The Sentinels She plays a thrilling violin, painful and sweet

Kind of half-asleep writing. I apologize for the wait!

Furiosa’s evasiveness was commendable; Lotte recalled Arturo’s vision for Teaghlaigh and the events that followed his telling of it with a fond smile. “Understandable,” she acknowledged simply, seeing the crocodilian female in a new light. This must be Arturo’s red herring — and although the soot-stockinged rogue’s opinion bore no weight in the Ceannasach’s recruitment methods, she approved wholeheartedly of his choice. Being watched did not have precisely the same effect on Lotte as it did Furiosa, for the smoke-and-shadow bard never truly minded an audience. That being said, she felt the mismatched eyes at her back and wondered whether she was handling the situation at hand appropriately by Donnelaith’s standards. Constantine’s words haunted her still — “we do not linger in the shadows of Donnelaith,” he’d said, and although his reasons had been made clear to her almost immediately thereafter, it had left a bad taste in the hoyden’s mouth that resurfaced now.

“Subordination doesn’t suit you,” the scar-riddled female intimated, and Lotte’s moonbright gaze met Furiosa’s abyssal one with confusion. “No?” she replied thoughtfully, mulling it over. She had never been anything but a subordinate, save the afternoon she’d romped in the snow with Day and assumed the role of a queen. Not even the roles she played had royal connotations, and for this reason she chuckled, low and long. “I am interested in hearing what you think does suit me, comrade,” she said simply, her argent eyes bright with genuine curiosity.