Alexa casts the spear aside without a second thought.

Molech didn't want her to learn wrestling, did you know that? It's not proper. It's not the way he taught her to fight. It's not intimidating, it's not glorious, it's not beautiful. More importantly, it's not lethal--you see a threat to the throne, you put it down then and there, and let the drips off the spearhead inform the rest of that meeting. Wrestling is a peon's game, Alexa, and not fit for she who is created of War.

There's a pang that Isty didn't throw herself into this of her own volition. Then again, it's not like Alexa invited her here for wrestling, right?

Right. Right.

She throws herself into the blows, two arms covering her head and the other two vice-gripping themselves around Isty's waist in a steamroller bullrush. It's awkward, and the blows rain down in the approach, but that's the goal--let her vent her fury, her frustration, in a way that won't get either of them hurt.

She's wondered, before, how to make Ares happy. It cannot be enjoyable to be trapped inside your own head, even if your own head is temporarily somebody else's. Does he destroy because he enjoys it? Because chaos is what he is? Or is there another reason?

The slam against the steel box knocks the breath out of both of them, but more importantly it knocks the butt of the spear from Isty's grasp. Alexa kicks it away before the Ceronian can grab it again, and devotes two of her arms to controlling the other end. At this range, neither can bring it to bear effectively, but that doesn't keep Isty from trying.

She would never call it a tantrum out loud. Calling it [i]anything[/i] out loud is a good way to attract undue attention. Besides, tantrum doesn't really fit, does it? To call Ares' destruction a tantrum is like calling the core of the ship a bit hot, but more than that, "Tantrum" arrogantly declares that the issue is childish, unimportant. "Protest" might be a better fit.

Alexa spots her chance, and brings her forehead down in a sledgehammer headbutt. It's not enough to hurt either of them, really--they're both built for war--but the disorientation grants her precious seconds. She flips the princess against the wall, wraps her in a headlock, brings her legs up to lock them around Isty's thighs, and lets gravity pull them backwards.

And now, it's just a matter of riding it out. Let Isty scream, let her howl, let her reach backwards and claw at whatever she can reach. Alexa is tough. She can take it. She can endure. She can protect until the fury is spent, until the chaos is tired, and Ares allows his chosen a brief peace.

She doesn't even realize she's buried her face in Isty's hair or started murmuring until a bit of hair slips into her mouth. She pauses, but decides to keep up the steady stream of--not quite whispering or even talking, but a constant murmur of sound. Just letting her know that when she comes back, Alexa will be there.