The Two Gentlemen of Verona

"I don't understand what's wrong with my regular outfit. Look, it's got a jacket and a brooch. It's even got elbow-length gloves."

Addam couldn't say the same, now, could he? His shoulders were bare, and it wasn't the kind of black tie event that invited strapless evening gowns, necessarily.

"You've got bloodstains on your bottom end," Addam reminded him, not unappreciatively. "You know as well as I do that your clothes can't just clean themselves, at such a time. I thought you'd want to be put together."

"I am put together." Minoth clicked his emblems, heel on heel. "See? Put."

Far be it from Addam to be the fussy one, about his own appearance. Indeed - he got fussy about Minoth's presentation, instead.

"Rather argumentative lately, aren't we?"

He'd never thought it a treasured pastime, but one supposes that when the foundation of one's relationship is bickering over a fealty-tender nickname, one will tend to come to blows.

"I'm not wearing it, Prince." Minoth tried not to make it sound like a threat, but he only barely succeeded, as he was otherwise in the process of rolling up his sleeves and adjusting himself for this ceremonial battle. "You take the cape, and the buttons, the brouhaha. Not me. Not this cowboy."

So Addam resumed doing up his plentiful assortment of buckles, unwilling to defend his point any further. The simple fact was that they were expected to appear before King Khanoro for a formal declaration of the end of the war versus Malos.

Lora was fussing. Haze was blushing. Jin was contemplating the facets of his mask. Then there was the matter of the children, whose clothes were rumpled and dirty beyond hope, or else spotlessly wrinkled from jumping up and down. They all did as they decided in another, separate room, while Mythra twiddled her thumbs on her own.

Minoth thought they should look how they'd looked when they'd taken care of business. Addam thought they should look a bit nicer than that.