[ That's the truth of it, then. The strange, warbling loneliness that sits in Luna, gentle and sad and compartmentalized into what she can tolerate and what she can't bear to acknowledge. The years spent with Ravus and his disconsolation have never been any less heartbroken, nor the strange, peculiar sadness of being at Noctis's side any less potent after they'd been cleaved for twelve years. They're no longer the children enamored by the tales of light and dark — or sheer extremes, when the shadows cannot be severed from what fosters them, the perpetuity of the loop. Cyclic, still, as her own death swings ever closer.
(Gentiana, warning her of her duties, still. The selfishness she takes on in Noct's company: the appeal toward joy, smarting with the memory of holding Noctis's hand and guiding him through the fields of sylleblossoms, the undulating blue of the sea enthralled with the land, all the rippling petals and half-made blooms, the wonderful transience of life where it was only ever meant to decay and fade. Magic runs its course through her veins, but Luna's governed only by her own whims, by the cruel, outlandish dictates of her pulse. Fate wasn't merciful enough to render her unfeeling.)
Her own life is too impressively short to be afraid how Prompto was, afraid to take that leap of faith under the brunt of aggression and all that could quash a soul down to its essence. But Luna recognizes that duality in them: the sick, retching despair of the unknown that rears up, even if his own fight is on a magnitude that deals with himself, and hers is a conflict that's never belonged to her. Not since the Niflheim invasion. Not since she'd released King Regis's hand, and with it, bidding farewell to Prince Noctis and whatever life she could've had beside him if she was never crowned the Oracle.
Her fingers shape themselves inwards, curling toward her palms, leaving half-moons between the creases. ]
No, I'm happy I could inspire you, although you should know that you've been underestimating yourself. I've seen how you support the others. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for. I suppose that claim must sound very presumptive, though, after what you've told me. I apologize for that.
[ His fears are ungrounded, but it's not as if she misunderstands the oppressiveness the grip of the psyche is, conditioned toward self-doubt. Even now, Luna's charity is something born from Prompto's boldness, taking the initiative for raw-boned honesty in a way she couldn't allow for herself. None of Noctis's party are aware of the extent of the arduous ordeals awaiting them, and she can't bring herself to it, to cause undue suffering where they should be gladdened for what time they can spend in each other's company. It's just as simple as listening to Prompto, though, to know where her errors in attempting to carry the weight of the trials to come on her own lie. Breaching the polite distance, Luna shifts until their knees are all but touching, the two of them lingering in close proximity to each other. ]
... You aren't invisible, Prompto. You're here with me, and beside those who would entrust to you their lives, their hopes, their dreams. I scarcely doubt Noctis would bring along someone he felt was unsuited for the trip. He has faith in you. As do we all.
[ He needn't be restrained by his trepidations the way she has resigned herself to her own. Luna can discern what Noctis saw in Prompto that was so compelling: how guileless and sweet his painful honesty was. Without further precursor, her hands revolt against her better compulsions, gliding to deftly clasp around Prompto's fingers. Bracing his hands around the knuckles, she holds them aloft between her palms like the consecration of an open prayer. ]
It would have been nice to be penpals. But I'm glad I could know you like this, in person. It's not very often that I meet someone with such a sincere heart. Being at your side feels very warm.
[ And that's enough. For all of her regrets and her isolation and her will, all bowed before fate, that there are some things that fall to Luna to mean something precious (that thank-you, that gratitude, kinder than anything) when her existence amounts to so little in the grander scheme of things. ]
So you're welcome. I only hope that I can support you in the same regard. As your friend, if you'll allow it.
[ there’s relief in having said it, thank you, after so much time having it stuck in his throat. and then there’s surprise at the reaction, a widening of his own eyes a fraction at the fact that she’s happy to have inspired him, that she doesn’t think he’s strange for having placed so much ( hope, faith ) on someone he’d never met. and to think, some of that faith is now returned, it’s just on the edge of too much. that she ( she, not the oracle. it’s lunafreya’s knees that brush against his own, skin against roughened fabric of his jeans ) thinks that highly of him. then she’s taking his hands, calloused from handling guns and machinery both, and holds them between her own in a gesture that feels weighted. that feels meaningful, despite the setting of cheap motel room, dappled sunlight filtering in through thin curtains. his mouth is suddenly dry, and he swallows. ] Yeah, of course. [ the words are fervent, overloud maybe, in the relative silence. somehow… being here with lunafreya, it seems like they’re in a bubble of their own making. far removed from the rest of the world, and it’s comforting in a way. in a stark contrast to the last couple of weeks when the thought of being alone with her had been short of nerve-wracking. now she’s offering to be his friend, asking if he’ll allow it, which is funny in a way— he’s always coveted friendship, and the challenge now is to not seem too overeager in the face of it being held out to him. ] I wanted— [ he shakes his head, wondering if he should keep this to himself, but then again honesty has gotten him this far— and he only has a limited amount of time. the guys aren’t going to stay on their supply run forever after all, though suddenly he hopes that ignis is struck with the urge to double triple check the list of things they need so he has a bit more time with lunafreya alone. ] I’ve wanted to be friends with you this entire time. I guess I could’ve done better, getting the message across.
[ he wonders what exactly she garnered, from his tentative approaches only to back away the last second. he supposes, he used the same tactic with noct, way back when. coming close to him, hiding behind a telephone pole watching him get into his car to be taken back to the citadel, but never actually saying anything. his gaze flashes to their hands, then back to her face, sheepish. ] Sorry about that, by the way. I hope you didn’t think that I didn’t like you, or anything. More like, I couldn’t figure out what to say.
[ he was pretty much tongue-tied, at the sight of her. and he almost winces, thinking on how stilted their interactions were in comparison to how fluidly she and gladio, or even she and ignis seemed to get along. but then again, friendship, it’s never come easy to him. and he supposes this new one had to have it’s own trial of nerves and his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.
the smile he gives, it’s a shade less tentative then the ones that came before. they’re friends, they’re friends and there’s no reason now, to act like a stuttering mess around her. their legs bump together, and he thinks that he should probably enjoy this, the feeling of her hands clasped around his own, because it’s not likely to be a repeat event. ] But, that’s in the past now. [ some of it is still there. the hesitance. the nerves showing still in the highlight of red across his face. ] You know, I want to support you too. [ because in his eyes… it only seems like he’s taken from her. taken her support, taken strength from her words. the itch to prove himself worthy, to help, is suddenly back in full force. though he doesn’t exactly know how to go about it. lunafreya, she’s always seemed untouchable ( a figure in the distance, the writing in noct’s journal, the message of hope on the radio ), seemed… perfect. not needing anyone’s help. but that can’t be right. ] It must be tough, having everyone look to you.
[ having everyone look at you, even. being watched, being televised. he can’t imagine it. and in a way, he guesses he’s been lucky. to be nothing special, to be graced with… being normal. he was alone sure, but he was never bothered like noct was, his actions never scrutinized. ]
[ Conciliation really drops into her that gently. Her fingers cross over Prompto's, dangling in his grasp — a good premonition of the smile that comes sailing over her face a few seconds later. Right as forecasted, it's an echo of a grin biting at her lips. Shy and hapless, despite the dignified air she puts on: the regal breeding of a Nox Fleuret in her posture, a high backing casting a deceptive calm (feigned).
She's been here before. Every time, when the crowds failed to disperse, looking on at her with too much hope. The common denominator is the weight of it — the burden struck heavily over her back where they sit, heels cooling on carpet. And strangely, Prompto hasn't wrenched away, not from her lukewarm touch or the hesitation contorting in her. She's only half-competent at the task. Only half-good, the rest of her human and pulled apart by contradictions: to guide Noctis or stand by him, to remain here or to go ahead, rousing the rest of the Astrals to pay heed to the crown prince's call when the rest of the entourage comes. ]
It's nothing so exacting, Prompto. It was merely what was required of me, and I cannot say I begrudge it. It's all I've known, and I only hope I can continue to prove myself capable. With you and the others to lend me your aid, I have no fears.
[ Odds are, she won't survive this trip. But it's not a very tender, delicate matter for someone so acquainted with death and loss, the parameters of which are devastating and far-reaching. Luna's hands withdraw, unlinking from Prompto, shaking free of the pleasant numbness of it prickling after holding the same position for so long. Reading the shift in his face in the uptick of his mouth, she shakes her head, the crease between her brows smoothing itself out. ]
Though, I must profess that it's much easier to talk in close company than before an audience. I would assume that it's the same for most people, and to have so many eyes on you can be quite humbling at times ...
[ Scrutinized by her next of kin for her favoritism, walking the tripwire. The truth is, she's either losing her imperfect touch on the situation, or their adversaries are gaining their own. It's much too late for her to prove her own in a fight, weak of constitution (even if not particularly lacking in spirit), but peering at Prompto now is nostalgic — like maybe she'd open her heart a bit more fully if she'd been the girl she was ten years younger with wishes of her own. That one letter. That one missed connection. Luna tips her head, softens her sorrow. ]
But I don't regret any of it. Being the Oracle is an honor. I'm glad I could reach you with those words, too. It's not something I would've been able to accomplish, had I not accepted this role. Though you've faced much strife in the past, I'm very happy I could reach you as I am.
[ Gaze limpid, Luna slides her hands down the minuscule creases wrinkling her dress, rising to her feet. ]
I suspect it must've been dreadfully boring watching me from all the way up here, though. Would you like to join me in a walk around the general area? Until the others return.
[ Perhaps that retracted grip was too premature, though, given how she outstretches her hand out to him again: an askance to pull Prompto back upright. ]
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(Gentiana, warning her of her duties, still. The selfishness she takes on in Noct's company: the appeal toward joy, smarting with the memory of holding Noctis's hand and guiding him through the fields of sylleblossoms, the undulating blue of the sea enthralled with the land, all the rippling petals and half-made blooms, the wonderful transience of life where it was only ever meant to decay and fade. Magic runs its course through her veins, but Luna's governed only by her own whims, by the cruel, outlandish dictates of her pulse. Fate wasn't merciful enough to render her unfeeling.)
Her own life is too impressively short to be afraid how Prompto was, afraid to take that leap of faith under the brunt of aggression and all that could quash a soul down to its essence. But Luna recognizes that duality in them: the sick, retching despair of the unknown that rears up, even if his own fight is on a magnitude that deals with himself, and hers is a conflict that's never belonged to her. Not since the Niflheim invasion. Not since she'd released King Regis's hand, and with it, bidding farewell to Prince Noctis and whatever life she could've had beside him if she was never crowned the Oracle.
Her fingers shape themselves inwards, curling toward her palms, leaving half-moons between the creases. ]
No, I'm happy I could inspire you, although you should know that you've been underestimating yourself. I've seen how you support the others. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for. I suppose that claim must sound very presumptive, though, after what you've told me. I apologize for that.
[ His fears are ungrounded, but it's not as if she misunderstands the oppressiveness the grip of the psyche is, conditioned toward self-doubt. Even now, Luna's charity is something born from Prompto's boldness, taking the initiative for raw-boned honesty in a way she couldn't allow for herself. None of Noctis's party are aware of the extent of the arduous ordeals awaiting them, and she can't bring herself to it, to cause undue suffering where they should be gladdened for what time they can spend in each other's company. It's just as simple as listening to Prompto, though, to know where her errors in attempting to carry the weight of the trials to come on her own lie. Breaching the polite distance, Luna shifts until their knees are all but touching, the two of them lingering in close proximity to each other. ]
... You aren't invisible, Prompto. You're here with me, and beside those who would entrust to you their lives, their hopes, their dreams. I scarcely doubt Noctis would bring along someone he felt was unsuited for the trip. He has faith in you. As do we all.
[ He needn't be restrained by his trepidations the way she has resigned herself to her own. Luna can discern what Noctis saw in Prompto that was so compelling: how guileless and sweet his painful honesty was. Without further precursor, her hands revolt against her better compulsions, gliding to deftly clasp around Prompto's fingers. Bracing his hands around the knuckles, she holds them aloft between her palms like the consecration of an open prayer. ]
It would have been nice to be penpals. But I'm glad I could know you like this, in person. It's not very often that I meet someone with such a sincere heart. Being at your side feels very warm.
[ And that's enough. For all of her regrets and her isolation and her will, all bowed before fate, that there are some things that fall to Luna to mean something precious (that thank-you, that gratitude, kinder than anything) when her existence amounts to so little in the grander scheme of things. ]
So you're welcome. I only hope that I can support you in the same regard. As your friend, if you'll allow it.
no subject
[ he wonders what exactly she garnered, from his tentative approaches only to back away the last second. he supposes, he used the same tactic with noct, way back when. coming close to him, hiding behind a telephone pole watching him get into his car to be taken back to the citadel, but never actually saying anything. his gaze flashes to their hands, then back to her face, sheepish. ] Sorry about that, by the way. I hope you didn’t think that I didn’t like you, or anything. More like, I couldn’t figure out what to say.
[ he was pretty much tongue-tied, at the sight of her. and he almost winces, thinking on how stilted their interactions were in comparison to how fluidly she and gladio, or even she and ignis seemed to get along. but then again, friendship, it’s never come easy to him. and he supposes this new one had to have it’s own trial of nerves and his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.
the smile he gives, it’s a shade less tentative then the ones that came before. they’re friends, they’re friends and there’s no reason now, to act like a stuttering mess around her. their legs bump together, and he thinks that he should probably enjoy this, the feeling of her hands clasped around his own, because it’s not likely to be a repeat event. ] But, that’s in the past now. [ some of it is still there. the hesitance. the nerves showing still in the highlight of red across his face. ] You know, I want to support you too. [ because in his eyes… it only seems like he’s taken from her. taken her support, taken strength from her words. the itch to prove himself worthy, to help, is suddenly back in full force. though he doesn’t exactly know how to go about it. lunafreya, she’s always seemed untouchable ( a figure in the distance, the writing in noct’s journal, the message of hope on the radio ), seemed… perfect. not needing anyone’s help. but that can’t be right. ] It must be tough, having everyone look to you.
[ having everyone look at you, even. being watched, being televised. he can’t imagine it. and in a way, he guesses he’s been lucky. to be nothing special, to be graced with… being normal. he was alone sure, but he was never bothered like noct was, his actions never scrutinized. ]
I can’t imagine it.
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She's been here before. Every time, when the crowds failed to disperse, looking on at her with too much hope. The common denominator is the weight of it — the burden struck heavily over her back where they sit, heels cooling on carpet. And strangely, Prompto hasn't wrenched away, not from her lukewarm touch or the hesitation contorting in her. She's only half-competent at the task. Only half-good, the rest of her human and pulled apart by contradictions: to guide Noctis or stand by him, to remain here or to go ahead, rousing the rest of the Astrals to pay heed to the crown prince's call when the rest of the entourage comes. ]
It's nothing so exacting, Prompto. It was merely what was required of me, and I cannot say I begrudge it. It's all I've known, and I only hope I can continue to prove myself capable. With you and the others to lend me your aid, I have no fears.
[ Odds are, she won't survive this trip. But it's not a very tender, delicate matter for someone so acquainted with death and loss, the parameters of which are devastating and far-reaching. Luna's hands withdraw, unlinking from Prompto, shaking free of the pleasant numbness of it prickling after holding the same position for so long. Reading the shift in his face in the uptick of his mouth, she shakes her head, the crease between her brows smoothing itself out. ]
Though, I must profess that it's much easier to talk in close company than before an audience. I would assume that it's the same for most people, and to have so many eyes on you can be quite humbling at times ...
[ Scrutinized by her next of kin for her favoritism, walking the tripwire. The truth is, she's either losing her imperfect touch on the situation, or their adversaries are gaining their own. It's much too late for her to prove her own in a fight, weak of constitution (even if not particularly lacking in spirit), but peering at Prompto now is nostalgic — like maybe she'd open her heart a bit more fully if she'd been the girl she was ten years younger with wishes of her own. That one letter. That one missed connection. Luna tips her head, softens her sorrow. ]
But I don't regret any of it. Being the Oracle is an honor. I'm glad I could reach you with those words, too. It's not something I would've been able to accomplish, had I not accepted this role. Though you've faced much strife in the past, I'm very happy I could reach you as I am.
[ Gaze limpid, Luna slides her hands down the minuscule creases wrinkling her dress, rising to her feet. ]
I suspect it must've been dreadfully boring watching me from all the way up here, though. Would you like to join me in a walk around the general area? Until the others return.
[ Perhaps that retracted grip was too premature, though, given how she outstretches her hand out to him again: an askance to pull Prompto back upright. ]