Brighid slaps Malos in 4K

It happens, quite honestly, much quicker than any of them were expecting. First they're in the throne room, watching Hugo converse with the senators - and he's so good at it, too, much better than he should have to be, he's only twenty, and Aegaeon stands with him, prouder to do it than any Driver could ever hope for, and Brighid eyes the incomers with...well, you know. Not with her eyes, yet her gaze is felt with a mighty weight all the same.

She could be doing anything, with her eyes shut like that. Like sunglasses, only doubly beguiling and alienating, blocking out everything that is offensive and harmful, she is impervious. In a different way than Aegaeon, of course, but still. Blue flame is perfect. Brighid is perfect. Brighid will always be perfect.

And then, everything in her surroundings, by comparison, is imperfect, save perhaps Emperor Hugo - even Aegaeon tries her patience with his quasi-obseqiousness, at times. Mythra knows this all too intimately, and can't even find it within herself to snicker when it happens. Poor dude, or dude-adjacent, or whatever. You can't slap a glass of water. Maybe he wishes he was one, at times. He'd be good at it, really.

Malos elbows his sister, as they're walking to their proffered quarters, to voice much of the same opinion. Well, kind of.

"Don't these guys ever get around? You and Minoth already follow after Addam like you're a couple of mutt puppies and he's got the only ball in town, but jeez. I thought I was gonna end the world because you people didn't care about each other, not because you did."

Mythra blinks, rattled. "What? First of all, whatever Minoth does is like...a step beyond me. Always has been."

From where he's walking with hand indeed dangling all too close to a blissfully unaware Addam's, Minoth pokes back an eyebrow, frowns. Observes. Flicks his gaze to Brighid, leading them down the hall. Flicks it back. Makes an appraising face. Turns away.

"...anyway. You're in no position to talk. If you wanna learn how humans treat each other with respect, then just shut up and watch your Driver."

Respect. Tch. Subservience isn't respect. Not that he would...not that he would know that.

"Who said I wanted to learn? You people made me."

They're whispering - stage whispers that Minoth could pick up on, of course - but Lora hums intrigue all the same, and Malos and Mythra end up giving her the same halfhearted wave to get her to mind her own business. Well. This is her business, isn't it. Huh.

Whatever. Mythra's known since day one of this whole convert-Malos-to-well-behaved-ism affair that she's determined to be the one who comes out on top. If no one else is going to respect her, as the freaking Aegis, at least she's going to make damn sure the other Aegis will.

Well...respect isn't subservience isn't titting for tatting isn't constant mutual irritation that leads one to say "Okay, I'll put up with you, because you're the only other freak in this place who can handle me." But for a substitute, she'll take something like that.

"I swear on our father, will you stop being such a pissant? I was like you before, you know. I thought this whole thing was a load of bull. But will you give us a chance? Jeez, yourself."

Pretty magnanimous-sounding, Mythra, slang and all. Pret-ty mature. Nice.

Malos grumbles, but shuts up as requested. That is, until they finish rounding the corner and watching Minoth's face drop like a rock when he sees that instead of boys in one room, kids in another, it's Addam and Milton, Blades fend for yourself.

Mythra elbows Malos back then, willing to share the joke with him, and he summons up a grin, for her benefit. For...yeah, for someone's benefit. Endbringer and all. Whatever.

And then he closes the circle flat and says, "Hope you have a good night's sleep without your precious Driver, partner."

Lora has already sallied carefree into her room, their room, but Brighid watches with tapped boot. Brighid watches. Brighid's always watching.

"I don't sleep, Malos," Mythra punts back, now oblivious to the impending context.

"Yeah, whatever. And yippee-ki-yay that you're even gonna wake up at all."

And that's when crystalline blue hands, fingers that would be impeccably manicured if they did in fact have nails, slap the careless smirk right off the square miter of Malos's jaw. It hangs open by twofold dint.

"Your nihilism offends me. Lora relies on you to keep doing your part. We all do."

Malos rubs at his cheek and thinks, I might not really like my appearance, but I thought at least my cheekbones were good for something. Apparently not.

(Brighid knows what can cut glass. A smart-aleck misplaced mack of hypermasculinity is not it.)

"Do you have any more smart comments to make, or are you done?"

"...I'm done." Oh, Mythra's snickering now.

"You had better be. Go to your room, and make sure you don't do any more mouthing off - where I can hear or anywhere else."

Against his will, Malos sighs. "Yes, ma'am."