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[He resists the urge to sigh heavily, offering a grim smile in its stead. No, ordinary pleasantries simply wouldn't do-- he might have thought something was amiss if she didn't poke fun at him.]

Given that I've known her since before she could read and played a large part in looking after her as a favor to her actual brother, yes, I'm quite sure. She's family.

[And as tired as he sounds, he is truly grateful for that, especially since he, Prompto and Gladiolus have grown apart since Noctis' disappearance.]

No armor today?

[He may not be able to see her, but he can certainly hear the difference.]

[She could tease him further, but she's supposed to be nice to him so she doesn't.]

Wow, you actually noticed? Kind of creepy. [...No one said she was good at it, okay.]

But no real point since I don't plan on going out hunting today. Attracts less attention, too.

[And then she sets the bag she had been carrying down next to his arm so he can feel the paper bag.]

No flowers, either, but this should work just as well.

[He lets out a brief snort, amused.]

Armor isn't exactly stealthy, after all.

[Though his hearing has grown considerably sharper since he's had to rely on it so heavily. He chuckles faintly as he shifts his weight, setting his mug back down on the bedside table so he can reach into the bag to lightly brush his fingers against its contents.]

Gifts? People will start to talk. [But he smirks, his hand closing around another bottleneck first.] Ah, perfect. This morning's hangover was over far too quickly.

I think a woman entering your place is enough of a conversation starter. [Though one could say her presence is already a gift.

She'll cross her arms and lean against the wall, watching him.]

There's also a change of clothes in there. As a replacement.

On that point, you may be right. I don't entertain much company lately.

[Ladies or otherwise, with the exception of friends who come by to check in when it's convenient-- which it often isn't.

He looks genuinely surprised at the mention of clothes, moving past the bottles to close his fingers around soft, smooth fabric-- easily identifiable as a shirt, once he runs a thumb over one of the buttons.]

Thank you-- that was quite thoughtful, especially as I was quite fond of the other one.

Yeah, well. [A small raise of her hand.] It was my fault, so only fair.

And don't worry. It's not a banana print or anything like that. [And again he'll likely hear the smirk in her voice. So is it a stupid shirt? Or an actual nice shirt? How would he know—]

You'll forgive me if I feel compelled to get someone else's opinion.

[It might not be a banana print, but there are at least a million other terrible things it could be, and he wouldn't put any of them past Aranea.]

You're not going to leave me to start on these bottles alone, I hope. Drinking is much better with company.

Aw, don't trust me? I feel a little hurt. [She of course neither feels nor sounds like it at all. She will also shift to push against the wall to move over and sit on the edge of his bed next to him.

Crossing one leg over the other, she'll lean over to reach in the bag and grab a bottle.]

Just for that, I think I will take back one of these.

Trust you to snap my shoulder back into place, yes. Trust you to pass on the opportunity to have a laugh at my expense? I'm not so sure.

[He's smiling all the same, reaching to claim a bottle of his own.]

And here I thought you were made of much stronger stuff than that.

Now you're trying to flatter me again. Won't work this time.

Flattery? What would be the aim of that, I wonder?

[He uncaps his bottle, forgoing a glass entirely and drinking straight from it, a long swig that burns all the way down. If nothing else, it helps with the pain-- and let's be honest, Ignis' life the past year and a half would be enough to drive anyone to drink.]

Merely pointing out that it's unlike you to be so delicate.

[There's a slight arch of the brow at the long swig, but it's more of a curious thing than anything else. She imagines him more of that "fine wine dining" type of guy so it's always a little weird yet interesting whenever he does anything more...informal.]

Whatever your aim is, it's terrible. [Meaning his flattery wouldn't have been working if he were trying.] And would it bother you if I had a delicate side?

[Which of course is complete nonsense, but it's all in good humor so why not. Drinking is always better when it's in good humor than depressing crap.

She is also going to take this opportunity to pick up that braille book because she can't help but be nosy.]

[It nearly echoes the question he'd asked her when she'd commented on his manners all those months ago, and he simply shakes his head in reply, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth despite the ache from his injuries.]

Of course not. People are, after all, endlessly complicated.

[And as straightforward as Aranea tends to be, he's assuming she's no different in that respect.

He tips his head curiously in her direction, her weight against the mattress comforting in its own way-- solid proof that despite living in darkness, for the moment, he wasn't entirely alone. The book appears to be a novel-- procedural drama, and while that's not normally something he would feel drawn to, he has to make due with what's available.]

Curious, are you?

[There's a breath of laughter in response to his answers.] Usually they just make it complicated. [Totally not referencing him. Totally.

But people are complicated creatures, herself no different if perhaps a little less so, which can be both interesting and frustrating at times. But she at least knows to expect that as well as exploit it sometimes.

But after taking another sip while holding the book in one hand, her attention becomes more focused on the dots lining the page. Setting the bottle down on the side table, she brushes her hand over the raised bumps.]

And maybe not as complicated as this. So is it just every letter you have to learn and basically spell out everything before you can understand?

[Like a code?]

The most basic forms of it, yes. There are also characters for common words and ligatures, though their use is... inconsistent, or so I've experienced so far. No two books follow the exact same format.

[Which, he'll admit, makes learning it that much more complicated-- but he's working his way through it, steadily. While he's always been a fast learner, he is somewhat handicapped in this by learning it as an adult who, until recently, had his sight, rather than being born without it and thus learning in his formative years.]

It's been a challenge, but I often welcome those.

Wow, they couldn't keep consistent? I like challenges, but this sounds more like a real pain in the ass. [Still, she runs her fingers across the raised bumps, natural curiosity kicking in as she wonders what these mean and how hard it must really be to learn.

Kind of makes her feel a little bad about what she said before. Little. A bit.]

So what's this book about?

A challenge I've no doubt I'll overcome, but yes-- it is certainly frustrating to a degree, especially learning it so late in life.

[He may not be old by any measure of the word, but learning an entirely new way to communicate after twenty years is no small task.]

A procedural drama-- "thriller," supposedly, though I've yet to find myself thrilled. [Part of that may be because he's still slow to move through certain passages.] I'm grateful for it all the same. Beggars can't be choosers.

But you're a smart guy. Once you're done you could probably teach others. [And then she could nickname him "The Professor" or some stupid thing like that.]

And no wonder—how could anything described as procedural be "thrilling"?

Anyone die in it?

[She is now going to just swing her body and legs around, lean back against the bed rest right next to him, cross her legs right over each other and just flip through the book. She can't understand a lick, but it's what you do with books.

Also, she may investigate his side table in a second.]

Two victims so far, both off-screen.

[He doesn't sound terribly impressed, to be honest.

While he doesn't mind her flipping through the book at her leisure, he does tense when he hears her shift, moving to investigate his nightstand, and that is enough to spur him to move. He reaches out blindly to feel for her arm and close a hand over her wrist, hoping to intervene.]

Excuse--

[He succeeds in grabbing a wrist—but not the one closest to the drawer.]

What, got something to hide?

[She is a woman on a mission now.]

[He grimaces.]

Did no one ever tell you it's rude to go through other people's drawers?

[He's sure that someone had, and that she just didn't care.]

Maybe when I was like five.

[Drawer is opening.]

[He sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth, knowing it's too late to stop her. Upon opening the drawer, she'll find a spare set of keys and some loose gil, a bottle of painkillers along with a bottle of sleeping pills, and a number of more personal items-- certainly not out of place in a nightstand drawer, but not the sort of thing most people would care for their guests to stumble upon.]

[Indeed, Aranea had only been expecting the usual boring things. But then there are...a few things she had not been expecting. Like. At all.

There's going to be a very distinct moment of silence before there's the sound of some rustling, like something large ruffling against paper, and then the clink of metal before she raises the items out of the drawer.]

And here I thought you were too uptight for dirty fun. [She is totally going to dangle those handcuffs against his face, though that's not all she took out. Guess what they're hanging from. Hint, not her hand and she's tempted to flip the switch to turn it on.]

[He sighs heavily, exasperated, dragging one hand down the entire length of his face. By the Six, was nothing sacred?]

Consider it another reminder that there's a great deal you don't know about me.

[The ruffling of paper makes his shoulders go rigid. He knows exactly what that is, and who it belongs to, but he's never gotten around to discarding it. He gently swats the handcuffs away from his face, fingers accidentally brushing against the other item in the process, and he grits his teeth.]

Put those back, if you please.

[As if she'll listen.]

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