Ah yes, there it was. It was so incongruous to hear his name like that again. Having Briar and all her incarnations speak it had not prepared him for the slap in the face that came from hearing it from his sister for the first time in 200-ish years and with anger. Another reason Julius had been a nicer choice. Less harsh, more vowels, rolled off the tongue better even when he was being yelled at.
But if there was one thing he'd absorbed from their father, it was a level head and the uncanny ability to feign pleasantness. Even when it felt like someone was taking a hammer to his skull from the inside. He pulled a tight grin and ushered her inside with a disapproving click of his tongue. "Such language, little sister," he said, shutting the door behind her and heading towards the part of the space in the large, open room that constituted the kitchen.
"Would you like some tea?" This was the real test. Errol hadn't wanted any, but Errol was... Errol. He was already filling the kettle with water before she could respond, because even if she didn't, he did. Once the burner was lit, he pulled a bottle of Shara's monstrous (so strong it could take the paint off a tank) Fae liquor and poured himself a shot, downed it, and coughed. But at least the headache was gone.