[ The moment his hands come close to the lunchbox, Aranea is dropping it and takes a short step away. It's fair instinctive, by this point - a flinch born of muscle memory, rooted in her marrow - to get away from a touch, or potential touch. She isn't even thinking about that it's Prompto in particular.
He's right, though. She is unhappy with him, and behaving a bit irritably because of it. It's more than her usual light layer of defensiveness. Rather than try to work through this, however, she knocks out a few terse words - ]
Fine. You want to be our meatshield so bad? Knock yourself out.
[ Grabs the lunchbag and heads back to the bedroom. To the little girl: ]
We're leavin' soon, alright? You ready?
[ If Prompto follows into the bedroom, he'll see Aranea kneeling, sliding the bag into the backpack before zipping up the whole thing. ]
no subject
He's right, though. She is unhappy with him, and behaving a bit irritably because of it. It's more than her usual light layer of defensiveness. Rather than try to work through this, however, she knocks out a few terse words - ]
Fine. You want to be our meatshield so bad? Knock yourself out.
[ Grabs the lunchbag and heads back to the bedroom. To the little girl: ]
We're leavin' soon, alright? You ready?
[ If Prompto follows into the bedroom, he'll see Aranea kneeling, sliding the bag into the backpack before zipping up the whole thing. ]