Redhawk Caldera It ain't fitting

No, she didn't know the name of this place. No shit, Towhee thought sarcastically. Before she could make an actual reply, Slate added that she hoped to learn more about it. No shit, the Sovereign thought again. Despite her unkind inner monologue, she opened her mouth to tell her just what she was signing up for without even reading the fine print first.

But her jaws snapped shut when Slate became catty before Towhee could get a word in edgewise. A warning growl eked from between bared teeth. Slate had arrived here with a disclaimer about her social skills but it wasn't the Sovereign's responsibility to tolerate them, much less accept them.

"You need us, we don't need you," Towhee reminded her coldly. "I expect consideration and respect, at the very least. Do you think 'I ain't done this stuff much' is actually an acceptable excuse? Do you think I'm just going to hand wave 'I'm not good at reading people' like social skills aren't the fucking core of a wolf pack?" she scoffed.

She could've—maybe should've—told her off then and there. Instead, Towhee went very still, waiting to see how Slate would react. There was still an opportunity to turn this around and win back Towhee's favor, although it was very slim. Did Slate have what it took to balance on that knife's edge?