Memento Bark
The dirt on his fingernails when he starts messing about in a miniature wildlife lair is, in some ways, the closest Minoth can actually get to real human grit-n-strang, something he feels inclined to since he's got the murky bloodstream. He expects arm hair, the works, eventually, but right now he can rely on his fascination with entymological life (creepy-crawlies, in other, less elaborate words) to bring him - literally - down to earth.
A Berryhopper here. A Munchygrub there. Plenty of Speckled Monarchs to catch, admire, and release.
He does happen to use Sticky Stick Insects holistically for both their secreted sap and their hollow cylindrical shape conducive to scriptbinding, but other than that, he doesn't really regard the two hobbies as intersecting. After all, if he did, then he wouldn't quite be able to call himself well-rounded, would he?
By the time Addam ambles over to peek over his shoulder, Minoth's all but forgotten what he'd been digging for.
"All the devils here!" the playwright calls out, too loud, feeling uncharacteristically gregarious. Maybe it's minerals leaching into his skin, too, that are having an effect. Anything's possible, really. If tomorrow Haze awoke him with a dangled non-Core crystal brushing the tip of his nose that could supposedly divine best-course actions for future health and wisdom, he'd probably buy it.
Frittering away the hours with your hands in the sand, rather than your head, just makes you think of the most inane things, eh?
Addam's hand on his bare shoulder is the first thing that reminds Minoth of the fact that he'd taken his jacket off, the sear following soon after. So maybe it's sunstroke, then? And is he even capable to burn? Another question for the ages...
"Another masterpiece tonight? Or the beginnings of one, perhaps." Addam's fond musing is the type to thrust hope into anyone's sails. Not the thrill of nearing derring-do actualization, like Lora can and does bring, but hope nonetheless. Hope springing eternal in the human breast would certainly befit one such as him.
Minoth leans back, stretches, and looks Addam in the eye as well as he can when the sun is so relentlessly beating. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. I was looking forward to another one of your pieces of handiwork, actually. Maybe a Box of Legions, for me to keep my critters in." He gestures at the hole rapidly filling with Sand Upas, seemingly excited ones at that, and Addam laughs. Well, excited anthropomorphizes them too much. Say frenzied, and call it done.
Speaking of calling it done, it seems Addam's eager to lead him back south and slightly west to their campsite, so Minoth stands, stretches again (different parts this time - appendages, to match his beastly friends), and starts to fill in the hole with the toe of his boot.
After a few surrepitious shuffles, however, Minoth begins to get a feeling for the heft of the soil, and motions for Addam.
"Say, Prince, you need any of this for your...crafting?"
Addam squints, but doesn't have to consider long. "Don't think so, no. I finished up a Mirror of Vanishing just the other day. It's how you've been sneaking around so well," he adds disapprovingly, as if Minoth's supposed to keep track of all the junk Addam stuffs in his pack for safekeeping.
(Which his? An easy secret - or maybe it's theirs, instead.)
"Besides, the Floral Soil from Gormott is the good stuff. That's not really much more than sand, maybe some clay mixed in."
Minoth spreads his arms wide. "So throw me a pot!"
"A pot?" Addam's brows present arms. "My dear friend, what on Alrest do you need with a pot?"
"Bugs can go in a pot," Minoth points out, relinking the happy pair by arms about shoulders and beginning the trek back after a cursory inventorying pat to his belt.
"Have you nothing more visually pleasing than bugs to display?"
"My face?"
"Don't tempt me."
At camp, fireside, Minoth still doesn't really feel like hammering out the basis for a new manuscript (bit broad, to call it a play, when it's only orally told to an audience of ten), but he's also not quite tired enough to sack out just yet. If Addam is going to work on something tonight, maybe that'll be a game distraction.
Addam really does make for a good distraction, in general. Maybe that's what he passed on to Mythra, most of all! Hugo can be engaging to watch, when he's at work tinkering, but he's far too methodical for Minoth's tastes. The gimmick is easily graspable, rather, and it tells vital endearing information about the stout little emperor, but it's not truly what Minoth could spend hours watching.
Absolutely, he could watch Addam for as long as his eyes stay unlidded. That effort shifting in his jaw as he plys the materials, that untidy hand across his brow as he wipes it, that sparkle in his eyes when it comes out perfect...
Minoth supposes Addam probably finds the same things compelling about his art, and not just the finished product. But writing's a lot different to the physical exertion of fine raw craftsmanship, especially if you're not as jumpy as Minoth is.
Nice thing, to keep them occupied. Looking around, watching everyone relax and converse with their happy hobbies in their laps, Minoth could almost forget why they're together doing this; why there's any reason to keep grim, at all.
"Minoth!"
Addam, calling his name from across the circle. They don't always sit right next to each other, you know!
The prince, hair hanging slightly limp as usual (and where would they be, if not?), holds up a concave piece of shell - Robal Krabble Carapace, is it?
Minoth frowns. "Didn't know they came that small."
Addam shakes his head and turns the piece over to reveal Ocean Eye and Silverwing Quartz dotting the interior. "Couldn't give you a box inhospitable to termites, could I?"
Well, plenty hospitable, it would be, but insecure. Good thinking, Prince.