Being able to do it myself would be preferable, yes.
[It's the way he prefers to do most things. Reading was not only a valuable skill to be regained, but a passion that his injury had forced him to give up until now. He grimaces, spearing a piece of bacon.]
I don't especially care for being treated like a child, kind as it is for Iris to go out of her way. I don't expect anyone else would be willing to do the same, and I wouldn't want them to.
You know, you could just ask someone directly. [Her usual dry voice as she points her fork at him—even if he can't see it.] Otherwise it does sound as if you're just waiting for someone to do it for you.
Maybe to you, but from where I'm sitting your "manners" sound more like an excuse to passively "not trouble" anyone. Otherwise, we wouldn't be here having this discussion.
[He grits his teeth, and while he tries to maintain his composure, he can feel himself bristle. He hates the idea of anyone seeing him as using his injury as a crutch, using helplessness to protect himself from disappointment-- but to a degree, isn't that exactly what he's been doing?
He exhales slowly.]
We see things differently. [To say the least.] Before our meeting yesterday, would you have called us friends?
[His tone, at least, implies that he feels the same. Acquaintances, yes. Allies? Perhaps. But not friends, not quite yet.]
As such, I am in no position to impose upon you. You assume that I simply don't want to be a bother to anyone-- but were someone else in your place, rest assured, I would ask without hesitation. While we are acquaintances and I am certainly grateful for your time, as well as the offers you've made, it would be wrong to expect much else of you.
Nice words, but I still don't buy it. [She sets her fork down and sits back in the chair, one leg crossed over the knee and arms across her chest.]
Still doesn't change the fact that you've had almost, what, a year? Even if I gave you a few months, you had plenty of time and plenty of people to ask. Like your girlfriend, who should have figured out a few things at least. [A small scoff.]
So yeah, sure. Maybe you wouldn't ask me, but you had options before I came along. So where's the "no hesitation" for asking for basic tools to stop being a useless invalid?
[Those people all had better things to do, found it too difficult to spend much time in his company-- as he found it difficult to spend time in theirs. Iris, he reasons, would have been willing to go out of her way, and she already did a great deal for him-- almost too much for his liking, because at the end of the day, everything came down to the same point.
He was stubborn, and prideful, and didn't want to ask anyone for help. He hated that he had to. He hated that there were things he couldn't do for himself, and thus it was easier to pretend he didn't need the assistance at all.
He'd spent the year in mourning, not only for Noctis, but for who he himself had been.]
Tch.
[His jaw tightens, his breakfast now forgotten.]
Of course you manage to make it sound simple. It isn't. Asking them also requires they be present--
[But even as he says it, he knows that's shoving the responsibility off onto someone else. Unlike him, in all respects.]
There is no girlfriend. [It doesn't occur to him that she means Iris.] And I'm not useless.
[He's done plenty even without being able to read for himself, and yet there's no denying that having the tools to learn again would improve his quality of life.
It would also mean admitting, once and for all, that this wasn't temporary.]
[Aranea only sits there, watching and listening. She may not be able to see his entire expression due to his glasses, but she doesn't need it.]
It sounds simple because it is. You're the only one making it difficult.
[And of course, she's not holding back whatsoever.]
There are plenty of hunters around. I'm sure at least one of them could have been paid to at least train you whenever. We have airships that go out for scavenge runs. Could have a made a request with them.
So, what other excuse you gonna try?
[She has a feeling it is about his own pride, not "manners" or meekness. So her question is a daring one, as if either challenging or forcing him to acknowledge it. And none of it gentle.]
[Were they discussing any other topic, he would have appreciated her candor. That same straightforward nature he had found so refreshing the day before was now under his skin, probing at things and provoking thoughts that he felt were better left untouched.
He grips the edge of the table and pushes himself to his feet, moving to lean his weight against the counter, bracing himself with his back to her.]
Leave.
[His voice is quiet but stern, steely where he had previously shown manners. He would not resort to crass language, certainly not now, but the conversation was one he no longer wanted to have.
[The response is one she both did and did not expect. Rather, she expected several possibilities. Lashing anger, denial, acceptance. Telling her to leave? Actually, that fits in there.
The first two.]
That's a good one.
[There's no malice in her voice, just that usual dryness as the chair scrapes back, her heel thuds against the floor before she stands, and then walking to gather her things.]
Hope you grow out of your "manners" soon.
[No, she's definitely not going to apologize. Nor is she going to grow any more sensitive or delicate (not like she ever really was to begin with). And while she still isn't saying it directly, the sarcasm and pointed use of his own words is enough of a hint that she knows it's not that at all.
And that she knows he knows it, too, even if he isn't really acknowledging it.
So if that really is it, she'll just head out on her own. As far as she's concerned, everything is off and she's going to go back out down and do her real work.]
[He says nothing. For now, that is it. He lets her see herself out, his grip going white-knuckled against the edge of the counter. Her words cut deep-- and she's absolutely right. He hates that she is. None of it is news to him, but accepting it? Accepting it is another matter entirely, one he's done his damndest not to dwell on.
When Noct had still been with them, Ignis had been so focused on fulfilling his duty that he'd never even considered sparing a moment to feel sorry for himself. Without that purpose driving him forward, what was he now?
It's six months before they cross paths again. Ignis had put the time to good use, distancing himself from the organization and clerical work that had filled much of his first year following Noct's disappearance. He had regained much of his combat prowess; while he had been forced to alter his style somewhat to suit, he was able to hunt effectively once more. Most times, he ventured out without a partner-- only occasionally did he join forces with Prompto or the Amicitias, as they had all continued to keep their distance from one another over the past several months with few exceptions.
This hunt, too, was one he had undertaken alone, which was why he stiffened at the sound of very human footsteps approaching from the opposite direction. They were slow and steady, heavily armored-- but whoever it was, he was certain they had no business here, even as he called one of his daggers into his right hand.]
[Everything that had transpired between her and Ignis was practically forgotten. At first she had wondered if he'd show his sorry ass, but after a couple of days, it was time to head back out. The moment the ship ascended was the moment she returned to her life of hunting and helping escort salvage runs. There were times when she had to coordinate with the former Marshal—Cor Leonis—and it really didn't take too long for her to start taking more command, especially for longer excursions out into Gralea and Altissia—especially to Gralea, as she and her men knew Niflheim better than most of the others.
But while she doesn't mind the long trips, just being able to do some good ol' fashioned daemon hunting is a good stress reliever. And that is exactly what she is doing now. Spear out, she slowly moves in on the location where it's said the daemon—a Mindflayer—was last spotted. It's said to be a tough one, taken down a few good men already. Given her own resilience and skill, it only makes sense that she tries to take this on.
Alone.
Maybe stupid, but she'd rather not risk her men on this.
So when she does hear a voice, she starts, not expecting another person. But then when she recognizes the speaker, her flashlight just barely illuminating his figure, she can't help but scoff.]
[His breath catches in his throat as he immediately places her voice, exhaling a moment later, a low hiss of air that does nothing to distract him from the tension that's suddenly singing its way through his body.
Of all the hunters he could possibly have run into.]
That's not for you to say. [He's fully capable of doing this, and doing it on his own, thank you.] Don't tell me you want to split the bounty.
I don't want to split anything. [Money is still a great motivating factor for her, all right.
But before she can say more, there's a sudden chill, a dark silence that fills the void. For Aranea, she always had a small tingle that crawled up her spear arm whenever a daemon is about to arrive, and she is feeling it now.]
But looks like we won't have much of a choice. Get ready.
[He'd been ready even before her arrival, and he steels himself for what's to come as he turns himself in the demon's direction on instinct. The air around them shifts, and that familiar groan sounds from beneath the earth just before the demon itself takes form, as if conjuring itself from the aether.
He can't see it, but he doesn't need to in order to be able to strike. Without his sight, he was that much more aware of the way the air moved, the way sound cut through it, the way magic coursed.
He could do this. With or without her, the demon would be slain. He launches himself forward, having almost regained the nimble grace he'd been known so well for in the past, conjuring a second dagger as he sends himself into a spiral, slicing upwards. His blade meets daemon flesh, and a smile pulls at one side of his mouth.
[Honestly, Aranea hadn't been sure what to expect in terms of how Ignis would be in terms of fighting. Launching himself right into the Mindflayer's face was not it. She's not sure if that was supposed to be impressive, but it looked more stupid to her.]
Well look at you—guess an old dog can learn new tricks.
[After letting Ignis have his little opening strike glory, Aranea joins in the fray, taking it from behind since he had effectively gained its attention at the front. As it shrieks, gathering its magic into its hands, she thrusts her spear forward for a deep upward slash, knocking it off balance and disrupting the spell cast. Of course it's going to take much more than that, but she's already jumping back and getting ready for another strike.]
[There was something to be said for not being able to see his enemy in the traditional sense. For starters, the shock factor was gone-- which meant that after exercising due caution, throwing himself into the fray was much less of an ordeal than it once might have been.
He hears Aranea circle around back, taking advantage of his assault to launch a pincer attack, which can only work in their favor. He slices again, feeling himself sever one of the beast's tentacles and causing it to let out a high-pitched keening noise. The warm crackle of magic makes itself known, mounting in the air surrounding, and Ignis bounds backwards just enough to put himself out of the daemon's immediate reach.]
Not quite an 'old' dog just yet.
[He grimaces, producing an elemental grenade and tossing it directly at the Mindflayer with almost alarming precision.]
[While Ignis goes for the tentacle, Aranea swings her spear to slice off another.]
Could have fooled me—what are you, 40?
[Whether or not Ignis missed the battlefield bickering, he's getting it now. And when she sees him setting up for the magic grenade, she jumps back to get out of the way. However, she will also throw her spear so that it pierces through another tentacle, keeping the Mindflayer in place. Even if Ignis throw is good, this will guarantee a direct hit.
And it's a good hit, the daemon shrieking in pain and anger—but it still has 75% HP has a lot left to it, and if anything, it may be growing angrier, as if finding Ignis's use of magic somehow offensive. So after wrenching itself free from Aranea's spear and teleport away. But where?]
[The retort is offered effortlessly and without hesitation; it's easy to fall back into the habit of bantering while engaged in combat, even if his partner is different this time around. He's always appreciated the levity it afforded the situation.
That shriek pierces the air, followed by the twisting of aether-- the daemon is on the move now, and Ignis goes tense, alert, ready to pull himself out of its grasp at a moment's notice. He, however, is not the target the daemon picks, reappearing just behind Aranea and letting loose a thick, choking cloud of foul-smelling smoke before it begins calling upon its magic once more.]
[Wow, 25, really? She would have retorted, but the Mindflayer had disappeared and now she had to focus. Where did that bastard—
Too late does she sense the daemon behind, and while she quickly jumps away, she coughs as the smoke filters through into her helmet. She had tried to avoid breathing it in, knowing full well of the danger, but it's too late.
She staggers a moment, her head reeling and thick as the effects take hold of her. Although she tries to shake it out, the voice is muddled.
The daemon...right, she had to kill the Mindflayer. Was there someone else there with her? Her thoughts are blurred as she tries to remember, but when she turns to look at the voice, she doesn't see a person.
She sees the Mindflayer, almost as if it's taunting her.
Not realizing that it's really Ignis, she runs forward, jumps, and surges downward, her spear right at where she thought the Mindflayer's chest would be.]
[He doesn't need to see her to know that something isn't right. The Mindflayer keeps its distance, calling down spells, and no sooner than Ignis roll out of the path of a well-aimed Thundara does he find himself assaulted-- but not by the daemon, not this time.
He moves, but not quite quickly enough. Though worse damage could have been done, he narrowly avoids a head-on collision with the dragoon as she leaps on him, the tip of the spear only narrowly missing piercing him square in the chest and instead making short work of the sleeve of his jacket, leaving a deep gash in its wake and forcing his shoulder to push the wrong way against its socket.]
Aranea!
[His voice is strangled, pained, but he steels himself long enough to send another grenade in the Mindflayer's direction, the daemon making enough racket to make him an easy target. For that, at the very least, he was thankful-- but the battle could quickly become a losing one if Aranea did not regain herself.]
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Being able to do it myself would be preferable, yes.
[It's the way he prefers to do most things. Reading was not only a valuable skill to be regained, but a passion that his injury had forced him to give up until now. He grimaces, spearing a piece of bacon.]
I don't especially care for being treated like a child, kind as it is for Iris to go out of her way. I don't expect anyone else would be willing to do the same, and I wouldn't want them to.
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[He won't deny that.]
But I'm already asking quite enough of you. It's not your job to fetch me reading material.
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Please remind me what you've actually asked of me so far.
[Because she's pretty sure she's offered the useful things out of her own whim. Offering dinner and breakfast definitely do not count.]
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Combat training is going to take up enough of your time. I'll not ask you to be an errand girl.
[That's well below her pay grade.]
As for the actual act of asking, I've no fear of asking for what I need-- having manners is not the same as being passive.
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[ie, the training and the whole book thing.]
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He exhales slowly.]
We see things differently. [To say the least.] Before our meeting yesterday, would you have called us friends?
[He's going somewhere with this.]
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I wouldn't really call us that now.
[However, she may have an idea of what he's getting at. But she'll let him explain.]
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[His tone, at least, implies that he feels the same. Acquaintances, yes. Allies? Perhaps. But not friends, not quite yet.]
As such, I am in no position to impose upon you. You assume that I simply don't want to be a bother to anyone-- but were someone else in your place, rest assured, I would ask without hesitation. While we are acquaintances and I am certainly grateful for your time, as well as the offers you've made, it would be wrong to expect much else of you.
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Still doesn't change the fact that you've had almost, what, a year? Even if I gave you a few months, you had plenty of time and plenty of people to ask. Like your girlfriend, who should have figured out a few things at least. [A small scoff.]
So yeah, sure. Maybe you wouldn't ask me, but you had options before I came along. So where's the "no hesitation" for asking for basic tools to stop being a useless invalid?
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He was stubborn, and prideful, and didn't want to ask anyone for help. He hated that he had to. He hated that there were things he couldn't do for himself, and thus it was easier to pretend he didn't need the assistance at all.
He'd spent the year in mourning, not only for Noctis, but for who he himself had been.]
Tch.
[His jaw tightens, his breakfast now forgotten.]
Of course you manage to make it sound simple. It isn't. Asking them also requires they be present--
[But even as he says it, he knows that's shoving the responsibility off onto someone else. Unlike him, in all respects.]
There is no girlfriend. [It doesn't occur to him that she means Iris.] And I'm not useless.
[He's done plenty even without being able to read for himself, and yet there's no denying that having the tools to learn again would improve his quality of life.
It would also mean admitting, once and for all, that this wasn't temporary.]
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It sounds simple because it is. You're the only one making it difficult.
[And of course, she's not holding back whatsoever.]
There are plenty of hunters around. I'm sure at least one of them could have been paid to at least train you whenever. We have airships that go out for scavenge runs. Could have a made a request with them.
So, what other excuse you gonna try?
[She has a feeling it is about his own pride, not "manners" or meekness. So her question is a daring one, as if either challenging or forcing him to acknowledge it. And none of it gentle.]
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He grips the edge of the table and pushes himself to his feet, moving to lean his weight against the counter, bracing himself with his back to her.]
Leave.
[His voice is quiet but stern, steely where he had previously shown manners. He would not resort to crass language, certainly not now, but the conversation was one he no longer wanted to have.
Forget training. He'd do it on his own.]
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The first two.]
That's a good one.
[There's no malice in her voice, just that usual dryness as the chair scrapes back, her heel thuds against the floor before she stands, and then walking to gather her things.]
Hope you grow out of your "manners" soon.
[No, she's definitely not going to apologize. Nor is she going to grow any more sensitive or delicate (not like she ever really was to begin with). And while she still isn't saying it directly, the sarcasm and pointed use of his own words is enough of a hint that she knows it's not that at all.
And that she knows he knows it, too, even if he isn't really acknowledging it.
So if that really is it, she'll just head out on her own. As far as she's concerned, everything is off and she's going to go back out down and do her real work.]
bloop bloop bloop timeskip!
When Noct had still been with them, Ignis had been so focused on fulfilling his duty that he'd never even considered sparing a moment to feel sorry for himself. Without that purpose driving him forward, what was he now?
It's six months before they cross paths again. Ignis had put the time to good use, distancing himself from the organization and clerical work that had filled much of his first year following Noct's disappearance. He had regained much of his combat prowess; while he had been forced to alter his style somewhat to suit, he was able to hunt effectively once more. Most times, he ventured out without a partner-- only occasionally did he join forces with Prompto or the Amicitias, as they had all continued to keep their distance from one another over the past several months with few exceptions.
This hunt, too, was one he had undertaken alone, which was why he stiffened at the sound of very human footsteps approaching from the opposite direction. They were slow and steady, heavily armored-- but whoever it was, he was certain they had no business here, even as he called one of his daggers into his right hand.]
You shouldn't be here.
such a loser and poor date
But while she doesn't mind the long trips, just being able to do some good ol' fashioned daemon hunting is a good stress reliever. And that is exactly what she is doing now. Spear out, she slowly moves in on the location where it's said the daemon—a Mindflayer—was last spotted. It's said to be a tough one, taken down a few good men already. Given her own resilience and skill, it only makes sense that she tries to take this on.
Alone.
Maybe stupid, but she'd rather not risk her men on this.
So when she does hear a voice, she starts, not expecting another person. But then when she recognizes the speaker, her flashlight just barely illuminating his figure, she can't help but scoff.]
I should be the one telling you that.
[Hello, Ignis.]
so rude, he was good to you
Of all the hunters he could possibly have run into.]
That's not for you to say. [He's fully capable of doing this, and doing it on his own, thank you.] Don't tell me you want to split the bounty.
kicking a girl out is not being "good"
But before she can say more, there's a sudden chill, a dark silence that fills the void. For Aranea, she always had a small tingle that crawled up her spear arm whenever a daemon is about to arrive, and she is feeling it now.]
But looks like we won't have much of a choice. Get ready.
she was so going to leave anyway
[He'd been ready even before her arrival, and he steels himself for what's to come as he turns himself in the demon's direction on instinct. The air around them shifts, and that familiar groan sounds from beneath the earth just before the demon itself takes form, as if conjuring itself from the aether.
He can't see it, but he doesn't need to in order to be able to strike. Without his sight, he was that much more aware of the way the air moved, the way sound cut through it, the way magic coursed.
He could do this. With or without her, the demon would be slain. He launches himself forward, having almost regained the nimble grace he'd been known so well for in the past, conjuring a second dagger as he sends himself into a spiral, slicing upwards. His blade meets daemon flesh, and a smile pulls at one side of his mouth.
Who's helpless now?]
his cooking wasn't that great anyway
Well look at you—guess an old dog can learn new tricks.
[After letting Ignis have his little opening strike glory, Aranea joins in the fray, taking it from behind since he had effectively gained its attention at the front. As it shrieks, gathering its magic into its hands, she thrusts her spear forward for a deep upward slash, knocking it off balance and disrupting the spell cast. Of course it's going to take much more than that, but she's already jumping back and getting ready for another strike.]
RUDE also BLINDSIDE LINK 1.5
He hears Aranea circle around back, taking advantage of his assault to launch a pincer attack, which can only work in their favor. He slices again, feeling himself sever one of the beast's tentacles and causing it to let out a high-pitched keening noise. The warm crackle of magic makes itself known, mounting in the air surrounding, and Ignis bounds backwards just enough to put himself out of the daemon's immediate reach.]
Not quite an 'old' dog just yet.
[He grimaces, producing an elemental grenade and tossing it directly at the Mindflayer with almost alarming precision.]
EGGS TOO LIMP and awww yeah get them style points
Could have fooled me—what are you, 40?
[Whether or not Ignis missed the battlefield bickering, he's getting it now. And when she sees him setting up for the magic grenade, she jumps back to get out of the way. However, she will also throw her spear so that it pierces through another tentacle, keeping the Mindflayer in place. Even if Ignis throw is good, this will guarantee a direct hit.
And it's a good hit, the daemon shrieking in pain and anger—but it still
has 75% HPhas a lot left to it, and if anything, it may be growing angrier, as if finding Ignis's use of magic somehow offensive. So after wrenching itself free from Aranea's spear and teleport away. But where?]THEY WERE DELICIOUS
[The retort is offered effortlessly and without hesitation; it's easy to fall back into the habit of bantering while engaged in combat, even if his partner is different this time around. He's always appreciated the levity it afforded the situation.
That shriek pierces the air, followed by the twisting of aether-- the daemon is on the move now, and Ignis goes tense, alert, ready to pull himself out of its grasp at a moment's notice. He, however, is not the target the daemon picks, reappearing just behind Aranea and letting loose a thick, choking cloud of foul-smelling smoke before it begins calling upon its magic once more.]
Aranea!
COULD HAVE BEEN FIRMER
Too late does she sense the daemon behind, and while she quickly jumps away, she coughs as the smoke filters through into her helmet. She had tried to avoid breathing it in, knowing full well of the danger, but it's too late.
She staggers a moment, her head reeling and thick as the effects take hold of her. Although she tries to shake it out, the voice is muddled.
The daemon...right, she had to kill the Mindflayer. Was there someone else there with her? Her thoughts are blurred as she tries to remember, but when she turns to look at the voice, she doesn't see a person.
She sees the Mindflayer, almost as if it's taunting her.
Not realizing that it's really Ignis, she runs forward, jumps, and surges downward, her spear right at where she thought the Mindflayer's chest would be.]
THIS IS NOT THE TIME
He moves, but not quite quickly enough. Though worse damage could have been done, he narrowly avoids a head-on collision with the dragoon as she leaps on him, the tip of the spear only narrowly missing piercing him square in the chest and instead making short work of the sleeve of his jacket, leaving a deep gash in its wake and forcing his shoulder to push the wrong way against its socket.]
Aranea!
[His voice is strangled, pained, but he steels himself long enough to send another grenade in the Mindflayer's direction, the daemon making enough racket to make him an easy target. For that, at the very least, he was thankful-- but the battle could quickly become a losing one if Aranea did not regain herself.]
You've lost your wits!
THAT'S WHAT HE SAID
YOU'RE TEARING HIM APART literally
NOT HER FAULT HE'S EASY kind of
you're going to sully his excellent reputation
pretty sure he can do it on his own
:|
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I SAW THAT
:D
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