Prompto's home was a former rental bungalow, probably meant for vacationing families. There were ten nearly identical cottages down each side of the lane, each with space for a car in front and a fenced-in yard in the back. Access to the beach was a short walk down a gravel path. The area was overgrown and derelict, but untouched by daemons – probably there hadn't been many vacationers when the Night fell.
His front door opened into the kitchen, and the dining-slash-living room was beyond, with an ocean view through sliding glass doors. His bedroom also faced the ocean; he used the front one as a darkroom and office.
He'd been taken to the hospital after collapsing in agonizing pain at the open-air market downtown, and between medical tests and medication and surgery and the announcement of his impending death, he hadn't had much time to worry about weeds encroaching on his garden or the food in his icebox going bad. Praise the Six for Ignis, once again, because those were exactly the kinds of things he excelled at managing.
Like for instance, the wheelchair ramp Ignis used to push him up to the front porch – that was new. And the furniture had been rearranged to quote-unquote accommodate his mobility, even though that meant Ignis was probably going to stumble into the sofa trying to get to coffee in the morning. There were fresh flowers in a vase on the dining table, and a covered pot of something that smelled awesome on the stove.
Prompto was less thrilled to find out that he now had a staff, but Ignis stiffly informed him they were necessary. His sour expression suggested there was a story there that he didn't want to share. Prompto suspected he'd gone head-to-head with someone over his capabilities as primary caregiver, and lost. Still, the nurse would only be coming by once a day, and the home helper in the morning and evening.
"I also employed the woman down the road to take care of your plants, but I trust she'll be unobtrusive," Ignis said. "Do you wish to lie down, or – ?"
"Nope," Prompto said, trying to project cheerful determination. "I'm going to get up and walk over there and sit on my sofa. Look out at the ocean. You should join me."
"Perhaps," Ignis said, in a way that meant no. "Allow me to assist."
Prompto was amused by the picture they must make, a young healthy(ish)-looking guy shuffling along, leaning on a blind dude. Once he was settled – which involved pillows and a blanket – he realized he didn't have his phone and had to ask Ignis to bring it over.
"Just let me make the tea first." Prompto scrunched up his nose; he hated the herbal tea that the hospital dietitian insisted he drink. But everything he ate or drank now had to be part of a calculation, designed to deliver nutrients and calories efficiently. At least with Ignis here, he could hope that there'd be flavor, unlike in the hospital.
"I'm going to write to Gladio," Prompto said to Ignis' back. "Can't keep putting it off."
"Good," Ignis said, and then fell silent, bustling quietly.
Prompto wrote and deleted three messages before giving up. He decided he needed to tell Gladio in person, and after getting distracted agreement from Ignis, invited him over the following weekend. He mentioned that Ignis had moved in – for the time being – and Gladio's response sounded relieved. Prompto supposed Ignis had that effect on everyone: if he was involved, nothing would go wrong. It was known.
"It must be nice to be you," he told Ignis drowsily after the tea was drunk and tentative plans for Gladio's visit had been discussed.
"I haven't many complaints." Ignis patted Prompto on the shoulder, and then hinted that he should move to the bedroom if he was tired.
"I like the sofa," Prompto argued, and then blinked. He'd sounded eerily like Noct. Ignis must have thought so, too, because he looked momentarily spooked, but then got up briskly to tidy the coffee table and fetch another blanket. Prompto was sure he didn't own this many blankets, but he fell asleep before he could ask where they were coming from.
Re: Fill Prompto, problems with being a clone, postgame sickfic? "For What It's Worth" 2/?
His front door opened into the kitchen, and the dining-slash-living room was beyond, with an ocean view through sliding glass doors. His bedroom also faced the ocean; he used the front one as a darkroom and office.
He'd been taken to the hospital after collapsing in agonizing pain at the open-air market downtown, and between medical tests and medication and surgery and the announcement of his impending death, he hadn't had much time to worry about weeds encroaching on his garden or the food in his icebox going bad. Praise the Six for Ignis, once again, because those were exactly the kinds of things he excelled at managing.
Like for instance, the wheelchair ramp Ignis used to push him up to the front porch – that was new. And the furniture had been rearranged to quote-unquote accommodate his mobility, even though that meant Ignis was probably going to stumble into the sofa trying to get to coffee in the morning. There were fresh flowers in a vase on the dining table, and a covered pot of something that smelled awesome on the stove.
Prompto was less thrilled to find out that he now had a staff, but Ignis stiffly informed him they were necessary. His sour expression suggested there was a story there that he didn't want to share. Prompto suspected he'd gone head-to-head with someone over his capabilities as primary caregiver, and lost. Still, the nurse would only be coming by once a day, and the home helper in the morning and evening.
"I also employed the woman down the road to take care of your plants, but I trust she'll be unobtrusive," Ignis said. "Do you wish to lie down, or – ?"
"Nope," Prompto said, trying to project cheerful determination. "I'm going to get up and walk over there and sit on my sofa. Look out at the ocean. You should join me."
"Perhaps," Ignis said, in a way that meant no. "Allow me to assist."
Prompto was amused by the picture they must make, a young healthy(ish)-looking guy shuffling along, leaning on a blind dude. Once he was settled – which involved pillows and a blanket – he realized he didn't have his phone and had to ask Ignis to bring it over.
"Thanks, man," Prompto said, embarrassed. "Seriously, try the sofa, it's comfy."
"Just let me make the tea first." Prompto scrunched up his nose; he hated the herbal tea that the hospital dietitian insisted he drink. But everything he ate or drank now had to be part of a calculation, designed to deliver nutrients and calories efficiently. At least with Ignis here, he could hope that there'd be flavor, unlike in the hospital.
"I'm going to write to Gladio," Prompto said to Ignis' back. "Can't keep putting it off."
"Good," Ignis said, and then fell silent, bustling quietly.
Prompto wrote and deleted three messages before giving up. He decided he needed to tell Gladio in person, and after getting distracted agreement from Ignis, invited him over the following weekend. He mentioned that Ignis had moved in – for the time being – and Gladio's response sounded relieved. Prompto supposed Ignis had that effect on everyone: if he was involved, nothing would go wrong. It was known.
"It must be nice to be you," he told Ignis drowsily after the tea was drunk and tentative plans for Gladio's visit had been discussed.
"I haven't many complaints." Ignis patted Prompto on the shoulder, and then hinted that he should move to the bedroom if he was tired.
"I like the sofa," Prompto argued, and then blinked. He'd sounded eerily like Noct. Ignis must have thought so, too, because he looked momentarily spooked, but then got up briskly to tidy the coffee table and fetch another blanket. Prompto was sure he didn't own this many blankets, but he fell asleep before he could ask where they were coming from.