if only he saw me meow

Minoth often - really, constantly - wondered why so many Blades were such basic humanoids. Of course, it played into his whole condition that he lacked any real gripping distinction from humans, but even among the rest of the group, it wasn't like having the increasingly obscure features of the Jewel and the Crest were what made status, as evidenced by the confoundingly normal Paragon.

What if he had horns? What if he had pointed ears? What if his eyes were heterochromatic, or glowing, or left-handed, or full of lasers? What if he had all those things - in other words, what if he were more like a cat (and much moreso that way than a simple Gormotti)?

It was also often said among humans that manifestation was more than just a crock, as far as achieving your goals; what's the difference between the reality you've observed and the reality you tell your brain you've observed? Really, not much. So as long as you made determined to believe in something, eventually your mind would catch up, and think it wholly true.

Trouble with that came in when you factored the composition of Blades into the equation: Blades, biocomputers rendered nigh-universally less privileged with respect to their own administration but still hardily manifestive, would do more than just feel empowered, if they believed something to be true. Indeed, their physical makeup might very well change in response to the imagined stimuli.

Imagine, then, Minoth's complete and utter not-so-surprise when he, lounging about in recreational enjoyment of a perfectly fine sprig of Hyberian Catmint in his Glossy Chamomile tea (not his favorite brew, on its own, but anything to sneak something more exciting into the mix, and who could impugn honorable chamomile?), felt a very...different sensation atop his head. Something different was there, or rather not there, along the sides of his head, behind his sideburns, too.

Could he smell the blood pattern on the Ferises thrice a hundred peds away? Probably just confusion from poor pruning of the stems off the chamomile, resulting in bitter tea and reactive buds. His hearing had shifted, too. Certainly, an allowable effect of the "stimulant". Things were quieter, but within that muted range, the most imperceptible of tiny sounds made themselves known.

This was supposed to be an approachable sleepytime tea, not a wake-up trip! He'd nap on it and forget the whole thing.

Minoth had always been a light sleeper - and, to accompany, a marvelous talent at pretending unwakefulness, in any setting. Still, his ability to jolt up at the slightest disturbance didn't guarantee immediacy.

And yet, here he was, crossly eyeing Addam and making groggy gauge of his emotional response to finding his Driver so near. Instead of just cagey, he found himself...perturbed. Warring impulses made him impatient to see someone who loved him - but, with no steadfast promise in place, irrevocable, perhaps he was right to be wary.

Certainly, Addam wasn't right to be staring. Have some integrity, will you, Prince? Or at the very least, some shame.

With corresponding lack of temerity, Minoth rumbled himself up from repose. As he did so, he gave a shake of his head much minuter in its collation of shiver-swiveled angles than any he'd ever felt compelled to make.

Addam was still staring.

"Can I help you?"

The golden jaw slackened. "Ah, well... Could I brush your hair?"

Minoth rolled his eyes. "Not a horse, jackass."

"No, you're not," Addam observed, nearly doleful. "Something else entirely."

Up went Minoth's nose: "More's the pity, I suppose." Even for him, this was an overdose of mocking!

"You'd better check your hair, then - bed hair, you know."

Hesitantly, Minoth laid hand to crown. If there was a time to complain about being scripted to appear gullible, this wasn't it.

He was more than used to plucking out wiry, overgrown hairs from the root, whether they were flushed with or of pigment. Sometimes the damn things felt completely gnarly.

This wasn't gnarly, though. This was...fuzzy. Fluffy. More like a cattail than a horsetail-

Ah. More like a cat's ear tuft.

Be careful what you wish for, as they say. If he'd put two and two together properly, this was what one very gullible (yes, indeed) and unthinking Minoth got for his trouble when he decided to dream about world-fundamental principles, and if he couldn't think of any other reason not to sniff a little something different, well, now he had one.

Whether Addam's hand atop his, brushing at the tufts atop and within the conic triangle of the ear, was welcome was a separate matter.

"What, you want me to meow at you, clown?"

"If you won't, I will."

And that, of course, was when Minoth took a proper swipe at the dog-bastard of Torna with swiftly sharpened claws.