Dilemma Rock
The transport Titan doesn't wail, but it moans. It's enough to make anyone's stomach turn, and then turn again once you realize just what it is down there in the clouds you'd be retching over.
"So, what are we working with?"
Addam hadn't expected the game, businesslike tone from Minoth. They're all of them squarely shell-shocked, with barely any time between here and Gormott to figure out their next moves. He supposes he should have expected no less from his dear friend.
"It doesn't look good," he says. Something caught in the tip of his glove finger, a splinter or a bit of glass, stutters reciprocally along the floorboard of the ship. Would a refit have been in order, soon? Is that something anyone will ever think about again? Whose ship is this, now? Who owned this Titan, anyway?
(Is it him? Was it him? Did, has had and does that ugly little honor fall to him, ever before and now ever after?)
Addam, fallen or just disgraced warrior prince, shouldn't be collapsed on the floor against a joist, but he is, standing no taller than the red-haired girl, and so Minoth has crouched on haunches to meet his level.
"Zettar will no doubt be in a fury a- about it. About everything, but..."
There is no most of all, is there? It's all just an ugly mess, with no salvaging to be done. The people who were in the shelter have died perhaps the bitterest death of all. At least those on the outside had some idea of it, as they sank. Those outside in the capital, of course, might very well have been struck down where they stood.
Such was the fate of the king, because he chose it. Such was not the fate of the king's brother, because he never would have. And, now, he doubtless has grim accomplice who is equally skilled at keeping himself unscuffed, and then a significant measure more so.
Minoth picks up the thread: "Your name is mud forever."
Mud, and scum. "Those two will make sure of it."
Once upon a time, they'd meant to make sure of some things much less universally affective. It had just been largely personal, even somewhat petty, struggles. And Addam and Minoth had always been at each other's sides then, too, no?
No. Not really. They'd sworn much, but actually done little. It had been difficult, in their relative positions. Just a function of the very same problem.
Did the thought still count? Had it?
Your name is mud forever. Your life is worthless forever.
"But not to me," Minoth says softly, echoing Addam's train of thought.
None in Mor Ardain are left who would sympathize, because old emperors have died now alike with new, and the imperial treasures retain nothing of sympathy. In Uraya, only disdain. In Indol, religious fury and fear. In Gormott, nothing but Ardainian tendrils. Coeia, sunk. Spessia, perhaps a haven.
Addam couldn't blame Lora, Jin and Haze if they turned against him. Not one bit. They'll be turning away, anyway. Obviously they're not going to keep friendly orphanage in Auresco or Lasaria, now.
He has only Minoth. And Minoth has only him. Has never had anyone else.
"You'll always stay..."
"I will," Minoth confirms, hand at the small of Addam's back. "You've been good to me. Even if it's just because you don't know any better to be worse."
Addam gives him a sharp look. "I'm not that callous."
Even in this deleterious state of mind, replete with smoke and blame and shame and subfunctioning human routine, it will never be any less than absolutely clear, if not that pristine, to Addam where his priorities with Minoth lie.
The supporting hand rocks, curves, presses.
"The man changes. The world changes, and the shape of the man standing role in it changes too. The only way some kind of mooring can be kept is if there are two men. And their relationship will change, too, but there will still be the fundamental fact of the two of them."
Addam leans back into the hand, pulling Minoth down to slump beside him. "Is this some new philosophy you've hammered out lately? I've never heard it."
Minoth hums, darkly. "I guess it is. The philosophy can change too, until someone hears it."
"Oh, that's wicked."
"It is disgusting, isn't it?" Now Minoth's tone is deceptively light. "Horrid little creature, like a bug slithering under a rock."
The horizon is clear and thin, light filtering from both above and below. Addam feels himself afflicted of a strange bit of tunnel vision, where usually he'd pride himself on remarkably strong perception of his surroundings. Always telling everyone, yes, I know, I see it. Always claiming if not admirable strategist mind then at least a hankering for inocclusion.
They'll reach Spessia soon enough. Who'd decided that as their destination? It had been the failsafe, more like. Not talked about much, but certainly present. If it all blows, on to Spessia, to see what's there.
Their journey isn't long for closure. Even just as this juncture, will Minoth actually continue on with Addam? Or will they split, divided now again as they once were, helpless and powerless toward each other in anything more than memory and that strange philosophical ontology of two men versus worldstate, and history grinding on.
"I don't even know if I'm afraid."
"No?" Minoth's coy response can barely be heard over the useless din of the rest of the restless ship.
"I'm just afraid for you."
"Oh, well you shouldn't be. I'll be fine, no doubt."
"As fine as you've ever been."
"That's right."
"That's right..."
Hang us up, at the fork of our failure, and look at all the people who've died. What are we going to do with all this now? What's even possible to be done?
Tomorrow doesn't call for anything particularly grand or inspired. It just calls for waking, probably.
The Titan lows, again. Addam thinks fondly of cows.