It was as if all the fight went out of her, eyes falling to the ground and voice nothing but a stutter, spitting out an awkward piece of truth: "I... Think you're han-dsome."
Mauja's eyes widened, the harshness of his face softening into incredulous surprise. She what? She thought he was handsome, and that..? Well, of course, it seemed illogical to flirt with someone you thought were ugly, and if it wasn't just a mannerism then yes, of course she'd be disappointed her intended victim wasn't interested, but.. was this some kind of justification? Explanation? Peace offering? Veiled attempt at flirting? Or just a piece of goddamn truth? But it wasn't enough with just that. The next words she forced out, when strung together, formed: but my god, I'm sorry. Mauja just kept staring at her, even a the wind ruffled his incredibly long, silken hair about his face. Had Helovia fallen under some kind of weirdness curse? First he was all mopey and ran into questionable individuals (also known by the name of Satanic Silk), a nightingale who took him for a trip to the underworld, he rescued a mare who'd gotten stuck in a freakin' pond, grew mad and almost killed some innocent pegasus girl, then he met two complete idiots on the beach, and now this.. okay, the beach encounter topped this in weirdness factor, but this was a pretty damn close second.
He blinked. Come back to life, come back to life... Hello, the world's calling. "Err," was the first thing he said, just staring at the girl's withers. And what, what in hell, do you respond to what he'd just been put through? Another stallion probably would've taken advantage of it, but it was an established fact that Mauja's mind was far from the gutter. "I'm.. sorry?" he finally blurted, oddly honest of voice. He'd got to yell just enough to get rid of the anger, and she'd definitely given him a metaphorical smack in the face—not really a bad thing, but enough to get him off the mayhem track. "Like, I am sorry, for you." He wasn't sure if she'd apologized for being an illogical little witch, or for thinking he was handsome; if it was the latter, she shouldn't have. Not really. But he didn't want to ask. But what he'd said was also true; he was sorry for her, because there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He'd just been frustrated, but unless she started up her crap again he should be fine.. right?
He found no more words to speak, unsure of what he could possibly say—or what he wanted to say. If he even needed to say something. Maybe she'd just take her crush and potential tears and go flee in teenage shame, to which he had no remedy, except growing up. And that'd take a couple of more years, if his own life experience was anything to go by. Hopefully, one day she'd think back on this and have enough distance to her past self to laugh (and laugh at the bewildered moron staring at her with a mixture of concern and confusion on his handsome face).