nysalogs | [ OPEN ] ❝ and i don't want to talk about the world ❞

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[ OPEN ] ❝ and i don't want to talk about the world ❞

Who: Prompto (

punshots) & YOU
What: October catchall, with open prompts for part 1 of the event!
When: Right the heck now!
Where: Around Olympia
Warning(s): sad boy...but none probably?!

I. MARKET DISTRICT.

[ He's there when the bomb goes off.

Not within range to be affected by it, but as a member of the royal guard, Prompto's very assignment is to patrol the market district. Facing down Victarion after he'd killed a man there the week previous had been harrowing enough, given him too much to think about, too many questions to ask about himself and what he was even doing in the guard in the first place. This latest attack is nothing short of a slap across the face.

Not that he lingers on how it makes him feel - he hardly dwells on it. As always, he's feelings are shuffled neatly aside, even when reaching out to his friends - his brothers - to make sure they're okay in the aftermath, only to find his messages rebounding. Noctis, Ingis, and Gladio - all three, in stasis once more.

He's not equipped to deal with this devastation right now, so he doesn't. He bottles it up, sets his jaw, and goes to work. This bomb went off on his watch, so...he has to find the people responsible, right? Of course he does. It's what...Noct would have done.

So he'll be doing the following:

A. Assisting with clean-up. The bomb has made a terrible mess of things, and these merchants in the market district are people he knows well by now. He knows their names, their families, their hopes and dreams, and something like this is nothing short of devastating for many of them. He can't replace what was infected, but he can at least help clear away what's no longer fit to sell.

He approaches with a hefty (just the adjective, not the brand, Hefty TM Reynolds Consumer Products, Inc.) trash bag that's already pretty swollen with infected goods, wearing gloves and a respirator provided by the Institute. For acting as a literal garbage man, he looks pretty chipper. ]

What's the word? [ He gestures to whatever goods they're sorting through. ] Think they'll pass biohazard infection?

[ Isn't this fun? He's having the time of his life. He's fine!

B. Investigating the area. The crime scene itself is the obvious place to start looking for clues to track down the persons responsible for the attack. Word spreads quickly through the guard that they're looking for individuals tattooed with an "M" on their wrists, so he'll address anyone still lingering nearby, looking over his shoulder and hiding his mouth with his hand - he's very...stealthy... ]

Hey...sorry to bug, but - did you happen to see anyone leaving this area around bomb o'clock today?

[ Yep. Still fine! ]

II. CHASING CRIMINALS.

[ Evidently, his investigating does turn up some promising leads, and Prompto is hot on the heels of one of those suspected associates, which he tipped off with his presence far too early and gave the woman a generous headstart. He's pursuing on foot, leaping between vehicles and over stalls - sometimes more gracefully than others - and if he weren't caught up in this, if this weren't so personal for him, he'd probably take a moment to appreciate the fact that he might kind of look like a badass right now.

But he doesn't allow himself that much, and he pursues the suspect to a tall, threadbare building that looks like it might collapse with a single gust of wind. The woman starts to scale it, and, okay, that looks pretty cool, too, but he's come this far. He's not about to lose her trail now.

So he grabs the closest person, frantic as he turns them to face him: ] How good are you at climbing?

[ And then adds, a moment later after glancing between the building and whoever he's grabbed: ] I'm super sorry about this!

III. TENDING THE ILL.

[ If you didn't know any better, you might think Prompto some sort of crazed, overly-enthusiastic delivery man the way he carts around the city on a bike with a basket filled with soup containers. Where did he get a bike? He probably let a kid hold his gun so he could borrow it for the day. It's not important.

Anyway, that's just what he's doing, zipping across Olympia and ferrying the ambrosia of all illnesses, chicken noodle soup, to his friends - and hell, even one-time acquaintances - in need. He'd been quick to contact just about everyone he knows as the news of the sickness spread, to make sure they were okay, and depending on their response, he tabulated them for future reference. That future reference is now, and he's ringing doorbells, dropping off soup, and by and large wearing a much more genuine smile than he has for days.

It's...hard not to, when he's helping people, even if they might not really need his help.

He can also be caught in between stops, catching a breather on lesser-traveled corners, pulling out his camera to flip back through his photos. He has to go back a considerable way before he reaches his pictures from Eos now, a fact which is so bittersweet it has his eyes glassy, but he grins reflexively at the smiling faces that greet him on the little screen.

With a quiet sigh, he murmurs: ] Hang in there, guys...

IV. WILDCARD.

[ Have something else in mind? Hit me up! I can also be reached on Plurk at retroscape for plotting! ]

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[ He may have several dishes left to wash and left the sink running (....whoops), after what had just startled him awake from his mid-wash reprieve, he's not eager to leave her side again, awake or not.

So when her fingers snag his, nearly falls over himself nodding. He would have insisted on it, had she not asked.

With a long, exhuming sigh, Prompto climbs around her to the other side of the bed, settling back against the pillows and curling towards her. These days it's difficult to tell what might spark her with pain, so he doesn't pull her tight against him, no matter how much he might long to. Instead, he weaves their still-joined fingers together, knees tucked in to knock against hers.

And then...there's so much he wants to say, but can't find the voice for. So he just holds her gaze, even and weary, mesmerizing the way her eyes look at him. ]

[ he's not the only one. their silences are generally comfortable, and this one is not necessarily uncomfortable but there is yet still a palpable presence in the air, words that are waiting to take form. there are a hundred things on her mind, things she must find a way to give voice to however much she may not want to. it's been too long, she has to.. to get things in order.

but first she'll allow herself this moment, this chance to enjoy being near to him while she can, before the fatigue carries her away, before her mind betrays her. gods, she's so tired.. ]

Prompto..

[ it feels as if it's hours before she breaks the silence. his name is soft and gentle on her tongue and she can feel the rush of heat and telltale prickle in her eyes as the tears begin to fill them. but she smiles through them, weak and warm, pulling his hand to cradle it against her chest, their fingers woven together. ]

.. I have asked so much of you, but may I ask.. one more favor of you?

[ The fledgling sign of tears in her eyes has his stomach clenching up, though perhaps it's premature. Whatever favor she has to ask of him could be as simple as fluffing her pillow, bringing her a glass of water or telling her a story, as she'd asked him to before. But there's something about the way this is predicated, with her asking him to lie next to her, to do one more favor. It doesn't sit well in his ears, but even for the way dread is creeping up on him, she knew his answer before she even spoke.

His throat is thick, but he can feel the pitter-patter of her heart against their joined hands, and it wills him onward. ]

Anything.

[ It's a whisper. ]

[ alisaie hesitates. she's always been very direct, very forward but this.. it feels like willfully breaking his heart, even if she knows it is something she must do. knowing it does not make it easier. for a moment her gaze drops away, and she closes her eyes, tears running silently from her eyes, mingled with blood, staining the pillow a soft powder pink. ]

Will you..

[ her voice is tight, the words stuttering out of her mouth, but she takes a deep breath and opens her eyes, pushing forward. ]

When my.. when my brother wakes, will you - will you look out for him? He's a sensitive fool, he'll need someone to.. to..

[ it feels like someone is stepping on her chest, the pressure unbearable - gods, she's so afraid, terror settling into her bones and hooking in. since the beginning she had had a foreboding feeling about all of this, and as the disease progressed her certainty had only grown, but giving voice to it now - that's an entirely different beast. of course she doesn't want to die. but neither does she want to die without saying the things that must be said. her expression tightens, pleading when she looks into his face with tearful eyes. ]

.. please?

[ He doesn't comprehend - not right away, at least, and Prompto's eyes narrow in confusion as she speaks words that are so clearly causing her so much pain to do so. She wants him to...look out for her brother?

But -

His face slowly twists up as it dawns. She wants him to watch out for her brother because she doesn't think she'll be there to do it herself. That she'll be gone. That this plague will take her.

The force of it feels physical, and Prompto's fingers tighten around hers with alarming intensity, his tight features cracking open with a strangled sob. This whole time, he's been so worried about her, fearing what this illness might do to her in the long run, but believing, for the most part, that eventually, she'd be okay. He hadn't brought it up with her, because of course he hadn't, and so he hadn't known what she saw in her own future. But now, it's all too clear. Crystal, really, almost clinical in the way she chooses to set her affairs in order by making sure her brother has someone to welcome him into this new world. She's thought about this. It's not just the delirium talking, and it guts him.

But though it steals his breath away and leaves him staring at her with wide, shocked eyes, it pulls something forth, too. Something usually quiet, a force inside Prompto's own heart that he didn't often call upon. Except, of course, in those moments where it seems like the whole world will shatter around him - figuratively or literally - if he does not.

So although the breath he draws in wavers and rattles, the words he speaks back do not. ]

No.

[ He swallows, but can do nothing for the tears already on his face again. ]

I can't, because you're going to be there to do it yourself.

[ He sounds so sure of it, because in that moment, he believes it. ]

But..

[ at first she's surprised by his outburst and subsequent complete refusal of her request, but then she supposes it's not surprising at all. of course he still believes. and alisaie - she wants to believe too, still clings to the thinnest thread of hope but she's too rational to rely on it, to depend on it. he has watched her deteriorate but he cannot know how it feels, how every breath is a struggle, the weakness that makes her bones feel leaden, the pain that worsens by day and the fracturing of her mind - she can feel herself dying, her body fighting a doomed war and rapidly losing ground every day. there is only so long it can keep up. she is not a god, only a girl.

with a sharp breath she looks away, for the moment at a loss for words. there will be no convincing him, she knows, and she wants to believe it as well, but to die without having said what's in her heart.. gods, she cannot risk that. she cannot take the chance that she might leave this world without saying the important things.

but she won't press the issue. in the end she knows that, even though he is refusing her, if it comes to it he will do as she's asked. he's too kind, too sweet to ignore her last requests when faced with it, and should her brother awaken alone she has every confidence that prompto will befriend him, protect him.. console him. swallowing the knot in her throat, alisaie squeezes his hand again, lifting it to her face to press soft kisses to his knuckles. ]

I love you.

[ her heart is cracking, and so is his, but she must not stop. ]

I love you so, so very much. Without you here.. I would have been lost. Please know that I - I think the world of you. I have never known anyone so kind, so deserving of happiness.

[ She's right, of course. The force with which he believes in something better will not be quelled, not even by her, in these darkest moments. Hope is a light, a flame, that intangible thing which gave him the will to keep going even when everything else seemed to be lost. She doesn't, and he knows, he knows that although she doesn't press the issue, it's not because she agrees with him. But it's alright. He can do the hoping for the both of them.

But the words that follow are absolutely rending, no matter how strongly he believes in her recovery, because she doesn't. She's saying them because...she's afraid she won't have another chance to. They're words so sweet and tender, words that all his life he's longed to hear, and yet each cuts him deep, leaving his heart raw and bleeding, and he has to break away from her gaze to squeeze his streaming eyes shut. ]

Stop - s-stop -

[ The words are barely intelligible between his hiccuping sobs, his entire body wracked with the force of them. It's not the cathartic, cleansing type of cry that they've shared so frequently over the last while - it's a deep, painful one that burns and doesn't heal, one that scoops out his entire soul from his body, one that asks how life could possibly be so unfair to one as good, as wonderful, as perfect as her. How it could possibly go on in her absence.

There is no answer that satisfies, and wholly undeserving of her professions as he is, he can't leave them unreturned, whether or not this is...the end.

His eyes finally find hers again, red and swollen, as he tips his head downward, resting his forehead against hers. ]

I-I love you, too - I always will. Being with you...is more than I ever could have dreamed of. I-I'm so much better now because you're in my heart.

[ It's almost too much, but he forces himself to go on, pushing through his quavering voice. ]

Because I met you...I'll be happy for rest of my life, Alisaie.

[ Whether she's still there to be a part of it...or not. ]

[ alisaie has not the poet's soul to put to words how it feels to watch him come undone. one would think she's flayed his very heart raw and she supposes.. that she has, and the stab of that knowledge is as a knife in her heart.

but she does not regret having said it. he needs to know, he needs to understand how much she admires him, how grateful she is for him. he has to know that he is deserving of all the love and praise she could offer, that he has value beyond what he feels to be worthy of. more than anything at all, more than the circumstances of his birth and all the painful things he has experienced since, the true tragedy is how little he thinks of himself. alisaie is not an unkind girl, but neither is she the sort to coat her words or feelings with sweetness to make them more palatable, but with prompto she has never wanted to. never needed to. when she says he is the kindest soul that she has ever known she means it well and truly, and nothing upsets her more than the thought that he considers himself undeserving.

of course it may not be enough. one dying girl's wish and proclamation can hardly hope to shift the path of a river so set in its course, but she can hope at least that he will find some way to be happy nonetheless, should she not make it through. that she will, somehow, have done more good than harm. ]

..good.

[ for all it feels her soul is being skinned alive there is a.. satisfaction in her weary voice, and in the way the tension in her body begins to ease. she believes him, that what he's saying is true, and the look on her face is so tender, so raw that she feels naked right down to her bones, stripped bare before his eyes and his heart. the hand not holding to his lifts, her fingers sifting through his soft, pale hair, her thumb tracing the ridge of his cheekbone, over the freckles she loves so much, keeping him near enough to feel every warm gust of his uneven breathing. she cannot hope to soothe him, to comfort away the unbearable ache in his heart but still she tries, tipping up her chin to kiss the tears from his cheek, his eyelids, his brow.

she could go on forever, telling him how much he means to her, to others. how important he is. how good and strong and kind. but she does not need to. what words she's said are more than enough, and all the rest is clear in the soft, lingering press of her kisses, and the way her fingers move through his hair. ]

[ There's no helping the way he dissolves under her tender touch, gestures so simple and sweet, and yet they bring an impossible warmth to his heart, and it's unthinkable that he could had ever known a time in his life where he didn't have this - didn't have her - or that he could come to know such a time again. There'd always been the quiet fear in the back of his heart, that Prompto or Alisaie or both of them could end up back in stasis and it'd be like this exquisitely wonderful thing between them had never happened at all. And yet this...the very idea that his life could go on here without her, not because of stasis, but because of something far worse, is unfathomable. But it will. He knows it will, just as Noctis had continued to walk tall, even after losing Lunafreya. He'd hurt so badly then, and Prompto had nothing but the deepest sympathies for his friend. But he never understood - couldn't have understood - how it felt to lose the one you love.

Until now.

It's...a strange thought. Like living without the sun shining, without the warm breeze on your face, without your heart beating for a real purpose. But he'd told her...he'd be happy, and that was true. This time they've had together, pulled from adjacent worlds to become friends and then lovers, however brief, means the world to him, and it always will. To love someone like her, and feel so completely loved in return...how could he be anything but happy?

In the end, he only has the strength to cry for so long, his body fatigued and waiting for the sweet release of sleep that he still holds out on. Under the warmth of her kisses, her fingertips, he starts to dry out, his breathing still shallow but more even now. He just...doesn't have the energy to cry any longer, though the ache is still there, blistering and angry and red. And in the haze that follows, his free hand lifts to her face, to trace her jaw, her lips, the arc of her cheeks and her ears, like he's afraid he'll forget her face unless he memorizes it with his touch.

As his thumb passes over her bottom lip, still chapped and crusted with blood, he finally finds his voice again. ]

Can I ask one more favor you?

[ she could lie here as long as they like, as long as her consciousness would allow, simply experiencing one another. she holds him while he weeps, and while her own eyes and cheeks are wet she doesn't have the energy to sob as he does though they experience it as one nonetheless. she murmurs and hushes him, dragging her fingernails against his scalp and her kisses over his brow until at last he begins to run out of tears and settle in her arms, weary and spent.

her eyes close against the drag of his fingertips while he touches her face, and in this moment somehow she is able to feel.. peace. if this is the last thing she is to know, to experience, then perhaps she can pass with happiness in her heart.

but when he speaks her eyes crack open again, gazing pensively into his face, her thumb gliding beneath his eyes to catch his tears. ]

Yes, love?

[ She meets his eyes again, and he takes a moment just to appreciate them, to appreciate her, still a marvel, still beautiful, even after all this plague has taken from her. What he wouldn't give to see her smiling and laughing and full of life again...but he's thought that thought over so many times since this all began. It has made no difference so far.

But as they lie there, touching and seamless and infinite, he remembers it all, before Wyver, before she'd fallen ill, before the bomb. He remembers the first time they talked, and she'd chastised him for not making use of his time, but they'd found a simple kinship in what they shared of home. He remembers the fireside, her head on his shoulder. The lake, the sun, laughing so much it hurt. Their first days in Olympia, the first time he realized he'd started to fall for her. He remembers lying with her in the sun, how tenderly she'd held him on the roof when Noctis had disappeared, the moonlight upon her face. He remembers when he told him the worst of his past, only to have her tell him such wonderful words and kiss him for the very first time. He remembers every tender kiss, every warm touch, every time she ever made him feel like he was really worth something. Telling her how he loved her, only to hear those miraculous words said back to him, giving everything to her as she gave him everything and more. Waking up with her in his arms, whole and complete in a way he never expected he could be.

And every day since she got sick, as difficult as they have become, he's only grown to love her more. His heart is so full with it, even now, as her spirit seems to wander so close to somewhere beyond. Something as strong as this, a force that had mended him, bettered him, could not be easily broken by even death.

So after a moment, his head turning slightly to press a kiss to her palm, he answers. ]

When you wake up from this...cured, you'll let me kiss you, and hold you, and tell you how much I love you until I'm out of breath.

[ He holds her gaze, level, and raw. ]

Promise?

[ she's not sure what she expects to hear. some request to be strong, to keep fighting 'til the last moment, something along those lines perhaps. but what he says instead is so sweet and tender that for a moment her breath stills, before rushing out in a hard exhale, her cracked lips curling into a weak but radiant smile.

for all she's done wrong in her life, all the mistakes she has made, being with him had been the right choice. there is nothing in this world that she is more sure of. ]

Yes.

[ her voice is soft and quiet, she speaks into the private space between them that is all their own, her chest comfortably tight. her hands still on his face for a moment, before drawing him in closer, close enough to touch her brow to his, to wrap her arms around his neck and squeeze with what little strength she can muster. ]

I look forward to it.

[ gods, she misses his kiss, the simple pleasure of his mouth on hers driving away all thoughts, all pain, filling her senses with him and only him. if she makes it through this alive she'll be sure to kiss him breathless, to kiss him until their mouths are sore, then kiss him more. ]

[ She leans her head against his and pulls her arms around him, and he does the same. So, so carefully do his arms wind around her that it takes a long moment before he's holding her close, but once he is, he feels at peace, a grin find its rightful place on his lips.

He knows she will fight. He knows if there's anyone who can still come out of this alive, it's her. So her promise isn't just a sweet nothing; it's a steadfast rope for him to cling to, a beacon to draw him from the depths of despair. There's nothing else he can do to help the cure come any quicker. So all that's left for him to do is believe, to have faith in her, that she'll come through.

It's fortunate that believing in her is such an easy thing for him to do. ]

...Me, too.

[ the careful, gentle pressure of his arms is still enough to hurt, but alisaie has become so accustomed to pain that it does not matter. it's a worthwhile sacrifice to feel his arms around her again, to be able to be so close to him that they become a messy, perfect tangle. it makes her feel strong, loved, cared for. it brings her peace.

but gods she's so tired, tucked up against him like this, the scent of his skin enough to drown out the smell of blood, the warmth of his body enough to chase away the ache in her bones. she is content, happy, and more importantly she is no longer afraid, at least not in any way that can truly touch her. even though she has her misgivings, his endless faith in her ability to overcome this gives her some small modicum of hope.

her head is growing cloudy, like a the curtain drawn before the drama of their evening, and alisaie's eyelids feel heavy as lead. satisfied as she is, comfortable as his arms are, it's growing more and more difficult to keep her eyes open. a deep breath, and her grasp on him begins to slacken a little, her nose bumping his, her words little more than a whisper. ]

I'm.. so tired.

[ He feels her breath gust across his lips, feels her body going still and lax in his arms. Part of him wants to keep her talking, keep her awake and cognizant for as long as possible, for whenever she slips back into sleep, he doesn't know when the next time he'll see her awake again will be. It could be days now, with how things are going. It could be...

But even now, he can't bring himself to accept the finality, that this could be the last time he hears her sweet voice, marred as it is, or feels her warm touch, deliberate in showing him affection. It can't be. It can't be.

He squeezes her hand in his. She shouldn't be afraid to rest. She'll suffer far less that way. ]

I know.

[ He is, too. ]

I'll be here.

[ So should she fall asleep...it will be okay. He'll make sure that it is. ]

[ he'll be here.

and she knows it. prompto is as loyal as a hound, almost to a fault, and knowing that he will remain beside her is a comfort like no other, and his assurance makes her smile, a soft, contented sound in her throat, her fingers moving weakly against his nape.

but she's too exhausted to do more, to keep this up any longer. her mind is thick and soupy and her limbs feel like stone, like she can no longer lift or control them. a soft shudder runs through her body, down along her limbs and with one final, rushing exhale she falls still. ]

[ He can pinpoint the exact moment she slips back into unconsciousness, because the moment after his chest gives a terrible, painful squeeze and would have him searching for signs of life in her were it not for the steady, if slow, rhythm of her heartbeat near their still-joined hands.

But his brief panic abates quickly enough, and content that she sleeps and nothing more, Prompto presses one more kiss to her brow, before letting his eyes flutter shut.

No, he probably still won't sleep, but he can at least lay here, and keep vigil at her side for as long as he needs to. ]

I'll be waiting for you, sweetheart.

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