OK SO I made Ignis Dimitri and Prompto into a commoner version of Vladimir. Haha let's get this started, y'all.
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Ignis Scientia turned up the collar of his coat, bracing himself against the harsh winds of an Insomnian winter.
Ever since the Fall of the royal family and the annexation of Lucis into the Niflheim Empire, the climate in what was once the capital city had changed drastically. Temperate winters gave way to ice storms and an ugly mix of snow and sleet, summer was muggy and brief, and the spring and autumn felt tacked on like an afterthought. Ignis supposed there might be an Astral behind this—A god made furious with the derailment of their chosen prophecy—but he didn’t find much in him to care, these days.
All he really needed right now was a ticket out of the city. He could go back to Tenebrae, where his family had lived before the Fall. Find a small place, settle down with a job in a diner somewhere. A sad state of affairs for a man who had once been raised to be the right hand of the future king, but there was no use complaining. He was lucky that he’d been too young for the Empire to consider him a threat.
The prince had been younger, of course. But royal blood—and a supposed prophecy—outweighed such moral quandaries.
Not that there weren’t rumors that the prince had survived the attack. The people of Insomnia needed something to cling to, some hope to preserve what culture they had left as Niflheim MTs patrolled the city. Ignis couldn’t blame them… and he couldn’t blame himself for encouraging them. A man had to do what he must to survive, and Ignis had a slapdash sort of family of his own to protect.
“Iggy!”
Speak of the devil. Prompto Argentum skidded down the icy sidewalk towards Ignis with all the cheer of a born bastard. He was wearing a tattered red and black kilt over his jeans, thick black gloves, and his jacket was far too thin. Ignis would have been worried about that, but he knew that Prompto’s body temperature was always slightly higher than that of Insomnian natives.
Prompto was the main reason for this mad venture of theirs. Every day the two of them stayed in Insomnia brought them closer to the day that someone would notice the jerky way Prompto moved, the tattoo on his wrist, the heat of his skin. He was one of the last escaped test subjects of the first wave of MT soldiers, and the Empire would be very interested to learn how he had survived this long, and who had helped him.
As it was, Prompto treated the constant danger with a flippancy that was truly infuriating. He swung an arm around Ignis and nearly sent the two of them toppling into the street.
“Ready for the lineup?” he asked. “I feel good about this one, Iggy. I mean it. I think today’s the day we find our Prince Noctis.”
Ignis snorted. “Or someone who looks enough like him, anyways.”
“No sense of romance in your soul, Iggy.” Prompto grinned up at him and kicked at a snowbank, soaking his own jeans. “We’re doing that Amicitia guy a favor! He’s the one who put up all those wanted ads for the lost prince of Lucis. Do you think he cares if our Noctis is the real one or not?”
“The Astrals would care,” Ignis pointed out. He brushed snow from his pants. “He isn’t a fool, Prompto. I may not have worked at the palace for long before it… before it all happened, but I remember the Amicitias. A powerful family, even after the Fall. We need to do this right.”
“Think there's a risk that they’d recognize you?” Prompto asked, hooking his arm around Ignis’ elbow. Ignis looked up at the grey sky over the Citadel and sighed.
“No one ever recognizes me,” he said, in a small voice. Prompto shook his head and dragged him forward, towards the warmth of the lower city slums, and Ignis tore his gaze from the spire of the Citadel with a reluctance he couldn’t quite place.
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timeasmymeasure
FILL 1/? Re: Anastasia AU
Date: 2017-02-22 05:17 pm (UTC)--------
Ignis Scientia turned up the collar of his coat, bracing himself against the harsh winds of an Insomnian winter.
Ever since the Fall of the royal family and the annexation of Lucis into the Niflheim Empire, the climate in what was once the capital city had changed drastically. Temperate winters gave way to ice storms and an ugly mix of snow and sleet, summer was muggy and brief, and the spring and autumn felt tacked on like an afterthought. Ignis supposed there might be an Astral behind this—A god made furious with the derailment of their chosen prophecy—but he didn’t find much in him to care, these days.
All he really needed right now was a ticket out of the city. He could go back to Tenebrae, where his family had lived before the Fall. Find a small place, settle down with a job in a diner somewhere. A sad state of affairs for a man who had once been raised to be the right hand of the future king, but there was no use complaining. He was lucky that he’d been too young for the Empire to consider him a threat.
The prince had been younger, of course. But royal blood—and a supposed prophecy—outweighed such moral quandaries.
Not that there weren’t rumors that the prince had survived the attack. The people of Insomnia needed something to cling to, some hope to preserve what culture they had left as Niflheim MTs patrolled the city. Ignis couldn’t blame them… and he couldn’t blame himself for encouraging them. A man had to do what he must to survive, and Ignis had a slapdash sort of family of his own to protect.
“Iggy!”
Speak of the devil. Prompto Argentum skidded down the icy sidewalk towards Ignis with all the cheer of a born bastard. He was wearing a tattered red and black kilt over his jeans, thick black gloves, and his jacket was far too thin. Ignis would have been worried about that, but he knew that Prompto’s body temperature was always slightly higher than that of Insomnian natives.
Prompto was the main reason for this mad venture of theirs. Every day the two of them stayed in Insomnia brought them closer to the day that someone would notice the jerky way Prompto moved, the tattoo on his wrist, the heat of his skin. He was one of the last escaped test subjects of the first wave of MT soldiers, and the Empire would be very interested to learn how he had survived this long, and who had helped him.
As it was, Prompto treated the constant danger with a flippancy that was truly infuriating. He swung an arm around Ignis and nearly sent the two of them toppling into the street.
“Ready for the lineup?” he asked. “I feel good about this one, Iggy. I mean it. I think today’s the day we find our Prince Noctis.”
Ignis snorted. “Or someone who looks enough like him, anyways.”
“No sense of romance in your soul, Iggy.” Prompto grinned up at him and kicked at a snowbank, soaking his own jeans. “We’re doing that Amicitia guy a favor! He’s the one who put up all those wanted ads for the lost prince of Lucis. Do you think he cares if our Noctis is the real one or not?”
“The Astrals would care,” Ignis pointed out. He brushed snow from his pants. “He isn’t a fool, Prompto. I may not have worked at the palace for long before it… before it all happened, but I remember the Amicitias. A powerful family, even after the Fall. We need to do this right.”
“Think there's a risk that they’d recognize you?” Prompto asked, hooking his arm around Ignis’ elbow. Ignis looked up at the grey sky over the Citadel and sighed.
“No one ever recognizes me,” he said, in a small voice. Prompto shook his head and dragged him forward, towards the warmth of the lower city slums, and Ignis tore his gaze from the spire of the Citadel with a reluctance he couldn’t quite place.