The atmosphere has been tense in both cities ever since the new batch of refugees were shot down out of the sky. Natives and refugees alike will note that things are steadily growing worse and worse... until suddenly, the tension snaps. Chaos erupts on one seemingly ordinary night and will continue until early March, when it all comes to a head. The question is, as always... what will you do?
You may submit an AC-eligible thread set in either Olympia or Wyver for 1 OLYMPIA REP POINT OR 1 WYVER REP POINT respectively, HERE or HERE, so long as the thread involves your character complying with their faction of choice's goals and responsibilities.
As a note, faction compliance in this case refers to actions that benefit the faction in the long term. Meaning that while citizens might be revolting against one another temporarily, assisting their fellow people and business will be considered as faction compliance for the purposes of submitting REP. (For example, raiding the palace in Olympia would earn 1 Wyver REP, whereas helping put out the fires in the palace would earn 1 Olympia REP.)
You may write threads and prompts in both cities, but ICly, they should take place on different days.
Please also note that travel between factions is heavily scrutinized during the events of this log. If your character travels between cities, please report it here. EMBERS IN OUR BLOODLINES
CHAOS ERUPTS. The city hasn't been exactly peaceful for some time — discontented grumbles have been directed at anyone who exhibits even the slightest amount of pro-Wyver (anti-Olympian) sentiment — but now, the tensions have not simply worsened: they've outright snapped.
It wouldn't be unusual to start your day to the sound of breaking glass. Perhaps it's a neighbor's window, or if you're truly unlucky, it's your own. Regardless, it's clear that there are a number of people who decide that violence is the answer. Well-armed shops such as The Sharper are left alone, but The Silk Wyrms, The Wyvernest, and other smaller businesses aren't so lucky. Visit the tailor, and you'll find that someone has broken in and slashed many of the in-progress custom orders; at the dragon cafe, someone has set many of the miniature dragons loose in a bid to purge the city of anything tainted by Wyver's influence. Many shopkeeps are fearful that the culprits might return. They're offering good silver for anyone who will retrieve stolen goods, round up the missing dragons, or find proof of who the culprits were — and for protection in case the culprits return. Linger, and you'll be in a position to potentially stop a repeat attack when the rioters come back with torches and bricks.
Members of the Royal Guard have their hands full with the fights breaking out to attend to every instance of violence against the businesses. Shouting in the squares escalates into bloody brawls — and if you spend any time outside, you'll soon see why. There's a strange mist in the most populated parts of the city, which you may recognize as having similar effects to the waters of Flona Cove that lower one's inhibitions. It spurs those who would usually agree to disagree into shouting matches, and influences people who would normally shout into throwing punches. Members of the Guard, usually a mediating force, are joining the fray themselves.
Even you aren't immune to the mist's effects. Whether you're protecting your home or place of employment, chasing down vandals, rounding up escaped dragons from the dragon cafes, or even just observing what's going on with someone else, you're likely doing it much more aggressively than you typically would... but then, this level of aggression seems to be becoming Olympia's new normal.
SINNERS TO PLAY AS SAINTS. The theaters are miraculously untouched, but The Life and Death of Nithor the Exalted is no longer being put on. Instead, passers-by are being pulled onstage to play out other scenes from Olympia's glorious history. Those who don't want to play along don't have much of a choice; those orchestrating the scenes have people out in the crowds to bring people up by force if necessary.
The base scenario is simple enough: the noble Olympian puts the pathetic Wyvern in their place. Perhaps it's a fight scene: the Olympian comes out on top, of course, and the crowd roars for blood. Wyver weapons are only props, however, but the Olympian weapons? They're very, very real. Or perhaps it's a callback to when the Olympian people marked captured Wyverns with brands to assert their dominance — there is real fire, and real brands, on stage.
If you pass as Olympian, you may be pressed to perform. If you don't want to really hurt someone, you'd best learn how to fake it — refuse to play your part, and the crowd will very quickly turn against you. If you're too obviously not Olympian, or if they recognize you as someone who went off-script last time (and they have very good memory), you'll likely be pressed into the role of an unfortunate Wyvern. Hopefully your co-star is gentle...
Break a leg. Literally, as the case may be.
CRITICAL CONDITION. With all the chaos, it's only a matter of time before people start to seek medical attention. However, along the way to The Sanctuary, they'll be faced with an almost insurmountable barricade. It isn't immediately obvious who put it up, but it's clear that nobody will be getting through it without significant effort.
Approach, and a voice will ring out warning you to keep back. It's one of the employees at the clinic; she has a crossbow in her shaking hands, and if pressed, she'll admit that they put up the barricade to keep out rioters. She understands that there are people who need their help, but the decision was made to keep themselves and their supplies safe so that when the dust settles, they can set out en masse and help more people than they could if they were raided.
If you're accompanied by someone with grievous injuries, or if you're terribly injured yourself, you may be able to convince her to let you in for a quick patch-up, but they're not giving any medicines out. If you need more supplies, you'll have to figure out another way of getting it — either by overpowering the woman on watch and raiding the clinic yourself, or distracting her so that other members of your group can sneak in and take what they need.
Making matters worse is the gigantic vulture-like creature, much larger than the birds in Murkwell Hollow... and much meaner. This beast doesn't wait for eye contact before it attacks: it swoops down out of the sky when people are gathered at the barricade, snatching up anyone it can grab in its talons, fixing on whoever's closest. However, if someone who killed a vulture is present, it pursues them with relentless determination. If not dealt with, it will attempt to eat the dead and the injured without discrimination. It can be driven off with high difficulty using weapons, magical abilities (except fire, which doesn't affect it), and the terrain to your advantage. It will retreat before it can be killed, presumably so that it can regroup and harry the next batch of people to get close to the barricade.
As it retreats it will drop feathers that can be sold to the Institute for study for 100 silver; one feather per character, please. Sales can be reported here.
PALACE BURNS. Chaos reigns for the better part of a week, and toward the end, it escalates past the point of rioting in the streets — the violence reaches Empress Simwe's palace. In the gardens where Olympians and refugees alike had lit lanterns in unity and remembrance mere weeks before, one careless (or perhaps not so careless) flame catches, spreading to the rest of the grounds and to one of the palace walls. The members of the Royal Guard, already stretched thin, are too preoccupied with trying to contain the blaze to stop anyone from pouring in through the breach.
It's an opportunity that looters and dissidents do not pass up.
Follow them in, and you'll find the elegant surroundings being torn apart. Many of the rioters are those who have it out for Simwe and are hunting for her. As she's nowhere to be found, they settle for the next best thing: setting torch to her portraits. Portraits of the late emperor, on the other hand, are left untouched. The vandals are incredibly vocal in their displeasure with Simwe's policies, and almost fanatical in their opinion that life in Olympia would be much better if Simwe had perished in her husband's place. They turn to violence when the frightened maids and other servants don't have the answers they want as they leave a trail of fire in their wake. Will you use them as a smokescreen for your own venture, or will you intervene?
Further inside, the sticky-fingered will find furnishings, clothing, jewelry — anything that isn't bolted down is fair game. In the library, the gilded titles of priceless books glitter on the shelves; in the wine cellar, Simwe's personal collection of extremely fine vintages waits to be sampled; a mirrored room furnished entirely with pillows is draped in lacy underthings; fragrant salts and bottles of perfume sit in a steam-filled bathing room; in the treasury, looters are hard at work squirrelling away silver and carrying off golden baubles. Nobody looks too closely at anyone's face unless given a reason to, but in the morning, heads will certainly roll. You could make off with your own treasure from the palace with none the wiser, or you could stop one of the looters — maybe it's even a fellow refugee — and turn them in to the guard to help restore some order to this night of chaos.
In the depths of the treasury, there is a group trying to get past a sealed door. They're an unpleasant, volatile lot, and they make a lot of noise about how if they can just get their hands on the heart of the legendary dragon, they'll be able to wipe Wyver from the map once and for all and put someone competent on the throne. After multiple failed attempts, they start offering a reward of 50 silver to anyone who makes an attempt at opening the door.
ABOUT THE DOOR: The inner treasury door is enchanted to stand up to all manner of assaults, both magical and physical. Any attempts to dispel the enchantment will fail, but characters are welcome to make attempts in exchange for cash. While minor force will be harmlessly absorbed by the shields on the door, anything of great strength will be reflected back at its point of origin — so be ready to dodge!
Whether you help the Guard put out the fire, steal from the palace, try and get past the enchanted door, or make attempts to stop the looters, your actions may have consequences later. Please report any significant actions you take here.
NOTE: Characters are welcome to steal a single minor, setting-appropriate item from the palace. Mod approval is not required. Any items of greater import in the palace are locked in a vault and inaccessible.
BLOOD ON MY HANDS LIKE THE BLOOD IN YOU
FOR GLORY. Meanwhile, in Wyver, the holiday celebrating Nithor's death may have finished, but the spirit is still high. The citizens, eagerly awaiting the results of the contest from earlier in the month, congregate at a large stadium in the East End on the morning of the 21st and encourage refugees to join them — not only will the contest winner be announced, but there will be a series of physical trials to select Wyver's best and brightest.
This yearly event is considered the true end to the holiday. They honor those who excel at the arts — whether they be standard arts or the art of combat — and with these trials, they will honor those who excel on the battlefield. King Shanrian himself speaks to kick off the festivities, holding a distinctly human skull in his hands the entire time he's in view.
 Everyone, join me in praising the winners of our citywide contest! I was, heh... quite delighted with the meat jelly dish submitted by citizens Clair and Frederick. Such creativity! Meanwhile, dear Shenya loved hearing the beautiful music provided by Diva and Tani Umenosuke. And as you all well know, his vote is my vote.
Now I speak to you on a more serious note: I encourage all of you to join the legacy of those who helped bring down the mad and oppressive Nithor. I ask you all to join the trials. Show the world that we are a people of honor. For we do not seek glory, but fairness, liberty, and truth. Citizens, do you have what it takes to represent your home?
Signing up is simple. Interested parties are to submit their name at the registration desk, and by high noon, the festivities will kick off in full.
First up is a tournament — to thin the numbers down and ensure that only the best of the best make it to the end, participants are matched to a fight until one side is incapacitated. The air is thick with excitement, and bouts continue all day and through the night. Vendors have set up temporary stalls to sell food, toiletries, pillows, and blankets for those who don't wish to miss even a moment of the action.
If you're participating, you will take part in three fights before the finalists are determined; if you are not, you will be free to watch from the audience or, if you're acquainted with people who are fighting, to go behind the scenes to assist them by bringing them water or medicine between matches or even just give them moral support. Either way, you'll notice a slight shift in the air as time goes by.
Midway through the preliminary matches, the atmosphere changes from enthusiastic to outright bloodthirsty. Observers who were content to see a knock out will call for blood. People will start to clamor for the losers to lose their lives, and audience members will find themselves itching for a fight. One wrong look and the fighting might not just be constrained to the ring.
Make it through to the finals, and your trial will be more focused on teamwork: after all, the assassins who took down Nithor had to work together to get their job done. Finalists are paired off to face a variety of beasts, some from Wyver, some from Olympia, and some from other, far-flung parts of the isles. There is no set number of winners — anyone who performs well will be honored with a prize of silver at the end — but the beasts are ferocious, and it will take coordination and exceptional skill to make it out unscathed.
Either way, it's sure to be a spectacle.
HEARTY DIETS. The city's atmosphere does not become peaceful with the conclusion of the trials. Wherever you turn, the people around you seem to be more combative than usual - and in this city, that can be quite the feat.
To mark the end of another successful set of trials, the shamans of the Altar of Volkkra make dragon's blood, which they partake in for one of their rituals, more widely available to the public. Most drink it straight, although there are some who take it mixed in with other drinks. Either way, the effects are the same:
Drinking dragon's blood will feel like drinking liquid fire. It will burn the entirety of its way down and leave you with a presence in your chest that you will carry with you for three days before wearing off. It is a warmth that seems to imbue you with the strength and confidence of the dead dragon. The adrenaline will minimize any great pains, and you will have the sense that the path you choose is right.
Unfortunately, there is a downside. The dragon blood will keep you restless until the effects wear off. Confidence will turn into mindless arrogance. If you and your companion both drink the blood, you will butt heads because you will believe the other is wrong. Additionally, you may experience the need to hoard. The shamans say it is a trial you must endure to learn not to overindulge, but to someone who has never drank before, the feeling will be overwhelming.
Dragon's blood isn't the only variety to partake in. This time of year, the blood of a variety of monsters can be found to drink; it's said that consuming a creature's blood will imbue you with that creature's power. Whether this is true or not remains to be seen — some insist it's a rumor, while others swear its veracity — but fueled by the confidence the dragon's blood has drawn out of them, the natives are very insistent that you try it out, and some may even challenge you to a blood-drinking contest.
There are some who say that they've managed to procure the blood of Olympians, and that ingesting it will sap the strength of the Olympian people and bestow it upon Wyver instead. Some Wyvern natives aren't willing to allow the blood of their most hated enemies past their lips and would instead use Olympian blood to paint out scenes of their destruction, either on the walls like the murals or on charms from the Altar of Volkkra, as it is said to have the same effect. If you're offered some of this "paint," it's probably better to accept. After all, refusal would be very un-Wyvernlike, and you wouldn't want to be marked as the next target for someone hoping to procure Olympian blood, would you?
FANNING FLAMES. Since the trials, natives have lit bonfires throughout the city as a way of showing support for their favorite contenders; the belief is that as long as the flames continue to be fed, the contender will continue to fight well. Even now that the trials are over, the flames burn bright. These contenders are Wyver's hope of victory over Olympia, after all; isn't it better to keep the fires ablaze until they've brought the Olympians to their knees?
But it isn't just wood that they're using for kindling. This time they want a more personal offering. Many of the natives will shed their own blood to throw into the fire, and still more roam the streets in search of people to feed to the flames. You might find yourself one of their targets if you've been too noticeably traveling between the cities on a regular basis, or if you've made the mistake of donning the Olympian colors of white and gold even in a subtle way. Perhaps you come off as a loyal citizen of Wyver, and they've tapped you to assist them with feeding a person to the flames — If you refuse, you might face scrutiny yourself.
Chaos is on the rise. It's a bastardization of celebration that has long since gotten out of hand, although few seem inclined to try and contain it. Those who do are mainly shouted down or silenced by other means, and if you're looking to assist them in quelling the unrest, you'll have to be subtle lest you wind up facing the citizens' ire.
Luckily, there is something to provide a distraction: a gigantic vulture-like creature, much larger than the birds from Murkwell Hollow, has come to hunt . When it descends, it makes to grab anyone with its talons, with one exception — if anyone who killed a vulture in Murkwell is nearby, it will ignore the others and focus its attempts on tearing them apart with a relentless, single-minded determination. If not driven off, the dead and the injured will become its next meal, and it has no qualms about diving into the flames to snatch up bodies, as it's unharmed by fire. It can be driven off with high difficulty using weapons, magical abilities (other than fire), and the terrain to your advantage, but will retreat before it can be killed so that it can regroup and make another attempt at snatching up bodies later.
As it retreats it will drop feathers that can be sold to the Altar of Volkkra for experimentation for 100 silver; one feather per character, please. Sales can be reported here.
BEASTLY EXHIBITS.The shamans of Volkkra, perhaps under the influence of dragon's blood, have their own way of dealing with the unrest. Throughout the week, those protesting the chaos start to vanish, and either from rumors or direct observation it will soon become obvious why: they're being brought to the main Altar of Volkkra, all the way up on Namarak Summit. If you have been attempting to calm people down, you might just find yourselves taken; otherwise, you can tail the shamans to the summit to find what's going on for yourself.
Those taken to the main altar are blindfolded and thrust into the labyrinthine halls without a flame to guide their way. Shamans guard the entrances and exits; inside, all light but that of the Eternal Flame have been extinguished. Other shamans, who take part in the rumored experiments, roam the halls with wicked-looking knives in search of new test subjects. If they come across you, you'll need to either fight or run.
It is possible to escape this, either by overpowering them or by using your wits. It's even possible to find your way to the entrance and fight your way past the shamans guarding it — but the when the first person sets foot out of the halls, the shamans call for backup. Menacing shrieks and roars sound from inside the mazelike halls, and strange, mishmashed creatures emerge from the darkness.
They're angry, and they're willing to lash out at both refugee and shaman alike.
ABOUT THE MONSTERS: They are amalgamations of people and creatures from all over the isles, and each one is different. One might have the head of a Duldrum, the torso and arms of a man, and the lower half of a Glowing Snake; another might look like a Wispurr with a second head of an Unlucky Cat grafted onto it, and the abilities to match. The shamans seem to have been mixing and matching the features and abilities of both named and unnamed creatures as they see fit, and they've whipped them up into a frenzy — these chimeras crave blood, and will not stop until their targets are dead, or they are.
They can be killed with medium difficulty using your own weapons, supplies from the Altar, and any abilities you might possess; survive, and the shamans will let you go with 200 silver as compensation, having decided that you've proven your worth and that your strength may be an asset to Wyver in the future. If your character successfully kills a chimera, please report it here.
An AC-eligible thread in which your character complies with their faction's goals for 1 REP POINT FOR EITHER OLYMPIA OR WYVER may be submitted from this log. SUBMIT THE THREAD FOR OLYMPIA OR WYVER HERE OR HERE RESPECTIVELY BY MARCH 14th 11:59 PM EST.
We will no longer be providing overflow posts. In an event where the post hits CAPTCHA, players are advised to move threads to an overflow post on their character journals or create their own catch-all post. These threads remain eligible for AC, AC Rewards, and REP.
1 SILVER = 1 US DOLLAR.
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R-Rocket?!
[ That's got to be him, right? Prompto reaches up to confirm with his hands, touching Rocket's quivering fur, but he goes rigid as a board the moment he hears that unholy shriek. ]
Wh-wh-what the hell -
[ Prompto can just make out the form of something monstrous and deformed sliding out into the hallway before them. Without another second of hesitation, he whirls around and breaks into a full sprint away from the thing, its cry still ringing in his ears. ]
Shit! Shit! Shit -- what is that thing?!
[ Because it is definitely chasing them. ]
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Prompto turning tail is the only thing that brings his awareness back to the situation at hand and not to his current trauma. Rocket still doesn't answer the question, though- or at least he doesn't answer it in any way that makes sense to a normal person.] They made that thing.
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They made it?
Prompto's stomach erupts into knots, his skin clammy and ice cold in an instant. Not this again. Not this again. ]
We gotta get out of here. We gotta get out of here. We gotta -
[ He breaks into a full run again, but it's not as if he has any idea where he's going. ]
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At least Prompto seems to get that haste is necessary and picks up, though it takes a second for him to come down from his own adrenaline high to realize that there's something wrong here. Most people, he assumes, would demand to know what the hell he means or something else, but Prompto has gone quiet, putting all of his thought into booking it. Rocket immensely appreciates that, but it baffles him.
Which is a nice distraction from the anguish that grips his chest.
He waits until they've blindly turned two different corners and he can't smell the stench of anything but acrid burning and digs his claws a little tighter into Prompto's shoulder, just barely avoiding drawing blood.] Kid, stop. Stop. Hold on.
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The sharp dig of Rocket's claws gets through to his brain, though, his words connecting a moment later. Breathing sharply, Prompto skids to a stop, grasping at the nearby wall for support. ]
Wh - we can't - we should keep -
[ Yet he's too winded, too frayed to complete any of those thoughts. ]
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[He could come down off Prompto's shoulder and not suffer any further degradation of needing to be on top of someone who isn't Groot- people as a general rule, make very poor perches. Not a lot to hang onto, and they're not very tall to boot.
Rocket pauses to catch his own breath, even though he wasn't the one running.] You, uh... You got pretty spooked there.
[Said the furball still on his shoulders, breathing like he's trying to prevent a panic attack.]
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After a moment, he finally offers: ] Y-yeah, I - [ He sighs. ] Guess I was.
[ And then he leans more heavily into the wall, breathing deeper. This explanation is probably a long time coming, ever since he learned what Rocket is - that they have more in common than either of them might like to admit. But to confront it now, in such a way...
It isn't easy. But it never is. It never will be. That's why he can count on one hand the people who know.
He wets his lips. ] Just can't get away from it, can we? People...think they can just create life for their own ends. Like...what they made shouldn't even have a choice. It's happening in Olympia, it's happening here. It happened...where I'm from, too.
[ And he doesn't mean that generally. ]
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Calm down, you idiot, he chides himself. You're better than this.
He keeps his back to Prompto, still hunched over on all fours, until finally he straightens up, while still keeping his gaze fixated on the wall. When he speaks, it's borderline incredulous.] This happened where you came from?
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[ It kind of...freaked him out. In a big way. No matter where he goes, this sort of thing seems to follow him, like fate just can't stop reminding him of where - and what - he came from.
Rocket doesn't turn to look at him, and that's fine. Easier, actually, to stare at the darkness of the wall across from him as he catches his breath. It does nothing for his hammering heart, however. ]
They just don't know when to stop, do they? [ A quiet, humorless laugh. ] Neither did the guys who...w-who made me. Heh...bet they're planning to use those guys against Olympia, too.
[ Machines of war, just like he was supposed to be. ]
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Whoa, whoa. Whoa. [He sounds livid. He sounds genuinely upset. He sounds like he's having several genuine emotions all at once, and none of them are hindered by acerbic wit and sarcasm.] Someone made you? You're not-
[He doesn't finish that sentence. Maybe even can't. There's just no nice way to do it.]
no subject
[ And then he grabs his right wrist, fingers curling around a wristband he wears there. Rocket may have noticed that he is never seen without it, but it's easy enough to attribute that to personal style, right?
Not so much.
Prompto tugs the wristband up his arm so Rocket can see the barcode printed onto his skin there. It's been apart of him his entire life, but always hidden until recently, and even then, only a seldom few have ever seen it. Learned what it means. ]
I...am human, but I wasn't made to live a normal life. They made me, and millions of other just like me, just to farm us for our souls so they could corrupt us and shove us into their tin soldiers. Just...like that thing down the hall. It never had a choice. Neither did you, or me.
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That never seems to be as comforting as one would think. Because it's not true, and the fact that somewhere it could be true hurts more than the knowledge that it isn't.
The barcode makes him flinch, in spite of himself. He doesn't have one- just an experiment number embedded under the skin, hidden by fur unless you know where to look. 89P13.
His gaze lowers the more Prompto talks, only to shoot back up again.] So you knew the whole time, huh?
[Not that he didn't make it obvious- a general disdain for animal experimentation? Fear and sympathy for the chimera? Being completely terrified of Evras to the point of needing to map out the entire location of his place just in case. And all of this on top of the way he looks. It all adds up.]
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As he sighs quietly, shrugging his shoulders: ] Guess I sorta just...pieced it together over time.
[ It wasn't a hard jump to make, all things considered. ]
You and I have more in common than you thought, huh?
[ But what a thing to have in common. ]
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[He can't really say for sure what pushed him to speak, other than it's precisely what he told Rosalind once, and if he can tell her with her head so full of the same drive they had then surely he can be... vulnerable with Prompto.
He still hates it. He's still uncomfortable. But it's whatever.]
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Even after replacing his wristband, Prompto's fingers stay tightly wound around his wrist. ]
We were made for war. Big surprise, right? There were millions of others just like me. Only made us so they could corrupt us. Take away our humanity and...turn us into their brainless robots.
[ And he means that very literally. ]
I got rescued when I was still a baby. I was the only one.
[ Of millions. ]
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[It's stupid to be jealous of another person's trauma, but here he is, half-longing for that kind of purpose, even if he rejected it, even if it made him just as angry. At least it would have been for something. At least then his life had some use, some value.
The thought fades as quickly as it came. Both options suck. In the end, a bunch of idiots played god and living things suffered for it.]
I'm the only one who got out. [He doesn't even know out of how many. He had a group. He assumes they're all gone now. Lylla, included.
He turns his head, eager to keep from remembering that, and frowns at the sound of claws on stone. He never thought he'd be relieved to hear that sound. It almost makes the sarcasm override the fear and unhappiness.] As much as I love talkin' about my feelings, we do still have a problem...
[Never mind that he started this. He can finish it too. Watch him.]
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With an uneven breath, Prompto turns towards the sound of the beast, his expression and posture tight. ]
Right. What do we do?
[ Do they...put it out of its misery? ]
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But at the same time, it feels a lot like what they used to do to subjects that didn't turn out the way they wanted- putting them down because they were defective and useless.]
I don't wanna make that call. [His stomach isn't strong enough. He does a lot of bad shit without remorse, but just straight up murdering creatures who were created to have no choices toes a line that he can't cross. If other people do it, fine.] We get out- if we run into 'em, fine. Kill 'em- at least it's in self defense- but I don't wanna face it down and say it needs to die.
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But Prompto and Rocket have to do better, because they know better. No, these creatures will only die by his hands if there is no other way. ]
Got it. Let's keep moving. Maybe we can outpace it.
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It'll be a work in progress, for sure, but he's considering it, anyway.]
All right, Prompto. Let's get the hell outta here.
[He's not going to make any big stink about the fact that he called Prompto by his correct name and not the stupid nickname he gave him after their first meeting.]
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Right. [ And then he regains something of his usual demeanor. ] Dunno about you, but I've got a dinner date to make.
[ So he starts moving quickly down the corridor again. ]