Violet Folds

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First off: housekeeping. Malos has been dispatched with, Mythra is still fronting without any substantial loss of control (if that is to change later, it certainly isn't our focus now), Hugo and assorted accompaniments have made plans to return to Mor Ardain in short order, and Lora and co., Mikhail and Milton included, are sleeping out under the stars on the first swaths of the moor.

Yes, it's just Addam and Minoth in the manor, and the place is just as quiet as it has been for more than the better part of a year, since Addam and Milton had left and staff had been downsized even further.

Amid any commotion that might have occurred out in the garrison, Flora had been quite professional, just smiling encouragingly without dimples showing and letting Vez's excitement carry her contingent. They'd eaten out around the campfire as well, while she'd stayed indoors to avoid an undue and very sudden rush of excitement that might upset the nearly-due baby or its sweet mother.

Suffice it to say that they hadn't seen very much of her the entire time, and when the men stumble in to the bedroom at long last, yawning goodnights and fawning goodbyes all given, they very nearly forget that she's even meant to be there. They're just too tired!

Oh, Architect, are they tired. Even the process of removing armor is reduced to the bumbling trials and errors of lying down, feeling a bump somewhere or other and deciding that something else has to go, and getting up again to blearily peel it off. This falls more frequently to Addam than to Minoth, so the latter just watches the former with a far-too-fond look in his Tornan blue eyes each time another pointy couter or bulky buckle reveals itself, and waits for him to make contact with the bed again.

"Didn't think we'd finally get to tie up all our loose ends during a worldwide calamity, of all things."

Addam turns his head to look at Minoth, lips parted and hand absently patting at the space next to him; he's caught thinking of nothing when he should be thinking of something just such as that.

The Flesh Eater's hand is there, though, and the prince estimates that he won't be slapped away if he tries to take it, this time. "You don't mind it, do you?"

Minoth smiles, and his jaw undoes its far-too-usual tense set. "How could I? It's you. We're here."

In the still-still atmosphere, they shuffle closer to each other, and listen to the sounds of the other. The sounds of the other, that is, in addition to the sounds of the house. More to the point: there aren't any, hardly at all.

Having finished wrapping his arms about Addam's shoulder, Minoth stops, frowns. "Architect. Nobody's lived in this house for a year." So not only are they open to each other, heart to heart, but they've got cohabitation to wrangle with as well. Is that so damningly daunting?

Addam would usually be wholly preoccupied pulling his partner closer, in such a situation, but here and now he stows whichever various and sundry kisses he'd been planning to offer to the back of Minoth's head in favor of more pressing conversation - indeed a rarity, for him. "Nobody? For shame, Minoth - you can't possibly have forgotten Flora?"

Have they both forgotten her, then? Did they think it was fine enough to square up with the mysteries of the inscrutable ether, and truly spend no thought towards the domestic side of things?

"Maybe I did," Minoth admits. "Maybe it was better than being so worried about what she'd think, the entire time. That you didn't just love me, but...love me."

Nodding, Addam runs curious fingers over Minoth's eyebrows, never having had the luxury of doing so up to this point. "And I'm nothing but proud of that. If there's anything meaningful I have done in this world, it's that - and even if there's not much I can give her, I've done what I can. I don't think I have any regrets, with the two of you."

Minoth thinks about that, turns the triangulation over in his mind. Addam and Flora. Addam and Minoth. Minoth and Addam. Minoth and Flora. Flora and Addam and Minoth. All, together.

Once, all, alone. It hadn't been fun, and it hadn't been easy. At least not for him, as something like a Blade. But for her? For an entire year?

For an entire year! Human or Blade or otherwise, as ever, as ever, as ever, he knew what that was like, in spades.

"And she's just been here, the whole time, alone. Such a little lady. Such a big house." Verily, the playwright, the narrator, the orator is building up to his melodrama, he is. "Oh, Addam, how could you do it to her?"

Now Addam is busying himself with those idle kisses, and answers just as calmly. "Well, I'm sure she didn't mind. She likes to be independent."

"What is she, a cat?"

Despite himself, Addam jerks up with the force of his laughter, almost wholesale pulling Minoth with him, but the Flesh Eater's grip is strong enough and tight enough that they return to lateral positions soon enough.

"That a yes?" He's not laughing, but his soul is smiling, and if you remove the alternate definition of a laugh as also a fear response, then maybe that's the same thing.

"It might be. I happen to think she's a very pretty little kitty, indeed."

"Really?" With cheeks pressed together, tan and pale both, the blank space of the ceiling stops sprawling so uncontrollably. "That's the most forward I've ever heard you be about a girl, Prince."

"She's my wife, isn't she? I do hope I'm allowed to be so."

"Hey, I ain't complainin'. Takes the heat off of me, anyway." He might love her, with all that same soul, but hell if he knows what to say about it without feeling like it's a platitude. Oh, it took a long, long time to figure out what to say to Addam. One can only hope this end won't be half as arduous.

"What else might she be, besides a pretty little kitten?"

Ah. So Addam's going to throw him up against the conjuration of descriptions directly, anyway. "She's a bird, I guess." As he says it, he runs a careful finger over the tip of Addam's own avian-minded nose. In profile, along with his shoulders and biceps...Minoth's certainly not aesthetically disappointed in his pick of destined Driver.

"You guess? Why, certainly, she is. And she's a lovely sort of fish, perhaps."

Without putting another thought to his dialogue, because the longer they lie there the more keenly he just feels his own yearning for each of his prince's, well, princely features, Minoth supplies, "And the most beautiful beetle you've ever seen."

At that, Addam laughs again, but somehow far less explosively. Exactly as beautifully, though. Without a doubt. "If you insist. What have we said, then?"

"She's a bird." Nose.

"She's a fish." Lips.

"She's a kitten." Cheeks.

"She's a flower." Ears.

"She's a beetle." Eyes.

"And she's ours, Prince." Now when Minoth lies back and gazes up at the ceiling, blissfully content, he so surely sees stars - and maybe he is a little dizzy, to boot.

"Oh, Minoth, I'm so happy I could cry."

Too easy, my prince. Too, too easy. "Don't worry, I'm sure you will."

No laughter now. Gentle minutes pass. The sound of running water comes from a threshold away. Addam runs his thumb now over the ridge of Minoth's, letting the silence be because he knows they're both thinking of her. What else could there be?

There's her laugh, excited but never raucous. There's her walk, steady but so admirably imperfect. There's her smile, and the silly way she wrinkles her nose, and the cool touch of her soft, soft hands, and...

And she's Flora. And she's gorgeous purples and delicate pinks and noble navy blues and it's horrendously unfair, in that cataclysmically miraculous way, that they should get to have her, to hold her, to know her, to love her, because how could they ever possibly, oh, not in this world or a million others, show her what she means, to them or to anyone? And isn't she smart enough to know herself, anyway?

But if they've spent all this time deliberating over each other, then surely they have just as much to say about her. For Addam, his absence has made him hesitant. For Minoth, well, he's met her a few times, but he's all too ready to watch the understanding, so natural and so easily yielded, slip out from beneath his feet.

What if she doesn't want him here? What if...what if maybe that's just a concern for another time? Surely it can be, and so we'll say that it is.

"You know, Minoth," Addam starts, and then seems to second-guess it.

"I'm listening, Prince," says Minoth quietly, thinking of how much he'd hate to have to describe all these picayune motions, backs of hands and fronts of palms held to quiet, careful lips, because if he doesn't do something then he might just end up doing nothing, and even though he knows logically that Addam can clock him by now, Addam is also just the one to get so worried.

And Addam's worried now, of course, because since Flora is in fact here with them, momentarily at the very least, then she can certainly do without being talked about in the manner they have been, with epithets and objectifications and all the horrid like.

"Well, it's just." Go on...? "Oh, it's nothing that means anything, I was just thinking that. That."

"There a problem?" To accompany the mounting edge in his voice, Minoth very nearly feels like he's fallen off the edge of the bed then, but security has not, in fact, eluded and evaded him.

Wth a snap, Addam's head turns to the side, and he looks Minoth dead in the eye (and then, of course, regrets this too). "I was just thinking about how very lovely she is to hold, and how she likes nothing more than to be held - at least, as far as I remember. And so that works out very well."

Of course it does. It couldn't be better. Minoth laughs again, and kisses Addam's nose again, and murmurs, "Oh, Addam, I love you."

Too overwhelmed to respond in kind, Addam sets about fussing with the pillows (very likely an emulation of Flora), and explains, "I just miss her so, but I hate to talk about her like she's not a person of her own. Have I done that, do you think?"

After a moment of consideration, or perhaps only a pause for dramatic effect, Minoth shakes his head. "Nah. Anticipation will do that to you, I suppose."

And then the running water stops itself for the final time, and anticipation proclaims its final crown.

In she shuffles, socks slouchy around her ankles, and she's humming something tuneless and yet quite tuneful all the same. They watch, grins lazy and enamored, as she pulls hair ties off from where they're wrapped around miscellaneous wrists and fingers, brushes a bit of fluff from where it's caught among fine, dark hair on her forearm, and just generally bustles about - exactly as they'd predicted, really.

Eventually she gets done with her minutiae and turns a half-nod in their direction to ask, "What were you talking about, loves? Why did you stop?"

Why, indeed? It was only... "Oh, nothing," Minoth replies airily. "Or maybe it was everything."

"Oh? You don't know?" Her hair, and Minoth's as well, is of the sort that can't be brushed when it's dry, but she runs careful fingers through it and shakes her head disapprovingly at the strands that come loose and array themselves over her fingers anyway. "Silly of you, I rather think - that would confuse me far too much. Come now, what was it?"

"Oh, nothing," repeats Addam. "Just you."

"Me?" Where the plaits would have swung full around, the loose hair only gives a faint swish, and her freckles are fierce upon a backdrop of very pink, soft skin. She's just as they imagined, and then two or three or four times more darling, more precious, more...more Flora. Her name says all it will ever need to. She chose it well, indeed.

"Is that a problem?" And the answer is no. She could never be. Never mind if that's so finely fair; she could never be.

"I think every problem I have comes from the two of you - and near about every solution, too. It's not very admirable, but it's the life I lead, anyway."

And damn them for it, will you? Or don't, if that's what you prefer. Her role lies as it should, overall.

"Well, milady, might I offer another of our apparently so illustrious solutions?"

"Hmmm..." Flora taps trimly manicured finger to her chin, indulging in the unnecessary gesture just as expected and desired. With the other hand propped on hip, back of hand and knuckles first hidden behind the curve of her belly, she is, indeed, just as sassy as such an aloof feline. If the men weren't so busy being transfixed by her, they'd have time to share an enthralled glance, but they are, so they don't, and all eyes are still on her - as they should be!

At last: "Indeed you may, Sir Minoth."

Minoth nods, satisfied, to Addam, who just then digs his chin in deeper to the Flesh Eater's shoulder and takes a deep breath, eyes lidded. Euphoria. "If the lady wouldn't mind stepping a little closer...?"

So she moves toward Minoth's side of the bed as directed, taking his cue to offer her hand, and then before she can say another silly thing he's kissed her, very softly and very sweetly, and the two of them are pulling her as gently as can be to the place, duly cleared, directly in between their bodies. Her eyes flit back and forth, from the subtle sharpness of Addam to the dubious danger of Minoth, and apparently she is satisfied with what she's seen, because soon enough she burrows closer, pulling an arm from each across her chest.

"I think I like this one," Flora offers coyly at last, when they've all gotten quite comfortable.

"You're sure?" Minoth stays quiet, backed off and observant, observing, but Addam yet frets, as he must.

Of a sudden, Flora ceases all movement, lets concern show itself on her rounded features. "Is there something wrong?" Have I misinterpreted...this? She stops at that thought, tries not to catastrophize.

"N-no, I just want you to..." Reaching for Flora's hand, almost on instinct, Addam finds it just as comforting as he always has, and so he begins again.

"We missed you, oh, so much." Bit of an odd direction for embellishment, Prince, but I'll take it. "We're safe, now - at least, I should hope we are. And if we are, then all we have left to worry about is you, and darling, I cannot think of a single happier responsibility a man-" Minoth's elbow works silently but swiftly (and effectively) underneath the unruly bundle of limbs "-two men could have than that."

"Oh, lovie..."

Minoth watches, vaguely managing to avoid Addam's gaze, curious but comforted himself as he is. If the precarious pieces have indeed settled, then he knows what he's called to do, and truly, he couldn't be happier.

But the final word does have to go to Flora: "It's not me who needs the worrying about, but if you'd like to, then..." she offers a kiss for each solid, surprised, squared jaw "...of course I could never refuse."