(Whew, finally done. This will go on Ao3 eventually but first I'm going to take a break and read the new RoL book . . . also this went over post-size limits and that's the only reason I'm splitting it. It's meant to be one chapter.)
Ignis steps over the prone form of Kenny Crow to hurry over to where Noctis and Prompto are picking themselves up off the floor. He runs concerned hands over them, “Any injuries?”
“We’re okay,” Noctis says.
“Except our pride,” Prompts adds.
Ignis sighs and cups both their faces fondly, “For the next time, I’d appreciate it if His Majesty remembered he has both a shield and bulletproof armor.”
“Don’t listen to Ignis, he’s just fussing ‘cause he was worried.” Gladio says, grunting as he lifts Kenny Crow’s limp form over his shoulder, “He was fretting the entire boat ride over.”
“So were you,” Ignis says.
“Ain’t denying it,” Gladio calls back as he carries Kenny up the stairs.
Ignis follows after him, “Put him down in the light, we need to find out who this is.”
Gladio does as ordered and then holds Kenny upright and steady while Ignis feels around the neck of the suit, digging his fingers under the edges of the mask and tugging it up. They all crowd in to see the face inside.
It’s an old man, his lean face flushed red and his scraggly beard matted with sweat. He’s got crease-marks on his cheek from the costume and his thin white hair is sticking out at all angles.
Ignis adjusts his glasses, then adjusts them again, “. . . I have no idea who this is.”
Noctis squints, “He seems kind of familiar?”
“I believe some deeper investigation is in order. Hold him steady please, Gladio,” Ignis says, summoning a dagger, “We’re going to have to do a strip search.”
Ignis works with brisk efficiency and little care for elderly dignity. The tunic comes off first, then the shorts, and they find Prompto’s stolen phone hidden in his left shoe. Soon the old man’s down to nothing but the black tights and a sweat-stained white vest.
Ignis leans back and examines their captive, frowning, “No, still no idea who he is.”
“Noct is right, though,” Gladio says, “Feels like we should know him.”
The old man stirs, groaning, and Prompto points his own sniper at him as he sits up. It’s only when he blinks open rheumy blue eyes that Noctis figures it out.
“Shit, isn’t this the Emperor of the Nifs?”
“Fuck,” Ignis says.
The Emperor locks eyes with Noctis and then he screams and tries to lunge forward, only to be wrestled back by Gladio.
“You!” Aldercapt spits, “Noctis Lucis Caelum, did you think you could escape me? I WILL have my reckoning with you, brat! You and I will do battle, as we should have, this time I will not be deni . . . “
“Okay, that’s enough,” Gladio mutters, hauling the frail old man up effortlessly and tossing him over the balustrade. They all lean over to watch as Aldercapt hits the water with a satisfying splash.
Gladio dusts off his hands, “. . . wait, I thought we did fight him? Kind of?”
Noctis shrugs. They go back to watching the water but the Emperor doesn’t resurface. Soon, a glitter of purple spills across the rippling surface, followed by a shimmer of gold and white. Around them, the lights of the Carnival turn on, one by one.
Noctis stretches out, “damn, it’s late. We’d better get moving.”
“Agreed,” Ignis says, “We still have a lot to do before the fireworks start.”
They begin to walk away but Noctis glances back to see that Prompto’s still leaning over the balustrade, watching the water with a distant look in his eyes. He turns back and reaches out to him, laying a hand lightly against Prompto’s shoulder, “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, I just . . . Geeze, why am I always the one getting kidnapped?” Prompto says with a weak laugh, eyes unfocused, “Gotta say, glad it went a lot better this time around.”
Noctis hates it, hates the look that’s growing in Prompto’s eyes, so he does the first thing he can think of - he takes off his hat and shoves it at him.
Prompto blinks in surprise, and then his eyes go clear and bright, “awmahgawd . . . “ he murmured reverently, staring at the hat in awed delight.
They all stare at the hat with him for a few minutes, no one wanting to break the spell. Finally, Ignis gives a soft cough and takes it gently from Prompto’s hands, tenderly smoothing down the blond hair to put it on his head.
Prompto makes an awkward sort of squeak and beams, looking like he’s five and it’s his birthday. Wordlessly he hands his camera to Noctis, who dutifully starts taking pictures.
“Come on, we’d better get a move on,” Gladio says, after the twelfth pose, “it’s nearly nightfall and we don’t have enough tokens for the suite yet.”
“Oh wait, how many do we need?” Prompto asks, finally coming out of his chocobo-induced trance.
“A full ninety-nine,” Ignis says, “Noctis and I had almost earned enough, but then Kenn . . . I mean, then Aldercapt interfered.”
“Bastard bumped into me the second I got out of Whack-a-Cactuar,” Gladio mutters, face dark, “next thing I know all my medallions were missing.”
Prompto blinks at them, then rummages around in his pockets, “Huh, really? I’m pretty sure I got at least that much . . .”
They all stare at him. He stares back, “Do . . . do we need more than that? For other stuff? ‘Cause I’m pretty good at that shooting gallery thing.”
Gladio laughs and hauls Prompto into a hug, giving him a wet, smacking kiss. Prompto squawks, “Watch the hat!”
Re: Fill (4/5): Noctis/any or OT4- Carnival date
Ignis steps over the prone form of Kenny Crow to hurry over to where Noctis and Prompto are picking themselves up off the floor. He runs concerned hands over them, “Any injuries?”
“We’re okay,” Noctis says.
“Except our pride,” Prompts adds.
Ignis sighs and cups both their faces fondly, “For the next time, I’d appreciate it if His Majesty remembered he has both a shield and bulletproof armor.”
“Don’t listen to Ignis, he’s just fussing ‘cause he was worried.” Gladio says, grunting as he lifts Kenny Crow’s limp form over his shoulder, “He was fretting the entire boat ride over.”
“So were you,” Ignis says.
“Ain’t denying it,” Gladio calls back as he carries Kenny up the stairs.
Ignis follows after him, “Put him down in the light, we need to find out who this is.”
Gladio does as ordered and then holds Kenny upright and steady while Ignis feels around the neck of the suit, digging his fingers under the edges of the mask and tugging it up. They all crowd in to see the face inside.
It’s an old man, his lean face flushed red and his scraggly beard matted with sweat. He’s got crease-marks on his cheek from the costume and his thin white hair is sticking out at all angles.
Ignis adjusts his glasses, then adjusts them again, “. . . I have no idea who this is.”
Noctis squints, “He seems kind of familiar?”
“I believe some deeper investigation is in order. Hold him steady please, Gladio,” Ignis says, summoning a dagger, “We’re going to have to do a strip search.”
Ignis works with brisk efficiency and little care for elderly dignity. The tunic comes off first, then the shorts, and they find Prompto’s stolen phone hidden in his left shoe. Soon the old man’s down to nothing but the black tights and a sweat-stained white vest.
Ignis leans back and examines their captive, frowning, “No, still no idea who he is.”
“Noct is right, though,” Gladio says, “Feels like we should know him.”
The old man stirs, groaning, and Prompto points his own sniper at him as he sits up. It’s only when he blinks open rheumy blue eyes that Noctis figures it out.
“Shit, isn’t this the Emperor of the Nifs?”
“Fuck,” Ignis says.
The Emperor locks eyes with Noctis and then he screams and tries to lunge forward, only to be wrestled back by Gladio.
“You!” Aldercapt spits, “Noctis Lucis Caelum, did you think you could escape me? I WILL have my reckoning with you, brat! You and I will do battle, as we should have, this time I will not be deni . . . “
“Okay, that’s enough,” Gladio mutters, hauling the frail old man up effortlessly and tossing him over the balustrade. They all lean over to watch as Aldercapt hits the water with a satisfying splash.
Gladio dusts off his hands, “. . . wait, I thought we did fight him? Kind of?”
Noctis shrugs. They go back to watching the water but the Emperor doesn’t resurface. Soon, a glitter of purple spills across the rippling surface, followed by a shimmer of gold and white. Around them, the lights of the Carnival turn on, one by one.
Noctis stretches out, “damn, it’s late. We’d better get moving.”
“Agreed,” Ignis says, “We still have a lot to do before the fireworks start.”
They begin to walk away but Noctis glances back to see that Prompto’s still leaning over the balustrade, watching the water with a distant look in his eyes. He turns back and reaches out to him, laying a hand lightly against Prompto’s shoulder, “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, I just . . . Geeze, why am I always the one getting kidnapped?” Prompto says with a weak laugh, eyes unfocused, “Gotta say, glad it went a lot better this time around.”
Noctis hates it, hates the look that’s growing in Prompto’s eyes, so he does the first thing he can think of - he takes off his hat and shoves it at him.
Prompto blinks in surprise, and then his eyes go clear and bright, “awmahgawd . . . “ he murmured reverently, staring at the hat in awed delight.
They all stare at the hat with him for a few minutes, no one wanting to break the spell. Finally, Ignis gives a soft cough and takes it gently from Prompto’s hands, tenderly smoothing down the blond hair to put it on his head.
Prompto makes an awkward sort of squeak and beams, looking like he’s five and it’s his birthday. Wordlessly he hands his camera to Noctis, who dutifully starts taking pictures.
“Come on, we’d better get a move on,” Gladio says, after the twelfth pose, “it’s nearly nightfall and we don’t have enough tokens for the suite yet.”
“Oh wait, how many do we need?” Prompto asks, finally coming out of his chocobo-induced trance.
“A full ninety-nine,” Ignis says, “Noctis and I had almost earned enough, but then Kenn . . . I mean, then Aldercapt interfered.”
“Bastard bumped into me the second I got out of Whack-a-Cactuar,” Gladio mutters, face dark, “next thing I know all my medallions were missing.”
Prompto blinks at them, then rummages around in his pockets, “Huh, really? I’m pretty sure I got at least that much . . .”
They all stare at him. He stares back, “Do . . . do we need more than that? For other stuff? ‘Cause I’m pretty good at that shooting gallery thing.”
Gladio laughs and hauls Prompto into a hug, giving him a wet, smacking kiss. Prompto squawks, “Watch the hat!”