The accented voice that rings out from behind her isn't the one that'd seduced her into this situation, and she quickly turns to confirm that ― no, it isn't Fiero standing behind her, ready to use whatever slick words he had to in order to get her back to the Dunes. If she were at all capable of feeling shame, Marceline surely would have felt bad for snapping at him. But as it is, she can only bring herself to raise her head a little and look down her nose at him, expression shifting towards confusion and then being quickly replaced by something more dour.
"Oh. You're not him." She says simply, unsure if the realization that this pale-faced stallion isn't Fiero has doused her anger or only added kindling to the slow and steady burn of rage and annoyance. The spotted mare is nearly itching to have a good go at Fiero, to accuse him of trying to tie her down when she'd made clear she wasn't interested in being tied to him in any way. Unless that way somehow benefited her, and with eyes only for his ill-tempered lover (who she was sure must have it out for her now) and his little head doing the thinking for him, well, she somehow doubted that living there would ever benefit her.
Running away was still looking like the best option.
Heaving a dramatically weary sigh, Marceline flicks her tail harshly against her hindquarters as she explains her reaction. "I was expecting someone else, but you're much more preferable. And prettier." And not nearly as brazen as the golden stallion, clearly put off by her harsh reaction. And though she knows any normal horse would be, she hates that it annoys her a little. That she misses the bullheaded reactions of the guy who she was supposed to be furious at right now.
Above them, the skies rumble their displeasure. The clouds move in steadily, thick and black with the weight of rain and the promise of a storm that hangs heavy in the autumn air. Marceline spares a glance skyward before looking back at the icy-eyed stranger. "Are you seeking shelter from the storm, monsieur?" The smile she offers him is one she's wielded with success before, a demure but flirtatious curve of her crimson lips that hints at the potential for something more (if her fickle mind so wished, though desire was the farthest thing from her mind, what with this damn kid growing inside her).
"Perhaps you wouldn't mind some company, if you can forgive my rudeness earlier. I promise I'm not normally so cranky, mon chéri."
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