elfs be like french

He didn't particularly like when Teach used those flowery phrases, apostrophized glibly together. They reminded him of the Moebius blowhards, in all their feigned, stilted superiority; of what he'd thought Teach would be like, before he'd actually gotten to know him. All stiff arms and savage words and ways as sharp as his ears, double-jut.

Perhaps he did still harbor some prejudice against the Agnian side - it was one thing to accept Noah's detachment, and Noah's recommendation of the other set of special forces by extension, but quite another to open himself up wholly to the cultural intersections that came of someone much more firmly rooted than, say, Juniper.

In time, however, Zeon learned to trust the rare, quaint phrases, as blooming betrayals of the more sensitive, less guarded parts of the other commander, underneath his coat and staff.

After all, buried deep in a history Teach laid no claim to, power and wisdom had brought darkness, instead of light. This, in a sense, they shared.

He didn't blush, didn't falter. But with someone else there to ensure his safety and partake of his courage in turn, he became prone to dropping a "cher oiseau" or two. Hidden flexibility, indeed.