lovedbyorigin2: (another angry boy)
Mithos ([personal profile] lovedbyorigin2) wrote in [personal profile] summonerd 2019-08-26 12:55 am (UTC)

Mithos leans back from Lloyd as he steps between him and Zelos, and then his tired smile becomes a full glare as he processes what's going on and what Lloyd just said. Who gave him the right!?

(And why does Mithos care! Ugh, he forgot how much he hated having a driver.)

"I'm only saying what he needed to hear," Mithos spits. "And you're one to talk!!" He pushes Lloyd back for emphasis. "We need to get along?" he mocks back. "Says the guy who won't even tell me what he did to the emotion bleed--! Hey!"

And just like that, Malos grabs Mithos by the back of his cape and hoists him off the ground, moving him away from Lloyd.

"A'ight, that's enough of that," Malos says.

Mithos nearly loses it, indignant and offended and briefly powerless as he is, but then Malos lets go and deposits Mithos on the ground. Mithos sticks the landing fine, but he's furious and glares up at the hulking excuse for a blade towering over him. He notices immediately that half of the core crystal is missing, guesses where the other half probably is. Disgusting. Is this Anna's blade? He hates her all the more.

"Excuse you!" Mithos spits.

"Don't need you shoving my grandson," Malos says, and Mithos' lips curl. Even worse!. "Lloyd's right, anyway-- We're all working towards the same goal."

Malos doesn't say that goal explicitly, but Mithos shudders at the reminder, anyway. Martel is in a cannon, and Mithos is here picking petty fights! His stomach churns, and he bites that down, fixes upon his face a mask of anger.

"How long until Kratos gets back?"

"Probably not 'til the rain lets up," Malos answers. There's something about his answer, something exasperated, a little knowing-- something like he's not telling the full truth. "Can't have our supplies getting wet."

Mithos glares, but unfortunately there's logic in that. And it's not like he can stop the rain for the entire town, not without expending a lot of power, and certainly not without telegraphing his location to every blade within the sphere of changed weather. So.

"Fine," Mithos says, folds his arms across his chest, and plops himself down on a rock to sit. "Then I'll wait."

(He tries not to think about Anna.)

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