[The command leaves Lilith taken aback, enough that it’s visibly overtaking the anger in her posture and her expression. She stops short, blinking dumbly. For a moment, she sees Roland standing where Maketh is: the same old militaristic air, the same sensibility. The same innate talent at driving Lilith completely up a wall.

She’d have punched Roland for something like this. But they’d walked through hell together, been through the wringer with little to show for it but a few new scars. She and Roland were comrades, friends-- more than friends, in her own wishful thinking-- but she barely knows Maketh Tua.

Punching probably won’t help. She couldn’t bring herself to actually hit Maketh, anyway.]

I-- [Her shoulders have sloped lower to accompany the crestfallen look on her face, but they square right back up as she stands tall, the cooling fury of her words spoken to Maketh’s back.]

I am not your soldier. You don’t command anyone here, either. Get with the program and get the stick out of your ass already.