"Daphne…"
"No. I'm serious." Daphne is pacing now, hands in her hair. "He said you're not elegant? Babe, you literally move like a princess on a runway when you're not spiraling. And even when you are spiraling, it's cute. And he has the audacity—THE AUDACITY—to open his crusty mouth and talk down on you? Nah. I'm sending him to jail! Prison. Straight to exile."
Isolde can't help it—she giggles. Like a small, broken, slightly hysterical bubble of sound. "Daph, stop."
"Stop? I haven't even started!" Daphne whirls around, fuming. "He's been going out with me, knowing damn well you're his mate? That's already unforgivable. But then to disrespect you on top of it?"
Isolde bites her lip to hide another laugh. Daphne looks like she's about to shift just to run someone over.
"I'm going to kick his ass," Daphne announces.
"NO…" Isolde grabs her wrist before she can storm to the door. "Daph, please—no, no violence—"
"He deserves VIOLENCE."
"Okay but—no."
"Yes!"
"No."
