butterfly suture

One key difference between Addam and Minoth, among the many, is that while Minoth is fidgety, he's decidedly not squirmy. That's the fair and fluctuative prince's happy affair; can we call Minoth as constant as a beaten trail? Perhaps we can.

His pain tolerance is high, as is his spice tolerance. He's always cracking his knuckles, and his other joints make wonderful busy cracking themselves. That's twist once, twice, flexing the hips, and shake his hand to listen to the bones rattle in their synovial pool.

It would be amusing, if it weren't more than a little bit concerning - and then again, maybe it's not, after all, because wouldn't you just so gladly and easily believe that a Blade like Minoth came out of the Crystal creaking?

Mythra's ears aren't pierced so much as possessing of a suspicious affinity for just the right silicon alloy to be doped up to the lobes, and the rest of their party is strictly unpierced. Addam had piercings done, when a baby, but the holes have long closed over (and maybe that's why he's so oblivious, because maybe some other holes have gotten closed, too).

But Minoth's only (half-)human, so he finds himself a little jealous. It's not a necessity, but it does add that certain indescribable flair to his otherwise dull ears, surrounded by sideburns so ruff it's a fair shot your eye gets lost wandering for the scar. Wouldn't he look just so debonair, and then a little west thereof, with a spangle in his ear?

His ears aren't magnetic, though, for some of the same reason. Not being attuned for the costuming of a mechanical angel would have something to do with it, too.

Basically, Minoth's got flesh for lobes (the ear ones, not the brain ones). What do humans do? They stroll into the market and find a technician of some sort willing to pierce, with a needle and a hot piece of cotton or some numbing sap.

Would work like a charm, with Addam's wallet (he's more or less monopolized the duties of pack accountant, treasurer, and bursar) in hand, assuming the market members don't find him too shadowy-seeming. They haven't so far, but that could be down to overzealous effort on Minoth's part to make sure they only see just who and what they're ready to, a routine he's been practicing for two years, now.

Regardless. The challenge of resources simply isn't there. No one cares if he does it. No one cares if he doesn't. He's free to make minor modification to his body how he likes.

And therein - thereabouts - lies the rub.

Thing is, Minoth doesn't like people touching his face. Never has, never will. There's the texture and possible associated dampness of their touch that could be disagreeable, and then there's the matter of what other people perceive as appropriate and acceptable when poking their feelers into others' personal space, in terms of both location and time limit.

He'd do it himself, if his guns shot fine enough bullets or his knives were just that tiny bit more pointed. But they aren't, so he wouldn't and won't.

No chance he's whispering a word of it to Addam or Lora, either. Addam gets the parent-shaped sticking point that is Amalthus, but sometimes he can be a little foggy on the exact shapes of Minoth's totaled boundaries. He'll get it, in time (such is Minoth's fondest and deepest, most self-shaming hope), but not now. Not...not right now. And Lora is another matter entirely.

Flora, however...

It isn't often that Minoth thinks of Addam's wife. For a while, of course, he'd made sure not to. Shut her right out of his mind, before he got any stupid ideas, about...about anything. He's always been a creative sort, after all. Could come up with plenty of stupid...dreams.

Neither here nor there! If Minoth had to pick one person on Alrest he trusted to plant pad of finger on browbone and drive a needle through his ear, it'd be Flora Evelyn Hentisane-Origo, lacking of a teaching certification because she'd gotten married off to a lord before the time of anticipated post-secondary graduation had come but in every other way perfectly primed for matters of the practical and person-dealing.

(Person-dealing, indeed. Not so much on pervasive righting issues upon Blades.)

Minoth is secretly overjoyed when Addam mentions that she's making her last visit to Auresco, before the baby - indeed, that other highly and hotly anticipated date -, that week. Strictly for matters of ear-piercing, of course. Not for any other reason.

(Addam has a hand on his shoulder from behind and to one side, both facing the same direction, when he gives the information, and the instinct to relax into the touch is so embarrassing that Minoth has to stop himself both from following through on it and from visibly cringing as a consequence. Very easy to hide behind his smile, which is itself very difficult to reconcile.)

He finds her sitting by the bridge, on a bench, hands laced over stomach and legs crossed at well-booted ankles.

"Flora?" It comes out a croak not dissimilar to those of the amphibia lurking in the moat.

Her head turns at the sound, minute traces of a frown vanishing away at the sight of him. "Minoth! Fancy meeting you here!"

Oh, she's the only one (besides him) who could ever get away with using that corny, corny expression.

"Yeah, well." More frogtonguing. "You know. Since we're all here. Malos."

Not even going to try to explain that one. Architect, he feels like murder. But also pink sunshine and butterflies! But mostly murder.

Flora pats the bench next to her with only an inquisitive noise to complete her invitation. So, Minoth sits.

"You're free today?"

"Most days. Not like Addam has me doing community service like he has Mythra."

Flora nods, hms. Minoth's hands sit limply in his lap, his back uncomfortably straight. Wouldn't be a problem, if he weren't so used to leaning into a conversation at the campfire, or otherwise conversing with those closer to his approximate size.

"You're happy?"

Before Minoth can think, "Do I look it?" issues from his mouth, less like a bullet than a sword; scraped and wide-berthing.

Flora doesn't answer, instead looking past his eyes (up and around his gaze, really) to stick pinched forefinger and thumb into the tuft of shorter hair right along Minoth's temple. Sure enough, he doesn't mind.

He is confused, though. "Looking for something?"

Flora flicks her fingers together, now having reaching out and behind the bench. When her hand returns, it cups the edge of the bench in between their legs.

"Bit of dirt in your hair. Sand, or a stray petal, or something."

"You seem awfully concerned with my upkeep," Minoth jokes, as if that isn't a classic Origo trait: the obliviousness comes at its own darnedest times, off anyone else's clocks. Not that Flora is ever really oblivious.

She eyes him. "I think you are, too."

"That supposed to mean something?"

"Not sure." She laces her fingers together again, stretches them out in front of her. The afternoon sunlight dapples through them, casting patches of freckles in gold and green.

"You want me to look at you, then?"

"You already are."

He knows he hasn't been, but the little lady will as she does.

"Was thinking of getting my ears pierced," he admits quietly. "Since you asked."

Since we're all here. Malos. She didn't.

She didn't have to, moreover.

"I didn't bring my sewing kit," Flora replies quietly, shifting the tented visor of her hands and squinting in Minoth's direction.

He shrugs. "S'alright. Just said I was thinking about it."

"You were thinking about it..." Flora repeats. Her elbow juts just under his jacket. "Yes, you were."

He's not squirmy, no sir (no ma'am), but he's getting there. Would it be easier to flirt, to be flirted with, if it were Addam, instead?

Minoth nudges Flora's knee with his own. Her left hand cups his jaw, where her right had cupped the bench, and primly-manicured fingertips close around his earlobe.

"I meant it, you know." Ah, there it is. At least a little bit of swagger.

"I know," Flora replies. "And I meant the bit about not having my sewing kit."

That does it. It would be one thing if his right leg started jumping in its own sixteenth-note time, but instead it works side to side, wearing treads upon stone.

"Flora..."

"Yes?"

So innocent. Pink sunshine, and he could kill her. It's another stitch closer to where he wants to be, and another puncture where the light can get in.

"Just kiss me."

"Please?"

He doesn't know whether she's asking confirmation or posing a question of her own.

She can pierce his heart any time she likes.