Hushed Willows Hit the ground running

You'd take the pack, for me? Bullshit. She really didn't know what she was saying now, and barely understood where this conversation had gone, or how it had gotten so far away from its original intent, but that was all because of her sickness. Except to Octavia, the only thing wrong was Stark; there was nothing wrong with herself, or her judgement, or anything, just him, because he was threatening to take everything from her. The woman stepped towards him with a lurch, and was up on all fours, her spine rising like an array of angry quills.

You'd take my -- my -- Tambourine -- again, she forgot words, but she would chalk it up to her immense rage and not the idling of her thoughts, again and again, until she could no longer speak. Take him, keep him here, against the wishes of his mother? You're just as bad as Reek — As those words left her mouth she thought, oh, and briefly imagined that her face shifted to some expression of surprise at herself, because she felt that somewhere. Except she couldn't seem to control her expressions, and the angry contortion of her features did not in fact change, leaving Tavi looking utterly menacing and out of her mind.

She bared her teeth, mostly at herself, and then seemed to thrash towards the Crook's gaping entrance. She stepped in to the sunlight and let out a frustrated bellow, a snarl of sorts, and then turned to look at the dark figure of Stark as if she were trying to ward away an evil spirit; her eyes were wide, and the cascading sunlight around her face had ignited her like some sort of monster risen from the depths. Her voice, oddly cool but holding an undertone of malice, shot through the cave to him: I won't -- won't step aside. If you want him, this, then you'll have to take it. But she did not linger nor let him have a chance to do anything further, and instead turned away from him, choosing instead to storm away down the ridge.