daemonized | RECOLLE IC CONTACT.

[Ardyn is barely paying attention to Prompto's expression as the young man explains exactly what had happened. Instead, he's looking at those bruises, those scratches, the way the scarlet mark on his arm contrasts brightly with pale skin. The way that his hair seems... singed, even, from something that couldn't have possibly been from an unfortunate example of a hit-and-run; from something that couldn't possibly have been from an experiment conducted safely, as promised.

The professor is frowning, disapproval eking into his tone. Concern is the most prevalent, however, which easily surges to the forefront, drowning out the rest of his thoughts.]

I know it was beyond your control, but you really need to be more careful, Prompto. [Ardyn extends a hand, as if expecting Prompto to offer his so he can heal the boy. It comes without a second thought -- the need to comfort and to heal, the empathy that he extends towards others, even to his own detriment.]

This is happening with far too much frequency for me not to be concerned about the state of your well-being.

[prompto stares at the hand for a while before catching on to what ardyn wants him to do. with a tiny huff and some effort, prompto raises his arm and places his hand over ardyn's. the example of healing is--not quite clear in his head, but ardyn is asking for his hand, for whatever reason.]

[and prompto wishes to comply]

It ain't-- isn't on purpose...

[he mumbles, petulant, and bites his lip]

I'm doing my best, y'know.

I didn't say you weren't.

[He's quick to correct him. He has no doubt that Prompto isn't getting hurt on purpose, or using his best judgment -- but the judgment of youth is quite fallible, and at times very short-sighted. For instance, that singed hair. It nags at him, and there's no way he won't bring it up.

In a bit.

But for now, healing. Prompto will feel a warmth passing through him, starting at the hand, then the arm, then to the whole of his body, like a gentle wave coursing through. Ardyn's hands begin to glow with a faint light during the whole process, taking Prompto's pain from him, slowly but surely making cuts heal and bruises fade. Instead transferring the pain to him, and already the professor feels it blossoming on his leg, his sides, his arm, his face.

He shoves it aside the best he can for now, just keeps talking like it's nothing.]

Or at least, you believe yourself to be. But you have a recklessness about you that I feel shouldn't go unmentioned. Your hair, for instance... [His eyes flicker to look at him directly this time.] How bad was the fire?

[all prompto knows is that this is starting to sound like an interrogation. it sounds like despite everything he's saying, there's fault in his actions and his way of thinking. it reminds him of when his mother would blame him for leaving the house a mess, or for getting bad grades, or not behaving properly enough at school to get called in for a parent-teacher meeting.]

[it reminds him that no matter what he does or says--or doesn't do nor say--he's at fault. at fault for his father leaving, because he wasn't good enough; at fault for getting sick, because he wasn't being healthy enough; at fault for failing his classes, because he never had someone at home to study with him; at fault for getting hit in the face by a ball during gym class, because all he saw was blurry images running around him. or at least you believe yourself to be stings a lot more than what it should, all things considered.]

[despite the awe he should feel because the pain is receding and there's a magical glow about ardyn, prompto removes his hand from the man's hold.]

[he hates how he feels like an echo, saying these words:]

Fine, I get it. It's all my stupid fault.

[it's all your fault!]

[never once did he get the chance... to make mistakes and grow from them. never as a child was he allowed the luxury of being instructed, of learning from wrongdoings, of being kept safe. his reckless upbringing comes from how little supervision was ever placed upon him.]

[his ears feel warm, his expression governed by emotion that threatens to spill (because prompto isn't anything but a soft, sensible boy).]

Don't worry 'bout it. I'll heal on my own terms.

[scurrying away, prompto attempts to get off the couch (he's not stung by the words, but the implication and baggage that come with them)]

[That isn't what he meant, and a flicker of frustration runs through him at words being put in his mouth. He knows that Prompto isn't getting hurt on purpose, that the boy needs guidance now to make up for the lack thereof in the past. He wants to fulfill that role the best he can, but he feels as if he's struck a sore spot -- one that causes the boy to recoil in sensitivity, to retreat from him as if his touch were fire itself.

Without really thinking about it, Ardyn's hand clasps around Prompto's wrist so that he can't escape so easily. He isn't done, and the glow of magic still emanates from his touch. The young man's pain still transferring over to him, to be felt in its rawness with each passing moment.]

Prompto, sit down. Stop being stubborn, I'm only trying to help you. I need you to listen to me, not run away.

[those words, for all intents and purposes, make prompto's chest feel tight. tight with a feeling he has feigned giving up on; tight with the roughly squeeze amount of pain that he's locked away, for years and years.]

[his reaction is raw, like the rawness of the pain ardyn is still, stubbornly (ironic), attempting to heal despite prompto's efforts to move away. his words come in a voice louder than what he had expected. they come from a place of unresolved pain.]

Knock it off! You're not my dad!

[and it bites, just as tears sting in his eyes, the physicality of his attempt to pull away roughly from ardyn's hold such a broad contrast from prompto's usual easygoing manner.]

Stop-- acting like you care!

[it's unfortunate, that caught in the emotion of it all, (why would ardyn want to look after such a fuck up like himself? why would ardyn go through all this trouble? hasn't prompto already imposed too much on this man's kindness? adults aren't like this; prompto should know better), he aims to cause hurt.]

[With those words, Ardyn looks up at Prompto with a furrowed brow, eyes searching. The second time the boy pulls away, he doesn't make an attempt to grasp at him again. His fingers simply slip through his hand as the magic wanes, his injuries only partly healed. (Mostly healed, if the pain lancing through him is of any indication. His fall was indeed a rough one; he feels it in his bones, in the way something sears at the skin of his arm, in the pulsating throbs at the side of his face.)

He's not sure how to feel about the words thrown at him. Surprised, apologetic, exasperated, disappointed, even hurt? Maybe all of the above, crystalized into something palpable now hanging in the air.]

You think I don't care? [And then it escapes him, something rare, but something he certainly has the capacity for -- a hollow laugh, rather devoid of any sort of humor. It's indicative of something careening close to frustration, and Ardyn stands to his full height from his spot on the couch, looking at Prompto with a true dearth of amusement.]

I might not be your father, but it doesn't take a blood relative to call recklessness out as I see it. I want to give you what you clearly never really had, Prompto -- a guiding point, someone who's invested in your future and therefore cares enough to point out both your achievements and your failings when I see them. If you think I'm doing this because I don't care, as if I feel entitled to lord over you just for the fun of it, then I honestly don't know what kind of man you believe me to be.

[A dramatic declaration, but fitting of a man like Ardyn. He's not done yet, either.]

I asked you about the fire. Answer the question.

Edited 2017-06-12 04:45 (UTC)

[prompto is still very much a very troubled boy, not seeming to have grown past the insecurities and damage his parents placed upon him from a young age. it's embarrassing to a fault--because as ardyn rises and confronts him (no one ever had confronted prompto about this, because prompto had never been brave enough to be confrontational about it, either), prompto already feels so much more smaller and foolish than he initially did.]

[because ardyn is right.]

[ardyn is everything prompto would have wanted in a father--the simple semblance of caring. all which ardyn has provided no shortage of to prompto in the past months. prompto's emotional assessment of the situation has been nothing but unfair, taking away from ardyn everything the man has been for prompto in the absence of a father.]

[his hands rolled into fists, prompto falls back onto the couch, shoulders hunched.]

[(maybe there's something about him that breaks and destroys any good thing he's ever had. weren't his parents happy and in love before he was born? or so he remembers being told, anyway.)]

[he's cold with embarrassment and shame, shoulders hunched and head lowered. he has every intention to answer ardyn's question, but what comes out when he opens his mouth is ragged sob--to prompto's absolutely misery]

[despite the show of emotion (something he's not particularly embarrassed about, as it were, despite the set of circumstances), prompto forces himself to a stop, if only to not answer ardyn's question, but instead unload the horrible knot that he feels in his chest.]

I'm sorry, I'm so- so sorry, I didn't mean what I said I don't know why I said it, I know you care but I'm just afraid of-- of fucking everything up, like I always do, and being a disappointment especially when you give me so much credit, I'm just not the brightest and fuck, fuck, I'm sorry...

[without a doubt, prompto's currently a mess, keeping his face hidden by looking down at his shitty combat boots]

[The moment Prompto begins to unravel, as if he was barely being held together in the first place, the frustration prevalent within Ardyn all but drains out. It’s replaced instead by something that gnaws at the cavity of his chest: a sorrowful kind of empathy. The tension in his shoulders and fingers release. (The pain is still there, still sharp, but he doesn't care.) His expression softens and he just lets the boy sob, lets his insecurities fall forth and land at his feet.

And finally, he shifts his weight, only so that he can walk towards where he keeps a box of tissues and grabbing one, two, three — and moving back to the boy, handing them to him.]

Prompto, not everything you draw close to will break. That’s not the kind of person that you are, despite what you might believe.

[Prompto believes himself to be a disappointment; Ardyn thinks that he’s bright, kind, and stronger than he gives himself credit for. Two trains of thought that will be difficult to reconcile just with a single conversation, but Ardyn can try. He can chip away at those insecurities if the young man allows him to, offering consolation and even borrowed confidence if he’ll have it.

Ardyn sits next to him.]

And I give you exactly the sort of credit you deserve. At least trust in my own judgment where that’s concerned. You’re surrounded by people who will want to support you, who will want to be a part of your life no matter what happens. Who will accept you as you are—

[(That, he knows. Prompto will be accepted, he’s too kind and amicable and full of life to not be. He will find his pillars of support, people to help banish these insecurities with time. Ardyn is sure of it. He doesn’t know why, but something beyond his comprehension practically screams this at him, something he still can’t truly put his finger on.)]

—and want to see you happy. So try not to fret. I’m certainly not going anywhere.

[prompto is quick to clean himself up, soon as he gets a number of tissues handed over. his dripping nose, then eyes; and the systematic procedure has his lungs filling up with large amounts of oxygen rather than the ragged, short huffs pertaining with sobs and tearful crying.]

[at least there is that much semblance of control]

I--

[he tries to speak out, but decides instead to listen to what ardyn has to say. because, no matter how prompto would like to deny it, he has started putting a lot of value into ardyn's words for some time now. they are, in fact, the guidance prompto has longed for for years and never gotten, even if at a subconscious level.]

[and want to see you happy.]

[he's close to tearing up again but he holds it in, nodding and biting down on his lip, in fear of revealing more weaknesses (like it matters, at this point)]

[it is after a few more moments of silence that prompto is steady enough to croak out a soft, but honest,]

Thank you.

[crumpled tissues in his hands and still facing away from ardyn. he wishes he could eloquently put into words how much those words mean to him.]

...for, for putting up with me. You've -- [a hitch of breath] done a lot for a mess of hang-ups.

[Ardyn waits patiently for Prompto to regain his composure, for words to come back to him without sounding terribly shaky and strained. Even if the boy is facing away from him, he's still taking in everything he can about his body language, and focusing on every word he has in response.

He'll feel the slight pressure of Ardyn's touch on his shoulder, fingers lightly pressing into skin. A gesture of reassurance and comfort, and a moment passes before he responds.]

Don't define yourself in that way. [A "mess of hang-ups". As if this were all that made up Prompto.] You're merely human, with merits and flaws, just like the rest of us.

And though thanks isn't needed... you're welcome, all the same.

[it takes him a moment, and he feels he might fall back to uncontrollable crying at those words validating that he, too, is allowed to feel and suffer and laugh, much like anyone else--but he takes it for what it is, builds a sense of comfort around those words.]

[he simply nods, appreciative.]

...I was stupid, when I fell off my scooter. I'll...

[his wounds hurt less, and they're mostly cleared up. he rubs at his eyes again]

I'll get them checked out. [...] Uh, can I use the bathroom?

[not that he needs permission, but he feels it important to show how sorry he actually feels]

[At this rate, his wounds will only mostly be... sore. Little else. Prompto can get them checked out if he likes, but it's nothing that won't completely heal on its own.

Ardyn's taken most of the burden from him, after all. The pain settles all across him, becoming easier to notice now that Prompto has begun to calm down, but he doesn't let it show. He refuses to.]

Of course. [No need to ask for permission at all. Ardyn just nods, and he'll still be here, sitting, when Prompto returns.]

[prompto will make his exit to the bathroom, where he will wash his face with water and try to grab a hold of himself. his face burns with embarrassment at the previously shameful shouting match he had with ardyn...]

[how uncool]

[but how equally cool that ardyn would go ahead and find it in him to forgive such insolence. prompto finds himself with some mixed feelings about the whole thing (but, mostly, he's thankful).]

[when he returns from the bathroom and to where ardyn awaits, prompto takes out a folded photograph he kept inside his phone's casing. it's the mysterious selfie he had received some days back, after he had lit himself on fire with dante's help. he stretches his arm, handing it over.]

The fire... Look, we got it under control. My hair got a bit burnt, is all. I think it helped me remember something, though.

[this, the one thing he hadn't told ardyn about.]

I remember this guy sitting on a throne surrounded by flames. It was... hellish. The flames burnt hotter than anything I've felt before. The next day I found this picture in my room. I've got no idea on what to make of chill Satan other than I may have been part of a cult.

Edited 2017-06-25 01:28 (UTC)

[Ardyn takes the photo from him, peering down at the selfie. It's... mind-boggling, honestly. He's never seen anything like it.

His brows knit together, his lips press into a thin line. Just what exactly is he looking at?]

Prompto...

[The fire, that man in the background, wielding a giant sword, his head adorned with horns. Posing with Prompto? And where was this? Some sort of city?

Ardyn appears to squint down at it for a second or two more.]

Edited 2017-06-27 23:31 (UTC)

What is that on your face?

--why does everyone I show this to keeps asking me that? Shit, I think it looks a bit cool!

[of course he would, but there's a bit of given-up-laughter in his tone as he shrugs his shoulders momentarily.]

I like how that's what everyone focuses on. Chill Satan? Nope, let's rail Prompto for his life decisions. Seriously...

Well, can you blame me? It's the first thing the eye is drawn to.

[NOT THE SATAN FIGURE IN THE BACKGROUND...]

But- [He peers down at the photo again, then with his free hand taps at the picture of the horned man.] Do you remember anything else about this... person? Giant? What are we calling him?

[he makes a face at the obvious jab, but lets go whatever commentary about it soon enough in favour of looking through what this figure in the background could be about.]

[gingerly, prompto takes a seat beside ardyn--keeping some distance, still raw over the fact that he was crying like a baby a few minutes ago--and glances at the photograph once more (as if he hadn't done so before, obsessively, several nights in a row).]

Chill Satan.

[he answers casually]

[but, he sobers up]

...it was me and some other guys. I think, three? I couldn't really make them out. This guy here, he was sitting on a throne of fire, and he was attacking us. I guess we were meant to fight him? I ... got this sense of finality about it. It was really hot. Not sure what it means, though.

[Chill Satan. Ardyn scoffs a little, but listens to the rest before responding. Prompto has no reason to feel self-conscious, because the professor's eyes never leave the photograph.]

A throne of fire...? How very dramatic.

[Despite how odd it all seems, there was an air of danger about it. They were supposed to be fighting that... thing? Look at the size of the sword in its hand; not to mention that Prompto had been smiling while taking the photo?

All of this makes barely a lick of sense, but he doesn't expect the boy to really understand it any more than he does.]

So you went from fighting behemoths to fighting Chill Satan. And look at you, you're smiling.

Whatever was happening at the time, you were very brave, weren't you?

[he stretches his legs, ankle over ankle, and considers this whole tale about being brave. he really doesn't know. he's looked at the selfie and felt a cringe-worthy recognition of how he's faking the cheer, like that's a forced smile of his. he knows it because he displays it a lot in front of the mirror when he's having pep talks with himself after a shower.]

[and he also looks older. it feels like he's older.]

Dunno, maybe I was? A monster hunter of sorts.

Has a nice ring to it.

[he settles for the non-committal response.]

Does this ring any bells? ... With your memories, I mean.

[Forced smile or not, Ardyn finds it impressive. There are very few who would smile with that devil-like being at their backs, flames licking at their heels. Ardyn is pretty certain that he wouldn't be smiling at all.]

A monster hunter... it's possible. I do remember a handful of monsters, after all, and whatever world we came from must've been brimming with them.

[At least, one can make that rather safe assumption.

Ardyn shakes his head at the last question, and opts to hand the photograph back to Prompto. His expression still one of faint confusion, brows knitted softly together.]

I don't, which is a shame. [bc this thread was forever ago and let's make this a july regain later] If I remember anything, however, I'll be sure to let you know. Chill Satan, I imagine, is rather a difficult man to forget.

Yeah.

[he rubs carefully at his nose, aware of his half-bruises and cuts at this point. he glances over at ardyn, in a bit of awe, now that it hits him that the man did in fact manage to heal his wounds.]

[what kind of magic is that?]

[it's insane]

[turning to look back at his hands on his lap, prompto opens and closes them into fists. could he also have magic? to heal? to fight monsters?]

...I wonder what kind of world it was. If it ... really is 'home,' so to speak.

[He just lifts his brow at Prompto ever so slightly at that look. Yes, he had healed his wounds -- and yes, the pain had been a bit more than what he was used to feeling, but at least now it begins to fade, ever so slowly. He still makes a point not to show it on his features.

He only answers Prompto's spoken statement.]

It doesn't much feel like home right now, does it? To me, if feels like nothing more than a faraway world, full of things we don't quite understand.

It would be strange, I think, to start thinking of it as "home" someday. Isn't this place our home? This... reality, or whatever it is we're calling it?

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I LOST THIS NOTIF rip 1/2

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