It hardly ever, if not never, rains in Mor Ardain.
Which doesn't quite make a lot of sense, considering it moves around the Cloud Sea just like every other Titan, but that's just how things are and Mor Ardain continues to be nothing much more than a steaming wasteland of dusty winds.
As much as Mòrag loves the Empire and has unshakeable pride in her homeland, she can't deny that Gormott's landscape is much, much prettier. Even the Titan itself is more inviting in appearance. The Ardainian Empire's Titan appears plain menacing, with its long spindly limbs and missing arm. Thinking about this, she looks up to catch a glimpse of Gormott's head, but it's difficult to see through the rain.
That's another thing. It actually rains in Gormott, unlike on Mor Ardain.
"It doesn't look like it will be letting up any time soon," Brighid comments. They had decided to stop beneath the Waytree when the rain hit, but its leaves don't offer much shelter. Mòrag can feel the rain seeping through her clothes already.
"Mmh." Mòrag shrugs with one shoulder. "Shall we head back to Torigoth for the time being?"
"There's no need." Brighid shakes her head. "If you don't mind waiting."
The Territorial Rotbart they'd come out to dispatch had retreated elsewhere to get out of the rain. Which was sort of a relief, because fighting the rain is a… hindrance. A minor hindrance. Not bad enough to makes fights difficult, but it's just annoying.
Mòrag glances at Brighid without turning her head. The other woman's arms are tightly folded, and while Mòrag knows better than to assume she's cold, she clearly doesn't look very happy about being caught out in the rain.
"Brighid."
"Yes, Lady Mòrag?"
"You'll get wrinkles on your forehead if you keep making that face."
Almost self-consciously, Brighid lets her arms drop to her sides.
"It's no trouble at all if you'd rather return to Torigoth," Mòrag gently says. "I am aware of the effect water has on you."
"So you should also already know that I'd never let a light drizzle get the best of me."
"Hah, if this is what you consider to be a light drizzle, I wonder what you would imagine a downpour to be like." Once more, Mòrag tries to peer through the rain in the general direction of where Gormott's head should be. Water drips down into her eye.
"I'm no expert on weather, I'm afraid. The Empire hardly gets any rain."
"True enough. We're both accustomed to a more arid climate, aren't we?"
"Naturally, as Ardainians."
A pack of Volff run past, splashing up mud and water. They pay no mind to the Driver and Blade. Torigoth's lights are barely visible in the far distance; if Mòrag squints, she can make out the shape of the windmill.
Even when it feels as though the entire Cloud Sea is washing down upon Gormott, it's still a pretty picture to behold.
And Brighid still looks decidedly unhappy. The furrow upon her brow is enough to finally prompt Mòrag to begin undoing the gears and clasps of her uniform, carefully setting down her belt and armor pieces and swords on a rock that hasn't been touched by mud. Brighid's mouth slightly opens in surprise.
"Lady Mòrag? What are you doing?"
"You're getting wet." She removes her coat and carefully drapes it around Brighid's shoulders, as if it's the most natural thing in the world to do.
"I was already wet." But Brighid doesn't try to push the coat back at Mòrag. "Did you already forget? It doesn't actually hurt me, and Blades don't get ill. If anything, you should be worrying about yourself."
Mòrag flashes her a somewhat crooked smile. "Well, Brighid, I'd never allow a light drizzle to get the best of me."
Brighid shakes her head in disbelief, but she's smiling as well. "How surprisingly cheeky of you, Lady Mòrag."
"Ah, see? My sense of humor isn't quite as hopeless as the others would say."
"Don't get ahead of yourself," Brighid laughs. She steps closer to Mòrag until their sides are touching, only separated by the barrier of Mòrag's coat. She's warm, as always. Mòrag slips an arm beneath the coat to put a hand on the small of her back, wondering why she hadn't taken advantage of her Blade's heat emissions before she got soaked through by the rain. An oversight. She'd been so focused on their task of taking down the Territorial Rotbart.
"But really," Brighid says. "As much as I appreciate the gesture, you should keep your coat on. You're still human."
"I don't like seeing you in discomfort. I also thought…" Mòrag starts, and she awkwardly rubs Brighid's back. "Perhaps I've been too neglectful of expressing my affections for you."
"There are better ways of showing that you love me than getting yourself sick over some chivalry."
"I'm… sorry, if it seems as though I'm patronizing you."
"That's not it at all," Brighid rests her head against Mòrag's shoulder. "Sometimes I forget how hasty you can be. It's a nice side of you, I must admit."
"I am hasty?"
"Who was it that immediately agreed to take on the Territorial Rotbart because the soldiers at the base were too scared to do it themselves?"
"It is only one of my many duties as Special Inquisitor to set an example for the rest."
"You didn't even bother telling Rex and the others about this!"
Right, that. She half-expects them to appear later on anyway, once they notice that Mòrag and Brighid are gone. "It has been a while since we've fought together. Just the two of us, I mean. But no worries, I expect we'll be back before the evening."
"Oh, so this was just an elaborate ruse to have some time alone with me, away from the rest?"
"Who's the cheeky one now?" Mòrag mutters, turning her face away.
"Haha…" Her flames burn ever warmer, enough to dry their clothes. The rain is finally starting to decrescendo into a more gentle patter and Gormott's head is no longer obscured from view, but Mòrag presses a hand against Brighid's shoulder when she moves to remove the coat.
"Just a little longer."
"… If you'd like, Lady Mòrag." Brighid smiles, and bows her head in understanding. As technically unnecessary as it is, she wouldn't mind wearing Mòrag's coat more often. It's nearly heavy upon her shoulders, but offers a warmth different from her natural fire. Or perhaps it's just Mòrag's hand that's still on her bare back.
Thin rays of sunlight cut through the grays to illuminate the greens, signaling the finale of the rain. Rather than beholding the sight, Brighid looks to Mòrag. She looks utterly entranced, a rare expression for someone usually so steeled and focused. Mòrag absentmindedly continues to slowly run her hand up and down Brighid's back, the tiniest smile teasing at her lips.
"It's rather a shame that Mor Ardain doesn't have views like this," Mòrag says, her eyes still glowing with reverence. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful, Brighid?"
"Maybe," is Brighid's only reply, as she leans closer against Mòrag.