[ Mako doesn't have a snappy answer or a witty comeback because that is the long and the short of it. Pentecost is her father, not her dog, and he's spent the past decade trying to help Mako mould herself into whatever images she's chosen for herself — even if that image is one of bit back teeth and curled in claws, of three quarters girl and one quarter wolf (that last quarter see-sawing back and forth between completely shut down and utter abandon.
Being around Raleigh throws her off-kilter and there's more than a little bit of Mako that resents him for that. That's part of why she wants to best him, to prove to him (and to herself) that she's more than just animal instinct; but in order to do so, she has to give in. She has to become the one thing she's tried all the years not to evolve into.
(For the longest time she was convinced that it made her lesser. But when she's around Raleigh and they're all snapping teeth and sharp sentences, it somehow doesn't feel lesser at all.
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Being around Raleigh throws her off-kilter and there's more than a little bit of Mako that resents him for that. That's part of why she wants to best him, to prove to him (and to herself) that she's more than just animal instinct; but in order to do so, she has to give in. She has to become the one thing she's tried all the years not to evolve into.
(For the longest time she was convinced that it made her lesser. But when she's around Raleigh and they're all snapping teeth and sharp sentences, it somehow doesn't feel lesser at all.
It feels good.) ]