this ain't-a no-a jazz-a band
Ellooks were tough. Ellooks were hardy, Ellooks were clever, Ellooks were beautiful creatures. But, most of all, Ellooks were damned nasty to fight. Beatific Ophelia, in particular, carried a bit too much of the golden glaze that should have denoted a monster beyond usual pales (Lora's sudden realization that those four in particular were colored and named the way they were because of the overall milieu of Torna herself had been notably amusing).
But if Ellooks were tough, Minoth and Lora were tougher, and twice as clever for sure. "You're quite the skilled woman at arms, Lora!" he cried out as he holstered his guns and swept up the fallen Gale Braid to hand to her for later, even more expedient kills. "Still not quite a match for my experience, though."
His experience - ha, what a farce! Because she'd been alive far longer than him, and even in resonance with Jin for a fair bit before his awakening. But he looked the mercenary, with his scar and his dungarees, and she didn't, with her petite pleated skirt and spit-shine boots showing piquant femininity. So fair's fair, right? Maybe.
"Oh you think so, do you? I'm not gonna take that lying down. Come on! Arm wrestling time!" As she said it, Lora beckoned with fingers flashily tucked up and back, back and forth into both palms, head cocked to one side and nose scrunched up to her challenge. Cocky much, our lady knight?
Wasn't as if Minoth could muster up as much, outwardly. "Arm wrestling?! N-no, thank you, that won't be necessary." The braid dangled limp in his hand, of a sudden, forgotten. Coward much, our lord cowboy?
And, speaking of lords... "Now, now, everyone hold your houses." Enter Addam, ready to project his impotent paternal viewpoints upon any and all petty disputes - look, how about we handle Malos first, and then you can ship-shape us, huh, Daddam?
Nevertheless, quite acquiescent, was Lora. "Ah, oka- I'm sorry, our what?" Right you are there.
Rather than quibble on the nonsense wording, Minoth cut straight to the semantic dissection, one arm crossed over his chest and the other held out at the crooked elbow for motive gesturing. "Need I remind you that we're both itinerants, Addam? You and Hugo are the only ones who've got houses to speak of in the first place."
"Jeez louise..." Addam sighed, more deflated, "you're right. You're right! I take your point." Oblivious and self-absorbed though he could be at times (times displayed on just about every clock except those broken), he was never self-serving in that short-sightedness. In this situation, yes, it was a bit ridiculous, but it was a point of character, so the scenario could serve.
"Never mind the malaphor, my prince. We're holding."
And just like that, Addam's shoulders hitched back and his head snapped up once again. Not with anger, no, but with enthusiasm; with excitement at the prospect of learning something new. "What, are you saying I've got the expression wrong?"
Minoth sighed himself. Set his stone face. "I said, never mind."
"No no, tell me," Addam prodded, crossing his own arms defiantly over his chest. "If you're such a wordsmith, such a master of language and lexicon...?"
"Go on, you might as well," Lora put in from where she'd been observing with barely-contained mirth. "We can't keep him in the dark forever, you know."
Gah... "Fine. It's 'hold your horses', Prince." Almost a verbal typographical error, it seemed, because who on earth, sheltered cast-out royal or not, would talk about holding...houses? Not horses? Come on!
To his credit, Addam did look only exactly appropriately shamefaced, no more and no less. "...ah. Of course."
"Mmm, but that's not much better, is it?" Lora made her second affable poke, bouncing up onto the balls of her feet with her hands held mischievously behind her waist. "Because he doesn't have a horse either. Neither have I, but I don't really have any business with one."
To Addam: "So I'll get you a Ponio!"
To Minoth: "And just where will I keep such a magnanimous equine gift?"
Before Addam could properly rejoin, Minoth and Lora had composed up an enthusiasm-devoid jolly chorus to echo the foregone conclusion, complete with fingers spinning both an estimation of nuttiness and an expediation of the statement: "In the house that you're going to get me." And yada, yada, and yada.
As they said it, Lora and Minoth shared eye contact, but then her thoughts lingered a touch longer, and she studied something lurking in Minoth's eyes. Bold, she was, as ever, and if a little bumbling still usually correct in whatever she conjectured. Here, there was certainly something to it.
"Isn't Minoth going to stay with you, Addam? I don't mean to assume, or pry, or anything," and here Minoth's gaze tightened, sharpened, squinted, screwed, "but surely your estate is plenty big enough for both of your Blades to stay with you, at the very least. And Milton too, of course."
"Oh no." Minoth put out a hand in the space between Lora and Addam's faces. "We're not getting into that again. What happens to my sorry ass after the war is over is none of your concern, Lora, though I thank you kindly for it."
"What, you think I'm just going to stand here and let you hatch your little secret plans to sneak off where no one can find you? Nuh-uh." Eyes closed, Lora gave a determined lift and set of her chin. "We're a family now."
"A family," Minoth repeated, sounding more than a little bit dumbfounded.
"That's right! You, Minoth, and I, Lora, and him, Addam, and...all of us. Family! Now, doesn't that sound a whole lot better than being alone all the time?"
And of course Lora wouldn't know, because even living in an abusive household (barely could even be called such a held-together outfit, really) as a ten-year-old didn't connote real-world loneliness. No discredit to her, but...she'd never been that very itinerant on her own. There'd always been Jin. Always.
Minoth valued privacy, in a way well distinct from any base sensibilities that Lora or any of the rest of them did. She'd just as soon poke her nose into your business as poke her fork into Jin's cast-iron cooking pot before the stew was ready, and for those that enjoyed that - Addam, for one - that was all fine and good, but for Minoth...hm.
"You're making me doubt it more every day," was all he could so lamely manage, at last. Such a pat line would surely stop the conversation in its tracks - who needed continuation after that? Cap it off. The exchange need only be three or four lines, and then it's fin scene. On to the next battle.
On. On! ON! On. On... "Oh, boo! I think we need to bring back throwing tomatoes at people, just for that. Don't you think so, Addam?" Hide the red devils, please. Please!
From where he was standing slightly removed, hand to chin and brows to bangs, Addam tilted his head even further over to one side. "I suppose so, Lora. You seem to be handling this rather well, on the whole." Commendments? Congratulations? For pester-badger-beavering me into being sociable? Oh, come on, this is the worst part.
But continue it did, perhaps to spiral into further worseness. "Well, well." Flustered much, my dear? "I really just don't like his attitude, right about now. Come on, Minoth, did Brighid tell you you're being silly today or do I have to?"
"Silly?" Minoth repeated, again incredulous. Did she and Brighid...conspire on these things? Upon what common thread?
"Well, she'd probably say stupid," Lora continued, heedless, almost without acknowledging or even noticing Minoth's vague, vaguely pathetic prompt, "but I'm not quite that blunt. Not on purpose, at least."
Oh, surely. Never on purpose. And the arm-wrestling threat, to suplex me back down into the ruins of Feltley from the nature preserve cliff, was an accident too.
"You know," Addam started, and Minoth felt a very much of a Something coming on, stormlike or otherwise, "I really don't know what we'd do without you, Lora."
Not I, but we. Thanks for speaking for me, my prince. But, then, wasn't he right, after all? Without Lora's true-tempered experience to run alongside Addam's almost willful outward ignorance of the terrors and traumas of the world, without her moon shining the reflection and inverse-inflected strength to his sun, they'd all still be lost without a star to guide by.
Now I'll make explicit the insouciant little opening nod. Lora was tough. Lora was hardy, Lora was clever, and if you'll pardon the broad and inchingly skeevy statement, Lora was a beautiful creature. Even if he'd get his ass handed to him so handily, she probably wouldn't be all that nasty to fight - and certainly she'd never play dirty with it!
Abandoning his cowardice, Minoth threw his lot in with the optimists and said, "Fine, so we'll wrestle for it. You win, and I'll stick around ad nauseum with our Duke of Dumbass here. I win, and you let me do what I will." As it should be. Fair's fair, right?
"What you will, huh? Don't be so coy, Minoth. You know you'll stick by your prince no matter what...no matter what!" And with that, Lora made a jaunty jerk on the end of the still-hanging braid to drag Minoth after her towards Altana's gate and a flat surface upon which to roll out the determination of the bet, and he followed without any further resistance - even a little swagger, perhaps a little swing in his step!
(Why do you think he'd shied so pitifully away in the first place? He always knew she'd win.)