[Sometimes the Fissure you live on top of gets ridiculously unstable for no good reason and throws a cute guy at you, or something.
On this particular morning - for it is indeed morning, contrary to popular belief Izunia is the twin who is sometimes awake then - Izunia has a mug of coffee in one hand and his cat supported by the other, Verity's front paws up on his skinny shoulder to watch the area around them. She's in a big kitty harness to ensure she doesn't go too far, the leash wrapped idly around Izunia's wrist.
And then he comes around the corner on his way out of the building, for it is morning and more specifically it is dawn and he'll come watch it even with the chill in the air - and there he stops dead.]
Oh, come on. Now? I'm not even wearing the shirt.
[The coffee cup vanishes into his Armiger in a flutter of crystal, and please let that be enough to at least raise questions rather than jumping straight into murder-dodging today.]
[Watching the sun rise is definitely the thing to do this morning. Though Nyx isn't entirely sure how he's watching this. No walls in the way, no wreckage, no rumble of destruction settling around him while the city burns.
There's the dull roar of waves, water rushing up to the shore below, a clear view as far as the eye can see. It reminds him of Galahd, sitting on the beach with Selena when she was little, before things started going downhill. Crystalline sea and clear skies and he tips his face up toward the rising sun, waiting for the heat burning, dull and aching through his left side, to consume him now in the light of day.
But it doesn't come, time stretches slowly on and Nyx, so certain of his coming death, hadn't paid any mind to the voice behind him at first. What threat could any mortal hold over him like this. On death's doorstep with the power of Kings rushing through him.
But he's here, he's still alive, the ocean view is not some sort of final mercy of the Kings. So he turns to look at the person behind him. Pale eyes go wide and he grits his teeth as he takes in the sight before him.
Perhaps this is why they've gifted him more time.
He's on his feet in a moment, jaw clenched hard, body aching with the strain of so much abuse and so very much magic that he's not built to endure.]
Wrong twin, though I do appreciate the lack of knives. I'm the one in a ring you told to fuck off.
[Beat.]
You were right, by the way.
[And with that he's just gonna... Pet this kitty whose attention has immediately flipped to watching Nyx. Is that a new friend? Dad why won't you let her go meet?]
All of the Kings of Old can fuck off so far as I'm concerned.
[He lifts his hand, looking at the way the skin's gone ashy and pale, cracks fanning out over his body.]
Not gonna change anything now. But... how d'you know...?
[A long suffering sigh and he drops his hand, shaking his head.] You're no ones twin, Chancellor... especially not a man dead for centuries. Nice try but we're not all that ignorant of Lucian history.
[And in the space of a heartbeat he's grasped the blade at his thigh, flinging it at a point above Izunia's head as he lunges forward, meaning for the attack to send him rushing at the redhead to plant his good foot in the center of his chest with all the momentum of that warp behind him.]
[Oh, there it is - well, thanks for the warning, Nyx, because Izunia - cat and all - side-steps in a phase that leaves behind an afterimage as blue as any Noctis might produce.]
And we would have burned you like near all the rest had Regis not stood for you, and that I would have regretted, and you rode on my shoulder for fuck's sake, please don't make me do the armor thing to prove it, it scares Verity.
[Loud meow! She doth protest!]
There are more gaps in Lucian history than you will ever know but we can start with 'the Ardyn you knew was a two thousand year old incarnation of loathing powered by Starscourge, where the hell did you think Niflheim got all their daemons and magitek from?'
[It's the phasing, the blue light left behind, never mind Noctis, he's never really paid much attention to the Prince's training but the blurred movement is so similar to Regis that it leaves Nyx crouched on the ground, collecting himself after the failed attack, watching Izunia carefully, considering.
And also breathing through the pain that still rages through his body. Not that it matters. He'll be dead soon enough, he knows that.
A soft hum, almost a snort, acknowledging the words and giving the faintest of nods before he smirks, pushes to his feet and through will and pride alone stands evenly balanced despite the way his left leg bows out unnaturally.]
Regretted? That so?
Is that what this is? [A sweeping gesture with the arm that's still intact. This place, his existence here, his life.] Consolation prize for the fight you were too much of a coward to start?
The power of Kings requires a living power source for things such as the Old Wall and - I'm not going to explain any of the technicalities to you until you get your weight off that leg, you absolute dumb bastard.
[The authority of kings is a grandpa holding a cat who conjures a folding chair out of his Armiger to put Verity into. Stay, kitty.
She blinks as he puts her down and meows again before jumping off to give Nyx's foot a sniff.]
Prioritize not dying for a moment and give me your hand, I might be able to do something and I can't not try.
[Ardyn you really shouldn't talk to yourself. It alerts people to your presence.
There's a flash of silver as a blade soars past Ardyn's head and then a flash of light and embers and he's a heartbeat away from being slammed against the nearest wall.]
[It wasn't a blade that flashed in Ardyn's hand but a pen; launched down the hallway with Ardyn following in a streak and flash of magenta light completely opposite Regis' blue.]
Don't. I'm only going to say this once, I'm not going to fight you, Nyx Ulric.
[There's something dark and almost feral in his expression, a savage kind of near-smile as he rushes to follow Ardyn. But he doesn't warp again, despite that being second nature for him. His blade is sheathed but he's definitely still coming for the redhead.]
[Ardyn phases to the side but not to the other end of the hall and that makes Nyx hesitate, briefly. He's gotten the spiel. No murder, no death, a place of peace and of healing, blah blah blah.
How he can be expected to sit idly by while this man exists he's not sure. But he agreed to try.]
You've got too much to answer for to just let bygones be bygones, Chancellor.
[They called it insubordination. Hell, these Lucians call nearly everything he does insubordination.
Intelligent disobedience.
It's what made him the best hunter, made him so valuable to the resistance, why he made it out alive when so many others didn't. And for all the scolding and reassignments he knows they can't afford not to keep him on the front line.
He also knows, from subtle glances, the twitch of lips beneath a beard, a glint of humor in those pale green eyes, that their king is not bothered by his so called insubordination. No, Regis makes it obvious in his own way that he enjoys Nyx's antics.
That still doesn't mean that what he's doing isn't utterly insane and liable to get him thrown in a cell, not just wall guard for the next 2 weeks.
Despite the risk as the day draws to a close Nyx parks himself on a balcony that does not belong to him, sprawled back in a chaise overlooking the city, idly rolling a pair of dice between his fingers as he waits, keeps an ear open for the sound of footsteps outside.
And when he finally hears the steady click of Regis' cane on the glossy marble floor in the hallway he can't help it. He smirks.]
[In many ways, the day never draws to an end for Regis. Even as he returns to his quarters alone--this being one of those rare nights where he's convinced Clarus it's not necessary to see him to the door--his mind is still going over the files and reports they were reviewing before parting ways. Foremost in his mind is a list of names. The latest casualties from the front. Those whose families he will need to see letters to; those who have no families and they will need to speak with their fellows to find out who might stand as next of kin. For how the list grows so fast now, he never forgets one. He can't.
His stride falters a moment, leg aching after day that has been too long. Regis wishes there was a way he could be out there with them instead of stuck here, but he also knows he would be no help. His body is not what it once was years ago. Some days it's a struggle to get from one end of the Citadel to the other, though he does all he can to hide that. He needs to look strong for his country and people.
For Noctis as well, even though he sees his son so rarely anymore.
Despite all that is on his mind, when Regis nears the balcony, he instinctively senses the presence there. His reaction would be stronger if he didn't also feel the pull on his magic. His visitor is not an enemy lurking where no one should be, but one of his trusted Kingsglaive.
One specific Glaivesman, actually, and the realization draws an amused smile to his lips before he lets his face settle back into a mask of regal seriousness.
His footsteps come to a halt several paces back from the open balcony, and as they do, Regis can almost hear Clarus' voice speaking a warning in his head. He may be within the heavily guarded Citadel, but his guards are still human and humans make mistakes.
Honestly, the warnings get old sometimes, but he has a country and a people to think of. He can't take risks, even if they are small ones.]
Did I miss the memo warning of a threat made against my balcony, Glaive Ulric? For surely, there is no other reason for you to be lingering here when your own bed must be calling.
[Those footsteps come to a halt and Nyx smiles to himself, imagines the look on the King's face. Confusion, amusement, weary caution. Then Regis speaks and Nyx rolls his eyes before he rolls smoothly to his feet, motion easy and practiced, as though he's accustomed to lounging like he himself is royalty.
Two steps into the open doorway, moonlight framing him, uniform jacket discarded, down to leather pants and foil printed tee as he moves back a few more steps, arms spread behind him, gripping the railing of the balcony, the night breeze sending his braids skittering over his shoulders.]
Not at all, Majesty.
[Light, playful, the grin evident in his voice even if the dramatic back lighting casts most of his face in shadows.]
Your balcony's quite safe, the threat is to you, yourself, sir.
[Words he knows damn well will put Regis on edge so he raises one hand, a halting gesture, something to quiet the questions or protests.]
Because I'm pretty sure if you don't come out here and appreciate the view of your city and this gorgeous night that stick up your ass is going to become fatal. Such a shame, already claimed your Shield, what about you?
[A laugh, a nod, holding his hand out in offering.]
Don't tell me you've lost all your spirit....
..... sir.
[Just challenging enough that he desperately hopes Regis will have to take him up on it. A calculated risk, he can tell himself that but he knows damn well the calculations ended at getting here, not whatever his stupid mouth came up with.]
[Nyx is right about how those words put Regis on edge. It's an instinctive response despite the fact this is Nyx Ulric, the shattered young man he pulled from Galahd's ruins and who he's watched grow into a fearsome warrior over the last few years. Even with his rebellious nature, he's been a cornerstone of the Glaive almost from the moment it was founded in its present incarnation.
Magic thickens the air just for a moment and then Nyx continues. The way that magic fades from the air again is the first sign that Nyx didn't miscalculate this particular risk. The second comes more suddenly than the first when Regis lifts a hand to rest it against his chest as he lets out a choked, and frankly unregal, laugh.
Once the laugh passes, more quickly than Nyx probably wishes, Regis has to clear his throat before speaking.]
If you truly wish permanent Wall guard duty, I suspect there are far less painful ways to achieve your goal. For your own good, I hope my Shield doesn't catch wind of you having said that. [Regis' voice is so grave that telling how serious that warning is would be impossible if it wasn't for the twinkle in his eyes. He moves forward a few more steps, those steps bringing him even with the balcony's opening.]
You do realize if I step out there, you are on duty again. My life is in your hands. Spirit is, unfortunately, a poor shield against assassins.
Aww c'mon, Majesty. You're not gonna turn me in are ya?
[A wicked bit of challenge in the words, lips curving up into a smirk. Clarus would murder him, this is true. But the only person Clarus could possibly learn it from is Regis.
Nyx is only just close enough to see that spark, the bit of mischief that he's seen before, that made him confident that Regis would appreciate a bit of fun. If there's a bit of a thrill in it, in seeing the King himself let lose just a little, well. Regis is a very attractive man.
The hesitation makes the smug smile slip a little, has Nyx stepping away from the railing, crossing the balcony to stand directly in front of Regis. It's an old, outdated show of respect, the way he bows, takes Regis' hand and brushes his lips over his knuckles. A gesture of honor, of loyalty, fealty sworn to his liege. There is no question that on duty or off he would sacrifice everything for his king.
It should be the ring he kisses but the chance to feel warm skin under his lips is a little too enticing for him to pass up. Pale blue eyes lift to meet green, the soft light of the moon making them look silver, reflective like some predatory animal. And then he smirks again, rolling his shoulder in a casual shrug.]
Got it all wrong, Majesty. It's that spirit we should be shielding. C'mon.
I probably should, but then I would be down a very talented glaive, and I'm quite certain there's no one who could fill your shoes. No, it is wisest to keep you right where you are.
[Of course, that statement takes a bit of unintended meaning when Nyx bows and presses his lips Regis' hand. It's a surprising show of respect, outdated as it may be. Regis has never minded the fact the practice fell away for most people would do it merely as an expected symbolic act. It would mean little or nothing and he's never had time for such things.
This is the complete opposite of that and Regis can't help but let his eyes fall shut a moment as those warm lips press against his skin. His opens his eyes again just in time catch that predatory look, and suddenly finds himself happy that he's learned to school his expression enough that no blush has a hope of crossing his face. His eyes soften, though.]
Is that so? [Despite the his words, Regis doesn't resist being led out onto the balcony any longer.]
Why do I get the impression there are many things that you would like to correct my views on?
[As chamberlain and right hand to Prince Noctis, it was expected of Ignis to learn how to fight to defend his liege. As all would give their swords and, so be it, their lives for the King, so too would he for the Prince.
His skills had not come overnight, despite his aptitude for magic and for more dexterous weapons. Years of hard work went into being the man he would become alongside Noctis. And he took his training every bit as seriously as anything else he learned, pouring heart and soul and sweat and blood into it.
Crownsguard training had gone without much incident, graduating with flying colors at a young age. But the Kingsglaive was another class altogether, an elite military force, the King's most trusted. Between his own studies and Noct's, Ignis currently finds himself wondering if what he's learned is enough, if he should back out now before he's in over his head. Hotheaded Gladiolus certainly has the skill of fighting well in hand, after all. What need has he to prove himself any further?
And yet, he persists, determined. It helps to have a skillful mentor to guide him, although given some of the snickering the other Glaives do behind his back where they think he can't hear, maybe 'guide' isn't the best term. The Hero, as Nyx Ulric is called, sometimes in awe, sometimes in jest, but his skills speak for themselves. Reckless, certainly, but every bit deserving of being a ranking member of the Kingsglaive.
Ignis sits in his fatigues, focused, concentrating, sharpening a dagger. He's been finding that while polearms are excellent for reach, for fancy footwork on the ground and in the air, daggers and small blades give that fine edge of finesse, tighter control. And as is true in the kitchen, it's true on the battlefield--a dull knife is far harder and more dangerous for the user to work with than a finely honed and clean edge.]
[He's never been good at doing the mentoring thing. That was always Libertus. Friendly and affectionate, able to connect with just about everyone, always wearing his heart on his sleeve. A little too soft-hearted if Nyx was completely honest but that's always been part of his charm. A charm that is shared in many ways by the Prince's Shield so it's no wonder that it's Nyx they send Ignis to for training.
The young man is very good at what he does, precise and methodical. But he's got no guts, no instincts. He'd be an excellent strategist, planning the movements of whole units, looking down at a map and preparing for the worst. But what Ignis considers recklessness is the very thing that makes him a leader and it's not something he can teach. You've either got it, or you don't.]
Still dunno how you work with those. [They've discussed it no less than a dozen times, the clean long straight blades that Ignis uses feel heavy and unwieldy in Nyx's hands, so accustomed to the kukris of his homeland. The older man drops onto the bench beside Ignis, still in uniform, dirt smudged and dusty from a day outside the wall but he's still prepared to do some work with his... apprentice?]
[Ignis' hands hesitate for a brief moment when Nyx all but collapses beside him. He's getting used to all the sweat and dirt involved in the work, the sort of thing Gladio seems to revel in, but it's still so messy.]
They're well-balanced. With identical siding to them, I never have to worry about which way they're pointing or what direction they're situated in my hand for a cutting edge. Clean. Efficient. [A light shrug.] That's not to say that yours shouldn't work for you or couldn't work for me; with enough training, anyone could become proficient in any variation of weaponry. These happen to be my choice.
[He brings up the blade he's been concentrating on, tilting it this way, angling it that way, seeing if it's to his liking. It might also be a bit of a show for his...mentor. His mentor who doesn't seem fit for mentoring, and yet here they are. A wild, instinctual beast and an intellectual strategist. Still, he wants to be making a good impression here.]
You don't approve. You think they're slow and showy.
[And he draws one of his blades, tilting it this way and that, letting the light catch on the elegant etchings down the side of the blade. Ornate and decorative and so different from his own Galahdian blade.]
But I do think they're slower. Just means you've gotta compensate for that. Your choice.
'Tis a comfort to know that His Majesty and His Highness are so protected by many different weapons and many different skills. [He'll opt for a compliment instead. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter what's slower or faster so long as it can be used competently to dispatch anything that might be in the way.]
And you only find it all showy because this is the capital, the seat of the throne. You won't find much around the Citadel at the very least that isn't pretty and ornate.
[And this is the point of contention here. Ignis never turns off. He's always on duty, always respectable, always so painfully polite. It's the kind of thing that marks Nyx and his fellows so strongly as other.
It's a cultural difference. When they're off duty they're simple men with simple tastes. They fight and flirt and fool around. It might not be dignified but it's human and it unsettles most of them how proper these damn Lucians are all the time.]
I'll give you that, at least. There's an awful lot around here's that's pretty.
[He smirks as he says it, pale gaze flicking from the dagger in Ignis' hand up to his face, not to catch his eye but to appraise the cut of his jaw, the swell of his lips, and then his gaze drifts slowly back down.
It's like baiting a coeurl, he just can't help fucking with the kid sometimes.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hardbargain) wrote2018-11-08 08:23 pm
some random ass station nonsense
On this particular morning - for it is indeed morning, contrary to popular belief Izunia is the twin who is sometimes awake then - Izunia has a mug of coffee in one hand and his cat supported by the other, Verity's front paws up on his skinny shoulder to watch the area around them. She's in a big kitty harness to ensure she doesn't go too far, the leash wrapped idly around Izunia's wrist.
And then he comes around the corner on his way out of the building, for it is morning and more specifically it is dawn and he'll come watch it even with the chill in the air - and there he stops dead.]
Oh, come on. Now? I'm not even wearing the shirt.
[The coffee cup vanishes into his Armiger in a flutter of crystal, and please let that be enough to at least raise questions rather than jumping straight into murder-dodging today.]
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There's the dull roar of waves, water rushing up to the shore below, a clear view as far as the eye can see. It reminds him of Galahd, sitting on the beach with Selena when she was little, before things started going downhill. Crystalline sea and clear skies and he tips his face up toward the rising sun, waiting for the heat burning, dull and aching through his left side, to consume him now in the light of day.
But it doesn't come, time stretches slowly on and Nyx, so certain of his coming death, hadn't paid any mind to the voice behind him at first. What threat could any mortal hold over him like this. On death's doorstep with the power of Kings rushing through him.
But he's here, he's still alive, the ocean view is not some sort of final mercy of the Kings. So he turns to look at the person behind him. Pale eyes go wide and he grits his teeth as he takes in the sight before him.
Perhaps this is why they've gifted him more time.
He's on his feet in a moment, jaw clenched hard, body aching with the strain of so much abuse and so very much magic that he's not built to endure.]
Didn't expect the Chancellor himself.
[Bemused and exasperated in equal measure.]
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[Beat.]
You were right, by the way.
[And with that he's just gonna... Pet this kitty whose attention has immediately flipped to watching Nyx. Is that a new friend? Dad why won't you let her go meet?]
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[Hold on... What!?]
All of the Kings of Old can fuck off so far as I'm concerned.
[He lifts his hand, looking at the way the skin's gone ashy and pale, cracks fanning out over his body.]
Not gonna change anything now. But... how d'you know...?
[A long suffering sigh and he drops his hand, shaking his head.] You're no ones twin, Chancellor... especially not a man dead for centuries. Nice try but we're not all that ignorant of Lucian history.
[And in the space of a heartbeat he's grasped the blade at his thigh, flinging it at a point above Izunia's head as he lunges forward, meaning for the attack to send him rushing at the redhead to plant his good foot in the center of his chest with all the momentum of that warp behind him.]
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And we would have burned you like near all the rest had Regis not stood for you, and that I would have regretted, and you rode on my shoulder for fuck's sake, please don't make me do the armor thing to prove it, it scares Verity.
[Loud meow! She doth protest!]
There are more gaps in Lucian history than you will ever know but we can start with 'the Ardyn you knew was a two thousand year old incarnation of loathing powered by Starscourge, where the hell did you think Niflheim got all their daemons and magitek from?'
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And also breathing through the pain that still rages through his body. Not that it matters. He'll be dead soon enough, he knows that.
A soft hum, almost a snort, acknowledging the words and giving the faintest of nods before he smirks, pushes to his feet and through will and pride alone stands evenly balanced despite the way his left leg bows out unnaturally.]
Regretted? That so?
Is that what this is? [A sweeping gesture with the arm that's still intact. This place, his existence here, his life.] Consolation prize for the fight you were too much of a coward to start?
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[The authority of kings is a grandpa holding a cat who conjures a folding chair out of his Armiger to put Verity into. Stay, kitty.
She blinks as he puts her down and meows again before jumping off to give Nyx's foot a sniff.]
Prioritize not dying for a moment and give me your hand, I might be able to do something and I can't not try.
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more station nonsense
[...then took one look at Nyx and did an instant 180 on his heel.]
Oh, fuck that, I'm not dealing with that today, that's all Izunia's problem.
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There's a flash of silver as a blade soars past Ardyn's head and then a flash of light and embers and he's a heartbeat away from being slammed against the nearest wall.]
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Don't. I'm only going to say this once, I'm not going to fight you, Nyx Ulric.
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[There's something dark and almost feral in his expression, a savage kind of near-smile as he rushes to follow Ardyn. But he doesn't warp again, despite that being second nature for him. His blade is sheathed but he's definitely still coming for the redhead.]
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[He phased to the side in the same magenta afterimage, not countering despite being at a perfect angle to land a strike.]
I'm not the Chancellor anymore!
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[Ardyn phases to the side but not to the other end of the hall and that makes Nyx hesitate, briefly. He's gotten the spiel. No murder, no death, a place of peace and of healing, blah blah blah.
How he can be expected to sit idly by while this man exists he's not sure. But he agreed to try.]
You've got too much to answer for to just let bygones be bygones, Chancellor.
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For Reggie
Intelligent disobedience.
It's what made him the best hunter, made him so valuable to the resistance, why he made it out alive when so many others didn't. And for all the scolding and reassignments he knows they can't afford not to keep him on the front line.
He also knows, from subtle glances, the twitch of lips beneath a beard, a glint of humor in those pale green eyes, that their king is not bothered by his so called insubordination. No, Regis makes it obvious in his own way that he enjoys Nyx's antics.
That still doesn't mean that what he's doing isn't utterly insane and liable to get him thrown in a cell, not just wall guard for the next 2 weeks.
Despite the risk as the day draws to a close Nyx parks himself on a balcony that does not belong to him, sprawled back in a chaise overlooking the city, idly rolling a pair of dice between his fingers as he waits, keeps an ear open for the sound of footsteps outside.
And when he finally hears the steady click of Regis' cane on the glossy marble floor in the hallway he can't help it. He smirks.]
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His stride falters a moment, leg aching after day that has been too long. Regis wishes there was a way he could be out there with them instead of stuck here, but he also knows he would be no help. His body is not what it once was years ago. Some days it's a struggle to get from one end of the Citadel to the other, though he does all he can to hide that. He needs to look strong for his country and people.
For Noctis as well, even though he sees his son so rarely anymore.
Despite all that is on his mind, when Regis nears the balcony, he instinctively senses the presence there. His reaction would be stronger if he didn't also feel the pull on his magic. His visitor is not an enemy lurking where no one should be, but one of his trusted Kingsglaive.
One specific Glaivesman, actually, and the realization draws an amused smile to his lips before he lets his face settle back into a mask of regal seriousness.
His footsteps come to a halt several paces back from the open balcony, and as they do, Regis can almost hear Clarus' voice speaking a warning in his head. He may be within the heavily guarded Citadel, but his guards are still human and humans make mistakes.
Honestly, the warnings get old sometimes, but he has a country and a people to think of. He can't take risks, even if they are small ones.]
Did I miss the memo warning of a threat made against my balcony, Glaive Ulric? For surely, there is no other reason for you to be lingering here when your own bed must be calling.
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Two steps into the open doorway, moonlight framing him, uniform jacket discarded, down to leather pants and foil printed tee as he moves back a few more steps, arms spread behind him, gripping the railing of the balcony, the night breeze sending his braids skittering over his shoulders.]
Not at all, Majesty.
[Light, playful, the grin evident in his voice even if the dramatic back lighting casts most of his face in shadows.]
Your balcony's quite safe, the threat is to you, yourself, sir.
[Words he knows damn well will put Regis on edge so he raises one hand, a halting gesture, something to quiet the questions or protests.]
Because I'm pretty sure if you don't come out here and appreciate the view of your city and this gorgeous night that stick up your ass is going to become fatal. Such a shame, already claimed your Shield, what about you?
[A laugh, a nod, holding his hand out in offering.]
Don't tell me you've lost all your spirit....
..... sir.
[Just challenging enough that he desperately hopes Regis will have to take him up on it. A calculated risk, he can tell himself that but he knows damn well the calculations ended at getting here, not whatever his stupid mouth came up with.]
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Magic thickens the air just for a moment and then Nyx continues. The way that magic fades from the air again is the first sign that Nyx didn't miscalculate this particular risk. The second comes more suddenly than the first when Regis lifts a hand to rest it against his chest as he lets out a choked, and frankly unregal, laugh.
Once the laugh passes, more quickly than Nyx probably wishes, Regis has to clear his throat before speaking.]
If you truly wish permanent Wall guard duty, I suspect there are far less painful ways to achieve your goal. For your own good, I hope my Shield doesn't catch wind of you having said that.
[Regis' voice is so grave that telling how serious that warning is would be impossible if it wasn't for the twinkle in his eyes. He moves forward a few more steps, those steps bringing him even with the balcony's opening.]
You do realize if I step out there, you are on duty again. My life is in your hands. Spirit is, unfortunately, a poor shield against assassins.
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[A wicked bit of challenge in the words, lips curving up into a smirk. Clarus would murder him, this is true. But the only person Clarus could possibly learn it from is Regis.
Nyx is only just close enough to see that spark, the bit of mischief that he's seen before, that made him confident that Regis would appreciate a bit of fun. If there's a bit of a thrill in it, in seeing the King himself let lose just a little, well. Regis is a very attractive man.
The hesitation makes the smug smile slip a little, has Nyx stepping away from the railing, crossing the balcony to stand directly in front of Regis. It's an old, outdated show of respect, the way he bows, takes Regis' hand and brushes his lips over his knuckles. A gesture of honor, of loyalty, fealty sworn to his liege. There is no question that on duty or off he would sacrifice everything for his king.
It should be the ring he kisses but the chance to feel warm skin under his lips is a little too enticing for him to pass up. Pale blue eyes lift to meet green, the soft light of the moon making them look silver, reflective like some predatory animal. And then he smirks again, rolling his shoulder in a casual shrug.]
Got it all wrong, Majesty. It's that spirit we should be shielding. C'mon.
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[Of course, that statement takes a bit of unintended meaning when Nyx bows and presses his lips Regis' hand. It's a surprising show of respect, outdated as it may be. Regis has never minded the fact the practice fell away for most people would do it merely as an expected symbolic act. It would mean little or nothing and he's never had time for such things.
This is the complete opposite of that and Regis can't help but let his eyes fall shut a moment as those warm lips press against his skin. His opens his eyes again just in time catch that predatory look, and suddenly finds himself happy that he's learned to school his expression enough that no blush has a hope of crossing his face. His eyes soften, though.]
Is that so?
[Despite the his words, Regis doesn't resist being led out onto the balcony any longer.]
Why do I get the impression there are many things that you would like to correct my views on?
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shut up they have peacocks in Eos now.
Have you SEEN the way that Iedolas struts around? Of course, there are peacocks in Eo- Oh wait...
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Welp, since Someone's finally decided to commit better get a [SMUT WARNING] on this!
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His skills had not come overnight, despite his aptitude for magic and for more dexterous weapons. Years of hard work went into being the man he would become alongside Noctis. And he took his training every bit as seriously as anything else he learned, pouring heart and soul and sweat and blood into it.
Crownsguard training had gone without much incident, graduating with flying colors at a young age. But the Kingsglaive was another class altogether, an elite military force, the King's most trusted. Between his own studies and Noct's, Ignis currently finds himself wondering if what he's learned is enough, if he should back out now before he's in over his head. Hotheaded Gladiolus certainly has the skill of fighting well in hand, after all. What need has he to prove himself any further?
And yet, he persists, determined. It helps to have a skillful mentor to guide him, although given some of the snickering the other Glaives do behind his back where they think he can't hear, maybe 'guide' isn't the best term. The Hero, as Nyx Ulric is called, sometimes in awe, sometimes in jest, but his skills speak for themselves. Reckless, certainly, but every bit deserving of being a ranking member of the Kingsglaive.
Ignis sits in his fatigues, focused, concentrating, sharpening a dagger. He's been finding that while polearms are excellent for reach, for fancy footwork on the ground and in the air, daggers and small blades give that fine edge of finesse, tighter control. And as is true in the kitchen, it's true on the battlefield--a dull knife is far harder and more dangerous for the user to work with than a finely honed and clean edge.]
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The young man is very good at what he does, precise and methodical. But he's got no guts, no instincts. He'd be an excellent strategist, planning the movements of whole units, looking down at a map and preparing for the worst. But what Ignis considers recklessness is the very thing that makes him a leader and it's not something he can teach. You've either got it, or you don't.]
Still dunno how you work with those. [They've discussed it no less than a dozen times, the clean long straight blades that Ignis uses feel heavy and unwieldy in Nyx's hands, so accustomed to the kukris of his homeland. The older man drops onto the bench beside Ignis, still in uniform, dirt smudged and dusty from a day outside the wall but he's still prepared to do some work with his... apprentice?]
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They're well-balanced. With identical siding to them, I never have to worry about which way they're pointing or what direction they're situated in my hand for a cutting edge. Clean. Efficient. [A light shrug.] That's not to say that yours shouldn't work for you or couldn't work for me; with enough training, anyone could become proficient in any variation of weaponry. These happen to be my choice.
[He brings up the blade he's been concentrating on, tilting it this way, angling it that way, seeing if it's to his liking. It might also be a bit of a show for his...mentor. His mentor who doesn't seem fit for mentoring, and yet here they are. A wild, instinctual beast and an intellectual strategist. Still, he wants to be making a good impression here.]
You don't approve. You think they're slow and showy.
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[And he draws one of his blades, tilting it this way and that, letting the light catch on the elegant etchings down the side of the blade. Ornate and decorative and so different from his own Galahdian blade.]
But I do think they're slower. Just means you've gotta compensate for that. Your choice.
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And you only find it all showy because this is the capital, the seat of the throne. You won't find much around the Citadel at the very least that isn't pretty and ornate.
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[And this is the point of contention here. Ignis never turns off. He's always on duty, always respectable, always so painfully polite. It's the kind of thing that marks Nyx and his fellows so strongly as other.
It's a cultural difference. When they're off duty they're simple men with simple tastes. They fight and flirt and fool around. It might not be dignified but it's human and it unsettles most of them how proper these damn Lucians are all the time.]
I'll give you that, at least. There's an awful lot around here's that's pretty.
[He smirks as he says it, pale gaze flicking from the dagger in Ignis' hand up to his face, not to catch his eye but to appraise the cut of his jaw, the swell of his lips, and then his gaze drifts slowly back down.
It's like baiting a coeurl, he just can't help fucking with the kid sometimes.]
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