PROMPTO ARGENTUM. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pictograph) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fares2017-02-20 04:17 pm
pictograph) wrote in fares2017-02-20 04:17 pm
Entry tags:
the three stooges.
[ moans
Easy come, easy go. It's just a leisure trip — more so a cruising disaster in the makings, since Prompto's the one steering this intrepid little party of three through the choppy waters of social finesse, and Noct and Nyx just so happen to be coming along for the ride. Neither of them have spoken a word to each other in the past half-hour they've been coasting land. Not a word. Stealing glances at them both, he might have to rethink playing peacemaker for this painful lack of obliviousness (oh, how the truly blessed remain blind to suffering), for all they've been exuding frustration in that brooding silence fostered in the no-man's land between their steps.
Maybe the issue lies in Prompto's own deceit. Liars can pick out liars, so the harmlessly dishonest can naturally do the same. The same strokes are there, commensurate to a fatality, although the only kind of danger they're going to find in a few minutes is a festival and whatever benign dares can be riled up on an evening this rife with mysticism. (Whether or not he reaches into the deep cavity of his chest and finds that honesty he so sorely lacks, even. Confronting what he refuses to acknowledge is one thing, but reconciling with his shortcomings in relation to others is an entirely different matter. Prompto is as much a slave to his perceived inadequacy as he's always feared.)
For the latent risk in allowing two volatile elements to slip this close to each other, Prompto's about to find out he's not a chemist. He should know better than mixing oil and water and inuring it to the broad-swept flame, but he has no leverage in this altercation. Sometimes all you can do is bludgeon your company of two over the head with conversational cues until that tension goes under and drowns. ]
Heeeey, c'mon! You guys are gonna' miss everything if you keep straggling like that. Don't you wanna' see it?! Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!
[ Compulsion is dragging out the prince and his babysitter (by proxy) to the celebrations. Compulsion is pulling on some heartstrings with a curt toss of his head, belaying that dead weight of their conversation and tugging it forward on his own. Prompto has the audacity for that curt toss of his head and frenetic movements, hopscotching where the moonlight spills down. His hand's stuttering air, going for that chop-slice through nothing, and if they can't work this out between themselves, he's tearing it all asunder. All on his own. ]
It'll be fun!
[ His grin resolves itself, cocksure. As far as bum raps go, this is one given in good graces, mentioning nothing of the stupid futility in dragging the thirty-minute carcass of a dead argument that hasn't reached rigor mortis along. Fun.
Yeah, okay. ]
Easy come, easy go. It's just a leisure trip — more so a cruising disaster in the makings, since Prompto's the one steering this intrepid little party of three through the choppy waters of social finesse, and Noct and Nyx just so happen to be coming along for the ride. Neither of them have spoken a word to each other in the past half-hour they've been coasting land. Not a word. Stealing glances at them both, he might have to rethink playing peacemaker for this painful lack of obliviousness (oh, how the truly blessed remain blind to suffering), for all they've been exuding frustration in that brooding silence fostered in the no-man's land between their steps.
Maybe the issue lies in Prompto's own deceit. Liars can pick out liars, so the harmlessly dishonest can naturally do the same. The same strokes are there, commensurate to a fatality, although the only kind of danger they're going to find in a few minutes is a festival and whatever benign dares can be riled up on an evening this rife with mysticism. (Whether or not he reaches into the deep cavity of his chest and finds that honesty he so sorely lacks, even. Confronting what he refuses to acknowledge is one thing, but reconciling with his shortcomings in relation to others is an entirely different matter. Prompto is as much a slave to his perceived inadequacy as he's always feared.)
For the latent risk in allowing two volatile elements to slip this close to each other, Prompto's about to find out he's not a chemist. He should know better than mixing oil and water and inuring it to the broad-swept flame, but he has no leverage in this altercation. Sometimes all you can do is bludgeon your company of two over the head with conversational cues until that tension goes under and drowns. ]
Heeeey, c'mon! You guys are gonna' miss everything if you keep straggling like that. Don't you wanna' see it?! Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!
[ Compulsion is dragging out the prince and his babysitter (by proxy) to the celebrations. Compulsion is pulling on some heartstrings with a curt toss of his head, belaying that dead weight of their conversation and tugging it forward on his own. Prompto has the audacity for that curt toss of his head and frenetic movements, hopscotching where the moonlight spills down. His hand's stuttering air, going for that chop-slice through nothing, and if they can't work this out between themselves, he's tearing it all asunder. All on his own. ]
It'll be fun!
[ His grin resolves itself, cocksure. As far as bum raps go, this is one given in good graces, mentioning nothing of the stupid futility in dragging the thirty-minute carcass of a dead argument that hasn't reached rigor mortis along. Fun.
Yeah, okay. ]
no subject
This entire trip's been about fifteen different varieties of awkward.
Picture this– setting off on a trip with your best friend. Sounds like a good time, yeah? It's a little bit more than a day out with a good friend when Nyx has joined their merry band for a day of... fun. Sure, Prompto, whatever you say. Noct hardly minds the guy, but this is shaping up to be one hell of an outing, all things considered.
Only nebulously aware of their day plans after having spent the majority of it in a state of semi-consciousness in the back seat, Noctis can't entirely recall Prompto's carefully arranged plans. Something about a festival. Something about lots and lots of greasy, spicy food. He might've even mentioned games, though of what variety Noctis hadn't caught onto in his borderline fugue state.
Plodding along some ways behind Prompto, Noct'll leave the enthusiasm entirely up to him.]
Heard you say that the first dozen times on the way over.
[And just how long of a walk is it to this supposed haven of fun and entertainment, anyway? Noct's willing to bet ditching the Regalia this early on wasn't entirely necessary. Learning to sleep walk might not be a terrible idea.
Noct'll end up finding something to appreciate in whatever plans Prompto has in mind, of that he's certain. This is usually how it goes whenever this guy's the one dictating the plans. Give it time, Prompto, give it time.]
So? Got an ETA for us?
no subject
Shouldn't be too long now, Your Highness.
[ He keeps his tone bland, his expression blander. A breathing slice of wallpaper for all the personality that he inflicts on the crown prince and his chatter-bird of a best friend. Who's been nothing short of a blessed source of entertainment through this trek of ten minutes-going-on-ten hours, who's been visibly cracking under the strain of keeping peace when there weren't any ruffled feathers to actually soothe. As though he might possibly be unaware that the awkward silences that he keeps between them and himself was nothing more than protocol. That this was the natural state of being between royalty and those who served them.
Strange, that. Then again, the prince is nothing short of a celebrity, a favourite topic of gossip. A boy who'd chosen to reject the comforts of the Citadel for a lesser apartment in the cleaner part of town probably wasn't in the habit of introducing his friends to his servants. It would've saved the boy (Prompto?) a hell of a lot of fidgeting if he had, but.
Eh, not his business. Still, the least he could do was to throw the poor guy a bone, to keep this farce of a conversation going. ]
But the festival's only supposed to get better with the hour. We can take our time.
no subject
[
Et tu, Brute and company.It's almost tolerable if he feigns a particularly operatic display of stand-up comedy (false bravado to mitigate that little ache that chirps that they're bored and he's boring, give it a rest numbskull, the campy 90s dialogue got old over two millennia ago, and pushing three won't make it any less dated, goddamn it). In practice, though, all it amounts him to is a very talkative patch of dirt begging the grass to grow. That kind of futility won't make concord with anything, much less how he's misinterpreted the insinuation.One of them boasts the personality of burnt toast, the other rotten eggs. All together, they make the trifecta of disgustingly unappetizing breakfast chow long past its expiration date. What's that make Prompto? (Greasy bacon hog-tied in oil, probably. Consider this conjecture: this little piggy likes to oink an awful lot. What an incorrigible ham.) His feet go on trampling ground with an ease he doesn't feel, not for all the cheerlessness they've meted out thus far. ]
Uh, calling it now. You guys are the worst. Wooooorst. Look lively! Or at least less dead. It's not torture. You're killing me here. I'm like, the dead walking.
[ The walking dead, if the redundancy doesn't completely take ahold. Kill his ass, though. Free him from his suffering, it can't take long when he's all bird-boned and fluttery like this, brittle to the touch. He's wounded by this demotivating atmosphere more than the time he'd had schoolyard bullies chasing him in the schoolyard and making snide comments about his childhood resemblance to the Pillsbury Doughboy, even, so catastrophe is obviously bottlenecking itself for the moment when their little interpersonal hang-ups explode. In an effort to be amicable in the face of defeat, though, he continues to kick at every pebble in the road. Some noise to offset the resounding silence left to tamp over their ears should Prompto let the conversation loose for even a second. ]
What he said, by the way, except a hell of a lot shorter walk than you'd think. Dragging your heels kinda-sorta' took a bit.
[ Stragglers. But they've caught up with the rest of the milling pedestrians, the festival in full swing, and Prompto relinquishes the fretfulness of his steps to loiter around until they've both caught up to make his grand proclamation. ]
So, ahem, gentlemen. Gathered the rest of your reason to live yet? Tonight, we dine on ... some really fatty shit.
[ Worst. Just the worst. Someone, slap him upside the head. ]