Geometric Gear
"That armor, that appearance... You're Tornan, aren't you?"
It's less so that no one's ever accused Minoth of this and more so that no one's ever outwardly bothered to wonder just what it is that Minoth is period. He has to agree that Tornan is just as good a guess as any, with the thick stripes of bold colors, gold accents, and aesthetic reminiscent of elements of both agriculture and engineering (if you really wanted to believe), though moreover...
He shrugs. "My Driver is Indoline," he says simply. "That's all I know."
"But your complexion, and your hair..." Addam trails off. "You look more Tornan than I do."
What does Addam have, in the corresponding ways? A thick shock of hair, yes, but gray and without much variable texture to it; Minoth can't imagine it long, which is the way for the other Tornan royals. And Addam is famously rather pale, of course, if appreciably sun-weathered, with those golden eyes that make thematic sense but don't make sky nor sea to hang the sun in like they're supposed to.
The clogs and the red stripes speak for themselves. The prince is made up like a glorious bastion, an icon, nothing but the best without even room spared for more comfort in his noble finery. Still, Addam's outfit looks comfortable, because Addam looks comfortable. Minoth might actually be able to say the same about himself, and it's a boast their corresponding higher-ups can't claim.
Two peas in a pod. No chance.
Addam doesn't make any more comments about Minoth's heritage (or composition, or origin, or whatever you want to call it) after that. Minoth had half expected, and perhaps hoped, that he would, but can't quite discern to himself why. Does he want to be Tornan? Is that it? He already obviously knows that he doesn't count as Indoline. That's no worry.
(He doesn't like to think about what blue undertones would do to his complexion. He values his handsome coloring just the way it is, and his prominent nose and his round ears and the characteristic geometry of his face. No, he could never be Indoline. But he'd probably like the idea better if he didn't have such horrid associations to begin with.)
Torna just has an undeniable appeal. It would even if Addam didn't boast it as half his heritage, but Minoth won't say that that little bonus, buoyant and even arrogant sunshine peeking through constant dull clouds, doesn't help.
Glorious Torna...
He's always wondered about the national affiliations of Blades who don't have strong governmental ties in their identity and don't know much about their birth Titans. Is any pull to any Titan in particular evidence of a Core-deep original bond? Does it help, or is it even possible, to visit the matrix to see? Is this something the Aegis would know? A question for later years, but a salient one.
Who knows this stuff? Who cares?
Minoth becomes content to count himself as Tornan just the same.
Addam loves to run his fingers through Minoth's hair at the slightest offered opportunity. Minoth does try to keep his mane smooth and free of tangles for just this purpose, knowing that some texture will remain for the interest of the prince, but the cowboy won't have to sit through jerks and tugs.
Addam can get greedy sometimes, though. Hair brushing is all very well and good, with the casual comb of a hand, but then when he starts tutting about the back of Minoth's collar making a nuisance of itself when Addam would like to pull the ponytail down properly, well, that's just getting pushy, don't you think?
Minoth's become a proper pushover, though. With a minimum of fuss, he's convinced to unbuckle the long strap that fences in the bulky piece of metal bolstering his throat, and then pull his arms out of his jacket, which takes the ridiculous collar off with it. That's after his gauntlets and gloves have had to come off, too, so now it's just his bare shoulders and delicately covered neck facing the world.
"Fascinating," Addam murmurs. "It makes so much sense, and yet it's such a spectacle to me."
Minoth's shoulders hunch slightly at the word "spectacle". He likes being interesting, thrives on it, but at what cost?
"And we've got more similar silhouettes now," Addam muses. "With the construction of the main body piece..."
Minoth supposes it's more or less true, if you really need it to be. Wishful costuming, inverted.
For his part, Addam doesn't have any such secrets of costuming - unless you count the small, almost totally healed chest scars, but they're quite minor in comparison to Minoth's.
Not everything about Addam is less flamboyant than the same corresponding aspect on Minoth, but in general, the pattern does hold. Minoth finds more comfort in talking to him than in tracing his shapes and feeling his scalp. Not that those things aren't very nice, too.
"I guess it's good I like you however you look, or dress. Since you'll be a farmer."
"I think about being a farmer quite a lot. My calling!"
Big smile. Triumphant sense of belonging.
His calling, huh? And does Minoth have one? The armor doesn't really suggest.
For some Blades, they've got an obvious military motif. For some, it's luxury. For some, it's a pattern for human home values and what will make sense in all their contexts, for a homekeeper, homemaker, and general family member.
Minoth really just...looks like his own. Never been done before. Never will again. And he values that. He has to, because he'd really been in a screw if he didn't, but he also just genuinely does.
Still, isn't it good he has the good looks to land a good-looking Driver, one who needs a man in chaps to keep him not honest but actually a little bit of the opposite?
It's an intercontinental meet-cute that doesn't really bother defying Titanic throughlines, and that's alright. Sometimes predictable is best.