Bestial Pursuit(s)

"Was it a big decision, for you?"

Minoth cocked his head in mild, inviting inquisition as if he hadn't just been listening to Nia ramble, though largely to herself, about her intermundial foibles for the past seven-odd minutes - maybe not in any kind of discernible detail, granted, but the stream of information had been there.

"To...give yourself up, like that. To stop being alone."

Apparently Nia was choosing to discount the fact that she'd not been alone...ever, really, so long as you saw Dromarch as something other than an extension of Nia's very being, but indeed not for at least a year, since Rex and Pyra had found her. Then there was Jin, before that, but Minoth could see how that period might most easily be extricated from consideration.

What it truly meant, where the inflection point must be.

To stop being alone. To stop being independent.

To give up on it. To give yourself up, truly.

For Minoth, his "own initiative" had been a big part of that, of course. Addam and Lora had done the rest.

Well. Addam and Flora had done the rest. As Nia was implying.

"I've made very few big decisions in my life, Nia," replied Minoth. "Sometimes these things just happen to me."

Nia snorted. "Well, that's not very helpful for me, now, is it? I was asking for courage, you know."

"I yield mine gladly, milady. Go forth and conquer your woes."

She doesn't know how to do that, is the trouble. She doesn't know how to court a lady, let alone two, without some grand adventure to bring them closer - physically! - in a way that was something like destiny, and couldn't be denied.

No, it had to be courting; had to be felt out and faintly approached.

If she really wanted it, Nia figured, she'd find some way to get after it. But she really didn't want to confuse trepidation for butterflies, strictly.

"I'm asking if it's the right thing to do, Minoth," snarled Nia, even as she changed the nature of her insistent question. He'd said as much before, but this was somehow different, again.

Maybe it'd be different every time. And if that were so, then how could it be anything worthwhile to come back to?

Oh, but it could, because Melia and Vanea were so noble, so admirable, so irreplaceably precious for one's return. Nia's thoughts wandered, and wandered, and wandered, all the time.

There was Melia, with her delicate wit, warm and wry, calm face shrouded in the mysterious of those deliciously rolled-up curls - the finest, silkiest hair, for sure.

There was Vanea, with her bold demeanor, clever and cogent, stark contrasts hidden in the swimming shapes beneath her great headpiece - and she, too, had absolutely enchanting hair, not to mention those decadent stripes...

When she thought of it that way, Nia realized that she herself probably wouldn't have given a thought to her original ratty-bratty Driver-styled self with the blunt bob and the don't-care mustard-yellow ribbons.

She'd come into something of coiffe, now.

But neither were it just about - physical - appearances, something to see and take a shine to. This'd be a weighty thing, this bizarre unattempted ritual, even were its participants not monarchs of their respective worlds.

For Nia was a Flesh Eater, and that fact couldn't be taken back, couldn't be denied.

Her nature was dual, split, cleaved and resewn. She had two forms, a distance between herself divided and unnurtured, in its initial time.

Minoth knew about that, didn't he? Well, not the disguise, so much, but given all how he'd aged, there was a stark difference between Minoth the Blade and Cole the pretend-human. There was a former self to miss, or not, and a true power to engage, or not, or never.

Minoth would know how to teach Vanea to court a Flesh Eater. Minoth would know even better how to teach Nia that, for herself.

The right thing to do...

The elder Flesh Eater shook his head. "When it's right, you'll know, Nia. Sorry to be an old romantic, but it's true."

Ohhh, how useless. "But when did you know?" she pressed. She wanted to know half as much for her own gain as for just hearing a lovely tale of gentle paramours.

It was eveningtime, in his room at not Spefan but some predecessor of Folmarie. He wrote all day and ventured into the Titan's stomach at night, when there were fewer travelers to bump into. By nighttime, everyone lively was in the city, and only the monsters were out.

Despite his status as a born city slicker, Minoth did love his relative solitude. And who would ever visit a hermit playwright?

He had connections, stores of information, sourced where he could, but everyone heard the current events of which Titans were living and which were dying, nowadays, more and more and more. One had only to bend an ear down the stairwell to catch a murmur.

All the adventurers who'd made a suit to save glorious Torna had been rewarded handsomely, though by the bastard prince and not by the king, so not officially. Addam had sent Lora's group on their way with a quiet offering, that is to say, and Minoth had found an extra pouch in his pack not of his own thieving nor earning. Addam had, of course, never mentioned it.

There would have been no way of knowing how Minoth's share compared to Lora's; doubtless, both of them were uncannily generous, in a way that couldn't and shouldn't be fathomed by the common folk. Still, as a result, Minoth's mercenary jobs were fewer and farther between, and he ate simply.

He didn't know what he was looking for. He didn't have anyone to tell him what to. And no one, of course, was looking for him.

That's what he thought, generally, but even the innkeeper had a touch of shock in his voice when he rang the bell and tried the name: "Master Minoth? You've got guests."

Nobody's master, but how else could one generically refer to an honored, or at least appreciated, patron?

Wasn't quite late enough for Minoth to have marked his page and stowed the pen. So off-balance was he set by this strange address that he stood and left the spread, shuffling once, twice, as he crossed to his room's door.

The staircase creaked helpfully, just to make matters worse. Those who'd come could see his legs, the flares of his pants, sooner than he'd be able to see them. One of the perils of living off the ground floor.

Guests, plural. Who on Alrest...? Things would be markedly different if the Praetor had sent an emissary. And mercenaries were not guests; mercenaries sent mail, or posted writs, or waited to find you in the pub.

Not Lora, because Lora...

Minoth swallowed, and descended the final few stairs.

It was Addam. Of course it was Addam. And Flora, too.

Words, rare as it might be, escaped Minoth.

They'd brought Libra Stone and Border Sapphire, both wrapped in Crinkly Wool and nestled within a small hand-carved chest engraved with the emblem of Torna surrounded by four-pointed stars.

Flora explained the items: "Libra Stone for freedom and limitless choice. Border Sapphire for those caught between, and the beauty of change."

Another cautious, steeling gulp. Did they want a proclamation? Did they want a decision? Did they want...what did they want?

"My lord, my lady...you're much too kind," was what he summoned up at last, because it gave away the least to the innkeep's respectfully averted eyes and righteously unaverted ears.

Closing the chest carefully and handing it back to Flora, Addam reached out with hands bare for Minoth's grasp. "It's not just kindness. It's a symbol of our feelings."

That was what gifts were, usually - trinkets or rememberances, symbols of something greater than the object held in hand.

Minoth's own hands were ungloved, as he'd been in the middle of writing. "Your..."

"You're not the first Blade who was ever loved, you know," said Addam, trying not to be unkind. Minoth knew it to be true, of course, for he had known Jin and Haze, Brighid and Aegaeon, even Mythra, on the odd occasion. But this wasn't about Blades and Drivers; this was about Blades and second Drivers, when the first was still around, somewhere, to tell the tale.

Someday, though...

"You know all this is going to carry forward, don't you?"

Flora nodded, eyes deep and serious. "Our dearest hope is to always stay with you."