Julius Caesar

"Minoth, I understand how you feel, but-"

"You don't understand shit," Minoth snapped. "You don't own me. You don't even know me."

If this was what it meant to yearn, to want and be wanted, then Minoth wasn't having it.

Wasn't that how you treated children, and other beings of dubious conversational skills whom you needed to placate, just to get around the impasse? You took into account what they had said, registered it as stated, and then passed it by without another thought. But you'd said you understood it, which meant that you cared, which was enough, enough, enough.

To Minoth's mind, if you disagreed, then it didn't matter how much you understood. He wasn't going to sit there and argue with you, scrap to scenes and exits on a fundamental chord of discord. Especially not if it wasn't the type of point that stood to be argued.

So, if that was how Addam wanted it, that was how he'd have it.

They could all have their arrogances. He and Addam and Mythra, stood up in a line, sniffing discontentedly at each other. Sure, fine, see how that would benefit anyone.

"I think," began Addam deliberately, "you're being rather hard-headed. I'd like to discuss this with you, if I could."

Minoth made a low noise in his throat.

"If we could," Addam amended further, and hopefully for the last time.

Addam had referred to himself as the Driver of the Aegis, and started talking about what would happen when they routed Malos, what Minoth would do and should do and could do with his infinite future freedom. Now, if Minoth didn't agree with Addam's perspective on this and these issues, that was all well and good. But he had to entertain the decision, surely?

"This is the part where you tell me you're proud of me, I gather. How far I've come and all the progress we've made."

Addam said nothing, expression tired and breathing pursed, brow hunkering down over parted lips.