Noctis arranged and rearranged the lures in his tackle box while the three of them waited for Prompto to wake up. He technically didn't /use/ any of them except the Tidal Might Leviathan, since it could get pretty much any fish anywhere. Especially paired with his high performance fishing rod and reel, as well as some good Dragon’s Beard line, it was pretty much guaranteed for him to catch any fish he cast his lure to. ...he was definitely not trying to distract himself from Prompto, lying unconscious on the ground next to the warm campfire. Ignis had insisted he be placed there instead of in the tent. /‘For the purpose of security,’/ he had said. Noctis was just glad Prompto wouldn't freeze to death, not that it got /that/ cold during the night but still- He jumped as he heard the scuff of a shoe against stone, turning to find Gladiolus staring intently at the cloth wristband on Prompto’s, well, wrist. “Gladio, what in Shiva’s-” “Language, Noct.” Ignis didn't look up from where he was stirring some sort of broth (which smelled delicious, but Noctis didn't feel like he could stomach anything at the moment). “Jeez, Iggy, chill. Gladio, what in Ifrit’s Inferno are you doing?” Gladio didn't answer right away, his brow furrowing. “...what in the Six is that?” The big man mumbled. “What?” Gladio reached for the wristband. Prompto’s eyes opened, his blue-violet gaze somehow not catching the light of the campfire as he sat up. Gladio almost jumped back. “Woah there-” His face broke into a broad grin. “Hey, buddy, welcome to the world of the waking!” Ignis relaxed slightly, a bit of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Prompto, it's good to have you back.” Noctis straightened instantly, taking a step forward. “How are you feeli-” “MT-05953234, operational and awaiting orders.” The statement was so monotone, so empty of any feeling or emotion that it took Noctis a moment to realize it was Prompto himself who had spoken. “...what?” Prompto turned his head to look up at Noctis, no trace of recognition anywhere in his gaze. “MT-05953234, operational and awaiting orders,” he repeated in that same emotionless monotone. Noctis stared. /What in Bahamut’s Blade is going on?/ /...did he say MT?/ “Prompto, what’re you saying? What's with the weird voice?” Prompto stared for a moment. “Shall I assign the designation ‘Prompto’ as an additional designation for my unit?” “I- /what/?” Noctis moved forward. “If I am expected to respond to additional designations, I will.” Prompto’s eyes went blank for a moment. Then they focused. “Designation noted. Awaiting orders.” “What in Ifrit’s Inferno are you talking about? We’re not gonna order you around, we don't do that.” Prompto blinked. “But I am an MT. I'm made to follow orders.” Noctis stared in bewilderment. “You're a person, Prom.” “I am MT-05953234, additional designation ‘Prompto’.” Prompto raised his wrist, reaching for his wristband. “I have the barcode that shows my make and my unit number.” He took off his wristband. There was a Six-forsaken /barcode/ tattooed on his wrist, and it didn't look recent. Noctis gaped. Ignis cleared his throat. “While this revelation does shatter several previous conceptions we had, there is still the matter at hand.” He turned to Prompto. “Prompto, you must eat, you look almost as thin as the enemies Noctis uses the Ring of Lucii on, and although I’m not one for betting, I do not doubt that you received little to no nourishment during your stay in Zegnautus Keep.” Prompto looked up at Ignis. “I am made to withstand a long period of time with little to no nourishment.” That- That was wrong on so many levels. Noctis remembered how Prompto would complain loudly about being hungry, /especially/ in the earlier days when the four of them were inexperienced, just having left Insomnia and out on their own. Prompto never refused food. Ever. Ignis sighed, an elegant hand offering a bowl of broth with his homemade noodles in it. “Even if that is true, you must eat. I insist.” Prompto took the bowl and a fork. “Understood.” He ate almost mechanically, not savoring any of it like he would have before. Suddenly, a spike of pure panic lanced through Noctis. Why hadn't he thought to check if Prompto could access the Armiger? That would prove it was truly him, because some random MT made to look like him wouldn't be able to access the royal magic Noctis had connected him to years ago. It would prove that Prompto Argentum had been stripped down until all that was left was an obedient soldier.
Noctis knelt next to him. “Hey, Prompto?” Prompto looked up. “Awaiting orders-” “Yeah yeah, listen- I need you to try putting your gun in the Armiger. Just- focus on putting it away.” Prompto stared at him for a moment, then took his gun, Quicksilver, and held it out in front of him. It disappeared in a flash of blue light, puffing away into crystalline shards. Noctis could feel it enter the Armiger, settling with the other guns. /...oh, Prom. I'm so sorry./ Noctis’s shoulders slumped. “Okay. Good to- good to know.” His voice broke slightly, and he stood, turning away so Prompto wouldn't see the tears trying to form in his eyes. ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ Noctis was rummaging around in the passenger side of the Regalia the next day when Prompto woke up. “MT-05953234, awake and awaiting orders.” That daemon-accursed phrase again. Noctis hated it. He hated that his best friend had been made into this. He hated that he hadn't bothered to at least punch one of those cowering scientists when they'd broken into the facility. Most of all, he hated himself for pushing Prompto off the train in the first place. /This is all my fault./ He squeezed his eyes shut, balling his hands into fists against the leather of the Regalia's seats. He willed himself not to cry. He was a king, thanks to the incident that had led to the fall of the Citadel, and kings didn't cry, especially not in front of the people who were meant to protect him, because if they saw him crying they'd start asking questions he really didn't want to answer. Unfortunately, Noctis's eyes decided to betray him and do just that. His tears dripped down onto the seat, and he forced himself to stay still. He wasn't going to shake. Not now. Noctis Lucis Caelum would never let his friends see him as weak, not when he was the one that needed to be strong- “Kweh?” He blinked tear-blurred eyes. Another muffled 'Kweh' came from the glove compartment to his right, and he turned, staring at it, his brow furrowing in confusion. Was that the sound of a... a chocobo? Hesitantly, he unlatched it. It fell open to reveal some spare Elixirs, a handful of extra gil they'd been saving just in case (though they didn't need it, they got plenty from selling the trinkets they found along the road and from completing whatever fetch quests the people they came across had for them, so the stash was more for a worst case scenario where Eos went and blew them up and they lost their Gil or something), and... A small, fluffy chocobo chick, sitting and pecking at an empty sleeve of crackers with confusion. It looked up, its feathers puffing slightly at the sight of an unfamiliar face. “Kweh?” Noctis just stared for a few moments. This was... absolutely Prompto's doing. /Prompto./ With a start, Noctis had an idea. He carefully reached in and took out the chocobo chick, taking care not to hurt it. “Hey. Prom.” Prompto didn't respond, and Noctis mentally kicked himself. Prompto hadn't realized he could be called ‘Prom’ yet. Just his name and that Six-forsaken number. Gladiolus and Ignis looked up, Ignis raising an eyebrow at the sight of the yellow bundle of feathers in Noctis' hands. He ignored them, walking over to the blonde sitting on the ground. “You want an order?” He placed the chick in Prompto's lap. “Take care of this. Keep him safe. Keep him happy.” Prompto looked down, his blue-violet eyes assessing the bundle of fluff. Then he looked up questioningly. “Priority of command?” Noctis blinked. “Uh... high priority?” Prompto looked back down at the chick, and his gaze seemed to almost soften. “...understood.” He then proceeded to put the chocobo chick inside his jacket, nestling it inside a little pouch Noctis was absolutely positive hadn't been sewn in there when Prompto had first gotten the jacket. He made a mental note to ask Prompto about it if he went back to normal. /When. Not if./ They'd get him back to normal. They had to. First: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1369907866/ Previous: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1370249968/ Next: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1374534735/
