Vinegar Leaf

---

Addam's never been a cologne man. To his mind, it's just walking yourself into a social trap: if you don't smell good the way you are, assuming that you've a neutral deodorant to hand and that you behave hygienically, then you've just as good a chance of offending the upturned nose of whoever it is you're trying to please by perfuming yourself in the first place. He's certainly met some scents he'd rather not tangle with, and he's not even particularly sensitive, that way. (Not that he has no sense of taste, or taste at all, but he's fairly broad, all round.)

Makes enough sense, right? In general, if they're not going to like you the way you are, then it's no great bet that changing yourself is going to help. It's never worth it, anyway. By this point in his life, early-mid 20s, Addam's tried to put most of the people-pleasing behind him.

Now. With all that kept tidily in mind. There's a significant difference between changing yourself, especially willfully and self-destructively for the attempted approval of others...and enhancing yourself. Which, at least connotationally, is only possible when the base product is already quite fine. (And which, at least connotationally, is usually a constructive and self-enthusiastic procedure. That bit's important too.)

And Minoth, of all sentient phenomena Addam's ever witnessed, is certainly fine, which is why the jovial but at times serious prince does the opposite of minding when he finds out that his friend is such an avid conoisseur of Brighid's perfumes.

Exquisite, she calls the vial she hands to him. It occurs to Addam as she does so, palm and touch cool in Minoth's, that the Flesh Eater's usual wry eye contact doesn't reach, with her. Yet...he can feel eyes, there. Challenge, and confidence. Rapport. Oh, Minoth is good.

Scratch that. Minoth is exquisite.

What's in that fabulous elixir, anyway? Parts of a butterfly, wood smoke, a mustardweed, carrot juice, Addam thinks he's seen? Earthy, woody, and the slighest bit strange and ethereal. Well, he wouldn't describe Minoth as ethereal, but this is the one he wears, after all.

Only...

There's something else. Something else that makes Hugo pinch his nose and look away as Brighid adds it to her smouldering, bubbling, infernal quasi-bewitched and totally bewitching pot.

As he tries to bend closer to find out what it is, Lora distracts him.

"Addam, could I have your help?"

Of course, he obliges.

"I just need your finger right here, so I can make the tiny knot in the center... Most charms I make are more focused on the rope itself, on a larger scale," she explains apologetically. "This one's more embellishments, and all."

Were Addam's hand free, he'd put it to his chin, as the other braces himself still against the log between him and Lora. "Reminds me of a starry night sky... It's beautiful, Lora."

She probably says more about it, and blushes and rambles and says how it's for him, so she's glad he likes it so much, but then he says all of her work is beautiful, which, really, a prince, liking her roadside handicrafts-!

Minoth's grinning at Brighid again. Addam's not jealous, he's...

No. He won't say it. Not even to himself. Rather, his interest is aroused. That's better. Less bawdy.

Spying the open seat, now that Lora's returned her hands to her lap, Minoth takes it with relish, spinning the vial of perfume from hand to hand across his own lap.

"Careful!" Addam can't help but admonish. "Really, Minoth, I'd think you'd be a little more ginger with Brighid's work. After all the time and care she put into that, not to mention the ingredients."

Minoth shrugs. He doesn't appear to be put off by Addam's tantrum at all. Neither does he seem about to rattle off the list of ingredients, to show just how not a big deal it is. Instead, he says, "You're probably right. But, I've got to feel it up, first. Really know what I'm working with."

Feel it up? Surely he can't have said that on purpose.

Surely he can't have not said that on purpose.

Addam bites. "You're going to wear it now, then?"

Another shrug. "When else? Not like we have time for a date, this week."

When Minoth gets in his rogue mood, Addam really is helpless. He's helpless as Minoth seductively shucks his gloves to access his wrists, ether veins and all; arches his neck to dot the perfume behind his ears, just above the nape of his neck; lays a bare finger to his neck itself, just about the jugular, and stripes. His larynx bobs. Addam's does, too, for an entirely different but not entirely unrelated reason.

"You're obscene."

"You like it."

"No, you do!" Addam cringes when he hears himself hiss. "Don't try to drag me into this!"

Don't try, indeed. He doesn't even have to.

Minoth rolls his eyes, drawls. "If I didn't hold Lora in such high regard, I'd say that's a cute little badge she's making you. Guess you can't say you're a knight, like she is, so you need something else to compensate."

He's absolutely right when he refers to Lora; he wouldn't speak this way to absolutely anyone else.

"You're trying to rile me up," Addam alleges with fury that's so confused it doesn't know where to heat.

"Not at all, Prince," Minoth placates in return. "Later, you can sit in my lap, and I'll help you pin your gleaming badge to your breast."

That's a rotten word.

Wait a minute...rotten, rotting...

Oh, Addam could just about wail his frustration. And he probably will, later.

"I don't believe it!" Minoth flinches slightly, at the relatively more sudden outburst. But then again, just what had he expected? "How is it possible that you smell so good when your perfume is made of Curious Rotting Leaves?!"

Minoth grins. "Curious, isn't it?" And then he kisses Addam on the mouth, with passion and pleasant breath.