The situation's beginning to look dire as the commander screams and spits in Lance's face. Rage rises like bile in Fíadh's throat and red begins to tint her vision. Yes, she's yelled at Lance before but it was for a damn good reason, a place of worry and care. This son-of-a-bitch is just throwing his weight around to get off on it.

Fíadh swings her legs off the bench and slams her boots on the ground. Rising steadily, gaze never leaving the commander, she walks briskly over and stands behind Lance.