meadowlarklogs | noctis catch-all

[ He promised he'd be free at seven and it's only seven-fifteen by the time he's approaching beautifully painted and well-lit streets, hands in his pockets and shoulders tensed. Is he here yet? Where, exactly? Both of those questions he doesn't have answers to and he's not too keen on messaging him right away to get them. Better to breathe, get his bearings, and not focus too much of his attention on remembering the anger he hasn't been able to get out of his mind.

It's a scarring thing, one that he can still feel echoes of like the stinging of a brand -- how can anything be that intense?

His hands are shoved deeper into his pockets as blue eyes scan the immediate area, not spotting red hair, but--

There is someone familiar. ]

Aranea?

[ She's wandering the festival on her own for the most part. It's charming enough, bright and festive, but she's more comfortable reserving her smiles for no audience, and it's difficult not to smile as the lanterns bump each other overhead. It helps New Amsterdam feel less fetid, if only for a little while. The fireworks will be soon, people are murmuring, and she does want to see that.

Noctis gets her attention with alacrity. Turning a little, she doesn't look especially surprised to see him. Hear from him, maybe, but it's his choice to speak up. She isn't about to fuss at motives. ]

Yeah, hey... kid.

[ A subtle accent to that word. She's respecting, in her own way, his wish not to be referred to as prince (or any dimunitive thereof) in public. ]

You lost or somethin'?

[ Well, he could harp on her to replace the condescending title with his name or he could take it as the non-offense that it is... which is ultimately the option that he goes with. Sure, he's younger than her. That much he can accept and work with as an objective fact, which he's in sore need of these days anyway. ]

Maa... No, not really lost. Waiting for someone.

Maybe he's already here anyway, I was just surprised to see you too.

Mm.

[ Her hands slide into the front pockets of her coat. Her clothing is cheap, of course, and all black, but the last thing he saw her in was the shapeless white scrubs. It's a step up. Probably. She feels more herself, at any rate, and that comes through in the cant of her gait, the way her eyes don't seemm to stick anywhere. ]

Prompto? [ Just a guess. ]

Hard to believe he'd leave you waitin'. I'll shove off once you're in his safe hands.

[ Even for him it's too hot for all black, which is saying a lot. She looks far more like herself in it, however, that's for sure. ]

... he wouldn't be much longer anyway, you don't have to worry about sticking around, Aranea. I'm pretty good at handling myself, even if no one wants to believe it now.

[ He really doesn't want to drag her into this. ]

[Speak of the devil.

He arrives in what can only be described as a self-contained flourish. His usual uncaring gait, coupled with an easy grin that might tug a little too tightly at the corners of his mouth. A grandiose wave of the hand in greeting, a sweeping gesture, as faux lantern light sways in the air above their heads. The ex-Chancellor is dressed in dark colors, but possessing none of his usual layers, nor the normal profile of a long coat. It is, unfortunately, too hot for it — and now that he can experience the discomfort of brackish heat, even Ardyn has to bend to the will of a mortal body and shed what’s unneeded.

So he's here, as he said he would be, and his lackadaisical prowl through the festival has brought him to his intended destination — Noctis. But the boy is not alone. The Commodore appears to accompany him, and he quite wonders if this was planned or if it was coincidence.]

There you are. And you’ve brought company! Hello, Commodore.

[ what THE FUCK ]

...Chancellor.

[ If nothing else, she's able to gain some sense of purchase rather quickly - going from quizzically frowning at Noctis, wondering why he's trying to get rid of her, wondering if she wouldn't be better off just going - and then, fucking Ardyn. In earlier days, it had been simple (if frustrating) to be chillingly professional in his presence. Back when he still signed her paycheques, that is.

She looks back at Noctis. A hand on her hip, her pose is a bit less compromising now. ]

This is your company? [ Oh boy.

Well, now she knows (or believes she does) that Prompto hasn't been as forthright as he told her he would. That little realisation lays some tension in her already telling jaw. ]

[ Any chance of sparing Aranea from the encroaching threat and mire of trouble is swept away by Ardyn's approach, treating himself to an internal curse and a narrowing of eyes... but one he's quick to correct, actually attempting to face this with as neutral an expression as possible. Easier said than done, especially when the first firework sounds in the distance and the loud distraction ratchets up his discomfort. Irksome, like an itch he can't scratch. ]

... yeah. But I didn't bring my own company along with me, we just happened to run into each other. [ Which causes him to glance back over to her, now. ]

I know how it looks, but I need to talk to him. Alone -- you don't need to get stuck overhearing it all.

[As always, he delights in being the cause of such tension. Aranea is more obvious about it, but Noctis reads just as easily to a man like Ardyn, seeing the strain behind the attempts at a schooled expression.

The burst of a firework overhead heralds the start of a grand finale. Yet between the three of them, it sounds the mark of something a little less-than-celebratory.]

Quick to detach that third wheel, are we? [He huffs out laughter, sliding out from beneath a white line of teeth.]

Sorry, Aranea, it seems like this is to be a very private sort of conversation.

- right.

[ Over her shoulder, a burst of fireworks, a loud snap followed by an explosion of light, like confetti. Thrown utterly off guard by this situation, her stomach churning unpleasantly, she gives the disruption a nasty little look. As she thinks.

Here, she's unarmed. Has none of her resources. Her men aren't just an arm's length away. Nothing of what had propped her up on Eos. Like that day in the kitchens, a cooking knife against Ardyn's throat, it makes more sense to acquiesce. To retreat and regroup, if she thinks about it tactically.

Aranea isn't quite sure what is stopping her. ]

You can just pretend I'm not here.

[ In other words, she's not moving. In fact, her stance seems a bit too ready, but for what? A mystery, that. ]

[ She's treated to another sidelong glance, a furrowing brow betraying just what he thinks of that idea. He isn't stupid enough to miss her intent in sticking around, advisable or not, and there's a part of him that is grateful for the potential backup. A part of him. Another nagging part reminds him that this could be trouble on her head that she really doesn't need; hell, he doesn't even want to deal with this.

But the idea of broadcasting that or arguing with her in front of Ardyn really doesn't appeal -- they're better off presenting a united front, surely. ]

... then I'll get to the point. We haven't clarified our relationship here and I think we should. A truce.

Our fight's meant to be set in Eos, not here.

[Straight into it, then, with the Commodore as an audience. So seems to be the case, but Ardyn hardly cares; Aranea is just going to potentially become privy to information she was oblivious to before.

He ignores her presence (for now), eyebrows raising as he steps nearer.]

A truce. [Ah, now that is amusing. As if any degree of peaceful measure can be dredged up and out of Ardyn, harboring all those centuries of hate.] Is that what you’ve called me out here for? Maybe we need to define exactly what your expectations are — do you think me likely to kill you here, in this world?

[That’s jumping the gun, far, far too much. It was never a consideration; but if Noctis speaks of a truce by means of staying his hateful hand, then that might be a little more difficult.]

The fact that we have to define expectations is why I'm here. Because no, I don't think you're going to try to kill me.

[ He's a little heavy-handed on that "try", allowing it to hang on his tongue for an extra half-second as a message. He doesn't have his powers here but neither does Ardyn, and he would never make that task easy for him. But it is telling that he anticipates something else, and it doesn't take a genius to work out what that might be. ]

I don't want anyone else getting hurt either. It's not necessary. [ Red fireworks color the scene a bit too aptly; he can't really appreciate the imagery right now. ]

[Fireworks that practically hemorrhage red in the sky, dousing its hues on all of them below. It saturates Ardyn’s hair in a deep, bloody crimson, before dying out.]

Of course you don’t.

[Noctis, hoping to protect his merry little retinue, or maybe even any friends he’d earned during his stay in this place. Generally, Ardyn has no underlying reason to go out of his way to hurt any of them, unless it’s to further a very specific goal — he did as much on Eos, and he’d hardly hesitate to do so here. Yet in New Amsterdam, the routes are limited, blocked off, leading him nowhere if he diverges down that route.

And yet this isn’t rule of his. “Cruelty for cruelty’s sake” is hardly a foreign concept to the man, and he’s indulged in it more than once. Just because he will not kill Noctis doesn’t mean he will not hurt him, in both body and mind and spirit, and assailing his friends is the quickest and most effective way of going about it.]

And what have I to gain from it?

[Calling a truce requires an incentive for it, and he sees no reason to not cater to his whims when they strike him.

But. Also.]

And that’s not even accounting for how this might apply when your nearest and dearest think it reasonable to attack me. Prompto, and even- [A gesture at Aranea.] -the Commodore herself. I can’t change what’s already been done, and yet they still feel the need to bring knives to my throat for past transgressions. Isn’t that right?

[Lookin’ at you, girl.]

[ Aranea expects an uncomfortable encounter. She expects to be toeing the line between tense and bored, She doesn't expect Ardyn to bring up their encounter in the kitchens some scant few weeks ago. It's a stupid little mistake, underestimating his penchance for slitting a throat and claiming it's merely a smile. Ardyn's hands flick toward her and the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. This - this standing, this diplomacy, this inaction - it isn't what she's good at. There's a reason she leads from the frontlines.

Angrily, Aranea's mouth twists. She casts one quick, harried glance toward Noctis before stepping forward, hands halfway to - to something -

But - no. No, Noctis has made his will very clear. Making these decisions isn't her job. She doesn't want to be the one to offer a truce anymore than she wants to be the one who ultimately breaks it. She'll have to carry her crime around with her. And it won't leave off the fact that she'll have to explain, she'll have to justify why her professional dislike at some point became a bitter, violent hate.

Foot slamming back, she pivots. Rather unhappily, her hands end up back in the front pockets of her coat. It's a defensive pose, contrasting her usual open body language. ]

... yeah.

Look, whatever rules you have in your little truce -

[ Say it, she has to tell herself, and more than once. Say it. ]

- I'll abide by it.

[ ~~Just kill her now.~~ ]

[ Ardyn's suggestion that he make it worth his while is an expected one but what exactly can he offer to a man so consumed? Handing him a blank check is too dangerous and handing him a filled one runs the risk of being worthless. Damned either way, as in his last encounter with this man.

The revelation that Prompto and Aranea have personally antagonized him -- or, his mind immediately justifies, been provoked by him and responded -- isn't a surprise either but it settles like a stone in the pit of his stomach. It complicates negotiations, sure, but more importantly it sparks considerable concern for the woman next to him and for Prompto. His arm comes out without even a conscious thought, halfway to blocking Aranea before she stops herself first. The look he gives her for that, and for her followup promise, showcases both his gratitude for it and a severity that he doesn't normally wear. It's a little easier to believe he's actually been trained to accept the mantle of leadership in moments like this. ]

Thank you, Aranea. I mean it.

[ Then back to Ardyn, again. ]

Prompto and Ignis will too; I can make sure of that. What else are you asking for?

[He’s gone and raised Aranea’s hackles, which was likely the point, given Ardyn’s proclivities to utilize his words like barbs, or needles sliding beneath skin. That would quickly put the idea of a truce under the knife, having made his point via the flaring tempers of others. Yet she’s quick to show restraint, and he can’t help but experience the smallest tinge of disappointment as a result.

More fireworks burst overhead, and he has to raise his voice to be heard. It adds an emphatic quality to an already ostentatious timbre.]

I wonder.

[He’s being asked what he wants, as if he could be satisfied by anything the boy would have to offer him. All that could possibly sate him exists on Eos — upended constantly by his arrival to one foreign world, and then another — and while he could maim and maul and gut Noctis where he stands, and likely feel quite good about it, this would be no adherence to a Prophecy that he’s been shackled to for millennia.

Thus the question feels so shallow, like its own kind of patronization, even if that isn’t the young King’s intention. And when Noctis adopts a more assured stance, how desperately Ardyn wants to tear it down, crush it underfoot, to illustrate that he’s not as strong or sturdy as he thinks he is.

Maybe he will.]

What if all I require is your strictest word that no matter what’s transpired on our star, you will still honor this truce? Those are not unreasonable terms, are they?

Edited 2019-01-08 20:08 (UTC)

[ Feeling her blood run cold, Aranea finds herself reaching for Noctis’s sleeve, fingers knitting amidst the fabric in half a tug. Her fingers are tense; clawed, even. ]

Noctis — [ - but what?

She has no rudder, no answer, and it shows. ]

[ Ardyn's theatrics shine through in his tone, lofty and affected as ever, but there's an undercurrent of amusement so often present that seems anything but forced. Almost like a quiet excitement, the voice of a man holding a winning hand and waiting for his big reveal. Noctis, in this situation, hasn't been dealt anything decent enough to allow him to do more than call what he hopes is a bluff or walk away now, betting on a new round another time.

Who the hell knows what Ardyn might do in the meantime then, now that they've discussed things this openly?

His mouth is already open to respond when fingers tangle in his short sleeve, feeling the brush of nails on skin that has him again turning his head. She's unsettled beyond what he'd expect, feeling that same sense of unease that had come with his earlier interactions with Prompto, questions hanging in the air and answers dangled further beyond them.

He'd known something Noctis doesn't, and he's realizing very quickly that he doesn't know all of what Aranea's been privy to either. ]

Hey --

It's alright. I've seen what the empire's done to the people close to me and to Lucis. I get who was behind a lot of it too. That doesn't mean I'm gonna' just let it carry over here; that's not what settling the score looks like for me. So if that's what you're asking for?

Fine, I agree. You leave us alone -- all of us, Aranea included -- and we'll leave you alone.

[A widening smile, amber eyes glinting in the fake lantern light, and Ardyn seems pleased. With that, he raises his hands in another sweeping gesture, cranking the theatrics to eleven. As if he were orchestrating the festivities to celebrate this fledging truce, encouraging the dandelion explosions in the sky.]

Then a truce it is! I accept your terms, Your Majesty, since you are so gracious enough to accept mine.

[He’s noticed Aranea’s anxiety, the look of someone who knows there’s a storm inbound. All the better for it. His next few statements, dripping in faux joviality, are directed at them both.]

Let us forget a conflict that’s been brewing for ages. We shall look ahead, and not let our differences fester in the past. After all, what’s a bit of war and bad blood in the grand scheme of things? Worrisome events from home are just transient things; and so are the lives of those you care about, correct?

[A smile not unlike that of a snake.]

The invasion of Insomnia, the death of your father. [That’s not news, of course. He can’t say the same for the rest.] The destruction of Altissia, and the late Lady Lunafreya, her life cut short courtesy of a knife to the middle. And that’s not even accounting for her brother, twisting so gracelessly into a daemon—

Ah, well. None of that matters now, does it? Forget I said anything.

[ 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.

[ Every little word is its own barb that tries to wheedle its way beneath his skin but that's what he's prepared himself for, the mocking "Your Majesty" glancing off and Ardyn's expression being one that he's ready to ignore. Even the comments about Insomnia, though scraping along a raw wound, don't force him to flinch. His father... all anticipated blows. Ardyn wants him to crack, he reminds himself, wants him to show emotion because it'll satisfy a dark sadistic part of him -- if any other part even remains.

Then he says Lunafreya's name.

Instantly it feels wrong, like a sword scraping across stone or a note played out of key, it shouldn't happen, he shouldn't say it. It's a beautiful name that his voice doesn't do justice to, and hearing it spoken in such a way sets him ill at ease even before Ardyn's next words clarify his reason for invoking it in the first place. The barb finds its mark, numbing his body and instantly spurring on a cold sweat, as shock briefly holds back an immense well of anger. He--

Almost instantly he's wrenching away from Aranea, shoving a little more roughly than intended at her wrist. ]

Luna? What the hell are you talking about? [ And just as suddenly he's turning his gaze back on Aranea, recognizing her lack of shock -- is that its own confirmation? He's holding onto some kind of desperate hope, searching her features for the truth. ]

[Every word is a hook that roots them to their places, fastened to this very moment; one that Ardyn is intent on turning into something cruel as he stretches both of them through the wringer and back again. These next few seconds are precious, wonderful things — he gets to see the dawning of the truth weigh down on the young king with such ferocity that it might make him crack.

Might make him see just how laughable this whole idea of a truce is.

Knife cleanly inserted, he gives it a twist.]

Oh, she didn’t tell you? Honestly, how utterly kept in the dark you've been, Noctis. Am I really the only one with sense enough to be truthful with you?

[A purposeful shrug of broad shoulders, but a sharply expectant look at Aranea.]

Why don’t you tell him, Commodore? About the Oracle’s untimely — but very orchestrated, if I do say so myself — death?

[ fuck her FUCKING LIFE ]

Shut up.

[ Aimed at Ardyn. It won't land, Aranea doesn't expect it to, but it makes her feel a tiny bit better - as tiredly (but sharply!) murmured as it is. He's put her in an unpleasant position, sure, but maybe it would be better to hear the details from her, as opposed to Ardyn. It was supposed to be Prompto, and part of her is assuredly angry about that - about what she perceives as deliberate, cowardly inaction; about the fact that he told her he would do something and then didn't.

Running a hand over her scalp, just brushing the edges of her buzzcut, Aranea draws herself up and doesn't hesitate. The words are a bit beyond her. She fears she won't soften it enough for it to be palatable; the wrong word could send the prince into a tailspin that will leave their truce dead and abandoned on the floor before it's even begun. ]

I wasn't there. [ That... that's important. She adds, cocking a thumb in Ardyn's direction. ] It was this guy. He stabbed her in the stomach on the altar. ...I guess she thought healin' you for the Covenant was more important than herself.

[ Ultimately, Aranea is blunt, partly because Ardyn's words have already put a price on softening it. He put all the power in honesty. She's helpless but to play into his sick little game.

All the same, her hands are tensed, ready to grab Noctis at a moment's notice. She's expecting an explosion. Hopefully he won't give her one. ]

Edited 2019-01-10 12:00 (UTC)

[ Eyes remain fixated on Aranea, a silent pleading there for her to do anything -- anything -- but confirm what Ardyn's just said. All of his memories of Luna rush back in bright, blotchy flashes of white, her voice, her presence, everything about her just conveying a hope and a warmth that he'd sorely missed. That feeling was one he'd held onto almost obsessively after the attack on Insomnia, ever aware that they were striving to reach her; she knew what to do and she'd been guiding them, always strong and gentle in a way he'd never been able to fully emulate.

And then Aranea speaks and the image fractures, the description of her specific injury slicing right through a happier recollection like a blood-stained knife.

All he can do is stand there and stare for a moment, expression vacant and gaze distant. There's no moment when he registers his vision blurring but his eyes are glassy when they catch the light after a slow step to the side, half-turned from Ardyn but ever aware of his presence. It's the next explosion of a firework overhead that seems to snap him out of it.

His fingers are curled tight around the knife hidden at his waistband in a fraction of a second, no words spoken when he suddenly whips back around with his arm flung outward, blade swung in a vicious arc that has it slicing low across the larger man's chest. It's aimed to cut deep, just beneath the outer edges of those blue glows that haunt them with any chanced contact. To spill blood, just like Ardyn has so many times before, and there's barely a pause before he's rounding on him for another slash aimed higher this time, towards his face. ]

CLOSED TO ARANEA AND ARDYN

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