Ardyn is unmoving for a second or two, and the only thing that betrays he even heard Noctis speak is the way his fingers clench tightly around his scarf as he had moved to adjust it again. The other young man can't see it, of course, not from this angle -- for all he might assume, Ardyn is actually ignoring him.
Far be it from that being the case.
He drops his hand, and immediately he feels it swell within him -- that whirlwind of emotion that he had just managed to press down and neatly pack away, for the sake of a quiet moment in front of the fire. How easily Noctis' words pick all of that apart, and suddenly he's met with that swirling frustration and anger and spite and tiredness that he carries within him, brought to the forefront at the promise of being met with the Chosen King.
Ardyn actually lets out a laugh, low and undeterminable, before he stands to his feet. All six-foot-three of him, as if he were a shadow unfolding to its full height, cast stark against the light of the bonfire.]
Well, if it isn't Noctis.
[He's so sure of it, that when he turns around, meeting the boy face-to-face, he makes certain to greet him with a wide grin.
What he sees, of course, only proves to flare that anger up further. It was him, certainly -- Noctis Lucis Caelum, the one destined to fell him once darkness had descended upon Eos. The one whom he had waited for, for so long, to finally put an end to it all. But it was the wrong him. There would be no power overflowing from this King. Still all too young, still far too irritated to see him; look at the way he was clenching at that firewood, as if he was going to break them all in two, just upon laying eyes on him.
This shouldn't come as a surprise to Ardyn, not really. He had already stumbled across Prompto earlier, having seen that the boy was younger than he remembered as well. But Prompto was disposable, unimportant. Noctis, however, had been a key figure in his plans, and though these machinations had been laid to waste so swiftly by the Storm, there's something about seeing walking proof of his work undone, glaring at him like that, that really gets under his skin.
And so his words are practically spat out, despite himself. He opens his arms wide in a mocking gesture.]
campfire prompt masquerading as pain
Ardyn is unmoving for a second or two, and the only thing that betrays he even heard Noctis speak is the way his fingers clench tightly around his scarf as he had moved to adjust it again. The other young man can't see it, of course, not from this angle -- for all he might assume, Ardyn is actually ignoring him.
Far be it from that being the case.
He drops his hand, and immediately he feels it swell within him -- that whirlwind of emotion that he had just managed to press down and neatly pack away, for the sake of a quiet moment in front of the fire. How easily Noctis' words pick all of that apart, and suddenly he's met with that swirling frustration and anger and spite and tiredness that he carries within him, brought to the forefront at the promise of being met with the Chosen King.
Ardyn actually lets out a laugh, low and undeterminable, before he stands to his feet. All six-foot-three of him, as if he were a shadow unfolding to its full height, cast stark against the light of the bonfire.]
Well, if it isn't Noctis.
[He's so sure of it, that when he turns around, meeting the boy face-to-face, he makes certain to greet him with a wide grin.
What he sees, of course, only proves to flare that anger up further. It was him, certainly -- Noctis Lucis Caelum, the one destined to fell him once darkness had descended upon Eos. The one whom he had waited for, for so long, to finally put an end to it all. But it was the wrong him. There would be no power overflowing from this King. Still all too young, still far too irritated to see him; look at the way he was clenching at that firewood, as if he was going to break them all in two, just upon laying eyes on him.
This shouldn't come as a surprise to Ardyn, not really. He had already stumbled across Prompto earlier, having seen that the boy was younger than he remembered as well. But Prompto was disposable, unimportant. Noctis, however, had been a key figure in his plans, and though these machinations had been laid to waste so swiftly by the Storm, there's something about seeing walking proof of his work undone, glaring at him like that, that really gets under his skin.
And so his words are practically spat out, despite himself. He opens his arms wide in a mocking gesture.]
Did you miss me?