As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he knows that they were a mistake.
He wishes he could swallow them, reverse the entire interaction, and just nod his head and walk away. But instead he’s standing there amongst the three of them. Two of them with fire in their eyes and the third with something like sorrow that cuts though him like a knife. He wasn’t always like this, he wants to say. He was once a happy boy who ran the length of Tephra with his sister. He was funny and kind and maybe a little wild but the older he got, the smaller and smaller those pieces of him got.
Now he’s bitter and mean and he doesn’t know how to change it.
Doesn’t know how to be anything but himself.
Still, when the first mare bites out her remark, he laughs and the sound is a little softer than the first one. It is genuine and almost reminiscent of the boy that he once was. He cuts it off quickly, eyes narrowing in on her. “I’ll get it looked at,” his voice cool and not showing anything of what lies beneath. To the second girl, he flicks his gaze, watching the butterflies cascade into the air and around him. For a second, he feels the faint irritation at the pests but he bites down on it and just shrugs, marking his disinterest in them.
The third though—she is the hardest for him to look at and for that reason, he forces himself to. His light grey eyes find her own and there is a shadow of an apology there, regret painted across there for a second before he wipes his expression clean again. “No one has ever accused me of being terribly bright,” he offers in his self-deprecating way, a corner of his mouth quirking before falling flat again.
There is a deep breath, an almost sigh, as he rolls his wine-red shoulders.
Then, an offering. “My name is Brigade.”
At least they could know what to call him when they cursed him later.
BRIGADE
when I was a man I thought it ended when I knew love's perfect ache
but my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake
@[Vastra]