meadowlarklogs | the miles are way too long

[any other time, this would have made prompto react loudly with an exaggerated and startled reaction. however, prompto moves sluggishly to the poke on his shoulder, seeming to unfold from what was his home for most of the day. he doesn't move too far, though, hugging one of the cushions close to his chest and displacing it from its position, the change in position only making him move about to retain the same kind of energy from before.]

[he rubs at his eyes and offers something of a sleepy grumble, the press of the couch on his face obvious from the red marks all over one half of his face.]

[it's really unusual for v to begin conversation with him--definitely not something prompto holds against him by any means--so the difference in their interaction, currently, has him trying to make sense of why he was approached at all. he peers at v with confusion behind his bangs (clearly, all the effort he did on this day was to get out of bed, go to the bathroom, and then claim the couch as his own). the words finally register:]

I'm breathing.

[which... doesn't say a lot, but the sadness and loneliness anchored in him for the past several weeks have started to bruise onto his more creative and enthused responses. it's been harder to try and edit his pictures, to hang out with people, or to overall just want to interact with anything at all. he actually called in for work, unable to sleep the night before and thus unable to wake up on time at all. his energy is just not there, and not feeling up for doing anything just ... makes him feel worse.]

Wassup, dude? You need help with something?

[v needs something, is what his brain concludes. prompto can be useful to others still, so at least he still has that going. he fails to remember his camera (the one from eos) fell off the couch, and is lying face up on the floor.]

[It isn't the usual response. He knows Prompto well enough to expect some kind of overreaction to the touch of the cane, a yelp of exclamation, a flailing of limbs. What he receives is the opposite, just a half-hearted response that reveals the red lines of the couch pressed into his face. He's been lying there like this for a while.]

No.

[He doesn't need help with anything, he's actually doing well enough on his own. V is an independent sort, and while he is far more likely to ask for help when he really needs it, it would only be out of pure, unavoidable necessity. The small things he can manage on his own. He's sturdier than what people might give him credit for, a weak physical body notwithstanding.]

But you've been acting strangely. Are you sick?

[it's actually a little surprising that v takes enough notice to make a statement about it. prompto wasn't really expecting any kind of... reaching out to figure out if he's okay or not. his roommate just wasn't the type to try and put himself in the position for a conversation starter.]

[the initial surprise washes over him and prompto just kind of -- settles, leans back on the couch and stays quiet a bit.]

Nah, just--

[just what, exactly?]

Just wanted to take a day off.

[he glances away and hugs the cushion closer to himself, kicking his feet a bit in an attempt to stretch his legs.]

Think about things, stuff like that.

[it's one of those cruxes in which prompto wants to but doesn't want to burden the other with his circumstances. it feels selfish, but he also finds himself lacking the companionship, and yearning for it at the same time.]

[It reminds him of what Abel had said at the party. That Prompto does not wish to burden others with his worries, with his doubts, instead keen on keeping them locked inside. V cannot criticize him for it, given that his own nature revolves around retaining his own thoughts to himself.

Should he sit? He doesn't care enough to do so just yet, continuing to stand and watching his roommate's body language with careful eyes.]

...Should I leave you to your thoughts, then, or do you wish to share them?

[It's his One Attempt. The One Attempt at letting Prompto say whatever is clearly bothering him, and if it fails, then he'll not pry further. V possesses empathy, but not so much that it constantly bleeds over and into the lap of another.]

[at the question, all prompto can do is curl tighter unto himself, considerations ebbing in his thoughts as he tries to find exactly what it is that he wants to say--and how much it is that he wishes to say, especially in the kind of relationship he and his roommate have. it's easier to be open when it's superficial matters that they have some level of equal stakes in, but when it comes down to something like this, personal and raw, it's harder to leave oneself vulnerable.]

[but, at this point in time, prompto's feelings are just ready to spill over anyway. it's the question that reaches for understanding that has him taking the branch from the tree.]

I miss my friends. [with a quiet sigh; it sounds silly, saying it aloud, but it's even sillier that something so small is capable of making him feel this way at all.] I was going through my camera and ended up looking at pictures of them. It feels like it's been months since I last saw them... [he keeps his eyes down, scratching at the material of the cushion under his hands.] I wish I could be with them, and not--knowing what's going on makes it even worse.

[…Ah.

V isn’t very good at this sort of thing; he never was and likely never will be. Bringing comfort to an ailing heart requires a subtle touch, the ability to empathize so deeply that one can take those feelings and put them on display, turn it around into mutual comfort. It requires a self-applied vulnerability that he can’t bring himself to have, and so he just stands there, fingers curling gently against the handle of his cane.]

I see.

[And yet V is also no longer as cruel as he once was (that other self of his), so much that he would leave it at that. He can still urge him to continue. He isn’t heartless. He is literally all that remains of a heart.]

It won’t abate the ache, but I can offer you this much-- remember when I said that we will find a way home? That it is necessary? I believe that. And you should, too.

You will see them again.

[he frowns at that. it's a good way to get him to feel better--were he not feeling so downtrodden over their circumstances. that faint glimmer of hope is only good when it feels achievable. right now? it barely feels like something that will happen any time soon. his impatience is showing, gearing towards negativity, fueling only the feelings he currently bolsters within.]

Knowing all that doesn't necessarily make me feel any better.

[it's not criticism towards v, though. it's just a statement.]

[maybe he needs to add more context.]

My parents were nice people, but they were never home. I don't blame them for it--they had their reasons. But just because I believed them when they said they would take time off from work to come home doesn't mean it made it less painful every time they didn't. I was always alone, until I became friends with Noct.

It feels like a part of me is missing, right now, and that's what really hurts the most.

[If V allowed himself to relate to this more closely, someone gone missing leaving an ache, he could. (He thinks of a burning house, long blonde hair, his life changed forever.) But there are some recollections that sting to touch, and he doesn't know Prompto well enough to willingly throw himself into that mire.

He has no real advice, then. He has no power to bring anyone back, and neither does Prompto, so the reply is easy enough to conjure up.]

Then you can lie there and let it hurt, or push through it. Maybe even a little bit of both — it isn't always one or the other.

[He crosses over to a small armchair shoved into the corner of the room, not terribly far from the couch. Sinking into it, V lets his cane rest next to him.]

Take the time you need. But eventually you’ll have to get back up again. Everyone will ask where you've been.

[The curse of an extrovert.]

[he speaks and prompto listens. it's almost like something someone he knows would tell him, but he's been yearning to hear everyone again that he isn't sure if it sounds like something gladio would say, or ignis or noct. maybe it's all three—maybe even cor, or cid's age-old advice given without much request for it.]

[it's helpful enough though—words that prompto needs to hear for his own peace of mind, to validate his own scattered thoughts on the matter.]

I'm not planning to mope permanently. [is something he offers] It's just really bad today.

[and he knows himself; knows that his moments of isolation are sporadic, few and far in between, no longer wanting to expose himself to what he felt when he was a child growing up. his own unconscious action of moving to the living room rather than staying in his room is, in itself, show that he wanted some company, no matter how minimal, but not of the usual loud kind.]

[so, to see v sit down to do just that, even if it's momentarily, is comforting.]

...how do you keep so calm? [suddenly, awkwardly adjusting his position so his legs are crossed under him, hugging the cushion to his chest] I can't stop thinking about the last thing I remember before arriving here. It feels forever ago, but I keep having vivid dreams about it. I didn't use to have dreams before, like, ever.

[An elbow against the armrest, and he angles his position so that he can rest the tilt of his head against loosely-curled knuckles. V often skirts the line between looking tired, bored, or contemplative. A willingness to engage in this conversation, though, suggests the latter.]

Just because I'm calm does not mean that I'm content. [In the short time that he's been here, thoughts always trail back to his own world. His last recollection, a white-knuckled grip around a sword too heavy to lift. A memory caught in a loop.]

It doesn't mean that I'm not constantly looking for opportunities. Trying to understand this world, how it works, and where answers might lie so we can unearth them, instead of hoping to stumble across them on dumb luck alone.

[It was part of the reason why he agreed to work with Riko. Quid pro quo. Answers for answers.]

What do you mean, you didn't dream before?

[he wonders if v's thoughts ever turn to anxious energy, to a concentrated form of panic that just keeps on without filter until it becomes all he ever runs on. no matter what, it always sounds like he manages to find room to be calm and level-headed about the circumstances, something prompto wishes direly to be able to replicate.]

[looking down at his hands, he can hear the determination and strength in words, even if his body can't quite keep up with the force of his resolve.]

[his mouth twists a little before he's looking up again.]

This place makes people human. I told you before, right? Someone who was an android before is human here. It might not be related, or it might be totally related, but I never put a lot of thought into it in any case. I'm- [a pause, as he seems to remember his camera was supposed to be somewhere on his person? he looks about momentarily and then leans down all the way to reach for his camera on the floor] I was cloned [fidgeting with his camera, cleaning it a little with his hand] from this scientist guy. He cloned himself, I mean. I never imagined there was something to it until I got my blood tested and it came out as normal.

Clones deteriorate faster than humans, y'know. I researched about it when this place was into cloning.

[his camera is--fine, at least. he looks up at v.]

I told myself I'd own what I am and not feel embarrassed or ashamed about it, so... It's not a big deal anymore.

[This place makes people human.

This place keeps striking him hot with irony, too. He had already been human in this form, long before he was stolen from his world. But whereas Prompto speaks of cloning and bodily deterioration, V’s case has been the opposite. He should be falling apart — unraveling, continuously weakening, utilizing what little demonic power he had left to keep himself together.

But now he has no such power at all; it remains locked beneath his skin. And yet here he is.

He’s quiet for a moment. His eyes haven’t wandered from Prompto’s face, even if the other hasn’t always met his gaze.]

And clones don’t normally dream, you mean. Now that you’re here, you do.

[He could linger on the idea of clones, on what Prompto is. But his roommate has labeled it no big deal, and V knows of many oddities that are far stranger than the clone of a scientist. It adds yet another shade of interest to his world, though; more of the story, put together.]

The dreams can get difficult, though. I know. Sometimes they even twist into nightmares — but it’s all a part of being human.

Yeah, they're pretty new to me, so sometimes it's...

[he flounders for words to really encapsulate what he means to say.]

[dreams have caught him off guard more often than not, coming at him without much warning, blending into that feeling of reality. at times the dreams are nice, wonderful, like memories of days when things were better, when he didn't feel so alone. other times they merge into dark, muddy ones with a mocking voice and versions of himself hanging limp and dead from broken glass cases.]

It sucks not remembering what they are half the time, but the feeling that something is off is still there.

[a heavy sigh, and he's turning on his camera.]

I never thought of myself of anything but human, except now it feels like my experience hasn't quite been that.

[...a quiet turn of topic, muttered.]

Have I shown you the pictures I have of Eos?

Edited 2019-06-14 17:52 (UTC)

[A small grin, skewed, the kind that V likes to give, like he finds something cynically amusing.]

And that's the nature of dreams and nightmares. They might not have physical form, just ghosts in the mind, but they are affecting. Even in hazy remembrance.

[He can imagine Griffon resting on the back of this chair, squawking laughter down at him. Delcaring that he was a nightmare of no such thing; too loud and opinionated to be defined as a "hazy remembrance".]

According to what you said, this world forcing us through new experiences isn't limited to you and me. At least you can find company in your misery with the rest of the Displaced.

[But with that said, he flows along with the topic switch.]

No, you haven't shown me any of your pictures. [Eyes fall to the camera, curious.]

[somehow, v manages to put into words what prompto was unable to. and, somehow, too, manages to offer the words that prompto had wished sorely to hear from others in regards to dreams, with how they confuse and torment, no matter how lighthearted they may be. it's reassuring in a way he can't quite explain.]

[and so he just nods at v's words about finding company in his misery, that statement being more comforting than it has any right to be.]

Maybe this is why I always take so many pictures, to make sure I remember things. My brain-gallery is so messy. I have over ten thousand pictures all messily hanging around. [something he should... get to organizing, maybe. picking himself up and onto his feet, he's tapping at buttons on his camera and walking towards the other.] It's more organized on my camera cuz the space is limited.

[he offers the camera to v, gallery open, even as he steps to lean his side against the back of the couch so that he, too, can see what pictures v will be looking at. one of the comforts an actual camera offers is how analog it feels in comparison to their neural implants--with buttons and options displayed on its screen, rather than popping up into their vision.]

Ah, just press the right arrow to keep going, and left to go back. There's a bunch of pictures of me and my friends, actually.

Edited 2019-06-16 14:26 (UTC)

[His touch is unknowingly careful when he receives the camera, some part of his subconscious taking over. This is an item of high sentimental value to his roommate — it would be the equivalent of V handing Prompto his book of poems (now missing) — and so he treats it like a relic, a chassis encasing countless memories and colorful experiences. Gently, gently.

A press of the arrow key, moving from picture to picture.]

So these are your friends. [He says with a crook of his usual smile, drawing itself out.] They look like a lively group.

[The same faces, over and over. Prompto really did surround himself with them, kept them close, through both battle and quiet moments in the night. If V feels an ache in his chest, an almost-jealousy, he is an expert at keeping it tamped down and not showing.]

You look like you’re having fun. When you’re not being attacked by… creatures, that is. [Daemons?]

Edited 2019-06-18 04:51 (UTC)

Considering we had nowhere to call home after the Empire absolutely decimated it, yeah, we were trying to have a good time.

[it's all they could do, really, to keep from feeling the weight of what really had happened to insomnia, to what the rest of their journey meant--and, now, prompto wonders if they even knew what it meant at all, or if their ignorance really befuddled any solid ideas they might have had about it if they had not kept on with that stubborn optimism despite all the odds.]

[he stops v at one of the pictures, sitting down on the arm of the chair and reaching his hand over to point at the screen, stilling on a picture.]

That's a Naga, and it's what we call a daemon. That one spoke, which was unusual. They're usually in dark, cramped places, so obviously this one was inside a cave. [he presses on a few more pictures] And these are examples of the wildlife in Eos. They're Arbas, which are like -- cattle? Livestock? They mostly run wild. Pretty calm animals, to be fair.

Oh, that's Ravatogh in the background. It's a live volcano, and people say that that's Ifrit's resting place after he got taken out during the Astral War, or somethin'.

[some more pressing...]

Ah. These would be chocobos, which I guess are like giant chickens for you guys, and we ride them, kinda like horses? They're pretty reliable form of transportation out in the wild and when going off road. Y'could find some in the wild, but there's this ranch that breeds them and keeps them safe, what with the whole daemons coming out at night, y'know.

[prompto doesn't have to continue pressing for long anymore, rounding back to this picture. he seems hesitant for a moment, but ultimately pulls back, sitting with his arms crossed, one foot on the floor, the other crossed over the arm of the chair.]

Aside from daemons, we had the Empire's troops on our tails a lot. That's a Magitek trooper, MT for short, the best of what magic and science could put together. There's thousands of those.

Edited 2019-06-18 11:11 (UTC)

[Quiet, listening. Each picture shuffles through, is committed to memory in V's mind, mainly out of curiosity. It was always curiosity that made him lose himself in the pages of books, when "he" was younger. This is not much different, only that there are pictures and personal experiences to go along with each image.]

And now you're painting your world to be beautiful but equally dangerous.

[He notes the pause at the picture of the MT, which of course only makes it more peculiar.]

Magic and science. With armor like that, they look more like machines than much else.

[Fishing, quietly, for Prompto to continue. Wondering if a connection is about to form.]

[it doesn't take much to pry prompto open, so to speak.]

They are machines.

[he clears up that much, at least, leaning back and staring at the picture from a distance for a moment. they're the axeman type of MTs, the fast ones that run at them and slash their axes in wide angles.]

I told you about the scientist who cloned himself, from who I was cloned from. [he's jogging his knee, annoyingly, the movement going through the chair.] He basically harvested human clones to use together with the starscourge to be able to power the armors. [a shrug, his foot-shaking stopping momentarily.] I read some reports about it.

[suddenly, a lot feels like spilling. prompto presents his wrist, without the usual clutter of accessories, his black tattoo stark in contrast to his pale skin, mottled with scattered freckles.]

This is my production code. I never knew what the numbers meant until recently, so that's one mystery out of the way!

[keeping it cool and collected]

[V has no expectation that Prompto should be upset about it. That he would have an existential breakdown about his origins right before his eyes, on cue; that would be silly, and too assumptive. V can see, even if some of it is trying to put on a brave face, that he's confronted this aspect of himself, has possibly turned it over in his head and maybe fought with the idea more than once. And now, he witnesses the fruit of these efforts; an acceptance, spoken plainly to him, even if there is a lingering unease beneath the surface.

But, even so, he's curious. V represents the part that Vergil looked away from, the part he would rather deny. The story behind someone else simply accepting who they were, and every part that came with it, is of interest to him.]

Until recently. How did you-

[V reaches out with a hand, fingers reaching out to almost-brush over the exposed skin where Prompto sports his tattoo. But he stops, remembering both himself and the threat of the empathy bond.]

-how did you find out? [He finishes, retracting his touch.]

You sure you wanna hear about it?

[his question is because he has his doubts that it would make a story worthy of v's time. he never got to explain it properly to noctis, feeling like adding on a lot of details would only just upset him. he finds his words lacking, when he wishes to ask ardyn for more information, to rehash that time, to make it real because it feels like it was just a dream with every passing day.]

[prompto brings his arm closer to himself and glances down at the tattoo, solemnly, almost, even if he has no need to. he knows the lines that mar his skin by memory, for all the time he spent wishing he didn't have them at all.]

[v isn't the type of person to ask questions for the sake of it. he wouldn't ask one if he didn't actually wish for an answer.]

[and so prompto takes a deep breath, before speaking,]

Right before I got here, a lot of things happened back home. I got chucked off a train--it's a funny story, almost. But... I ended up walking aimlessly for a while. [how much should he explain? how unnecessary are some of the details?] Long story short, I was taken to a magitek production facility, and there was this huge lab lined up with glass tubes.

[his arms spread out as he looks about, as if picturing the setting.]

There were bodies that looked just like me, just sleeping in them. It was pretty freaky, but I already had a suspicion. The doors only opened when I scanned my tattoo. There were research documents all over that mentioned the experiments, that mentioned me getting 'rescued' [air quotes] by Lucian soldiers. And then there was Ardyn, welcoming me back home with this... air of flippancy that I thought he was just being an ass on purpose.

[he deflates a little, rubs his left hand around his wrist, something he's used to doing, constantly.]

Then I met the man himself, Verstael Besithia. I never seen someone so crazy, talking crazy. 's my dad though, I guess? Biologically, there's no denying that. And as far as family reunions go...

I shot him in the head.

[and he puts his hands down, fingers tapping at his leg, as if any and all anxious energy can escape him through this action. he adjusts his position on the arm of the chair, having found himself in this position and not really minding the proximity that it allows, as odd as that may sound. he stares at his camera, in v's hand still.]

It was pretty intense living through it. It's almost like I wasn't in my body when going through that.

Edited 2019-06-19 15:36 (UTC)

[He’s putting imagery to the words. Thrown off a train, wandering without a direction, then straight into facility where these “MTs” awaited Prompto, asleep in their glass chambers. V wonders what it must’ve been like, to face other creations made like you, and then to meet the origin point of it all — his “father”, or so he calls him.]

It doesn’t sound like… you had much time to process what was happening. Wandering into that facility and seeing others like you.

[Seeing identical faces, identical features. Copies of yourself, but not yourself.

The young man’s anxiety is twisting in his gut. V can see it, though he makes no effort to point it out, remaining still, quiet, and even. He speaks as if he were reciting lines of poems back, no reason to let concern sweep into his tone when it probably isn’t what Prompto wants.]

Not all family reunions are happy ones. Especially if you’re considered family by technicality alone. [This, he can definitely relate to…]

Do you regret it? Shooting him?

The place blew up right after and I was forced to leave it without really getting any kind of -- real closure, I guess is what you'd call it. So, yeah, there really wasn't a lot of time to think about anything. Between explosions and driving through the snow.

[it was pretty desolate, pretty lonely, at the time. had it not been for aranea, prompto doesn't know if he would have been able to have gotten off his knees and moved.]

[as v asks the questions that he does, prompto leans forward and presses the back button on the camera until he finds this photo.]

--I took that shortly after when it was nighttime. I miss the night sky the most from Eos. [leaning back] I don't know if I regret it or not. It seemed like the right thing to do, but it also felt like I didn't have much of a choice. I--I've never actually shot at anyone and killed them.

[the last he says gets quieter and quieter with each word, as if that's something that's been bothering him, unconsciously.]

[this conversation is bordering on something he doesn't think he's quite to ready to think about too much, yet, always guarding himself and these feelings from bubbling. he crosses his arms, instead, looks down at v's profile.]

You got a sad family backstory, too?

[it's meant to be ... a little uplifting from the dreadful talk, even if the topic could be pretty heavy in itself.]

[It does sound lonely — a lonely place, a lonely thing to go through. And even while the camera’s screen transitions to the photo of an expanse of stars, V cannot help but think the vastness of space only accentuates this feeling, a big wide world that encompasses small existences.

It’s beautiful, though. The question promotes a lingering silence out of V, and he hands the camera back without looking at him.]

My father and mother died when I was young. [Leaning back in his chair again, his posture is more of a tired slouch than what it was before.] A sad backstory, but certainly not unique.

[He shears away the details so that he doesn’t have to go into them.]

Not like your story.

[prompto takes his camera back, getting back on his feet as v leans back and seems to slouch.]

Doesn't need to be unique to not be rough. Sorry, for your loss.

[because he really is. no one is without something that eats them up inside, in fear and hesitation and compromise, of something that has changed their life's paths forever. it's painful at best, endlessly searing hot at worst.]

[he walks back towards the couch and sits down, playing around with his camera some more, eyes kept low.]

...are you also lonely, sometimes?

[it's a heavy question to ask, he knows, but he wonders about it, regardless, even in the quieter tones of his voice.]

the miles are way too long

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