[ Ignis was never very fidgety, but that was mostly because he'd always been very careful with how he presented himself. People didn't take you as seriously when you were younger and if you had nervous habits or tics, they were even less likely to give you time of day or their ear. He'd paired down each and every single bad habit until he was just as pristine in his mannerisms as he was in his presentation.
Now, however, he doesn't have those years of experience under his belt, or the memory behind them. He adjusts his collar again, bangs sweeping into his eyes and that's frustrating too. Maybe it would be easier to do his hair when he could see what he was looking at; he'd tried a few times to recreate whatever it was that he did before and had a rough approximation of it, but it'd taken ages. With the work Noctis did to fix his eyes, he hasn't done his hair up at all; it falls in his eyes, obnoxious, but long enough to tuck some behind his ear. ]
Did I like that before?
[ Do you still like the same foods you used to when you were a different person? Ignis wants to take it back as soon as he asks, not sure if it was a favorite meal or something else but it's too late. He moves for the door and catches sight of himself in front of the mirror, jarred. ]
Thank y- oh.
[ It hadn't really...occurred to him to look at what kind of person he was. His memories of himself were shattered and jagged, like looking into a mirror that was broken into a thousand pieces. He could remember bits, like that he had green eyes, sandy-blonde hair, but that didn't mean much. Now, he takes full stock of himself and adjusts his buttons again, smoothing everything down. The scarring is bad but not utterly horrendous; he touches his fingers to it cautiously and understands why he wore those larger glasses. There's another scar on his lip, but otherwise, he supposes he's attractive enough.
There's another pair of glasses outside the ones he used to wear and after a beat of hesitation, he takes them; they're likely prescription, as opposed to the others which were probably to hide the scarring. When he puts these on, though, he frowns, looking around the room. ]
no subject
Now, however, he doesn't have those years of experience under his belt, or the memory behind them. He adjusts his collar again, bangs sweeping into his eyes and that's frustrating too. Maybe it would be easier to do his hair when he could see what he was looking at; he'd tried a few times to recreate whatever it was that he did before and had a rough approximation of it, but it'd taken ages. With the work Noctis did to fix his eyes, he hasn't done his hair up at all; it falls in his eyes, obnoxious, but long enough to tuck some behind his ear. ]
Did I like that before?
[ Do you still like the same foods you used to when you were a different person? Ignis wants to take it back as soon as he asks, not sure if it was a favorite meal or something else but it's too late. He moves for the door and catches sight of himself in front of the mirror, jarred. ]
Thank y- oh.
[ It hadn't really...occurred to him to look at what kind of person he was. His memories of himself were shattered and jagged, like looking into a mirror that was broken into a thousand pieces. He could remember bits, like that he had green eyes, sandy-blonde hair, but that didn't mean much. Now, he takes full stock of himself and adjusts his buttons again, smoothing everything down. The scarring is bad but not utterly horrendous; he touches his fingers to it cautiously and understands why he wore those larger glasses. There's another scar on his lip, but otherwise, he supposes he's attractive enough.
There's another pair of glasses outside the ones he used to wear and after a beat of hesitation, he takes them; they're likely prescription, as opposed to the others which were probably to hide the scarring. When he puts these on, though, he frowns, looking around the room. ]
There's barely a difference.