infinite familiarity in infinite combinations
C(13,2) shuffled as necessary: my characteristic weakness at work.
Chapters
Chapter 01: Jin & Haze
Chapter 02: Mythra & Hugo
Chapter 03: Haze & Milton
Chapter 04: Lora & Mythra
Chapter 05: Haze & Azurda
Chapter 06: Lora & Aegaeon
Chapter 07: Mythra & Minoth
Chapter 08: Addam & Milton
Chapter 09: Haze & Mythra
Chapter 10: Jin & Minoth
Chapter 11: Milton & Azurda
Chapter 12: Mikhail & Flora
Chapter 13: Lora & Milton
Chapter 14: Azurda & Flora
Chapter 15: Brighid & Mikhail
Chapter 16: Lora & Haze
Chapter 17: Hugo & Milton
Chapter 18: Mythra & Mikhail
Chapter 19: Aegaeon & Azurda
Chapter 20: Jin & Mikhail
Chapter 21: Mythra & Azurda
Chapter 22: Minoth & Hugo
Chapter 23: Milton & Flora
Chapter 24: Hugo & Mikhail
Chapter 25: Addam & Brighid
Chapter 26: Minoth & Flora
Chapter 27: Lora & Mikhail
Chapter 28: Brighid & Flora
Chapter 29: Minoth & Aegaeon
Chapter 30: Lora & Hugo
Chapter 31: Jin & Addam
Chapter 32: Mythra & Milton
Chapter 33: Hugo & Flora
Chapter 34: Lora & Jin
Chapter 35: Hugo & Azurda
Chapter 36: Jin & Milton
Chapter 37: Haze & Hugo
Chapter 38: Milton & Mikhail
Chapter 39: Hugo & Aegaeon
Chapter 40: Lora & Azurda
Chapter 41: Haze & Minoth
Chapter 42: Hugo & Brighid
Chapter 43: Addam & Azurda
Chapter 44: Haze & Flora
Chapter 45: Addam & Mythra
Chapter 46: Minoth & Mikhail
Chapter 47: Addam & Flora
Chapter 48: Aegaeon & Milton
Chapter 49: Jin & Brighid
Chapter 50: Mythra & Flora
Chapter 51: Minoth & Brighid
Chapter 52: Mythra & Aegaeon
Chapter 53: Brighid & Azurda
Chapter 54: Lora & Flora
Chapter 55: Mythra & Brighid
Chapter 56: Aegaeon & Flora
Chapter 57: Haze & Mikhail
Chapter 58: Minoth & Milton
Chapter 59: Haze & Addam
Chapter 60: Jin & Flora
Chapter 61: Lora & Brighid
Chapter 62: Aegaeon & Mikhail
Chapter 63: Haze & Brighid
Chapter 64: Lora & Minoth
Chapter 65: Brighid & Milton
Chapter 66: Jin & Azurda
Chapter 67: Haze & Aegaeon
Chapter 68: Minoth & Azurda
Chapter 69: Addam & Hugo
Chapter 70: Jin & Aegaeon
Chapter 71: Addam & Minoth
Chapter 72: Jin & Hugo
Chapter 73: Addam & Aegaeon
Chapter 74: Mikhail & Azurda
Chapter 75: Brighid & Aegaeon
Chapter 76: Lora & Addam
Chapter 77: Jin & Mythra
Chapter 78: Addam & Mikhail
Haze puts on a brave face for Lady Lora; she must, it's one of her hidden redeeming qualities. She mustn't ever forget her duty as a Blade, not just to protect and nurture her Driver physically but to shield her emotionally and spiritually as well.
To keep at least one of those radiant faces chin-up and looking toward the future.
But she does envy, at times, not just Lora's preference of Jin but Jin's preference of Lora. She would like, she thinks, to be treated as precious, as ultimate, as foremost.
When she can find it within herself to allow this weakness (and Haze has many weaknesses, but this is the deepest hidden, the most forcibly frozen throughout all of passing time), Haze appeals to Jin for creature comfort. It's usually when Lora's asleep that she does so - otherwise, would she not indulge her own preference for her lady?
Talk about unlikely allies. Of all the people that could possibly have understood her best, Mythra never, in one, two, five hundred or a thousand years, would have guessed that it'd be the sitting emperor of the most powerful nation in Alrest.
Well, not that Hugo gets her. But he can fake it well enough - can at least throw her a sympathetic nod, which is better than the rest of them seem willing to give her.
His criticism of her cooking is the most constructive (but then, she's heard things about Ardainian cuisine); his opinion on her combat techniques the most salient, in her eyes (but that could be down to how he's a human trying to face a tank); his reception to her humor at times the most legitimate.
And he sits there, on a log Brighid and Aegaeon (well, mostly Aegaeon) have dusted off and practically laid a napkin on for him, feet not touching the ground, hardly himself ever expecting to be jostled by a wild and mighty Mythra stretching through a yawn and giving him a noogie as the precursor to a spirited yapfest over breakfast.
"Oh, no, Master Milton, don't--"
Haze knows from unfortunate experience (whether it's her own or Lora's, directly, she won't say) that biting your lip while attempting to force a blunt-ish needle through even the softest cotton is a recipe for nearly poking your eye out, and pricking your thumb with the needle's eye on the way. And since she hasn't ever had to heal Milton in an emergency (he usually shies away, and prefers a nondescript bandage he can apply himself, which Haze has learned to supply to him only surreptitiously), she's not sure how receptive his body is to the amount of ether necessary to close a little gap in the skin with all speed. That is to say, if it's no big deal, it's no big deal, but, well...
Haze worries. Thankfully Milton has the sense to toss the piece of work down in front of him before throwing his arms up in the air, and Haze at least tries her best to console him so that he won't have given up on the endeavor entirely.
"Mythra..."
"I don't wanna hear it!"
If Mythra really didn't want to hear it, an immature voice in the back of Lora's head begins to counsel, she'd cram her palms over her ears, or stuff the canals with fingertips, and start singing to drown out the unwanted information. But, as Lora herself knows, the things you don't want to hear are so often just things you already know, and don't want to be reminded of.
Mythra doesn't want to know that they all do have a point, at least somewhat, and Jin's control really is something to aspire to, and Addam really means well, and Brighid doesn't exactly mean ill, and--
Well, no. No, anybody would be right not to want to hear all that. They can't possibly let themselves be that sanctimonious.
So Lora shuts herself right up and just offers Mythra a shoulder to huff on, or into, or over.
Master Azurda may speak cryptically, but his Blade's heart, beneath the Titan's shell, is true. Haze finds him nothing but a wonderful ally. What knowledge! What wisdom! What experience!
Amongst the others, and even the boys, he complains mightily of being abused as a mount; of being assumed a favor, just because he happens to know every current surrounding the Tornan Titan as well as...well, as the back of his wing!
But Haze he transports gladly, with her grateful hands clutching tight to his neck.
For all Aegaeon's finely-sculpted-ness, all his waterborne grace, Lora can't help but notice that he's really quite awkward, at times. His compliments often...overly earnest, his responses not always what she would consider coherent, congruent, cohesive.
She herself, for all her bumbling mercenary manners, is quite conscious of overstepping boundaries; of respecting people's space, as they've cast it. Maybe it's just Jin who's taught her that, or maybe she's a bit particular herself.
Whatever the case, she decides quite early in their travels and travils together that Aegaeon is not the hugging type. That, while quite attached to his companions of all forms and statures, all genders and gratifications, physical contact is not for him (counterwave, anyone?).
He proves her soundly wrong, however, when she ends up collapsed atop him on the business end of a last-ditch Bouncy Hammer and he pulls her closer, tighter, for a moment, in the process of setting her back on her feet.
Yes, not quite coherent, congruent, cohesive, but nice, isn't it?
Mythra's arms hang, at times gangly, right at Minoth's waist, which itself makes a convenient nip between bulky jacket and bulky belt. Usually, what that makes room for is Mythra's elbows jutted akimbo, while Minoth's arms cross to rest above her shoulders. Addam's fraternal-twin contrarians, perfect symmetry.
But, Mythra discovers a little later that she could open her arms, too, and wrap them around Minoth, and feel him return the gesture whether her eyes are closed peacefully or in agitation. Hands resting on her back, her shoulders, the back of her head (her crown, so small, so small).
Could, and can, and does. At every odd angle - every tail end of a conversation where the others have drifted away, or she's waiting for him to pick up his pack, or she stands still to let the group throng past her and find bastion with him.
Milton's like his son, and Addam treasures that fact right to the core of his heart, but the trouble about it is...he's only assuming. There's no real Young Master Origo to be comparing the Gormotti boy to, nor even any younger sibling (or one older that Addam feels it fitting to emulate).
Not like his son, but like a son.
It's so much easier to make fit into that mold, in his mind; Addam doesn't want a page or a squire that calls him Master, no matter their age, but it's much easier than first-name basis, for Milton, then, isn't it?
Food. Shelter. A guiding presence, a constant force. All the bare minimum, wouldn't you say?
So, if there's one thing Addam can do that makes both he and Milton content, without either having to say a word, it's accepting, and providing, those embraces that Milton reaches for, when he doesn't know what else to do. Either by meeting Milton on the ground where he stands, or lifting him up into the air and higher, higher, higher, Addam accomplishes all that he needs to. All that he could ever dream.
"C'mon, cheer up, Haze. You'll get 'em next time."
You. You'll get 'em, and not we. Not us. Because it's Haze's victory that's been lost, and not the good of the group - certainly, not the winning of ways of all-high Lady Mythra. Haze stops worrying about biting back a quick sting of tears and focuses now on uncurling a stubborn frown.
"It wouldn't kill you to actually be a little bit friendly, you know."
Mythra blinks, as if stunned. Friendly? That was friendly, wasn't it?
Maybe Haze should serve her another dose of limitation and see how she likes it. See how she likes being no more powerful than any old...any old Common Blade!
But Haze won't sulk, no no. She said what she said, and she'll stick to it.
She lids her eyes and turns up her nose (just the slightest bit, you know) and sallies onward, only stopping when Mythra doesn't tap but instead tugs on her shoulder, spinning Haze in place to bring into view Mythra's own sorrowful frown.
Of course she'll hug and make up. Of course! As good as a promise, that is.
A Flesh Eater.
Jin warms to Minoth perhaps quicker than he'd usually like, given that the man - quite the formidable Blade, but so strikingly human in some ways, so bold - appears with no warning somewhat directly from the auspices of Indol. But he's intelligent, and he makes a satisfying singularity in combination with the revelation of the last Jin's journal, in the back of that house in Hyber.
He's...useful to Jin, if nothing else. A significant personage.
(Dramatis personae?)
Jin appreciates his company, and he can tell that Minoth appreciates his.
"What d'you think?"
"I?"
Milton squints up at Azurda, not bothering to cover his eyes, and Azurda peers impassively back. Well, maybe he's a little bit amused. Just a little bit.
"About Master Addam, leaving us behind?"
Way lame, for sure. But, Azurda doesn't seem to think so for the same reasons as Milton. Maybe closer to what Mikhail had thought, actually. It's the first time Milton has ever seen a Titan sigh firsthand.
"Am I to understand that Addam's reasoning for insisting that you stay in the capital - with me, might I add - was delivered somewhat...lackingly?"
"Yeah! Usually he's clear as a whistle, but not this time. Mythra had to explain it!"
Addam can get vague when he's pressed into an important emotional situation. Azurda has indeed seen it - it came up around when he got married. And he can provide no better explanation, now.
"Well, my boy, we may as well make the best of it. Have you a yen for Chooby Tubes?"
"You know you're welcome here anytime you need, Mikhail. Whether or not Milton invites you."
That's an odd sort of stipulation, isn't it? Why would Lady Origo just out and assume that Milton wouldn't invite him? Isn't Mikhail his best friend?
But, matter-of-factly, she sets down a jug of syrup for his Sumpkin Griddle Cakes, nodding meaningfully at the silverware to indicate that there's no one else to wait for, so he'd better dig in.
He wants to take a bite, but something is always nagging at him, stopping him from truly enjoying the life that's appeared before him. Maybe if Milton were here...
"Don't you have help?"
"Sometimes," Flora says, not airily. "But the militia take care of themselves."
"Will you get help?"
He doesn't even know what it is he wants to know.
Settling herself upon a stool across from him, Flora reaches over to tuck a stray spike of hair behind Mikhail's ear. "I think we'll all pitch in together."
When Lora had chided Milton, abettingly, that flattery will get him everywhere, she hadn't expected him to take the comment so gravely to heart. He'd never struck her as a boy particularly concerned with how he was coming up, in the world - in how he treated other people, in how his personality was coming to be shaped. The kids having their own concerns had more pertained to where they'd live, what they'd become; not so much who.
Milton's already wonderful just as he is. And he appreciates Lora, too, but makes clearer when he means something and when he's just joshing up. Opens her up to some scathing criticism on the color palettes and textures for her charms, too.
Oh, Lora couldn't love Milton any better if she tried. She'll run to him for a frenetic, oh-so-genuine reunion, victorious through a sweaty battle, any day. And show him how to throw a few punches himself, too.
"You're going to head to the capital soon, aren't you?"
Azurda eyes the ever-inquisitive Lady of Aletta with a stony roll. "Giving me marching orders, now, are we?"
"It was just a question," Flora waves him off.
"Question? More like suspicion."
Question, suspicion. Guess, misgiving.
"And maybe I should be suspicious of you," she laughs, wrinkle-nosed, and leans fondly in to his great purchase upon the moor.
Though Addam doesn't like to let the boys wander too far, when there's a line of sight to their chosen spot for building a fort, or a satellite fire, or what have you, he allows it, hesitatingly, as long as Mythra agrees to watch them - at least, cursorily. They won't suffer anyone else's watchful eyes, so hers, languid but all-seeing, will have to do.
Brighid does steal a glance from time to time as well. Maybe because it would be amusing to catch Mythra out on inattentiveness, or maybe because she, too, worries. She takes for granted how perceptive Emperor Hugo is, how well most young folk she has the pleasure to meet do in defending themselves.
Once, she even catches Mikhail dancing about with twin makeshift constructions of Muscle Branch and Vinegar Leaves, tied together by Binding Roots, engaged in a game of touch-me-not with Milton, who's armed with a slower, heavier stick (rather disadvantageous, given that the rules of the game seem to include no actual hits, only taps).
This would surely set Addam's hair on end, as if he were an Electric Blade himself. But the imitation, and the flattery, is so very charming. Brighid prepares herself to step in, but only if it's truly necessary.
Just like with Jin, you wouldn't exactly know it to look at her, but Lady Lora is so soft and warm to hug. Well, her being warm is much more obvious, but as gregarious as Lora is, few often get the chance to really come up close to her and breathe her crisp, earthy scent. Her hands are strong, for clutching Haze close, and her arms stronger yet, for Haze to cling onto.
Her skin is so soft, even when it gets a little dry or a little oily. Her hair is the perfect thickness for Haze to run her fingers through, detangling and even braiding - if there were enough hair there for her to do so, anyway. Her very voice is warm, lilting, though rough with the texture of the road and her long, long journey.
Haze is just grateful to be a part of that journey, and to know that Lady Lora's embrace will always be her own safest place.
"I must admit I envy you, Milton."
"Me?!" Milton's eyes must nearly bug out. "But you're the emperor of Mor Ardain, 'n' all!"
"Yes, but..." Hugo muses, "I never had the freedoms afforded to a boy of your age."
Maybe so, but to think of the advantages!
"I guess that's what you're out here with us for, now."
Hugo smiles. Indeed. "It does seem to work out that way."
What Mikhail lacks in sassy twerpiness, he more than makes up for in lack of stature. Mythra could punt him to the moon so easily. So, so easily.
She won't, though. Because he's Milton's friend, and because Addam wouldn't like it, and because Jin definitely wouldn't like it, and because...the kid's pretty smart, all in all. Here's hoping he stays that way, past the age of twelve.
Aegaeon can sense Azurda's steadfastness, despite the Titan's at-times-flippant, at-times-bumbling demeanor. A dragon of his size could set off for port with any other nation in Alrest with a minimum of difficulty, but close to his mother Titan he remains.
Perhaps one day Aegaeon will be such a close companion of the Cloud Sea. Or perhaps, assuming he was birthed from the back of Mor Ardain, it is already too late.
Mikhail isn't half so weak as he had been when Jin first laid eyes on him - cataloguing the frail child's frame for limps, winces, avoidant eyes.
He's still quiet, of course. But even living as he has been for seventeen years, looking after a similarly reticent-to-rambunctious child, it's somehow difficult for Jin to quantify what a tremendous difference it must be, with fresh cabbage to chop and fresh meat to roast. Flour-thickened stew from soup, deboned fish and vegetables grilled past an unappealing waxy snap.
(Haze enjoys waxy snap. Jin does not.)
When Mikhail gets especially quiet, now, Jin offers his arms, opened just the slightest fraction, purposefully imperceptible to anyone else, and waits, Mikhail's sentient constancy.
Azurda can tell anyone who perches on his back by their center of gravity; by their crouch, their seat, their tip-toed stance.
Mythra kneels, all knees, bracing herself. She doesn't position herself, like Lora, to spring up on heel and strike.
She's waiting, watching. Scanning. Hardly even breathing. And of course Jin and Addam yet stand.
Perhaps she'd get airsick, if she stood. Perhaps her sensors are too fine - how should he know? He, merely an old Titan, and she an Aegis.
But Azurda will not fly straighter, finer, for Mythra. No, not unless she asks.
"Your Majesty-"
"Minoth," Hugo intones politely, as if acknowledging and not admonishing. Minoth swallows his answering sigh, breathes it out through his nose.
"Hugo," comes the Flesh Eater's correction, and sure, it's more comfortable in some ways, but Architect, why is it so much easier for Addam?
Minoth knows the answer, and it starts with an F, but no matter how dear Hugo might become to him, he's not going to-
-take the emperor's offered hand, in esteem?
Flora considers herself ridiculously lucky to have been in Addam's life when Milton entered, handing them both a weighty dose of adulthood responsibility and a glance at how to treat a pre-adolescent child not exactly like a child, rather than witnessing a boy like Milton grow from a toddler and forgetting to ever...change, the way your relationship might look and sound and feel and act and breathe.
Milton knows his own mind, too - and even if he doesn't, he's a boy who lived just long enough in a village with other boys and girls and parents, which means Flora doesn't have to wonder about providing freedom of expression, in that way. She'd be wanting to buy a little girl all manner of clothes and worrying after how she fits herself into routines and judges her own appearance and finds herself alight, in the world, no doubt.
But Milton likes to have his own way about things, which is just fine with Flora. So long as he won't out-and-out refuse a little peck on the cheek, every now and then. Just so he knows he's loved.
"So you're from Estham, I heard?"
Mikhail's never had any reason to like the roll of Ardainian brogue any better than the Gormotti melody or the Tornan posh, let alone the Urayan stryne, since every nation has its own equal share of bad'uns, when it comes to the lower classes, but the emperor does have a pleasing tone, doesn't he? Lucky for all those who have to listen to it, he supposes.
Anyway. From Estham? Probably. Maybe from somewhere else, originally, but who's to say?
Mikhail nods. Hugo nods back. "To my knowledge, Estham was founded - colonized, perhaps is the word - by the twin brother of Ephem, the first emperor of Mor Ardain."
"So I'm from another of your territories?"
"N-no, I just-"
Mikhail grins, toothy. Caught the emperor out, did he? Quick with his fingers and with his facts.
But Hugo takes the needle in stride, and promises to do some proper research on Estham, later. When this is all over, most like.
"Brighid - have you always worked so closely with Hugo?"
She wants to bristle at the cavalier calling of her Driver's name, but she supposes if she had to afford the privilege to one human in all of Alrest...well, Prince Addam has earned it, in a sense.
And it's a fair question. Just as she'd told Mythra, Brighid often operates on her own. She's happy to do it; happy to uphold her own reputation and show that she, as a Blade, is not just powerful under the aegis of her Driver, but universally formidable.
Since the onset of this war in earnest, and the more recent uprisings of Coeian soldiers, however, she has altered her usual habits. Any routine related to the goings-on at Hardhaigh is old news, anyway.
"You mean to ask why you don't remember me as well as you thought you might?" Brighid replies, evenly, and watches the smirk form on Addam's face at her quickness.
"Quite right."
"Boyhood games were never my style, my lord."
"And now...?"
"Now we're a band of aristocrats, wouldn't you say?"
Flora waits until the rest of the group has descended into the manor to greet Minoth, who'd lingered behind just as she suspected he might.
"I'm glad to see you again, Minoth."
He gestures to his torso with splayed fingers: "Well, not much to see here." She wouldn't usually be aggravated by a coy statement like that, but oh...
It's all she can do not to prop a knuckle under his chin and turn his eyes to face her.
"I don't think I'd be half as glad if you'd changed."
Which Minoth can appreciate, sure, but Flora, c'mon, really? The same old, same old...
She waits patiently, so patiently - too patiently - for him to wander his gaze back to meet hers, but when he finally does, she steps forward and just embraces him, without another word.
Count one, two, three...and there are Minoth's arms around her back, accepting, and then holding tighter, tighter, tightest.
"Mean of me to have a favorite, among Addam's Blades."
"Mean of me to have a favorite Origo, then."
Flora can't quite tell how much sarcasm that truly is.
"Well, you've grown a lot since we first met, haven't you?"
Since they found him, Mikhail's sardonic pessimism supplies. Just another stray for Lora to collect, on her way to find her mother, and meet the Aegis, too.
He goes back and forth on whether he's glad to be here - whether he wouldn't rather, generally, just have sorted it out on his own. He's seen enough burnt-up bombed-out villages to know that there'll always be somewhere for him to end up, always someone willing to snatch him.
But then, Lora really is one in a million, isn't she? Not just opportunistic, but appreciative. Not just kind, but open to suggestion. Not just happy-go-lucky, but prone to worrying, sometimes, too.
There are worse places he could be. Much, much worse, and not only abstractly so, like he used to think every time he ended up in a new house.
"I guess so," Mikhail says, instead of mutely nodding. Lora cheers, quite satisfied, and pulls him in to her side.
Brighid enters the parlor with waist level but head arching, gazing, taking in. The curtain of hair running down her back moves little despite its upward anchor.
"Lady Origo, your estate is marvelous," she says, easily, masking any actual wonder and impression with a somewhat canned, though genuine, estimation.
Flora knows she's supposed to be complimented, but really, what doing is it of hers? She just lives here, dusts up a bit, waters the flowers. Makes it so there's someone to come back to, maybe.
And greets the marvelous guests with cheek kisses and a warm embrace. That, right. Of course!
"Aegaeon, that was some fancy footwork!"
Ignoring how much his enthusiastic shout had gotten him sounding almost like Addam, Minoth jogs up to walk at Aegaeon's side, the Shield himself walking nearest to the back of the group as its staunchest protector.
"Merely sufficient for the battle at hand," Aegaeon replies with a bare nod. And yeah, Sable Volff aren't exactly the scariest things they've seen on their journey thus far, but those things can bite. Minoth won't confirm or deny whether such a bite is the reason for his current laggardly behavior.
It's impossible to imagine a Blade like Aegaeon ever falling to such...ruin. To imagine him being a Flesh Eater at all, honestly (Brighid...well, Minoth can see Brighid doing some extravagant things - doubtless, she'd be far from a failure).
"If that's sufficient, I don't envy anyone that's on the end of you overcompensating, eh?"
Aegaeon only grunts in acknowledgement, but when Minoth gives him an elbow, he thinks he might see the hint of a smile, there.
"Oh, but suppose the Ardainian soldiers should get involved. I'm not sure we could explain ourselves to them too easily..."
Hugo smiles, but only on the inside. "You'll see no trouble about it from me, Lora."
"Your Majesty-" and though Lora's reply, only half-thinking, starts out hushed, nonplussed, it soon blossoms, splits, erupts: "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!"
All her fear of authority is forgotten, all boundaries temporarily dismissed, and Hugo knows he should never underestimate a wily mercenary's strength, but this? Well, this is quite something.
"I'm really happy you're with Lora, Jin. Takes quite the burden off of me."
Right. Lord Addam, the premier Driver of the Kingdom of Torna - naturally, the de facto recipient of the Titan's premier Blade.
Jin can say firmly, from this vantage point, he'd absolutely despise waiting on such a fool of a man. A poor-to-passable combatant, a reliant upon heuristics, a diplomat seemingly constantly caught with his pants down; all of it, wide open to criticism. And then there's his treatment of his own Blades.
Yet, from this vantage point, Jin can say that he's happy he's with Lora for another reason, too.
Addam's not a horrible person to have as a friend, kept at reasonable distance. Maybe a few too many claps on the back, but that's princes, for you.
"You don't...really think I'm a simpleton, do you?"
Milton looks at her sideways, purses his lips. "Everyone's a simpleton sometimes," he says, instead of answering. "Guess some of us are just quicker to piss people off."
Mythra's eyes go wide at the sound of the four-letter word, but Milton's Gormotti elocution doesn't exactly reject the curse. A born sailor, this one.
Then (so), she rolls them. "Fine, I'll rephrase. I don't really piss you off that much, do I?"
Milton sighs. "You're like my sister, Mythra. Right? I don't think anybody's arguing that. So it's your job."
Which makes it her job to prop her elbow in his hair, muss up his ears, pinch his side in return, give piggyback rides, blow raspberries at him, hold things up where he can't reach (and maybe get them down, too)...
...and give the best big-sister hugs anyone's ever seen.
Sure, fine. She's the Aegis. She can do that. No sweat.
Oh, manners. Obviously the Emperor of Mor Ardain, chosen over his brother for his aptitude toward resonation with Blades, will have good manners whether he was born with them or not, whether he likes it or not.
(It's not that Domnhall doesn't have manners. It's that if he did, he'd become even more unpleasant than he already is.)
Manners. Comportment. Fine posture. Discipline.
Hugo is as perfect as an Ardainian Emperor could be. But chivalry? My goodness, to a comical extent!
So Flora, never a one for curtsies, blushes just as she should when Hugo - whom she has met before, she swears, somehow or other, wouldn't Addam have contrived it? - takes her hand and kisses the back, complete gravity.
Anyone else would see Jin as hard, irreconcilable except with silence. He has rounded edges that others can see, it's true - the bare forearms, the ribbons upon his dorky chef's clogs, the purple turtleneck peeking out - but only Lora is privy to the softness of his hair, the rawness of his reactions, the vulnerability of his undistilled thoughts.
To Lora, there is no greater comfort than Jin's embrace, grounding her when her fists feel foreign and the dirt beneath her bounding feet has ceased to respond as it should, as it ought, as Lora wishes it would.
So much makes sense, because so much is the same, day to day. Lora's outlook to the world is relatively small. But still, memories will resurface. Merchants who cast dirty looks or who speak with evocatively soft voice, mercenaries who look like Gort - mercenaries she thinks might be Gort.
Jin is there through it all. Jin will never leave her. Jin will never change.
Jin's heart is with her and only her, forever.
"Are you truly considered Addam's uncle, Azurda?"
It's all Azurda can do not to laugh outright. "Does your friend bear any resemblance to such a Titan as myself?"
"Not in the slightest," Hugo replies easily. "But I'm sure he could be convinced to look the part."
Milton is Addam's charge; Jin has nothing whatsoever to do with it. What decisions Addam makes for his ward are his business and his alone. Jin can only hope for Mikhail's sake, and of course Milton's, that they're wise ones. Letting Milton tag along to the Tornan Titan's Core, though? ...Jin would have vetoed that one regardless.
And yet, he can't stand the sight of that fanged frown.
Even if she has no intention of being Lord Hugo's consort, whether Aegaeon approves of it or not, Haze can still beam with delight when Hugo offers her his arm to escort such a fine lady into Auresco for the cooking contest, of which he is to be such an esteemed judge.
(But he'd better not let that sway his honest vote for Jin!)
Milton's picked up a fair number of Addam's mannerisms, from what Mikhail can tell. The idioms, the way he settles down to enjoy a meal. He refers to the grown-ups' adversaries as "toughies" and stretches his shoulder the same way Addam does, even though he doesn't have the exercise of the sword to need it.
Addam's not handsy, but he is touchy-feely, always clapping hands somewhere or other. Milton's like that too, except that he doesn't do it randomly. Only when Mikhail (or, in general, the situation) seems to require it.
He's got good timing, on that. Mik bides his own time, waiting until he can do the same for his friend.
It is indeed...amusing, how the other Drivers perceive Aegaeon's bond with His Majesty. Overprotective, they say. Devoted beyond compare.
They are right, certainly. Aegaeon is attached to Emperor Hugo beyond peer and beyond any possible force hoping to wrest the two apart.
But what the others see is a mere fraction of what Aegaeon feels for his beloved Driver. Though he does not remember it, he has read in Brighid's journals of his extreme fondness for the then-child who occupied Hardhaigh's Jarlin Wing. A quiet, serious boy, easily bonded in friendship to his appointed guardian. Inquisitive about much but cautious about all.
He has changed little, except that he has grown ever-more honorable. Aegaeon often wishes he could take Hugo in his arms and tell him of how proud he feels (more than anything in this world), but Hugo is older now, if not much larger, so Aegaeon simply attends, faithful at a few paces back, to the best of his ability. And what an ability it is...
"So you knew Jin, years ago?"
There's got to be something to the old Titan's cryptic comment, after all. Sure, Lora would like to think that Jin really is lucky to be with her, rather than anyone else (certainly she is), but could there really be something so special about her that Azurda noticed it at barely a glance and an introduction from the not-yet-knighted lady?
"I knew a determined soldier from the Territorial Defense Corps. He certainly stood out from the rest of the group. Your Jin, now..."
"They're different people, aren't they?"
Azurda nods. "It's different for each Blade. I cannot tell you how any other might feel, Lora."
"And yet, now I feel awkward asking him." But instead of frowning, puzzling, Lora picked herself up. "How about you tell me a story, then? You must have lived-?"
"Eight hundred years." And Azurda laughs too, letting Lora lean her mirth upon his chin.
Master Minoth is an instant favorite of Haze. How could he not be? He tells such interesting stories!
The characters are full of drive, but he voices them with so much warmth; they're so real, so true to life.
And Minoth himself is so worldly, but Haze sometimes wonders how much of humanity he's really seen. If, truly, no one had ever clung so excitedly to his side as he read out his finest, saddest, most intriguing tales.
Well, but if she's to be his first true friend (Master Addam aside), Haze takes this duty very seriously indeed!
"I shouldn't play favorites, Brighid," says Hugo, the start of an oft-revisited routine. "I am the Ardainian Emperor, and it is my duty to bear the imperial treasures as the Senate and those treasures themselves see fit."
"I don't remember my opinion being asked," Brighid sniffs, but playfully. The point of the rigamarole is that she would prefer to be let on her own, while Aegaeon prefers to cling closely to his liege, but Hugo must justify it, mustn't he? As the Emperor, he must.
"Would it not be a waste of your time to attend to me, when Aegaeon already handles this duty so well? Should not the sword be more independent than the shield?"
"The sword should act in accord with the shield," says Brighid. "The sword and the shield are sworn partners."
"But," replies Hugo, catching on a marvelous caveat, "the sword is twofold. The sword has two swords!"
"And thus the sword," she says with a bow, "must take her leave of redundancy. My thanks, Your Majesty."
"I suppose I've missed you, Addam," Azurda says, as lightly as is ever possible for an eight-hundred-year-old Titan to be.
"What, just for the year?" Addam, of course, brushes it off. "Must be nothing to you."
Must be nothing. For Addam, it's been, what, four percent of his life thus far? Really not something to sneeze at (and if Azurda sneezes, it'll be Addam's eyebrows to answer for). But Addam's lived not four percent of Azurda's own lifetime. He's...just a blip.
"Days pass more quickly, yes, but I have had many decades of watching people age. I have not often known them as closely as I knew you."
Being somewhat isolated as he was, Addam can't deny an interior impulse to be special, to want to be regarded as a scion. And he is, in many ways; he's made himself useful to the best of his capacity allotted as fourth-in-line, bastard prince. He'll rebuke the titles, certainly, but if he can live up to what he feels would justify his status, well, then he'll do that.
And having Azurda to dock in his corner, his guardian from a tender age? Well, that's...that's alright, isn't it? More than. It should be allowed, at least.
"I appreciate that, Nuncle," Addam says, hand on the tip of a wing, staying a tear from his eye. "More...more than you know."
Haze is not giddy, is not a schoolgirl; is not innocence and sugar-spice wrapped up in a priestess's package carried on the winds along with a sprightly and spritely (indeed) reminder to always eat one's veggies. Haze is not to be trifled with, no ma'am! Lora knows how to pick them, and she's picked a powerful, swift healer alongside her original, fearsome Blade.
But Flora knows how to gauge her stereotypes and judgements, well enough, and if it's a teatime date Haze wants, it's reception fit for a serious lady, though with a girlish side, that she'll get.
Haze's hug is just as strong, even forceful, as Lora's might be expected to be, though. Flora stands her ground among the gale as well as she can.
Oh, Mythra...
In a happier world, she would be unfathomably dear to him. They would be partners, friends, family. None of this grim, unstable stuff.
And Mythra, he thinks (doesn't wish, doesn't believe, just thinks as in to puzzle it out), has tried to tell him that she wishes as much of the same. Tried, but been unable to summon the secure language, or else communicate her meaning in code.
Well. That is to say, Mythra doesn't really appreciate all Addam's codes, but she tries her best to fold in with human mores, so if she has a chance to make an implication, she uses it. Other times, her speech is beyond plain.
Most of their discussions end in huffs, from one side or the other. First they were unspoken, then they were Addam, and now they're Mythra, more and more.
Addam doesn't know how to wrangle it, though. How could he possibly assert himself without just...asserting dominance?
So he waits, as patiently as he can, for Mythra to come around to whatever it is she wants. And when their spats start ending in her silently reaching out arms for a hug, Addam is unfathomably elated.
"So, you and Milton don't care too much for me, huh?"
Caught out. Mikhail understands that everyone must know his habit: to judge them all silently, and offer his trust only in fine-ferning feelers. Whether or not they respect his quiescence, they are aware of it, at the very least.
So now he has to decide whether Minoth has just taken it personally, or whether he'd heard that particular conversation Mikhail and Milton had had, shortly after his arrival.
Mikhail doesn't retread things like this, aloud, unless there's new information. And now there is new information, which he certainly will be reporting back to Milton.
Aloud, now, he only says, "I don't know."
"Ambivalent, huh?"
Again with the "huh" - if this is joshing, then yes, Mikhail doesn't like it. Why would this full-grown adult be so concerned about a little kid's opinion of him, anyway? Fragile ego, much?
"You should ask Milton," Mikhail replies, and walks away.
"You're married?"
"Well, yes. You never asked!"
It's no big thing, is it? Only as big a secret as Lora stealing Jin, right? Which wasn't a secret and never will be again. Or something like that.
This is just the way they do things.
Addam hasn't time for consternation or confusion when Flora exits the manor front and the others have their big reveal (plenty of awed-hushed glee from the likes of Lora and Haze, and even Jin seems amused). Goodness, no - it's just Flora, here, and he stands happily at her side, squeezing her shoulder and pulling her to him with a fond arm.
"Hey, Master Aegaeon."
"What is it, Milton?"
He's gotta admit, it's gratifying seeing the Crest of the Empire, as they all fawn about, let his attention get grabbed by a little Gormotti runt like him.
"I wanted to know..." Milton's fingers lace together behind his neck, posture still a bit self-sheltering, as he considers his phrasing. "How long have you been with Emperor Hugo?"
"When did he awaken me, you mean?" And now it's Aegaeon considering, hand upon armored chin. "It has been approximately six years, but by this point it feels like longer than I can ever hope to remember."
Wouldn't that be great? To have a new lease on life so nice 'n' all-encompassing that you can't even remember anything that came before? But still. Point being, though Lora's got the record by a landslide as far as both age and years, Milton's only got so long until any Blade he awakens will be missing a lotta years, on him.
"Do you ever disagree with him?"
Deadlifting a Jagron comes to mind, but other than that...
"His Majesty and I are always in perfect accord. It is the way of our bond."
Aegaeon watches Milton wrestle about with this information and soon decides to lay a calming hand on the boy's shoulder. "My bond with the Emperor is unique throughout Alrest. It is no fault, to have disagreements. Your mind is still young."
Young, and sharp. Aegaeon does not envy the Lord Addam his quotidian quibbles.
"Fish tonight, Jin?"
And it's not only the Paragon who benefits from such a feast. When it's Aegaeon's night off from providing the evening meal, both Jin and Brighid let out sighs of varying internality, longing for the fresh, clean taste of seafood so expertly caught and prepared. So when Jin is feeling peckish enough himself to take matters into his own hands, he knows he's not the only one whose spirits have been buoyed.
Brighid appears at his left, away from the knife's unshakeable precision, hip gently bumping his shoulder. She doesn't even have to ask, sashimi or tempura. A piece of raw fish, deboned and sliced to the ideal thickness, is handed up to her with nary a word. Brighid accepts it with her left hand, brushing Jin's forearm with her right, and returns to her seat to let the master work.
"Oh, Mythra, it'll be alright."
She lifts her head up from heels of hands between elbows upon knees, awfully crumpled-looking for an Aegis. "Do you promise?"
"Do I have to?" Flora asks, doubtful. She's not giving anything, just reminding.
The Fliers will still fly, the Armus still ruminate, regardless of what petty things we people are feeling. Even, of what grand things we might see our way fraught to experience. And so, you just have to have patience for yourself, as hard as it seems. You just have to trust time.
When Mythra turns her crumpled self over and throws forearms at Flora's sides, though, she gives. Of course she does. What other choice does she have?
"Another batch of your finest, Brighid?"
Though Minoth has learned not to stick his nose into the cauldron, as it were, since it doesn't smell good and it doesn't bode well, at this stage, he still likes to observe the mistress's process of perfumery, from a respectful distance.
Brighid shakes her head, though - and proffers a prefilled vial from her stash, instead. She's preempted him, today!
Mythra would like to learn to fish, honestly. The image of standing triumphantly on the shore, either dry as a bone or bog-dripping, with a hauled-up whopper hanging from her fist, brings her closer to the feeling of existential euphoria than she usually gets, most days.
But to learn from Aegaeon? Aegaeon, who doesn't have any skin or hair to get wet with?
It just doesn't have the same...oomph.
"Your fire's a bit unruly, Sir Titan," Brighid observes, cool as ever. It's not to say that she's accusing Azurda of contributing to the destruction of the capital, Elysium forbid it! but his blasts do...carry far.
"If I were meaning to impress," he drawls, "perhaps I would rein it in."
Addam himself aside, Flora is a wonderful slice of exposure therapy for Lora to get used to being around people who are, for all intents and purposes, "above her station". It's not the people Lora has a fear of, after all. It's the idea that she's suddenly among expectations that, if broken, could mean one misstep pulls Jin, and even Haze (because Haze was stolen too, Lora gulps to remember, as if she could ever forget), right out of her hands and heart, leaving her to rot in some penal servitude for life, or - perhaps worse - with a service of traveling the borderlands all alone.
Flora's got none of that hanging over her head, though. She's just a kind, smart lady who welcomes Lora into her home with all but open arms.
Mythra could step back and realize that complimenting Brighid when she's done well isn't any actual threat to her own growth, and in fact only uplifts the team as a whole, but that would be responsible, mature thinking, and goodness knows the Aegis(es) doesn't (don't) do that.
She can poke at it, maybe, get used to the idea, but there's no way she's repeating it for Brighid, whether or not the Mule of Mor Ardain's only pretending not to be able to hear.
(Okay, yeah, that's low. But...it kinda sounds good!)
"Don't tell me you've been having Jin make these for you."
"Well," Aegaeon hedges, "not quite these. His are made with Platinum Shroom."
Flora shakes her head. Leave it to Jin, the Paragon of Torna, to have perfected candymaking at a campsite, and to use mushrooms, of all things, to pull off a divine satiny glaze.
But if Aegaeon has a weakness, it's this: he's risen above Ardainian cuisine, yet still doesn't know how to prepare himself his own desserts.
Haze...Mikhail likes Haze. Instantly. For one thing, if she's too sickly-sweet, she's the same to everyone - except Mythra, whom she shades as appropriate (and it's really often appropriate, so Mikhail gets to get what he's thinking said, without actually having to say it, himself). She's a Blade. Blades are like that.
Blades are more trustworthy than people, in some ways, actually. In a lot of ways.
Maybe it's just Lora's group getting bigger, or maybe Haze herself really is special.
Mikhail realizes, a little while on, that he feels like he'd like to protect Haze, himself. If only that were possible. But he's just a kid, so he'll do what he can do. Even if doing what he can do just amounts to eating his veggies.
Milton definitely hadn't trusted Minoth at first. Oh, no shot. This guy shows up, claiming to know Master Addam, and everyone just hands him the keys to the city, without so much as a sneeze?
Nothin' doin'. Not Milton's game. He'll take his time with anyone who comes from Indol, and just shows up "using his own initiative" - it's not how, it's why, that Milton wants to know. Why get yourself any more involved in the war than you have to be?
(It's not smart, to just do what Lora did and grin right along. No, they never tell the kids anything.)
But Milton himself, of course, isn't going anywhere, now that he's gotten into it. Where Master Addam goes, he goes. So if that means Minoth has to come with them...eh. He'll deal.
And seeing as Minoth deals in piggyback rides a sight longer and stronger than Mythra's, it's not so bad. Oh, and the stories, especially about Master Addam...yeah, Milton likes those too.
So maybe he likes Minoth, after all! Shoot a kid for tryin' to be wary!
"Oh, I'm only kidding, Haze!"
Addam cracks a laugh on the "-ih" in "kidding" that breaks right up out of his sinister narration of "Granddad's spine-tingler" he'd so insistently hunkered down to tell. It's a good story, but it's not that good, is it? Certainly not the way he'd tell it, which while carefully studied is just that: carefully studied, and a little dull at points. You have to have a real talent for putting the spook into it (he'd like to hear Minoth spin such a yarn, really - now, that'd be a real challenge and a real thrill).
But then the prince sees that he's put the fair maiden in a bit of a spell, and beckons with less of that same nonchalance for her to shrink not away but into him, for her comfort and his deserved retribution.
Flora really doesn't see what all the fuss is about, with this Paragon. Rather, she understands why he's an individual in demand, but why fret so much over who gets to have him, and who should? Isn't Lora doing a fine enough job? Better than!
And besides, she'd hate to lose this Jin to political controversy. You know, he's so...voluble.
Lora's always been quite happy with her Blazing Braid, and certainly much happier with it than with a Torrent Braid she'd tried out, once. Who'd ever ask for soggy rope? Just doesn't have the same...wildfire snap, you know?
So when she sees Brighid's flaming whips, oh, that has got to be the ticket. She's just itching to give them a try. But in the meantime...well, Brighid's warmth is a boon even outside of battle.
Mikhail gazes longingly at Aegaeon's helmet. It's no fashion plate, but the hydraulics must be incredible! Is it real water, or just ether pretending to be? Where's the central pump - in the Core, obviously, or somewhere else?
Aegaeon might let him have a look, but...suppose he comes uncorked?
Envious of Brighid's flawless complexion, is she? It's a vanity Brighid will have to admit to over and over, back the past five hundred years and forward another set of the same. Noted in her journals as a point of pride, even.
But is Haze not just as perfect? Her youthfulness is...righteous. Real. Brighid is ethereal, yes, but if one wants unblemished skin for the purpose of appearing ageless, then Brighid's visage is not quite the place to look. If you want to appear peerless, however, a jewel is a jewel is a jewel.
Just being around Haze makes Brighid feels young. Imagine saying that, as the four-years-bonded Blade of a twenty-year-old emperor!
"Oh, but I'm so curious."
As Lora's deciding whether or not to hinge it on a wheedling "Pleeease?", Minoth relents and unholsters one of his gunknives to let her take a closer look - and a look only, mind you. She oohs and ahhs for a moment, and then her fingers start to creep up through the air.
Away goes the implement. "Sorry, Lora," says Minoth, gruffly.
"W-well, that's alright," she replies, straightening. "Is it because of...?" and she gestures at his Core.
"You could say that, but it's not because it's sensitive. It's because I wouldn't feel it, as much, anymore."
Such a feeling, or lack thereof, Lora can only imagine as the worst thing in the world, and she stretches up on tiptoes to hug Minoth her sorrow without a second thought, meeting her heart to his Core.
"You were displaced by Ardainian soldiers, Milton?"
He shakes his head, not quite eager to educate this Ardainian figurehead on the exact ramifications of her nation's burgeoning war.
"We needed water, food. Building material. Things we couldn't buy, without harvesting resources to sell. Anybody could have made the same mistake, I suppose."
So there's nothing here for her to tsk at. Hearing Milton explain, Brighid's not sure where or at what her mild curiosity really had been aimed.
"I wish I could blame someone," she admits, "even if it had to be one of my own people."
Milton sighs, looking up at her. Her own people. "Yeah...me too."
Born of the same Titan...it's at once a gratifying and a mystifying thought.
A Fire Blade, was Azurda, surely. Was he defensive, offensive - a healer?
But that's such human thinking, isn't it? What Jin is truly curious about is the process of maturation, from a Blade to a Titan. Is the womb matrix truly the only centre where such a thing can take place? What of the Titan's Core? How does this translate to Blades themselves, always inert and lacking of autonomy until a human wakes them up?
Jin will have to pick Azurda's brain on all of this. And perhaps...perhaps his journal, itself left over from Ornelia's time, too.
He mustn't trust too easily. But he must make an ally out of Azurda, too.
Judging from the way the old Titan treats Addam, Jin wagers that won't be too tall a task.
Aegaeon sneaks Haze so many sweets that she's dropped the "Master" and just realized it's him who's truly sweet. Not a scallywag at all! No, indeed, a true gentleman.
Don't tell anyone, he'd said, and of course Haze hadn't (well, but for Lady Lora, who might very well have told Jin...but at least His Majesty never found out!), but perhaps Lord Addam isn't as much of a gentleman as he's meant to be, because he's the one who comments on it, and throws the pair of them some waggly eyebrows.
How could anyone ever impugn the character of one such as Aegaeon? Why, the very model of what a Blade should be! He, who would offer his favorite sweets to another (another who doesn't even best prefer them, if she's honest...), to stave her fatigue and help her hold out just a little while longer.
At first Haze hadn't been quite sure why Aegaeon seemed to prefer the Farsighted Talisman over the Unbreakable, with its slightly stronger effect for a comparable amount of material (well, once she twists Jin's arm for some extra Bismuth Slab), but then she remembers how Bathein bowed to Lora's bonds with her teammates, and how it had inspired the simpler talisman's perspectiveful design. So Aegaeon is truly sentimental after all!
"'Toodle pip', the Titan says."
"And 'Women' pouts the Blade!"
Minoth shakes his head. "I'm not saying you couldn't find yourself a lady friend if you tried, Azurda, but could you do us all a favor and not be so gullible about it?"
"Gullible? I never-"
"Either you were giving or you were getting. Neither one's a profitable position, from the standpoint of your reputation. All I'm saying is, I'll play nice if you get your act tgoether."
Azurda snorts, but doesn't fly away, for some unknown reason. "As if you're not living in Addam's pocket all the while."
"You don't see me and Addam fighting, do you?"
Azurda snorts again, this time entirely ungracefully. "I see a lot more than you think, young man."
Never as long he lives will Hugo have a friend quite like Addam. His frankness is unbounded, his humility only matched by Hugo himself when it comes to rulers of Alrest, in truth.
That the Praetorium has deigned to give - nay, to entrust the Aegis to him is a decision Hugo can only find himself agreeing with. For who else? It must be admitted that the Driver of such a powerful Blade must be answerable to the governing bodies, and acquainted with them in such a way. The keeping of such "treasures" within royal circles is oftentimes more about the control of the Driver than the control of the Blade.
Hugo would like to believe as such, anyway. And perhaps, under his rule, eventually this will truly come to be.
Dear Hugo. This, he?
Oh, dear, dear Addam.
Any other would probably think Jin too harsh, too severe.
Any other would probably think Aegaeon too literal, too narrow-minded.
But is it so much to expect that a Blade be committed to their duty, their Driver, their dance? That this thing called battle, this ritual called life, be not silly but serious, and just as all-important as any great dictionary or demagogue could say?
Never too much. Aegaeon and Jin, together, know this.
"I don't quite know how to say it..."
Minoth makes an inquiring sound, just to show he's listening. Addam remains silent a moment longer, just a moment too long, and that gets him to look up (he's been thinking of taking up whittling, recently - must be another way Addam's getting to him).
Addam's staring not at Minoth, his face, but at the ground where Minoth's boots rest, his silhouette. Minoth can understand this stage direction easily: the weight Minoth casts into the world, just by being present.
It's important to Addam to say it, though, isn't it? And Minoth's got a while to go, but not that long, until he realizes how important it might be for him to hear.
"It's alright, Prince. Take your time."
Addam beckons, and Minoth goes. When their cheeks meet, they both relax; release tension they'd not known they'd been holding, for years.
Jin can practically hear the click of half-thoughts weaving together as he watches Hugo's back through a Round Cutter into a Guard Shift.
Hugo is simply too short to hold a sword any longer than that. If entrusted with one of Addam's greatswords, or - Architect forbid - Jin's nodachi, he'd surely topple in an instant.
Good thing whipswords appear to be retractable.
"You know, I'm quite sure I used to think you hated me, Aegaeon."
Aegaeon blinks. What possible reply can there be to such a statement as that?
He waits for Addam to continue.
But half a minute passes, and there's nothing more. Addam's nonchalantly working on trimming a pot.
"Is that all?"
Apples-first, Addam smiles. "Yes, that's all. Just a thought."
"Not as interested in me as you are the transport Titans? Tell me, have you ever heard a transport Titan talk?"
That's funny thing about it, isn't it, Azurda? Mikhail giggles to himself, shaking his head without turning back to face the one who'd asked.
Transport Titans, though it may be cruel, are always so blessedly quiet.
"Are you staring at me, Brighid?"
He can always tell. Maybe she's not as opaque to others as she'd usually like to think, but nonetheless, Aegaeon can always tell.
Brighid smiles, and doesn't bother making it enigmatic, instead pressing her cheek to Aegaeon's and thinking - not only imagining that he can feel it - how glad she is not to have to embark on this journey without him.
What he'd do without Lora? Addam really doesn't want to think about it. But he does, of course, because he's Addam, and he has his own personal brand of catastrophize.
Without Lora, his and Mythra's journey never would have taken quite this auspicious path, leading them to Gormott and back, over Aletta and across Dannagh, through the capital and the capitol to right under his father's nose.
Well. It's not a nice thought, to know that he's used Lora, in some sense, to curry favor with his father. But it's not as if he'd known. Indeed, he'd expected Zettar's ire to win the day. But there you have it, with Lady Lora. A winning smile, always. And, a firm arm, for encouragement. Now just where has she been, all Addam's life?
"Hey, Jin."
He looks up from his journal; he's been contemplating whether or not to alter the usual contents of the current volume to include more of the details that his past self had focused on. More emotion, less particulars. Well, maybe not less. He has more time, recently, to record things like that.
But then the two records wouldn't match, and seeing as they are the only record...
Regardless. "Mythra."
She slides awkwardly into the seat across from him, holding herself uncharacteristically upright. If Jin didn't know better, he'd think she was focusing on crossing her legs without jostling the tabletop.
"I was just wondering...you're gonna be with Lora for a long time, right?"
Jin takes a quiet breath through his nose. "I hope to be for as long as I am able."
"And...Blades are supposed to feel like that, right? Like, all of them."
"If you don't," Jin cocks his head to one side, meaningful, "that might be something you should give its proper respect."
However much Mikhail hadn't trusted Lora, he distrusts Addam even more. A mercenary could pretend to care, and really mean well enough, by accident (really, he's seen everything she's got to show, Lora obviously doesn't really have anywhere to put secrets even if she'd had them), but a prince can pretend and never have to think twice about what he's showing for it. He just...moves on with his day, satisfied with his good deeds apparently done.
Milton trusts Addam a lot, though. And Mikhail trusts Milton, without even thinking. So if Addam is supposed to be as good as he's supposed to be, the way he jumps to resolve Mikhail's every muttered misgiving, for ulterior motive or altruism alike...
Well, Mikhail supposes he can believe that.