When Chancellor Izunia first mentioned a ball hosted by the King of Lucis, Prompto paid it no mind.
Such things were for people, not MTs; besides, he had no time for distraction.
It was not until the Chancellor announced that he and the commanders would attend, for the sake of diplomatic relations, that the affair became Prompto's concern. A ball would mean ironed formalwear and a transport in presentable condition. A ball would mean a whole slew of small disasters, on top of the ones Prompto faced every day.
He worked himself ragged, during the leadup to the ball. He saw to every need, ensured that every small detail was in place. The clothes, pressed and freshly laundered, were laid out on the beds of the Chancellor and both commanders. Dinner was served precisely at 4:30, plenty of time in advance. The MK-Helios model, designed to seat four, had been scrubbed until it gleamed, all of its parts in working order, and it was parked out front at half past six, waiting for its passengers.
When at last Chancellor Izunia's retinue stepped into their gleaming metal transport, Prompto did not think to be jealous. He did not pause to wonder if he, too, might go to the Citadel. He only crossed an item off his list and turned to the next.
It was half an hour later, midway through polishing the stairway banisters, when the sound reached his ears: a small squeak, oddly familiar.
Prompto turned to see what had made the noise, cloth still in hand. Then he dropped the cloth in a rumpled pile on the hall floor.
He stood for a long moment, frozen and staring. For there, curled up on the bottom step, was the small, white creature from his dreams.
As he watched, it squeaked again. The air around its head shimmered and grew hazy, and letters appeared in a cheery block font. "Hi, Prompto!" the words read. "Are you ready to go to the ball?"
Prompto opened his mouth. He closed it again. He said, "This is a dream, right?"
The creature squeaked, and more text appeared: "You're awake. We'd better get you dressed, though. The longer we take, the more you're going to miss."
Prompto didn't move. He was, quite understandably, still convinced that he was fast asleep. He said, "But my lists."
The creature squeaked a third time. "Shh, don't tell anyone," the text read. "I can do magic." Beside the words, hovering in the air, an image of a laughing face appeared.
It didn't wait for a reply. It only hopped up on the boy's shoulder, as it had so many times in dreams. When its small, wet nose brushed his cheek, a wave of something surged through him, powerful and clear. Prompto grabbed for the banister – missed, and sat down hard on the bottom step, head in his hands.
The creature squeaked at him again – nudged him, more insistently this time. And Prompto lifted his head to discover that he had been transformed. In fact, the whole world had been transformed, the usual blur of everyday shapes crisped and sharpened by the pair of glasses that now sat across the bridge of his nose. Through them, he saw all the rest.
In the place of his dreary grey work uniform, he wore a shirt of a delicate, pale yellow silk, beset with a row of tiny buttons. The collar was smart; the sleeves were trim and well-fitted, long enough to hide his barcode from view. Over the shirt sat a brocade vest in cream and gold, elaborate embroidery picking out a flowing motif not unlike the shapes of clouds in the dawn sky. His pants, slim and flattering, were a cream to match the vest.
Gone, too, were his worn and battered work boots. In their place were a pair of slippers as light as the rays of the sun. Commander Loqi had several pairs similar; they were all the rage in the Imperial court, these days, simple shoes that hugged the foot without the aid of laces. Prompto's were sleek and stylish, pale leather with gold thread.
He reached for one, wondering – drew up short at the sight of his own hand. It was clean, the nails well-groomed, the palm free of blisters or splinters. When he ran his fingers through his hair, it wasn't a haphazard bird's nest, but instead was carefully styled, slightly stiff with gel.
The creature watched him with wide, luminous eyes. "You like?" said the text above its head.
Prompto swallowed, throat tight. No one had ever done anything this nice for him. "It's incredible," he said.
"Great!" squeaked the creature, the text above it providing a ready translation. "Time to get moving, then. Just make sure you're at the base of the stairs by midnight, and I'll get you home."
"Wait," said Prompto. "The Chancellor will be there. If he sees me –"
The creature was not listening. The text above its head shimmered and changed. "Say hi to Noct for me!"
Then the world shimmered and changed, and Prompto was standing before the Citadel.
Re: [Fill: 3/?] Noctis/Prompto Cinderella AU
Such things were for people, not MTs; besides, he had no time for distraction.
It was not until the Chancellor announced that he and the commanders would attend, for the sake of diplomatic relations, that the affair became Prompto's concern. A ball would mean ironed formalwear and a transport in presentable condition. A ball would mean a whole slew of small disasters, on top of the ones Prompto faced every day.
He worked himself ragged, during the leadup to the ball. He saw to every need, ensured that every small detail was in place. The clothes, pressed and freshly laundered, were laid out on the beds of the Chancellor and both commanders. Dinner was served precisely at 4:30, plenty of time in advance. The MK-Helios model, designed to seat four, had been scrubbed until it gleamed, all of its parts in working order, and it was parked out front at half past six, waiting for its passengers.
When at last Chancellor Izunia's retinue stepped into their gleaming metal transport, Prompto did not think to be jealous. He did not pause to wonder if he, too, might go to the Citadel. He only crossed an item off his list and turned to the next.
It was half an hour later, midway through polishing the stairway banisters, when the sound reached his ears: a small squeak, oddly familiar.
Prompto turned to see what had made the noise, cloth still in hand. Then he dropped the cloth in a rumpled pile on the hall floor.
He stood for a long moment, frozen and staring. For there, curled up on the bottom step, was the small, white creature from his dreams.
As he watched, it squeaked again. The air around its head shimmered and grew hazy, and letters appeared in a cheery block font. "Hi, Prompto!" the words read. "Are you ready to go to the ball?"
Prompto opened his mouth. He closed it again. He said, "This is a dream, right?"
The creature squeaked, and more text appeared: "You're awake. We'd better get you dressed, though. The longer we take, the more you're going to miss."
Prompto didn't move. He was, quite understandably, still convinced that he was fast asleep. He said, "But my lists."
The creature squeaked a third time. "Shh, don't tell anyone," the text read. "I can do magic." Beside the words, hovering in the air, an image of a laughing face appeared.
It didn't wait for a reply. It only hopped up on the boy's shoulder, as it had so many times in dreams. When its small, wet nose brushed his cheek, a wave of something surged through him, powerful and clear. Prompto grabbed for the banister – missed, and sat down hard on the bottom step, head in his hands.
The creature squeaked at him again – nudged him, more insistently this time. And Prompto lifted his head to discover that he had been transformed. In fact, the whole world had been transformed, the usual blur of everyday shapes crisped and sharpened by the pair of glasses that now sat across the bridge of his nose. Through them, he saw all the rest.
In the place of his dreary grey work uniform, he wore a shirt of a delicate, pale yellow silk, beset with a row of tiny buttons. The collar was smart; the sleeves were trim and well-fitted, long enough to hide his barcode from view. Over the shirt sat a brocade vest in cream and gold, elaborate embroidery picking out a flowing motif not unlike the shapes of clouds in the dawn sky. His pants, slim and flattering, were a cream to match the vest.
Gone, too, were his worn and battered work boots. In their place were a pair of slippers as light as the rays of the sun. Commander Loqi had several pairs similar; they were all the rage in the Imperial court, these days, simple shoes that hugged the foot without the aid of laces. Prompto's were sleek and stylish, pale leather with gold thread.
He reached for one, wondering – drew up short at the sight of his own hand. It was clean, the nails well-groomed, the palm free of blisters or splinters. When he ran his fingers through his hair, it wasn't a haphazard bird's nest, but instead was carefully styled, slightly stiff with gel.
The creature watched him with wide, luminous eyes. "You like?" said the text above its head.
Prompto swallowed, throat tight. No one had ever done anything this nice for him. "It's incredible," he said.
"Great!" squeaked the creature, the text above it providing a ready translation. "Time to get moving, then. Just make sure you're at the base of the stairs by midnight, and I'll get you home."
"Wait," said Prompto. "The Chancellor will be there. If he sees me –"
The creature was not listening. The text above its head shimmered and changed. "Say hi to Noct for me!"
Then the world shimmered and changed, and Prompto was standing before the Citadel.