[ In their defense, someone did say the mine shaft is haunted. And naturally, as curiosities and cats and reckless teenagers go, such an assertion necessitates investigation, especially in person, on a dark and gloomy Saturday night. Frankenstein, after all, did not create his monster on a sunny Monday morning for obvious monster-making reasons, and it's that same logic which finds them at the bottom of a mine shaft with nobody around.
Prompto is the first to freak, but cooler heads (read: Noctis) prevail, and instead of doing the sensible thing, which will be to dial emergency services (most notably the fire rescue department, tasked with firefighting, rescuing cats from all manner of trees, and currently, errant princes and their retainers from abandoned mine shafts in Buttfuck Nowhere), he calls Ignis. He supposes he'd probably call Ignis even if he was trapped on an island and was afforded only one phone call, because Noctis is prepared to swear that Ignis has the tracking skills of a bloodhound, probably has his phone tagged to within one square meter of any given area (not unlike a chip on a pet), and possesses an over-abundance of common sense that Noctis has largely come to depend on.
In short: the prince's unrelenting, unapologetic codependence on the royal chamberlain should probably be reviewed for the sake of the latter's mental health. Attempts to mitigate the matter should probably be made, even though all attempts will be blithely ignored by aforementioned prince. Prompto shares this particular view to a certain extent, if the look he gives him when he calls Ignis is any indication (dude! 911's right there!), but Noctis has all the unshakeable faith of a mountain in Ignis, and it seems like a lifetime before the firemen arrive.
Tall, broad and burly, the lot of them seem to have stepped out from the pages of Firefighters Weekly, and Noctis and Prompto were rescued in under five minutes, pulled up and none the worse for wear. All's well that ends well, right? Noctis might be the prince -- and he might only have eyes for none other than his currently irate adviser glaring daggers at him from practically a yard away, with Gladio very cleverly keeping to himself (which is saying something when the man is as bulky and imposing as they come) -- but it doesn't mean that he doesn't notice just how handsome the firemen are.
Lookers, the lot of them, like they'd just rushed over from a calendar photoshoot or something. And it doesn't hurt that they're milling around him, too. Prompto's slid off somewhere in the span of these couple of minutes, and Noctis is grateful enough to take some time to thank them -- never let it be said that the crown prince lacks manners terribly, even if something in the pit of his stomach very helpfully reminds him that he's going to be in deep trouble with Ignis later.
It takes him up until Ignis' sudden ominous presence, his hand clamped onto his shoulder for Noctis to notice that the men might possibly be flirting with him, and the prince's gratitude and friendliness might also be misconstrued as reciprocation of a strange sort. It's tempting to be invited for drinks at the station, because maybe now Ignis will see him as an older, more mature person (nevermind that he and Prompto needed to be rescued because the thought jumping down a mine shaft at night would be a great idea). But a niggling feeling remains; Ignis smells like coffee and there hints of coffee stains on those pristine cuffs, and come to think of it, he did hear a curious sound of a can being crushed...
... All the same, he knows that Ignis is right, and as much as he doesn't like to be called away, Ignis leaves him the dignity of staying by his side instead of doing the physical herding, a silent request for cooperation instead of prying it from him, and Noctis finds himself more amenable to direction. He leans closer to Ignis just as instinctively, the way he always orients himself towards him when he's close, like Ignis is his true north and Noctis can do nothing but obey.
True north, in every way that counts. So while Noctis is tempted, he's shit at drinking and judging from the tension in Ignis' shoulders, this is a situation better resolved by Noctis not pushing his damn luck. He presses closer to Ignis, a silent capitulation to his adviser's particular gambit (not that it'll alleviate the anger he feels practically emanating from him), gives them polite smiles and declines, because prince or not he's still a minor, and says his thanks before nodding at Ignis, and he's the one that impulsively takes his adviser's hand, making their way to where the Regalia is parked.
Prompto and Gladio seem to have disappeared from where Noctis had earlier spotted them -- and he wonders if it's because Ignis looks so eerily calm that the other two would much rather take their chances with a pack of enraged Coeurls than be in Ignis' immediate vicinity.
Noctis is contemplating that briefly, himself. But Ignis did just pull off an impressive search and rescue expedition and successfully extracted them in under half an hour, and the prince cannot deny being just a little bit turned on by that -- even if that's possibly the last thing on Ignis' mind right now. Stupid decisions involving mine shafts don't often lend themselves to meaningful foreplay. Ah, he'll make it up to him. ]
Thanks, Iggy. [ He chooses to break the silence. Any longer, and there'd be frost in his ears or something. ] You got them here really quick.
no subject
Prompto is the first to freak, but cooler heads (read: Noctis) prevail, and instead of doing the sensible thing, which will be to dial emergency services (most notably the fire rescue department, tasked with firefighting, rescuing cats from all manner of trees, and currently, errant princes and their retainers from abandoned mine shafts in Buttfuck Nowhere), he calls Ignis. He supposes he'd probably call Ignis even if he was trapped on an island and was afforded only one phone call, because Noctis is prepared to swear that Ignis has the tracking skills of a bloodhound, probably has his phone tagged to within one square meter of any given area (not unlike a chip on a pet), and possesses an over-abundance of common sense that Noctis has largely come to depend on.
In short: the prince's unrelenting, unapologetic codependence on the royal chamberlain should probably be reviewed for the sake of the latter's mental health. Attempts to mitigate the matter should probably be made, even though all attempts will be blithely ignored by aforementioned prince. Prompto shares this particular view to a certain extent, if the look he gives him when he calls Ignis is any indication (dude! 911's right there!), but Noctis has all the unshakeable faith of a mountain in Ignis, and it seems like a lifetime before the firemen arrive.
Tall, broad and burly, the lot of them seem to have stepped out from the pages of Firefighters Weekly, and Noctis and Prompto were rescued in under five minutes, pulled up and none the worse for wear. All's well that ends well, right? Noctis might be the prince -- and he might only have eyes for none other than his currently irate adviser glaring daggers at him from practically a yard away, with Gladio very cleverly keeping to himself (which is saying something when the man is as bulky and imposing as they come) -- but it doesn't mean that he doesn't notice just how handsome the firemen are.
Lookers, the lot of them, like they'd just rushed over from a calendar photoshoot or something. And it doesn't hurt that they're milling around him, too. Prompto's slid off somewhere in the span of these couple of minutes, and Noctis is grateful enough to take some time to thank them -- never let it be said that the crown prince lacks manners terribly, even if something in the pit of his stomach very helpfully reminds him that he's going to be in deep trouble with Ignis later.
It takes him up until Ignis' sudden ominous presence, his hand clamped onto his shoulder for Noctis to notice that the men might possibly be flirting with him, and the prince's gratitude and friendliness might also be misconstrued as reciprocation of a strange sort. It's tempting to be invited for drinks at the station, because maybe now Ignis will see him as an older, more mature person (nevermind that he and Prompto needed to be rescued because the thought jumping down a mine shaft at night would be a great idea). But a niggling feeling remains; Ignis smells like coffee and there hints of coffee stains on those pristine cuffs, and come to think of it, he did hear a curious sound of a can being crushed...
... All the same, he knows that Ignis is right, and as much as he doesn't like to be called away, Ignis leaves him the dignity of staying by his side instead of doing the physical herding, a silent request for cooperation instead of prying it from him, and Noctis finds himself more amenable to direction. He leans closer to Ignis just as instinctively, the way he always orients himself towards him when he's close, like Ignis is his true north and Noctis can do nothing but obey.
True north, in every way that counts. So while Noctis is tempted, he's shit at drinking and judging from the tension in Ignis' shoulders, this is a situation better resolved by Noctis not pushing his damn luck. He presses closer to Ignis, a silent capitulation to his adviser's particular gambit (not that it'll alleviate the anger he feels practically emanating from him), gives them polite smiles and declines, because prince or not he's still a minor, and says his thanks before nodding at Ignis, and he's the one that impulsively takes his adviser's hand, making their way to where the Regalia is parked.
Prompto and Gladio seem to have disappeared from where Noctis had earlier spotted them -- and he wonders if it's because Ignis looks so eerily calm that the other two would much rather take their chances with a pack of enraged Coeurls than be in Ignis' immediate vicinity.
Noctis is contemplating that briefly, himself. But Ignis did just pull off an impressive search and rescue expedition and successfully extracted them in under half an hour, and the prince cannot deny being just a little bit turned on by that -- even if that's possibly the last thing on Ignis' mind right now. Stupid decisions involving mine shafts don't often lend themselves to meaningful foreplay. Ah, he'll make it up to him. ]
Thanks, Iggy. [ He chooses to break the silence. Any longer, and there'd be frost in his ears or something. ] You got them here really quick.