i'm a geyser, feel it bubbling from below
hear it call, hear it call, hear it call to me, constantly
If Brunhilde could read Brigade’s mind and see that his apology is barely there and sincere for only one of the women, she might set his lovely set of antlers ablaze. Alas, it is quite a missed opportunity, for she cannot read his mind and must sit in her hesitant suspicion of his insincerity. Not that he offered a verbal apology in the first place, but the butterfly-clad mare knows an asshole when she sees one.
The age old saying “takes one to know one” certainly finds its place among these four.
Lilliana’s sweet voice (sweet to Brun, even if the words may not be) drift into the little flame’s ears, and she casts flashing topaz eyes in the chestnut’s direction. Her mouth turns down with the slightest inkling of worry: their last companion may be the most ill-suited to their personalities, this the flame-weaver knows just from first impressions. She suppresses her concern with the hope that she will be proven wrong.
Brigade. Pah. Her thoughts are not kind, for she has never been one to step back so easily from a challenge. Brigade, stupid name, she thinks, even as she knows she actually probably likes it. He has made her shit-list far too quickly for her to admit any sort of pleasure or comfort. Even as Vastra folds into some form of surrender, Hildy bristles, telling eyes too cold for her own good. Funny how the older she grows and the more horses she meets, the more her mouth grows bitter at the sight of men.
Poor Brigade. He probably does not deserve the whirlwind of ferocity Hildy holds in her chest.
“I cannot say it is a pleasure for me.” She does not regret her cruelty, even as she knows she should. A childish part of her thinks Vastra owes her more defense, but the little flame has just enough self-awareness to shut that train of thought down quickly. “I’d probably like you better with an actual ‘fuck off’ sign. The broody boy thing just doesn’t fuckin’ do it for me, ya know? You probably don’t know, though. Broody boys never do.” She smiles, pushing at what buttons she can find.
Perhaps the other two will run off in disgust and leave her to tear her prey limb from limb.
and hear the harmony only when it's harming me
it's not real, it's not real, it's not real enough
