[ Of course, Ardyn hooks his little truce by the mouth and then bashes its head in anyway. Aranea feels the previous churn in her stomach turn into an all-out tempest. His slippery, saccharine tone belies the venom he's spewing - ugh, she hates him - and Aranea isn't sure what infuriates her more right now, what he's doing or the theatrical fireworks that are serving as his backdrop.
The High Commander's fate is news even to her. That's how the Empire of Niflheim executes people now? The horrors don't ever seem to end, do they? There's always one more thing to be disgusted by. But - for the here and now -
The hand at Noctis's arm becomes a vice grip at his elbow. Her fingers dig in deep, the flimsy wall of fabric of his sleeve a convenient barrier. Aranea does her best to hold him where he stands. ]
Great. [ this is fine. ] Truce acknowledged, or whatever. Let's go, kid.
no subject
The High Commander's fate is news even to her. That's how the Empire of Niflheim executes people now? The horrors don't ever seem to end, do they? There's always one more thing to be disgusted by. But - for the here and now -
The hand at Noctis's arm becomes a vice grip at his elbow. Her fingers dig in deep, the flimsy wall of fabric of his sleeve a convenient barrier. Aranea does her best to hold him where he stands. ]
Great. [ this is fine. ] Truce acknowledged, or whatever. Let's go, kid.