For barely living in there, Prompto’s house is quite big. After the retaking of insomnia, he finally had the chance to see what had been of the home he had grown in. It was horrifying to find that his parents had been home when the city had fallen. His heart was broken for weeks after that. He knew what he could find; he had known the chances of his adoptive parents being alive were slim even before the Years of Darkness. Yet none of that could have prepared him for the confirmation.
He had wondered for weeks if he had been a good child for them. If he had said thank you enough times to the man and woman who had taken and adopted a cursed child like him. It was a sorry state of affairs all around.
His only solace, as macabre as it was, was that he was not the only one who lost a family member. There was obviously Noctis and Luna, but Gladio too had lost his father, his mother, and his youngest brother a baby barely a year old. Luckily Ignis had been saved for that heart ache; he had lost and sacrificed enough already.
Anyway, the house he grew up in was partially destroyed, but there were furniture and objects that could be salvaged. There was a tapestry of pictures among them, and the photo album of his firsts shoots. They were filled with moments he shared with his parents and childhood too. There was even a picture of Pryna that he had given to Luna as a present.
He had found a purpose in the pictures, a desire to have another tapestry filled with pictures of his journey, of the things he had encountered, of his friends. A reminder that life could go on, and joy was around the corner. That he was not alone, that none of his friends were ever alone.
(A reminder that he had lived if the worst happened and he was no longer in this world)
The house he’s in is similar in build to the one he grew in. However, aside from having the same furniture (repaired and lovingly cared for –when he’s there), there is nothing similar. Some of the walls are cluttered with framed pictures, or a big tapestry with the pictures he has taken throughout the journey, and his subsequent journeys for the rebuilding efforts. There is one his friends helped create and compose.
It probably looks like a crazy stalker’s house for the outsiders. But for Prompto, its home.
It helps in days like these when he barely has any energy. The full length mirror in the hallway is framed with pictures on the upper right corner. In the pictures he’s smiling and happy, and in the mirror he’s not. He’s pale, a bit wrung out, there is sunburn on his cheeks and shoulders, his hair is a mess too and his breath leaves a lot to be desired. Prompto sighs. He deserves a nice long bath, and he will get it.
Maybe he is just a bit out of his funk, he muses lightly while getting comfortable in the bathtub after thoroughly brushing his teeth and scrubbing himself pink and clean. Usually it is not this bad. Not like, it is bad at all or always. There are more good and great days than bad.
It’s the breathing thing. Some days are good some are tiring. Like anything in life. Casual? Casual.
It’s probably Aranea’s suggestion before leaving that got him like this. He should seriously consider the offer sometime soon. The schedule for his last trip is for the end of next month. He still got time. Prompto stretches a little with a groan and winces when he hears some of his bones pop. This growing older thing is not as pleasing as advertised.
(Cor would chastise him for being overdramatic. He can picture it: “You still haven’t grown hair on your face and yet declare yourself old”)
(For the record, He has, just one or two. He had to cut them out of cheer embarrassment. Did normal MTs have facial hair?)
He’s back on Insomnia and almost like a tradition after his greeting with Cor, is calling Ignis to see if he’s up for a visit. He’ll talk to Gladio later, if he’s not ambushed by iris first. There are spices he has brought with him. Organic, carefully handled and stored. He wouldn’t say fastidious but his friend is very insistent about the quality.
That evening he’s in front of Ignis flat, right on the dot and doesn’t even have to ring the bell before his friend opens the door and ushers him inside. He’s always surprised by the range and accuracy of Ignis hearing sense. He’s amazing, and a tad bit scary.
“Pardon the informality” he begins, and he notes there is a tiny hint of a new accent on his studied voice. Had he been involved in international treaties recently? “These last few days were eventful” Oh that explains it. Informality by Ignis, of course, means he’s either not wearing shoes, or a jacket. This time is both, so he takes both off as well before going to the kitchen and giving the container with spices.
He receives them with a tank you, hand immediately going for the handle (no longer needing to waddle first to reach it) and turns around on his territory. Prompto leans on the counter, happy to chat and watching him work and fuss on the new spices. Like old times, mostly.
Being here is how it starts to sink in that he’s finally back in the city; into familiar territory.
(Shouldn’t Nova Nilfheim be familiar too?)
The flat smells of Ignis, faintly on the kitchen, but stronger in places where he frequents more and uses less spices. There is a scent of Ebony that permeates the living room, and well used chaises with matching pillows too. There is a coffee table, a mix of carved wood and clear glass. No books under it anymore, every single one had been replaced with Braille and moved to the shelves on the walls, re classified from most used to less used.
…Which reminds him of a little project he put on hold. Better do it now that he was back with some time on his hands.
His interrupted out of his musing by an offered glass of juice. He takes it and after making sure He’s momentarily alone, examines the contents. It is blue, with shiny parts. He discretely took a picture of it. Prompto knew better than to ask. Drink first ask second was the unspoken rule after he threw up on the carpet that one time he learned the juice had anchovies in it.
Way before their journey Ignis had started the trend of nutritious brewages by mixing different fruits, vegetable nuts or spices and Prompto had been more than glad to be used as a guinea pig. It had understandably gone out of control by the time Noctis was officially crowned King. Gladio had complained once of being a terrible enabler and then washing his hands off the problem. He had no shame about it.
Especially when Iris sent him a picture of Gladio looking vaguely green.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Fill: (To Decode) Mixed Signals 1c/?
Date: 2017-03-08 01:30 am (UTC)He had wondered for weeks if he had been a good child for them. If he had said thank you enough times to the man and woman who had taken and adopted a cursed child like him. It was a sorry state of affairs all around.
His only solace, as macabre as it was, was that he was not the only one who lost a family member. There was obviously Noctis and Luna, but Gladio too had lost his father, his mother, and his youngest brother a baby barely a year old.
Luckily Ignis had been saved for that heart ache; he had lost and sacrificed enough already.
Anyway, the house he grew up in was partially destroyed, but there were furniture and objects that could be salvaged. There was a tapestry of pictures among them, and the photo album of his firsts shoots. They were filled with moments he shared with his parents and childhood too. There was even a picture of Pryna that he had given to Luna as a present.
He had found a purpose in the pictures, a desire to have another tapestry filled with pictures of his journey, of the things he had encountered, of his friends. A reminder that life could go on, and joy was around the corner. That he was not alone, that none of his friends were ever alone.
(A reminder that he had lived if the worst happened and he was no longer in this world)
The house he’s in is similar in build to the one he grew in. However, aside from having the same furniture (repaired and lovingly cared for –when he’s there), there is nothing similar. Some of the walls are cluttered with framed pictures, or a big tapestry with the pictures he has taken throughout the journey, and his subsequent journeys for the rebuilding efforts. There is one his friends helped create and compose.
It probably looks like a crazy stalker’s house for the outsiders. But for Prompto, its home.
It helps in days like these when he barely has any energy. The full length mirror in the hallway is framed with pictures on the upper right corner. In the pictures he’s smiling and happy, and in the mirror he’s not. He’s pale, a bit wrung out, there is sunburn on his cheeks and shoulders, his hair is a mess too and his breath leaves a lot to be desired. Prompto sighs. He deserves a nice long bath, and he will get it.
Maybe he is just a bit out of his funk, he muses lightly while getting comfortable in the bathtub after thoroughly brushing his teeth and scrubbing himself pink and clean. Usually it is not this bad. Not like, it is bad at all or always. There are more good and great days than bad.
It’s the breathing thing. Some days are good some are tiring. Like anything in life. Casual? Casual.
It’s probably Aranea’s suggestion before leaving that got him like this. He should seriously consider the offer sometime soon. The schedule for his last trip is for the end of next month. He still got time. Prompto stretches a little with a groan and winces when he hears some of his bones pop. This growing older thing is not as pleasing as advertised.
(Cor would chastise him for being overdramatic. He can picture it: “You still haven’t grown hair on your face and yet declare yourself old”)
(For the record, He has, just one or two. He had to cut them out of cheer embarrassment. Did normal MTs have facial hair?)
He’s back on Insomnia and almost like a tradition after his greeting with Cor, is calling Ignis to see if he’s up for a visit. He’ll talk to Gladio later, if he’s not ambushed by iris first. There are spices he has brought with him. Organic, carefully handled and stored. He wouldn’t say fastidious but his friend is very insistent about the quality.
That evening he’s in front of Ignis flat, right on the dot and doesn’t even have to ring the bell before his friend opens the door and ushers him inside. He’s always surprised by the range and accuracy of Ignis hearing sense. He’s amazing, and a tad bit scary.
“Pardon the informality” he begins, and he notes there is a tiny hint of a new accent on his studied voice. Had he been involved in international treaties recently? “These last few days were eventful” Oh that explains it.
Informality by Ignis, of course, means he’s either not wearing shoes, or a jacket. This time is both, so he takes both off as well before going to the kitchen and giving the container with spices.
He receives them with a tank you, hand immediately going for the handle (no longer needing to waddle first to reach it) and turns around on his territory. Prompto leans on the counter, happy to chat and watching him work and fuss on the new spices. Like old times, mostly.
Being here is how it starts to sink in that he’s finally back in the city; into familiar territory.
(Shouldn’t Nova Nilfheim be familiar too?)
The flat smells of Ignis, faintly on the kitchen, but stronger in places where he frequents more and uses less spices. There is a scent of Ebony that permeates the living room, and well used chaises with matching pillows too. There is a coffee table, a mix of carved wood and clear glass. No books under it anymore, every single one had been replaced with Braille and moved to the shelves on the walls, re classified from most used to less used.
…Which reminds him of a little project he put on hold. Better do it now that he was back with some time on his hands.
His interrupted out of his musing by an offered glass of juice. He takes it and after making sure He’s momentarily alone, examines the contents. It is blue, with shiny parts. He discretely took a picture of it. Prompto knew better than to ask. Drink first ask second was the unspoken rule after he threw up on the carpet that one time he learned the juice had anchovies in it.
Way before their journey Ignis had started the trend of nutritious brewages by mixing different fruits, vegetable nuts or spices and Prompto had been more than glad to be used as a guinea pig. It had understandably gone out of control by the time Noctis was officially crowned King. Gladio had complained once of being a terrible enabler and then washing his hands off the problem. He had no shame about it.
Especially when Iris sent him a picture of Gladio looking vaguely green.