oh, this my weapon, this my loam. this my blood, this my bone.
He wants to relax. He wants to simply enjoy this moment. He tells himself that he should when he looks into her dancing eyes but her joy and relaxation only makes him more tense, only makes him want to put his walls up more. “Hi,” he finally answers and his own voice is gruff, the gravel of it darker than usual as he fidgets slightly in this larger body, the skin twitching beneath some imagined pest.
Brigade knows that her jest is all in good fun, but he still bristles beneath the implications of it. Perhaps he is simply looking for any excuse to lash out. Perhaps he is simply pushing back against the forced joy of this event—even though no one made him come. “What makes you think I need anything?” His voice is a little more clipped than usual, a little more harsh, and he closes his eyes when he hears it.
Brigade takes a second to gather himself, to focus on his breathing.
When he opens his eyes against, he exhales slowly, rolling his massive shoulders. “A walk sounds nice,” he finally admits and then takes a step forward, wondering at how she could be so calm and so relaxed in a sea full of strangers. Why couldn’t he just be normal? Why couldn’t he simply enjoy the moment?
But it doesn’t matter.
He had come here to forget everything else and he wouldn’t drag all of his baggage behind him. He wouldn’t force someone completely innocent to deal with his own self-loathing and hatred. He falls into step beside her and curses himself for the awkward silence but again, can think of nothing else to say.
@[Nimue Isolde]