"'Lax'" she quotes back at him, in tones of disbelief. She stalks forward, faster than Vector retreats, and comes within striking distance.

"You always have had a gift for understatement, Brother."

She looks violently tempted to take a swing at him, and very nearly does-

It is only the reminder of the last time one of their number did violence to another - her chest still aches at times, and Prima is a wound that will never heal - that stays her hand.

Instead of swinging her Forge, she claws out, strong fingers latching onto a forearm and refusing to let go.

The contact makes her anger crumble and her frame - everything but the grip - goes limp.

"Brother. You fool." Relief and affection instead of anger, and she leans in, frames touching.