely as "bitch." As it was designed, no doubt, the blabber stole the humour right from her face. Valmúa's expression transformed from maniacal she-devil to stony — her lip quivered.
She did not hesitate in rushing forward, mouth suddenly twisted into a vicious snarl. She leapt at the trespasser who claimed that she was not worthy, for even the poppy girl knew that he was no more than a worm graced with the presence of an elegant empress of the north. Valmúa grabbed for any flesh she could, regardless of whether her brother allowed him up or not. She went for his tender underside.

The fire woman got in a brief, nasty bite close to the stranger's underarm. She started to throw her head to shake him, but Stjor's teeth forced her to release him. The sister knew better than to challenge him on anything, especially since he lacked the context to know the extent of her game.
As the flirtatious moron flew off in a direction, Valmúa kept her head low, but eyed her brother's chest expectantly. He would punish her. She knew that he would not allow her to walk being their Watch for a time more. He seemed to like keeping a heavy chain across her, keeping her close to prevent further outrage in spite of her ability to drive him crazy at this proximity. Slyly, she grinned, pleased that she had won the game with the stranger. Whatever weeks worth of freedom was worth the taste of his blood on her snarky lips.