[ The journey to Wyver nearly does him in with worry.
He wears it well enough, because he forces himself to, as he does. Everyone is tense, and uncertainty lays over the traveling party like a blanket. It's no small thing, to evacuate an entire city that large, and perhaps it's a small mercy that Prompto's role within the guard keeps him busy. He sees that streets and homes are empty, that wagons are loaded and secure, that everyone is on their way. He keeps his friends company, offers what he can in the way of an uplifting distraction, peppers Alisaie's phone with texts. Just simple messages, to let her know where they're at, to see how she's doing, if she's even able to respond. With the state of her, he's not expecting her to be able to communicate so easily, but it's hard to not let his heart clench up in his chest when he goes for hours without hearing from her.
When he receives her picture of the flat, he commits it to memory, memorizes it, and even then, when they finally do arrive in Wyver, he immediately asks for directions from a local on the quickest way to get there. It's telling of the rush he is in to see her that he hardly stops to marvel at the city they've just arrived in. He could go back and help unload the wagons later. For right now? He has to see her. It's not even a decision he has to consciously make.
So soon enough he finds the flat she rented out, calling out to her as soon as he's through the door. Maybe he should have thought ahead, to tell her he'd arrived and to make sure she was here - but she has to be, right? In her state she couldn't be out wandering around, unless, unless...
But then he hears the sound of her coughing from a room beyond, his heart slamming against his ribcage as he follows the sound of it to the bedroom, to her side, where he should be -
In an instance, the relief that floods him at the sight of her evaporates when he sees the blood. Temporarily paralyzed, all he can manage to do is stare, wide-eyed in abject fear, at the state he's found her in. Gods, there'd never been - she hadn't -
Is it getting worse? ]
A-Alisaie?
[ He hates it, how weak and fearful his voice sounds in that moment, because how could he allow himself to feel as much when she's suffering like this? And all at once he's moving again, swallowing hard as he climbs on his knees onto the bed next to her, cupping her face in his hands. ]
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He wears it well enough, because he forces himself to, as he does. Everyone is tense, and uncertainty lays over the traveling party like a blanket. It's no small thing, to evacuate an entire city that large, and perhaps it's a small mercy that Prompto's role within the guard keeps him busy. He sees that streets and homes are empty, that wagons are loaded and secure, that everyone is on their way. He keeps his friends company, offers what he can in the way of an uplifting distraction, peppers Alisaie's phone with texts. Just simple messages, to let her know where they're at, to see how she's doing, if she's even able to respond. With the state of her, he's not expecting her to be able to communicate so easily, but it's hard to not let his heart clench up in his chest when he goes for hours without hearing from her.
When he receives her picture of the flat, he commits it to memory, memorizes it, and even then, when they finally do arrive in Wyver, he immediately asks for directions from a local on the quickest way to get there. It's telling of the rush he is in to see her that he hardly stops to marvel at the city they've just arrived in. He could go back and help unload the wagons later. For right now? He has to see her. It's not even a decision he has to consciously make.
So soon enough he finds the flat she rented out, calling out to her as soon as he's through the door. Maybe he should have thought ahead, to tell her he'd arrived and to make sure she was here - but she has to be, right? In her state she couldn't be out wandering around, unless, unless...
But then he hears the sound of her coughing from a room beyond, his heart slamming against his ribcage as he follows the sound of it to the bedroom, to her side, where he should be -
In an instance, the relief that floods him at the sight of her evaporates when he sees the blood. Temporarily paralyzed, all he can manage to do is stare, wide-eyed in abject fear, at the state he's found her in. Gods, there'd never been - she hadn't -
Is it getting worse? ]
A-Alisaie?
[ He hates it, how weak and fearful his voice sounds in that moment, because how could he allow himself to feel as much when she's suffering like this? And all at once he's moving again, swallowing hard as he climbs on his knees onto the bed next to her, cupping her face in his hands. ]
It's okay, sweetheart, I'm here, I-I'm here -
[ But it's not okay. Not at all. ]