[His eyes widen of course, pleased and impressed. He'd known she could reform them, but he hadn't seen its design changed before, and in general he likes seeing what she can do, new or old.]
Whoa, you can be that precise with it? That's awesome… best I've got is this.
[He reaches up to tap at his chest, and the dark jacket he's always wearing vanishes into his magic armory in a burst of the same familiar blue crystals like always. Nothing she hasn't seen before.]
He's called it right. Basically, her form is a facade about the crystal.
Her eyes flutter with the display of lights and crystals as his jacket vanishes. If the armiger is the best he has, she fails to see how her own clothes work is any impressive. Nevertheless, she nods. ]
...Er. I don't send my clothes to a pocket dimension, Noct. [ She says, partly in disbelief. Wherever he puts his items, that's tiers more impressive. ] They only dismantle and reassemble as needed...
"Only", she says. Being able to change your outfit on the fly sounds really useful, you know. I'd love to not have to waste Armiger space on an extra pair of socks.
[Even if it were just sleeves or no sleeves, that would be amazing. You'd never need a jacket!]
Socks are an upgrade from eggplants, aren't they? [ She laughs softly again. ]
Ah, you know... it was my first time wearing real clothes, when you gifted me them. [ First modern clothes, truthfully. She had worn togas around Somnus. But do togas really count? ] And your jacket was comfortable, too. The skulls are a nice touch.
[Well, okay, they're not that subtle. And he does sort of wear them all over the place.]
Lucian black clothes with skulls usually means a Crownsguard, or someone with royal favour, back home. Ignis would say, "wear it with pride".
[Assuming she ever needs to borrow the jacket again… though maybe in light of what he's learned, "need" no longer factor in. Still, if she wanted to, he doesn't think he'd especially mind.]
Six, I hope not, or we've been doing it wrong this whole time. Technically Gladio ranks higher than Ignis, but Iggy's got loads more on his uniform. I figure it just comes down to preference.
[Though if that were the case, it might explain why his shirt had a million skulls all over it. Hard to rank higher than the crown prince. Prompto would definitely have more skulls on his, though.]
Why, you want some skulls on your clothes?
[It's half in jest, but he's watching closely. He hasn't taken their connection seriously in that direction - it's not her job to protect him, and he hadn't intended to recruit her for that - but it's different if she wants it. She certainly has his favour already, if it wasn't already obvious.]
If I say you are. Who's going to say no to a king?
[Aside from maybe his queen. That's his understanding of how that sort of thing goes. And he… doesn't have one, so that's fine. He can do whatever he wants.
He does take note of that expression at least- something to think about, in the future. Something that requires the sort of talent he doesn't have.]
Then... I would be honored to be anointed with a skull.
[ Where she would put it, she has no idea. Does that matter, however? No.
...However, this does remind her of her previous conversation of gifting him one of her crystals. If not an earring, she wonders what else she can craft for him. It's food for thought, at least. ] Maybe I'll look as tough and-- and bad as you. [ The way she says 'bad', it's clear it's a substitute akin to 'punk'. ]
[More used to sleepy or scrawny descriptives, courtesy of his well-meaning roasters- except in combat, he gets his fair share of compliments then. He kind of likes the idea of being a real badass, though. Like Gladio, like the Kingsglaive, someone strong and fearsome and unstoppable.]
Feel like looking like a badass now? I thought you already looked pretty cool.
Oh-- ah, really? [ Is that. A compliment? For her? Goodness, she feels she might blush. ] Me, cool... like you?
[ Pyra, for one, has always thought of him as looking like the cool type. Dressing in all black does help... that, and she wouldn't have guessed he was royalty from first meeting him, either.
A— a glowing skull— [ She can hardly finish her sentence as it revolves into another fit of soft laughter. No, she wouldn’t want a glowing skull. But the idea is funny. ]
I’m not sure. Would that make it spookier or sillier? [ Definitely not “cool”. ]
[ Joking around with him like this, she finds that she cannot stop grinning at the silliness of it all. ]
Exactly who were you attempting to warn or scare off with reflective skulls? The moon?
[ It’s times like these that fit the criteria of “comfortable” with another, enough to deem it a home... And so, her tone softens naturally, as if this has only endeared him more to her. ] As tough as you must have seemed... I think one look at your smile would have convinced anyone that you were friendly.
[He pauses, considering playing it off- he's not sure if he'll be able to respond in earnest without killing the mood. They've been honest here, though, and he doesn't like the idea of being disingenuous with her now, so finally he shrugs and gives it his best shot, trying to look nonchalant as he speaks. This part of his past isn't so bad compared to most others, and his situation was vastly improved by meeting Prompto, so the perception of his peers from years ago hardly matters.]
I didn't smile as much then as I do now, so I don't know what they must have thought, with or without the skulls. If I were gonna guess I'd say the flashy skulls were the problem- subtle patches are better for everybody, me included.
[ He didn’t smile often, and now he does even if, comparatively speaking, he has fewer reasons to smile with the future looming over him.
The mood hasn’t diminished. She’s only become sentimental as usual, effected by kindness and the goodness she sees in others, including him. There’s something clouded about her gaze, or perhaps unfocused as she looks over his expression as if she’s debating saying— or doing— something else.
She’s musing many things, in fact— inquiring why he may not have smiled as much during his formative years, for one. Or with how close he is with her, she can see that subtle glow within his eyes again, her own reflection with them as well. She also thinks of his embellishment of skulls, of where, when, and why he first thought of using them upon his clothing. Where that inspiration came from, if he had smiled to himself when he first embellished his jacket, instead of others. Then she thinks of his smile again, what she’s seen here, and her gaze drops to his lips.
It’s subconscious, but she’s already moved closer to him; between them, their warmth is trapped.. but not uncomfortable. Her voice drops to a meaningful whisper. ]
Well... I’ll be sure to do my best to give you more reasons to smile.
[It's hard to guess what she might be thinking of, looking at him like that. That she's content, happy even, that his attempt to keep things light didn't fail, that she's considering where next to guide the conversation or whether to let it linger on something as silly as skull motifs and glowing crystals that don't hurt people. with her sitting so close, he can feel her breathe - or the facade of breath, he doesn't know or especially care if it's real or not - and his eyes wander almost shyly between her features, marveling at how close she is and wondering what sort of favour would suit her best, to carry his family's motif. For Prompto, a bracelet, for Ignis cufflinks, for Gladio a belt chain of sorts. Pyra, he's not certain yet. Something more elegant, maybe a little flashy. Maybe he should ask a girl again, since he'd likely have done poorly with her clothes had Era not guided him.
When she speaks, his eyes drift back towards hers, though her gaze has dropped- and he wonders what exactly she's seeing. His smile, perhaps, as the topic she had chosen? Because he is smiling again, soft and subtle and almost without realizing it, uncertain but pleased at her attention.]
You've got enough practice by now to manage it, I think.
[ Within the span of a conversation, not only had he been able to read her and determine that she, too, had been affected by the cruel visions imparted onto others, calling her bluff— if not for their content then the guilt of being the one responsible for them— but he's also comforted her, reassured her. All this, while he’s clearly still in a great deal of hurt himself.
As if following instinct, her hand lifts to his cheek, fingers dusting softly alongside his face. Not too long ago, she had seen his decade-aged visage instead, pale and worn... But his smile had been the same.
Within the span of a single conversation, he’s gotten her to feel safe enough to divulge a portion of her past. That safeness is only a portion of what he’s given her here, in this world, hasn’t he? Safe, comfortable, and...
Her fingers curl inward against his skin, gently raking a lock of his dark hair past his ear. There’s a slight, cautious tremble to her touch, aware and in awe of how fleeting this moment is, that it will end, that they must part.
Within the span of a conversation, he's enchanted her with his kindness, his courage, his strength, his smile. How can she not look upon him with that bittersweet fondness from before? She doesn’t part. Not now. This smile, which he says is owed in part to what she brings him, is something she only wishes to be close to. Something she wishes to celebrate, commemorate, and cherish. If only she could with a kiss.
Pyra closes her eyes. There’s that feeling again, that fluttering warmth, that want to stay close, to lean in and give in. It's almost unbearable, too much, it's a monster, a conqueror, something she's been defeated by and has no hope of overcoming herself-- but it's so good, wonderful, and light and inspiring. Uplifting as well, because she wants to take this feeling and hold it both up high above her and close to her breast, to declare it and keep it secret, to tell it and to show it. It's love, and it's both cruel and wonderful. Yet is this really the time?
Her head dips forward, and once more she's resting her forehead to his, drawing in a slow, steady breath, just as she had been a few minutes ago when she had first stumbled with him onto his bead. There's a tension within her shoulders, but she's smiling as if she's convincing herself of something-- to be still, perhaps, or try to be still and satisfied, only with this... ]
[At her touch, delicate and cautious, he too closes his eyes- but not before catching the look on her face that twists something bittersweet and buried in his chest, something familiar, something warm. An expression he'd seen glimpses of months ago, almost half a year now, between time spent here and back on Eos. When Luna was here. When she looked at him and he thought, for a moment, he could see his own future in her eyes, a future they would share together one day. If he could save her. If he could keep her beside him.
He'd failed, though, and his silence had been a chasm left between them even after her absence. His inability to acknowledge what he saw in her, or what he felt in himself, left nothing but missed opportunity in its wake. Whatever joy they might have found together here, fleeting yet beautiful, was wasted. He'd regretted not doing all he could to give her the happiness she deserved, to coax that smile to her lips again, and again, and again, to fill her heart to bursting with everything he'd wanted her to know and lacked the words with which to share.
It's why the familiarity... hurts, here and now, in this moment. Feeling her fingertips gracing his cheek, her forehead pressed to his, her breath on his skin. She's warm, pressed so close to him, and what he'd felt before - not just with Luna, through his cowardice, but here, earlier with Pyra, not even that long ago - is returning to the forefront with a vengeance to call him out. To not be a coward, to not misunderstand the signals he's receiving and back away, to not miss another opportunity for some small, fleeting happiness. To hold close to himself a beautiful soul, someone he can protect and care for, someone who gives and gives and receives so little in return but never hesitates to give again.
He... wants this. Is he allowed to want this? He, an uncrowned king of a distant world, born to die for the sunrise, decreed by the gods and the soul of his world to end with no true life to be lived, no family to carry on after him, no kingdom to mourn. She's akin to a god herself, commander of her world's Messengers, carrier of the future and power he's unlikely to ever understand, the scope of it too great for him. Someone of her caliber who thought less of him would probably smite him where he stands. In the stretch of infinity and time he's barely a speck with too much nerve and ego to be contained in one human vessel. Is this allowed?
"Who's going to say no to a king?" His own words are a reminder. Who is to tell him what he is or is not permitted to do? The only one who could force his hand is her. She'd pulled away earlier, and he hadn't chased her; he wouldn't chase her this time, either, even if he wants it. But she's come back now, drawn closer, and he-
-he wants-
He could be wrong. He could be so very wrong, and she'd be within her rights to push him away. But... he regrets too much already. He waited, and he lost someone. The thought of repeating that mistake... surely that's worse than any rejection. At least she's likely to be kind when she refuses the offer.
A soft tremor passes through his body, his breath hitching, and he leans in to meet her, a subtle shift, his nose brushing hers. His breath mingles with hers, the only thing to exist in the space between them. He murmurs her name, questioningly, unsure. He doesn't ask with his voice - he knows the words are a struggle for her - but the question is, he hopes, obvious: what does she want?]
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Whoa, you can be that precise with it? That's awesome… best I've got is this.
[He reaches up to tap at his chest, and the dark jacket he's always wearing vanishes into his magic armory in a burst of the same familiar blue crystals like always. Nothing she hasn't seen before.]
Is it because it's a construct, like your body?
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He's called it right. Basically, her form is a facade about the crystal.
Her eyes flutter with the display of lights and crystals as his jacket vanishes. If the armiger is the best he has, she fails to see how her own clothes work is any impressive. Nevertheless, she nods. ]
...Er. I don't send my clothes to a pocket dimension, Noct. [ She says, partly in disbelief. Wherever he puts his items, that's tiers more impressive. ] They only dismantle and reassemble as needed...
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[Even if it were just sleeves or no sleeves, that would be amazing. You'd never need a jacket!]
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Ah, you know... it was my first time wearing real clothes, when you gifted me them. [ First modern clothes, truthfully. She had worn togas around Somnus.
But do togas really count?] And your jacket was comfortable, too. The skulls are a nice touch.no subject
[Well, okay, they're not that subtle. And he does sort of wear them all over the place.]
Lucian black clothes with skulls usually means a Crownsguard, or someone with royal favour, back home. Ignis would say, "wear it with pride".
[Assuming she ever needs to borrow the jacket again… though maybe in light of what he's learned, "need" no longer factor in. Still, if she wanted to, he doesn't think he'd especially mind.]
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Does it go with rank? The more skulls you wear, the closer to Noctis Lucis Caelum you are?
[ She's joking, of course, but the imagery is cute: just how many skulls does Prompto have on his outfit... ]
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[Though if that were the case, it might explain why his shirt had a million skulls all over it. Hard to rank higher than the crown prince. Prompto would definitely have more skulls on his, though.]
Why, you want some skulls on your clothes?
[It's half in jest, but he's watching closely. He hasn't taken their connection seriously in that direction - it's not her job to protect him, and he hadn't intended to recruit her for that - but it's different if she wants it. She certainly has his favour already, if it wasn't already obvious.]
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Er... would I be allowed?
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[Aside from maybe his queen. That's his understanding of how that sort of thing goes. And he… doesn't have one, so that's fine. He can do whatever he wants.
He does take note of that expression at least- something to think about, in the future. Something that requires the sort of talent he doesn't have.]
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[ Where she would put it, she has no idea. Does that matter, however? No.
...However, this does remind her of her previous conversation of gifting him one of her crystals. If not an earring, she wonders what else she can craft for him. It's food for thought, at least. ] Maybe I'll look as tough and-- and bad as you. [ The way she says 'bad', it's clear it's a substitute akin to 'punk'. ]
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[More used to sleepy or scrawny descriptives, courtesy of his well-meaning roasters- except in combat, he gets his fair share of compliments then. He kind of likes the idea of being a real badass, though. Like Gladio, like the Kingsglaive, someone strong and fearsome and unstoppable.]
Feel like looking like a badass now? I thought you already looked pretty cool.
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[ Pyra, for one, has always thought of him as looking like the cool type. Dressing in all black does help... that, and she wouldn't have guessed he was royalty from first meeting him, either.
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[He might just blush himself. Even when he's trying to encourage her she can't help doing the same right back.]
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[ So she asks, all while lowering her voice in an attempt to do so, watching him slyly. ]
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Well… a few skulls would be a good start. Like an earring, or a shoulder patch. Somewhere people can see it.
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Unfortunately she cannot hold the expression for long, breaking it to giggle. ]
All black clothes and skulls... instead of glowing crystals. Watch out, I might out-cool you!
[ That. Will never happen... ]
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[By his tone, it's pretty obvious that he doesn't care. Not like he's her king.]
How about… a glowing skull?
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I’m not sure. Would that make it spookier or sillier? [ Definitely not “cool”. ]
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[He leans in, giving her shoulder a nudge with a playful grin.]
I'll have you know I wore reflective skull patches on my night jacket during high school, and everyone agreed it was very cool.
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Exactly who were you attempting to warn or scare off with reflective skulls? The moon?
[ It’s times like these that fit the criteria of “comfortable” with another, enough to deem it a home... And so, her tone softens naturally, as if this has only endeared him more to her. ] As tough as you must have seemed... I think one look at your smile would have convinced anyone that you were friendly.
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I didn't smile as much then as I do now, so I don't know what they must have thought, with or without the skulls. If I were gonna guess I'd say the flashy skulls were the problem- subtle patches are better for everybody, me included.
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The mood hasn’t diminished. She’s only become sentimental as usual, effected by kindness and the goodness she sees in others, including him. There’s something clouded about her gaze, or perhaps unfocused as she looks over his expression as if she’s debating saying— or doing— something else.
She’s musing many things, in fact— inquiring why he may not have smiled as much during his formative years, for one. Or with how close he is with her, she can see that subtle glow within his eyes again, her own reflection with them as well. She also thinks of his embellishment of skulls, of where, when, and why he first thought of using them upon his clothing. Where that inspiration came from, if he had smiled to himself when he first embellished his jacket, instead of others. Then she thinks of his smile again, what she’s seen here, and her gaze drops to his lips.
It’s subconscious, but she’s already moved closer to him; between them, their warmth is trapped.. but not uncomfortable. Her voice drops to a meaningful whisper. ]
Well... I’ll be sure to do my best to give you more reasons to smile.
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When she speaks, his eyes drift back towards hers, though her gaze has dropped- and he wonders what exactly she's seeing. His smile, perhaps, as the topic she had chosen? Because he is smiling again, soft and subtle and almost without realizing it, uncertain but pleased at her attention.]
You've got enough practice by now to manage it, I think.
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As if following instinct, her hand lifts to his cheek, fingers dusting softly alongside his face. Not too long ago, she had seen his decade-aged visage instead, pale and worn... But his smile had been the same.
Within the span of a single conversation, he’s gotten her to feel safe enough to divulge a portion of her past. That safeness is only a portion of what he’s given her here, in this world, hasn’t he? Safe, comfortable, and...
Her fingers curl inward against his skin, gently raking a lock of his dark hair past his ear. There’s a slight, cautious tremble to her touch, aware and in awe of how fleeting this moment is, that it will end, that they must part.
Within the span of a conversation, he's enchanted her with his kindness, his courage, his strength, his smile. How can she not look upon him with that bittersweet fondness from before? She doesn’t part. Not now. This smile, which he says is owed in part to what she brings him, is something she only wishes to be close to. Something she wishes to celebrate, commemorate, and cherish. If only she could with a kiss.
Pyra closes her eyes. There’s that feeling again, that fluttering warmth, that want to stay close, to lean in and give in. It's almost unbearable, too much, it's a monster, a conqueror, something she's been defeated by and has no hope of overcoming herself-- but it's so good, wonderful, and light and inspiring. Uplifting as well, because she wants to take this feeling and hold it both up high above her and close to her breast, to declare it and keep it secret, to tell it and to show it. It's love, and it's both cruel and wonderful. Yet is this really the time?
Her head dips forward, and once more she's resting her forehead to his, drawing in a slow, steady breath, just as she had been a few minutes ago when she had first stumbled with him onto his bead. There's a tension within her shoulders, but she's smiling as if she's convincing herself of something-- to be still, perhaps, or try to be still and satisfied, only with this... ]
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He'd failed, though, and his silence had been a chasm left between them even after her absence. His inability to acknowledge what he saw in her, or what he felt in himself, left nothing but missed opportunity in its wake. Whatever joy they might have found together here, fleeting yet beautiful, was wasted. He'd regretted not doing all he could to give her the happiness she deserved, to coax that smile to her lips again, and again, and again, to fill her heart to bursting with everything he'd wanted her to know and lacked the words with which to share.
It's why the familiarity... hurts, here and now, in this moment. Feeling her fingertips gracing his cheek, her forehead pressed to his, her breath on his skin. She's warm, pressed so close to him, and what he'd felt before - not just with Luna, through his cowardice, but here, earlier with Pyra, not even that long ago - is returning to the forefront with a vengeance to call him out. To not be a coward, to not misunderstand the signals he's receiving and back away, to not miss another opportunity for some small, fleeting happiness. To hold close to himself a beautiful soul, someone he can protect and care for, someone who gives and gives and receives so little in return but never hesitates to give again.
He... wants this. Is he allowed to want this? He, an uncrowned king of a distant world, born to die for the sunrise, decreed by the gods and the soul of his world to end with no true life to be lived, no family to carry on after him, no kingdom to mourn. She's akin to a god herself, commander of her world's Messengers, carrier of the future and power he's unlikely to ever understand, the scope of it too great for him. Someone of her caliber who thought less of him would probably smite him where he stands. In the stretch of infinity and time he's barely a speck with too much nerve and ego to be contained in one human vessel. Is this allowed?
"Who's going to say no to a king?" His own words are a reminder. Who is to tell him what he is or is not permitted to do? The only one who could force his hand is her. She'd pulled away earlier, and he hadn't chased her; he wouldn't chase her this time, either, even if he wants it. But she's come back now, drawn closer, and he-
-he wants-
He could be wrong. He could be so very wrong, and she'd be within her rights to push him away. But... he regrets too much already. He waited, and he lost someone. The thought of repeating that mistake... surely that's worse than any rejection. At least she's likely to be kind when she refuses the offer.
A soft tremor passes through his body, his breath hitching, and he leans in to meet her, a subtle shift, his nose brushing hers. His breath mingles with hers, the only thing to exist in the space between them. He murmurs her name, questioningly, unsure. He doesn't ask with his voice - he knows the words are a struggle for her - but the question is, he hopes, obvious: what does she want?]
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