[ Her chest fills with air like she might just start hissing and spitting, but she releases an impatient growl instead, the air vibrating out between grit teeth before she answers, ]

No. Shut up. Fuckin' elves always trying to fuckin' solve my shit, mind your own goddamn business.

[ She curses like a sailor whether she's pleased or furious, words are meaningless little trinkets to be packaged together to fill space. That's how she's always treated it, anyway. ]

And you--

[ She probably has some words to string together for Prince, but thank fucking god she decides they aren't worth the effort, the shape of her anger dissolves in her impatience, her want, like acid. ]

Let's just get on with it. I need them.

[ Or maybe that's just her addiction riddled nervous system hungry for a stimulation it can't have right this moment. ]