Pines of Rome

"I can't remember a day this hot in all my natural-born life."

Addam, with a sidelong glance, replied, "I seem to recall that you weren't exactly 'naturally born', Minoth." Neither naturally nor born, that was.

"Sure enough," Minoth crowed. "Good a reason as any why I can't remember, then, huh?"

Could it be the destruction of Coeia that had caused this downright unreasonably unseasonable spike in temperature, in only the fifth month of the year? Did that make sense? It was humid and heavy, even in the desert, though not so piercingly hot that Addam feared his shoulders might burn. Definitely too hot to don his cloak just in case.

And Minoth...Blade or not, to be completely covered up in weather like this seemed an unimaginable curse.

Ah, but that was a question, wasn't it?

Addam cast a glance around the group. Lora was working her fingertips at the tops of her greaves, likely wishing she could forgo the stockings she wore underneath. Hugo, also fully clad, seemed unaffected, but Addam could see the sweat beading at his temples, underneath the fringe of navy hair.

Brighid? Well, she worked with fire and her arms were, in a sense, made of it. Aegaeon was always cool, as Jin, both in mind and body, and Haze had her wind to keep her company at all times.

So that just left Mythra. Though Addam would by this point be unfazed to see her irritable about just about anything, he suspected that it wasn't just rare reticence keeping her from complaining about the heat. Now, maybe that was an Aegis superpower, maybe not. But still.

Seeing that inquiring with any of the individuals in question might lead to inconclusive results, Addam turned back to Minoth.

"Blades aren't particularly sensitive to temperature, are they?"

Not being sure of whether to phrase this as conversational or truly concerned, Addam tried to take a facial affect that would make it seem just a passing remark - you know, topical, like bringing up the weather should be.

But Minoth frowned, nodded. "That's something I had to learn the hard way."

It was, all in all, a relatively minor thing: so you couldn't be indifferent to temperature anymore, was that so bad? Just a shift that came over years.

But of course Minoth's meaning was clear. Amalthus's tampering had cost Minoth yet another aspect of his relative immortality, his fighting prime, and it was one thing if no one else noticed, but quite another if it brought pity.

Addam had to admit, even just to himself, that he wouldn't mind terribly if Minoth did go shirtless, or sleeveless, or whichever, but he hated to think what a weakness his friend surely felt the swelter as.