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  Welcome to Round Five of the FFXV Kink Meme!

Closed for prompts | OPEN for fills

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New Prompts are Closed for this round. Please wait until 11/13/2017 for Round Six.



 
From: (Anonymous)
In which Cor collects a few new nightmares.

~~~~

The last lab was full of babies. Dozens of babies, unnaturally silent and still in plastic cribs. Each sported almost as many wires and sensors as the scourge-infected man, and above several IV bags hung, dripping a horribly familiar substance.

The bastards are infecting babies on purpose? What the hell for?

Of the infants, only one seemed to notice him, reaching out with chubby arms. Cor's vision swam, and he tasted blood before he realized he'd bitten his hand.

This was too much. Too much. His mind racing, he crossed off a thousand ways to save them all, each more foolhardy than the last. You couldn't put babies in the armiger. Nothing alive.

I can save at least one from this hell.

Mind resolved, Cor turned to the room's cabinets for supplies, caching everything he touched. Diapers. Formula. Bottles. Towels. Antiseptic. Whatever the hell's in these boxes.

There was no easy answer on which baby to save, no choice that would allay the heaviness in his soul, so Cor went to the infant that had reached for him, peeling electrodes from delicate skin, pressing guaze and a sticky bandage to the baby's scalp as he pulled out the IV port, averting his gaze from the soft blue eyes brimming with tears.

He picked the baby up, froze for a moment, and put it back down. And Cor the Immortal, short of time as he was, managed to fumble his way through changing his first dirty diaper.

You're lucky, kid, that my stomach's already empty.

He pulled the sheet covering the crib's thin mattress up, and tied it into a sling with an extra from the cabinets to cradle the baby tight against his chest, over the unstained shirt he'd pulled from the armiger.

Tugging the knots to make sure they were secure, Cor took one last look around at the rows of babies, and he felt his heart break.

"I'm so sorry."

----

As he jogged back down the hall, Cor slowed at one particular door. He couldn't save the man inside, but he could at least grant him a final mercy. He untied the sling and situated the babe on the floor.

"Wait here for me, OK?"

Cor pushed through the broken door and approached the table more slowly this time, stepping carefully around the drying sludge on the floor, grabbing more gloves and pulling them on. Those unnatural eyes, still uncovered, followed his progress.

When Cor reached him, holding up his hands to show he meant no harm, the man flinched, and tried to turn his head, but he couldn't pull away.

Sighing, Cor dropped his hands. Thinking of the dying soldiers he'd comforted in Accordo, he reached out to touch the man's undamaged arm, stroking it softly. Those eyes flicked back to him, the man's confusion plain even through the disfiguring blood.

Moving slowly, Cor reached across to pull the leather bit from the man's mouth. He spoke as softly as he could, in the language of the Empire.

"Do you want me to end this? I can make it quick."

The man squinted at him, and looked away. Cor tried again in Lucian.

The man swallowed, and licked his lips several times.

"Nescio. Quis es tú?"

It came out quiet and harsh, and brought on a round of coughing. Cor stepped back, considering. Whoever the man was, he didn't speak Nif or Lucian, and Cor didn't have time. He reached down to lace the fingers of his left hand through the man's own, summoned a long dagger behind his back, and brought it around slowly, miming striking at his own heart.

After a long pause, the man smiled softly. It was ghoulish.

"Sis me interfice," and his yellow eyes slid closed.

In seconds, it was done. The man's eyelids fluttered, but he made no sound apart from a quick gasp as the knife found his heart.

Be at peace.

Cor watched for a moment after the man's breathing stopped, to honor this stranger with the raveged body. He withdrew the blade slowly, intending to leave it behind as an offering, and as a message to whoever found the remains. He flexed his fingers to pull away his left hand away and the body jerked, and his hand was suddenly caught in an iron grip. The knife fell loud to the floor, loud as anything Cor had ever heard.

~~~~

I have nothing but a few 19th century Latin phrasebooks and ye olde internet... so, uh, please forgive any mistakes (but corrections are welcome!). What Ardyn's saying here is "I don't understand. Who are you?" and "Kill me, if you are willing." I think.
From: (Anonymous)
Late a!a note: I figure everyone who ever used the armiger has a million old clothes stuffed in there, and I couldn't have Cor running around naked for the next several chapters. Could I?
From: (Anonymous)
I do not think anyone would mind Cor running around naked for several chapter - except Cor that is.
From: (Anonymous)
I'm just worried about him being cold. I'm cold all the time, ALL THE TIME, and how could I do that to a poor helpless fictional character?
From: (Anonymous)
Poor Cor.

Poor MT babies.

Poor Ardyn. I just want to hug them all.
From: (Anonymous)
In which Cor jumps to several incorrect conclusions.

----

Cor pulled, hard, but he couldn't break free. The body jerked again, held down place by the straps, and black motes began seeping from the man's skin. They bunched thickest at the stab wound and the dissected arm, flowing in masses across the body. Cor felt a slight tingling, though no discomfort, where they touched his hand.

By the time the black motes dissipated, seeping back 'til nothing remained, Cor wasn't even surprised to see the man start to gasp, chest heaving, neck arched as if he were still in pain. The open wounds had healed into shiny scars, mottled in black. The right arm had reformed itself, though the tubes that had been attached to his veins remained, sticking oddly out.

"What the hell are you?" Cor whispered.

There were no stories or rumors of the scourge healing its victims. This man... was his strange scourge the product of Nif experimentation? Were they trying to bend the disease to military use? Cor envisioned hordes of Nif soldiers, rising up from whence they'd fallen. Were there more like him, locked away in other labs? Even Insomnia -- even Regis -- couldn't resist an unkillable enemy.

His mind fell upon another horror, and held fast to it: what if the scourge itself was a byproduct of the experiments conducted here?

A door slammed, not too far away, and Cor made several very poor decisions in the space of a heartbeat.

He leaned down to grab the knife, and started cutting through the straps.

You're going to get yourself killed. This whole mission will be wasted!

He shoved the thought back to a corner of his mind. The mission had just added another new objective.

I'll rethink my impulsive decisions LATER, Clarus. That particular nagging bit of conscience always had a familiar voice.

"OK, if you can manage to keep up," and even as Cor was said it, he was thinking, oh astrals, the stairs, "you're coming with me."

The man's eyes were still screwed shut, his lips twisted in a grimace. Cor stopped cutting.

"Hey."

Another slam, and Cor thought he heard faint shouting.

He patted the man's face, and again, a little harder, until he saw a sliver of yellow staring at him. Cor held up the hand the man still gripped, showing him his own arm pulled free from its bonds. The yellow eyes grew wider.

"Quid facis?" The man's voice was clearer then before, though he spoke through labored breaths. "Neque tu times?'

"Yeah. Would you let go of my hand for a minute?" He pried at the fingers holding his, and was relieved when the man released his grip. Cor resumed cutting, sawing at the tight nylon as fast as he could without catching flesh. He didn't know what to do with the healed-over arm, but blood no longer flowed through the lines. He sliced through them; it could be dealt with later. When he was done, he started pulling off wires and sensors and tubes, less gently than he had with the baby, slowing down only slightly to drain the balloon before tugging the catheter free. Another skill from Accordo's medical tents. That earned a glare.

Cor laid a hand on the man's shoulder in silent apology.

"All right, we're going to get you up. Come on."

Cor pulled up on the man's shoulder, and he seemed to understand, raising himself just enough for Cor to get an arm under his shoulders.

It's already been all over me. I'm already exposed. So's the kid. Huh. Maybe I'll come back to life when they find us and shoot me.

He lifted, trying not to notice how close to dead weight his body was. With the man sitting on the edge of the table, arms shaking with the effort of holding himself up, Cor consulted out his army datapad, flicking quickly through the map. He found what he wanted, and tapped the screen off.

"Stay here. I'll be right back."

Not waiting for an answer, Cor dashed back to the hall. A quiet voice followed him, full of confusion: "Nescio."

The baby had managed to roll out of his sheets. Cor scooped him back into place, and hitched the makeshift sling around his chest.

"Ready to go, kid?"

The baby squirmed a little, settling in. He burbled a little, but he wasn't the only one Cor heard. It was definitely Marcus, and another voice calling back. Cor shouldn't have left the soldier alive.

Get moving.

Cor rushed back into the lab, ignoring the pointed stare the man gave the sling. Without a word -- because what was the point? -- Cor pulled the man's arm over his own shoulders and slipped an arm behind his back, tugging him forward, supporting his weight as it dropped to the floor.

Cor moved one foot forward, and the man took a trembling step. Too slow. They walked three more before his legs collapsed, and Cor was almost pulled down on top of him.

"Discede. Ego quoque infirmi." He pulled away from Cor, and the Marshal let his arm slide down. Some things were easy to understand. It had been a stupid thing to try.

"Discede!" The man's voice broke, and he seemed to fold in on himself, his whole body going slack. Cor grimaced, and knelt, grabbing ahold of the man's unresisting left arm with his right and pulling it over his shoulder. He'd just carry the man, too. It would be awkward with the baby, but they weren't going far. Not yet. He rose to a crouch, reached back back to find the man's thigh, and hitched him halfway into place.

"Astrals, you've got to at least hang on!"

He stood the rest of the way, off balance, and finally the man seemed to come aware again, wrapping his other arm around the Marshal's neck. Cor grabbed his other leg, and started off.

I feel like a chocobo.

Cor was anything but fond of chocobos.

They'd made it out of the laboratory wing and down most of another hallway when Cor swerved toward the door of an office and stopped running. Shifting the man's weight to one side, he reached into the armiger and pulled out a flask of firaga. It was the first magic he'd retrieved since reaching Niflheim. He was too rusty for this.

No time for second thoughts.

He threw the flask at the opposite wall, grabbed to brace the man's arm, and ducked back into the hall just as the flames burst out behind him. He counted to ten, and raced through the smoldering office toward the hole he'd blown in the wall.

He thought he have heard the man scream something into his ringing ears, or it might have been Marcus, or it might even have been himself.

Cor reached the edge, and jumped out into the night.

----

Latin this time is again pretty obvious stuff: "What are you doing?" -- "Who are you? Aren't you afraid?" -- "I don't understand." (Ardyn is so confused about who this crazy man who keeps running in circles is.) -- and "Leave. I'm too weak." I didn't pop these in up there, 'cause Cor doesn't know what he's saying.
From: (Anonymous)
Well, darn. That's (4/?). Where's the "I regret everything" button? HALP, mods! :)
From: (Anonymous)
Late a!a note: What all that Latin probably really means: Monty Python - Dirty Hungarian Phrasebook (https://youtu.be/G6D1YI-41ao)
From: (Anonymous)
Cor that' is not remotely correct, but at least you're getting Ardyn out of there.
From: (Anonymous)
Yeah, Cor's got a few wrong ideas, but he has the best intentions... (and we all know where those lead!)
From: (Anonymous)
Wow, this is great! I can't get enough of this.
From: (Anonymous)
I'm glad you're enjoying it :D
From: (Anonymous)
Catching up on that numbering! Cor isn’t great at warping.

------

They snapped back into reality on the edge of an empty parking lot, shedding a shower of sparks, collapsing into a tangle of limbs as Cor’s ankle twisted under him. Alive. They’d fallen so fast, the darkened masses of buildings growing huge in the night, and he’d flung the dagger wildly down into the black, praying that it would find level ground, praying he remembered how to pull.

The baby squirmed, and Cor wrapped his arms around the bundle, drawing it against his racing heart. Alive. Cor opened his eyes, looking back up at the sky. It was as if the stars were spinning. He squeezed them shut again.

"Stulte!" A curse, close to his ear. Alive.

Cor counted between his breaths, forcing them to slow.

Stulte.” Quieter this time; a breeze of a laugh fluttered in his hair.

A hand reached up to brush Cor’s forehead, and he leaned into the cool touch, letting it ground him.

“Mihi valde places.” It was a whisper, and the man’s hand fell away.

When the world stopped moving, Cor pulled himself out of the man’s arms and rolled to a sitting position, hissing at the pain in his ankle. He took a moment to break an elixir over it. The pain spiked, then faded to a throb as the bones realigned and started to knit.

Praying that no one was looking down from Zegnautus, he clicked his flashlight onto the lowest setting and shone it around. The parking lot they had landed in was small, bounded on one side by a line of tall hedge and on two with hulking offices. They were exposed, and anyone passing by in the blackout was sure to notice his light.

Thank Shiva we’re in the business district.

As a rule, Nif civilians didn’t go out after dark, not since the demon attacks had started in earnest. Even in the bright lights of the city, people hurried home before sunset, hiding behind drawn shutters and locked doors. Soliders like Cor… like those he’d heard in the Keep… were another matter. They’d be sending a search unit.

Cor glanced over his shoulder. The man was laying on his back, one arm flung over his scarred chest, shivering. He was breathing, and his pulse was steady. Cor pushed himself to his feet, and limping and cursing under his breath all the while as he dragged the unconscious man toward the tall hedges. That was as far as Cor’s abused ankle would take them for now.

The baby, still bundled up in the sheet, had started wriggling earnestly. Cor took that as a good sign, but even so, he held his breath as he tugged the sling over his head to pull the little boy free, laying him on the wadded sheet. The baby’s bright blue eyes brimmed with tears under a dusting of mussed blond hair, staring at him accusingly, and his fat little legs kicked in the air. Cor checked him closely, but could find no signs of injury beyond those he’d bandaged in the lab. The only abnormality he could see was a barcode on one wrist that didn’t wipe away when Cor rubbed at it with his thumb.

“I wonder what they’ve done to you that I can’t see, kid.”

Images of the lab – of other babies – flashed into his mind, and Cor pushed them sharply back. Not right now. The baby caught at Cor’s finger and pulled it to his mouth, gnawing at his rough skin with sharp little teeth.

“Hey. You don’t know where that’s been.” Cor pulled his hand away, smoothing down the boy’s fine hair instead.

Somewhere between growing a couple of teeth and walking? How old is that? Younger than Clarus’ kid was when I left.

The baby yawned, tears mostly gone, and Cor allowed himself a small smile. The kid was cute.

Blanket, Cor thought, holding out a palm. He got a gym towel. Close enough. He tucked it around the baby against the night’s chill, and turned to check on his other acquisition.

The man seemed no worse, as far as it went. It seemed Cor had taken the brunt of their hard landing. The dark mottling where his wounds had healed hadn’t faded, staining skin that was already thick with overlapping scars. Cor found more dark spots when he pulled the man over, just where pressure sores would form. He didn’t wake when Cor shook him.

Cor had just managed to tug a pair of his own old sweatpants up to the man’s waist when the baby started to wail.

----

Ardyn: “Fool!” -- “Fool.” –- “I like you.”
From: (Anonymous)
Aw, Ardyn decided Cor is his kind of crazy.

Poor Cor does not know how babies work. Looks like he'll figuring it out the hard way!

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