Brigade is a contrary soul so the more than he is provoked, the more he continues to shut down. Perhaps he should simply leave well enough alone, be thankful that he still has his head attached, and then go on his way—but that would be too simple. So although he does not rise to the bait, neither does he slink into the shadows, leaving them their company and lukewarm friendship. He rather says there, quiet and still with the darkness barely creeping around his heels, his grey eyes sullen and his mouth straight.
When the first mare, predatory as she is, does not offer her own name in return, it barely registers with him. Instead he just watches her, feeling that instinctual feeling of meeting another wild thing and not knowing exactly how to navigate it. It leaves him feeling seen and yet threatened and he is not sure how to respond. At her teasing words, his red lips quirk—a hint of a humor well hidden—and then still.
The second mare is hardly as forgiving as the first. She burns as bright as her flames and the wolf in him rises in his chest, snapping its jaws and biting for purchase. She is an adversary and everything within him desires it—he wants to rise up against the ocean waves ad let him drag it into the undertow. But he doesn’t. He feels restraint like a vice around his lungs and the only indication that he wants to lash out is the sudden brightening of his gaze underneath the wild, hanging tendrils of his forelock.
He is nearly ready to open his mouth to retort when the third mare speaks up. His head snaps to her in some surprise, eyes narrowing as he studies her with a sudden ferocity. There is something about that so deeply reminds him of his twin that he nearly aches with it; something fiercely strong beneath the gentle beauty of her and he feels his throat tightening with the similarities. His face remains carved from rock for a second before his gaze softens a little and he nods his thanks. “Lilliana,” he repeats her name and it is perhaps the first time that his voice does not sound like razors and thunderstorms on his tongue.
The moment is brief though and he quickly turns his attention back to Brunhilde.
Brigade watches her for a second and then shrugs.
“Your pleasure isn’t exactly at the top of my list.”
There are other words that simmer at the back of his tongue but he catches the red of Lilliana and the sandy color of the other mare out of the corner of his eye and decides to not further stoke the fire.
He opens his mouth and then shuts it, frowning.
“Why are you all out here tonight?”
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]