drink scotch whiskey, all night long

The infamous eleven engaged in quite a many after-dinner activities as they made their way day by day to the Tornan Titan's Core by way of her interior for the final confrontation with Malos, but based on the general mutual disposition, they hardly ever tended to something so mellow as port and sherry, or any similar aperitif. And, of course, that made any such sighting all the more compelling.

"What's that?"

The left of Minoth's thick, jagged eyebrows hoisted itself up. "What, you've never seen a flask before? Addam, where have you been hiding this girl?"

Addam, slightly out of reach and fully engrossed in his conversation with Hugo, paid the quip no mind, much to Mythra's relief.

"No, I know what a flask is," she snapped, even though up until that very moment she hadn't, at least not enough to visualize and identify one. She imagined that it wasn't so much the fault of Addam for "hiding" her, protective and even overprotective as he could be, as it was to be blamed upon Minoth's own roguish tendencies, but she kept her mouth shut on that front. "What's in it?"

Minoth raised his other eyebrow then. "Gromrice whiskey. Why, you want some?" For a moment, the mouth of the flask hovered closer to her face, and then Minoth seemed to remember a litany of things regarding polite consumption of beverages and what is sanitary for sharing, even among Blades, and pulled it back.

"Hey, I didn't say no!" Like as not she would have if she'd considered half of the same factors, but apparently her intent by this point was all too singular.

"How old are you again?" came Minoth's languid, all-important query as he screwed the cap back on with a single deft twist.

"How old am I?" Mythra repeated. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Eyeing the flask again, possibly to coax liquid strength from within, Minoth pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know, maybe you're right. I've never really heard of anyone enforcing drinking age laws for Blades."

From across the ring of makeshift seats, Brighid shot him a poisonous look. He hadn't been lying, but still. As if she wouldn't just love to see Mythra get clocked by Auresco guards for getting a little tipsy underage. Witch.

The Aegis in question, however, seemed none so confident in the same hard and fast facts of it all. "Drinking age? What, there's a rate limit on drinking anything that isn't water? Well, whatever." Now smug, she rolled back her shoulders and gave a determined thrust of her chin. "Addam woke me up just a little over a year ago, so that's all taken care of."

Minoth nodded, arms crossed and face appraising. "A year, huh? Sure. Addam?" This time the call was well-directed, and Addam came thither with immediacy.

"Something up, Minoth?" Of course. Mythra groaned, but as quietly and privately as possible. If luck was on her side, Addam had long since learned to ignore such petty outbursts and wouldn't make a whole...deal out of it.

Lucky, lucky, lucky. After all, he was soon distracted enough by Minoth's reason for requesting his attention: "Remind me what the legal drinking age is in ye olde golden country?" he intoned musically, spreading his arms wide at the craggy limestone cliffs backing the nature preserve.

Addam was all too happy to oblige with the answering factoid of "I believe it's at least eighteen, but they were talking of raising it to twenty-one recently - I believe Zettar was a particular proponent thereof, though I've no idea why. It used to be sixteen, back in the olden days, but as we became more civilized they did away with those old provisions."

While Mythra puzzled wordlessly on that confounding bit of information, Minoth pressed it one step further. "And for Blades?"

Addam sighed. "Not so equal, I'm afraid. A Blade has to be bonded to the same Driver for at least three years running and be present with them in any adult establishment, to ensure that it's not some young kid sending their Blade to retrieve substances they otherwise wouldn't legally be able to partake in. Zettar wants to make that five years, too."

The shadow of helpless concern clouding his face quickly escorted itself away, however, when he perked up to ask brightly, "But what's got you so interested in all that? It's not like you do such open business, Minoth, eh?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Minoth could see Brighid's wicked gaze sharpening. Oh, buzz off, woman. Like you've never wanted to get around the law, for once in your life. Where's your bravery, huh? Come on!

To Addam, all he gave was an innocent "Just curious. Might need it for a play someday, you know. We meet all kinds, in our travels, here, huh?"

Satisfied, Addam laughed, clapped Minoth over-briskly on the shoulder, and turned back to Hugo, who had been joined by Jin and Aegaeon.

"So?"

"So, what? So I'm not old enough to drink. I bet it's not worth it anyway. Like, apparently shrimp can see four times as many colors as we can, but as far as I'm concerned I've already seen all the colors there are. What would I need with more?"

Of all the baffling things Mythra could come up with to spout, from unnecesarily violent preestimations of Jin's offensive tendencies to furious blushes of oddly twisted jealousy-turned-envy-turned-infatuation aimed at Brighid, this was by far the most obtuse.

"...okay. Sure. Shrimp colors. Got it."

Minoth made to pack away the flask and engage a notebook and pen instead, but Mythra stopped him with a foot shot out to collide with his just as seemingly randomly as the aforementioned outbursts.

"You want a sip?"

She wrinkled her nose. "When you say it like that, it sounds stupid."

"Maybe it is stupid," Minoth countered. "You wanna try or not?"

Head hangdog, Mythra nodded, and he unscrewed the cap once more to pour the most miniature of shots into it. "Hope you don't mind getting my cooties," he said as he passed it her way.

"Can you...die?"

The jab was impotent, not least because the most vivid of her neurons had been sidetracked by the peculiar amber glimmer of the liquid as it sloshed dangerously from side to side.

"Not sure. Drink up."

So she did. However few milliliters the cap could have contained, it wasn't few enough, because she very nearly doubled over in something resembling, however raggedly, a gagging fit.

"Augh! God! That stuff's awful! It tastes like..." Once recovered and on to the analytical task, Mythra pursed her lips and scrubbed her tongue over the roof of her mouth a few times.

"Fermented rice hulls?" Minoth offered dryly when she had seemed to come up empty - rather, dry. He'd refrained from patting her back to ameliorate the supposedly rotten recoil.

With a final calculating grimace, Mythra gulped, nodded. "That's exactly what it tastes like." Suddenly starting straighter in her seat, she smacked Minoth's upper arm with the back of her hand. "But wait, how would you know that?"

"Because that's what it is?"

Oh. Oh?

"How the hell can you drink that? You actually think that tastes good?!"

Minoth shrugged and took a last swig for himself. "Never said that. Wouldn't quite describe myself as a practicing alcoholic, but I have my moments."

"Oh, sure. Moments of idiocy..." Anyone'd have to be, to be friends with Addam for more than, like, a year. Two, tops. Time's running out, Mythra.

"And you, madam?" Time's running out!

Brighid was still glaring, and even Lora had looked over, amusement shining in her eyes. See, she had just known it wouldn't be worth it. Stupid.

"Shut up and drink your grown-up juice."