Now that, right there? That was funny.<br/><br/>Say what you wanted about Michelle, but there were a few things she was really,<span style="font-style: italic">really</span>good at. The first was killing other things. 'nuff said. But the second... she wasn't a leader, in the way that she couldn't take a pack and keep them together, keep them organized, keep them working and productive. What she could do was see the cracks--see what needed polishing, see who was really doing what. If she was more of a woman she'd call it intuition, but she wasn't really sure she she counted enough to be hearing voices in her head that didn't end with a growl. Whatever it was, there was that harsh core of alpha-ness, that need to lead because she could be<span style="font-style: italic">good</span>at it that was there no matter how hard she tried to ground it out. And it was that talent precisely that made her an extremely able trainer.<br/><br/>You supply the bitches, she thought idly, I'll supply the beasts. Just like Christmas back home.<br/><br/>The problem with Aidan's little rant--which was fucking hilarious, by the way, poor mommy--was that the most likely end result was to fuck the guy over rather than giving him some motivation. It seemed more likely to get him to snap and try and fuck her up--it's what Michelle would have done, without the try--than to actually get him to buck up and learn. The trick would be to get him while he was still good and hot and ready to snap but before he did something stupid enough to get himself put down.<br/><br/>Or at least before someone else got to do it.<br/><br/>Sauntering up behind him, John Wayne swagger and Harrison Ford subtle in the same package, Michelle reached behind him and wrapped a hand around that honking knife. "Let Pocahontas go play squa with the little injuns. We've got bigger fish to fry." She used the handle for leverage to pull him to her side, her arm around the small of her back, and frog marched him off in the other direction. Part of her was wondering--and a nasty part of her hoping--he'd blow up in her face. The more rational part of her was hoping she could balance his rage out with her own knowledge. Because believe it or not, they had something in common.<br/><br/>The two of them were the only ones in camp who weren't into playing nice with their beasties.<br/><br/>"Let's get away from the hippies and talk<span style="font-style: italic">real</span>wolves, shall we?" She said in a pointed undertone, cutting him off pointedly. Yeah, she was yanking his chain, but if she could at least get him out of blast radius, she could shape the charge. "The kind that run animals down and swallow the guts still hot, not the ones that tell you to paint with all the colors of the wind."<br/><br/>She was leading him towards a clearing a little ways away from camp--far enough that they'd hear (or be heard) at a shout but not if the discussion got heated. With luck, they'd even get there.