[ things have settled into a comfortable rhythm for them since The Motel, and when they're not traveling or fighting random daemons or tangled up together in various ways, prompto spends even more time thinking about clive. nothing specific unless he does something intensely cool during a battle, but even then, his thoughts always wander to what his world must be like and if he'd fit in there. would he stand out? would he cause trouble for clive? unintentionally, of course...
could he even go with him?
it's a subconscious worry, twisting at his heart every so often, but once they finally reach lestallum, there's no time to consider anything really. they need supplies, information. splitting up will cover more ground, making sure to settle on a meet-up point and a time before reluctantly going their own ways.
the city hasn't changed much beyond the extra precautions they've taken to secure the perimeter, still crowded (and getting even more crowded) and busy despite the climate of the world's safety having shifted. prompto's in the middle of purchasing a few more potions and various other items when he hears commotion outside, dropping gil on the counter and making a beeline for the exit. out beyond the horizon, there's the darkening shape of a winged thing moving closer to the outskirts of the city, and his first instinct is to reach for his phone and call clive.
no answer.
he calls again. then texts.
not necessarily in panic, but there's a growing weight in his chest, urging people to find somewhere safe to hide while those capable of fighting dispatch the daemon. it might simply be a nuisance, but prompto heads off in its direction anyhow, nearly at the entrance to the city when the phone clicks over. ]
Dude, hey! [ the connection doesn't sound all that stable, speaking loudly over static. ] Where are you?
[ after the uncomplicated, comfortable days in Prompto's company, the displacement Clive feels upon setting foot in Lestallum― a town teeming with the sort of activity that Clive has yet to get accustomed to― becomes more jagged, more pronounced. it's not exactly that he feels self-conscious in the throng (he's had a lifetime of being gawked at for far less), but that the unfamiliarity bears down on him like a constant test of his fight-or-flight instinct; he wears his caution on his face the moment he parts ways with Prompto, strong features set at perpetually-stern neutral.
(a miracle, how one person in his corner can make all the difference.)
he maneuvers the occasional double-takes, the handful of giggling-behind-hands that he spies out of the corner of his eye; at one point, he asks a bored-looking young man where he might find a hall of records or a tomeskeeper, and gets summarily laughed at for his trouble: "come on, man, don't make me an NPC in your roleplay. you gotta get permission for that sort of stuff."
he deals. he's grown enough not to let any of it bother him.
but there's still a bit of wretched relief when the din of the unfamiliar recedes to make way for the din of the familiar, a creature in the distance that needs slaying. this, he doesn't question himself about― this, he knows he can manage. which is why he misses the first call, then the second, and the text. too busy parting his way through a frightened crowd towards the mounting chaos, too busy trying to find the right time to draw his sword without causing undue alarm.
when he finally answers, Prompto should be able to hear the same sort of static on Clive's end, and scattered sounds of people speaking loudly in the background. ]
Prompto? [ obviously. he's the only one with Clive's number. ] ―I'm near the entrance of the city. There's a monster threatening the border that needs handling.
[ implied: he's more than willing to handle it. terminally incapable of not rushing to aid. ]
[ there's a rush of relief upon hearing clive's voice, but it's the background noise that concerns him more than anything else. he begins to run, trying to balance his phone and tuck the few purchases he's made into the bag thrown over his shoulder at the same tim. ]
I'm almost there too. Don't do anything crazy yet. [ worry? absolutely. ] Oh, hey – I think I see you!
[ and hanging up, he tucks his phone away, not so much out of breath when he reaches clive as he is full of sudden adrenaline. without the use of noct's hammerspace, he's had to be much more careful with his weapons and the amount of ammo he uses; it's not like he can call anything to him like he had before, so it's what he has strapped to him that he reaches for. his guns and clive's sword (and magic) against... prompto squints at the daemon beginning to swoop in low. ]
They don't usually come this close like that. Maybe something's wrong. [ he steps closer to clive, prepared to assist but also wanting to take a moment to reassure himself he's still there. ] I dunno. We should try drawing it away from the city before somebody gets hurt.
[ not that lestallum is completely defenseless, but there are fewer and fewer people capable of truly fighting like they can. ]
[ again: amazing, what familiarity does. Clive sees that familiar head of blond hair maneuver its way through the crowd, and finally relaxes something he hadn't realized he'd been tensing, even despite the chaos unfurling around them.
Prompto, he breathes in greeting, brushing his fingers against Prompto's forearm for a fleeting moment. a touch that relents as soon as it's given, as he pivots to face the creature fast approaching in their periphery. ]
A sound plan. [ regarding moving away from the more defenseless citizens. on one hand, he doesn't want the monster to hurt anyone around, and on the other hand, sometimes Clive can be the cause of collateral damage, if he's not careful.
flames flicker over his fingers; he balls his hand into a fist, and extinguishes them. ]
With me, [ is a soft request, followed by the barest hint of a smile. confident and trusting, before he－
－bolts. broadsword drawn, headfirst into the fray. this isn't a creature he's ever faced against, but he doesn't need to know what it's called to kill it. ]
[ there's not even time to wish him luck or do much of anything except chase after him, though slowly since he's still trying to wave other people back towards the city. now's not the time to be staring or trying to gossip—as much as he would normally do the same thing.
convincing them takes precious seconds, and by the time he's close enough to get a good look at the daemon, he's lost sight of clive. the monster is massive, something akin to a wyvern but much bigger. possibly mutated? prompto isn't going to get that close to check, not when it's unusual for it to be this far from its typical post. and he knows better than to get within arm's reach of something with a wingspan that big too, hanging back and trying to make a calculated guess as to where to strike first.
eyes maybe? but blinding it would send it into a rage and...
prompto fires a testing shot, clipping it in the foot. but as he'd suspected, its hide is too thick for normal ammo to penetrate properly. he winces to himself and dashes further out, quickly searching through his bag for the few rounds of combustible ammo he'd cobbled together. if he can draw its attention, maybe clive can get the drop on it. ]
Clive! [ he's shouting now, running as he reloads his gun. the daemon, now on the ground and pissed, is turning towards him. ] I'm gonna distract it! Just do your thing after that!
[ as far as plans go, it's not the most organized: 'do your thing' is very unspecific, but Clive, from where he is (close to the giant monster now, too close for what would be most people's comfort), finds Prompto's suggestion charming. ever the sharp-shooter (ha), that one.
so. Clive does his thing. heels digging into dirt, wide shoulders braced as he pools the aether inside of him, draws it out in a burst of teal-blue.
bahamut, he calls to the creature nested inside of him. it answers in the form of wings bursting from his shoulderblades, crackling with light. it requires concentration and finesse to maintain: he draws magic from within himself and his surroundings, gathering as much energy as he can for the firepower necessary to down the monster in one blow－ something he can't manage with a swing of his sword.
it takes a longer than anticipated. possibly because this isn't Valisthea, and his borrowed Eikons don't attune to this world as well as he'd like; he clicks his teeth in frustration as the wyvern in front of him unhinges its jaw in a loud screech, lunging towards Prompto with bared claws and whiplike tail. ]
[ the distraction works long enough to thoroughly anger it, gun half-cocked to aim again to keep its focus on him while clive does... well, whatever clive is doing. prompto can feel the shift of magic, the familiar sensation of clive pulling it to him – almost the same as noct summoning an astral – and he stares at him a little too long before — ]
Shit – [ he dives back, barely missing the claws. ] Oh fu –
[ the wyvern's tail slams into his hip and knocks him off his feet, his breath thoroughly punched out of him as the pain radiates through his very bones. and prompto doesn't have time to recover, not with the daemon pouncing at him with open jaws. with his arm up to protect his face and the other raising his weapon, he unloads the chamber right into its mouth and (hopefully) into its brain.
his adrenaline is in overdrive, ears ringing from the close impact of each shot, and worse than that is the sticky warm feeling of blood running down his forearm. his or the monster's, he doesn't know. because he's on autopilot now, squirming on his back in an effort to crawl away despite his legs being pinned down. ]
[ right through its fleshy head and through its skull. the shot does its job, though it's by a hair's width that Prompto didn't get bitten in half.
Clive feels his blood run cold at the sight of it; all that blood, and Prompto pinned down by his legs by the creature's massive arm. he relents his hold on the pull of his aether, lets go of bahamut, and sprints towards where Prompto is on the ground with the still-twitching body of the wyvern. sword drawn, slightly pale. ]
Prompto! [ a clean slice through the wyvern's wrist. he severs it, and kicks it aside to give Prompto more room to wriggle. ] Forgive me, I wasn't fast enough－
[ brows furrowed, arm extended in offering. blue eyes flick nervously over the breadth of him, trying to gauge anything that might be immediately serious; even if he doesn't spot anything visibly, he crouches down and tries to make the executive decision to heft Prompto up into his arms. ]
[ the panic dulls with clive's voice, swallowing to calm the hammering of his heart as something gives and the weight seems to lift from his lower half. he kicks at the sliced limb and grips hard at clive, using that leverage to finally free himself from beneath such a massive weight.
his head is swimming, everything thrown into high gear. ]
I'm good, I'm good. [ it's a reassuring mumble, though he barely has any thoughts in his head. ] Not the worst that's ever happened...
[ he leans into clive for a moment, sucking in a sharp breath as he tries to stand, but the discomfort in his legs is immediate. almost unbearable, even worse than the embarrassment of having to be carried, if clive decides to pick him up, prompto won't put up too much protest. ] I've got potions in my bag, [ he attempts to add helpfully, hoping none of the bottles had gotten smashed. or maybe they had, and they'd kept him from completely biting it. it's hard to tell. ]
[ in this proximity, Clive can feel that full-bodied protest when Prompto tries to put more weight on his legs, and so he makes another executive decision not to let him: the heft becomes a carry in one smooth transition, one arm around Prompto's shoulders, one under the the likely-painful bend of his knees.
"not the worst" isn't particularly reassuring. it would have ruined Clive if the worst happened to Prompto on his watch. ]
I'll take you somewhere quieter first, [ is calmer than he feels, as he surreptitiously touches the bag against Prompto's hip and finds the fabric of it wet. Clive frowns, but leans in to press his mouth quickly against Prompto's temple as he starts to walk in the direction of the city this time, hesitating only momentarily when he spots a few civilians running towards them to presumably volley questions at them about what happened.
a bit of a nuisance. he tries to avoid them as best he can, holding Prompto close as he fields a few persistent onlookers with terse not now-s and clear the way-s. ]
[ his breath leaves him (again) the moment clive pulls him into his arms, the jar of his body almost too much. it's a strange pain, one that radiates out from his hip—probably because the wyvern had wrecked him with its tail first. the rest of it goes ignored as he keeps a death grip on his gun and the front of clive's shirt, almost holding himself up in a way that will ease the pressure in his spine.
at least he can feel his toes. it's mostly like bruising that will be the issue. ]
There's, uh. They have a hotel, [ prompto tells him, directing clive with the slightest turn of his head. ] Down that street a little to the left. Pretty sure we can get a room.
[ it's where they would have likely stayed anyhow, disliking the useless feeling beginning to settle in his gut the closer they get to their destination. leville hotel is a nice and upscale kind of place, the kind that isn't easily accessible on the road, and it's only after the fussing of the staff and arranging accommodations that prompto finally relents and sags against clive. ]
You're okay, right? [ asked quietly as they head towards the room. ] I don't think it got you, but...
Prompto. [ the tone isn't stern, but it is firm. ] Worry about yourself.
[ as they make themselves up the stairs and around a corner, down the hall to a room at the far end of it. Clive is demonstrably fine: not a nick or scratch on him, much to his shame. never has being uninjured felt like less of a point of pride.
he swings the door to their room open (easily, despite the fact that it momentarily requires him to shift Prompto's weight a little closer to his chest), and Clive is grateful, finally, for the privacy. he makes a beeline for the bed, where he gently, gently settles Prompto onto the mattress with agonizing care. ]
...One of your potions seems to be intact. You should take it― I'll go buy some more.
[ despite his first instinct being to stay close and to kiss Prompto and to apologize. none of those things will help more than being practical, and it burns him more than anything else to see someone he cares for in pain. ]
[ worrying about clive helps him worry less in general, but he manages the slightest nod in response, settling onto the bed with a pained expression. the mattress absorbs some of the discomfort as he tosses his weapon to the other side – never usually so haphazard with his things – and draws the bag over his head, sighing to himself at the state of it.
soaked through with potions (and probably a remedy) but washable.
that's later though, and he offers clive a faint smile. ] Yeah. I'll be here, so...
[ he can manage on his own, some of the shock wearing off and replaced with a gentle sort of urgency to check himself over. prompto does what he can not to get blood all over the top blanket, tugging the bottle out of his temporarily ruined bag and downing it with familiar haste. the effects of it are quick in easing the pain, but considering the extent of the hit he took, it only takes the edge off.
it's enough though; at least, he can test putting weight on his feet because he wants to get out of his shoes and his clothes. which is what he's in the process of doing by the time clive does return to the room, sitting in a chair adjacent the bed and slowly stripping out of his vest and inspecting other parts of himself for lingering damage. ]
[ "i'll be here" is the sort of thing that should exasperate Clive ("do not go anywhere else"), but as it stands, it only makes Clive's heart hurt. his trip out to get the potions is quick and efficient, and he looks a little windswept by the time he returns to the room― as if he's been moving as a brisk trot the entire time (he has).
blue eyes widen as the door closes behind him, and he sighs: ] Prompto. [ he draws near like a maelstrom, putting a hand to his shoulder when he's close enough. ] You should be in bed.
[ sweet, restless thing. he does appreciate that Prompto should be removing some layers, though, so he sighs again and kneels by his feet, helping with the laces to slowly, slowly tug the shoes off. ]
[ is he disappointed? something in prompto tells him clive is disappointed. or worried, though the soft protest sort of dies in his throat the moment clive is in front of him and unlacing his boots. he pauses in his endeavor to remove some of his bracelets and wristbands, staring down at him. ]
I didn't wanna get blood all over where we're supposed to sleep. [ just an explanation, sighing with relief the moment his boots aren't constricting his feet. his legs are beginning to hurt more though. ] Most of it seems to be the daemon's anyway... Good, right? At least it didn't take a chunk outta me.
[ a gentle attempt at humor, and then, he's reaching out to push back some of clive's hair. ] I'm okay, Clive.
[ what Clive should do is offer the other potions in his pack. two of them clink in his hip pouch, which he unclips from his belt once Prompto is relieved of his boots; still, his lips pull into a thin line at the content of the joke offered to him, obviously unhappy that Prompto has to make it at all.
his gaze flicks up when touched. contrition is everywhere on his face: in the slant of his brows, the set of his jaw, how his scar seems to pull at his features. ]
...You were injured because of my incompetence. I've never felt so useless.
[ he takes Prompto's hand, lifting it from his hair to press his lips against the back of it, head bowed. ]
Forgive me. ...Thank the Founder for your competence.
It wasn't anybody's fault. Sometimes things like that happen.
[ with his other hand, prompto continues to tease at clive's chaotic hair, tucking some of it behind an ear. there's more he should say, he knows that, but clive is looking for some kind of forgiveness that prompto doesn't think is necessary. no one's to blame for what happened; it's not the first time he's been injured in a fight, and it undoubtedly won't be the last. still —
he tries to tip clive's face up so he can look at him. ] Hey, it really is okay. It wasn't even bad enough for a phoenix down. [ which is saying something. ] I'll get some rest, and be good as new.
[ which means no exploring lestallum on their first night there or partaking in some of the local cuisine. but it's a small price to pay. ]
[ can you believe that Clive is from a final fantasy that doesn't have phoenix downs....... it's deadsville all across the board in his world, and that might be why his reaction to Prompto being injured is so dire, even if it's perhaps Not That Serious. there is just so much death in his life, so many people he's tried and failed to save.
which is a Clive Problem, and not a Prompto Problem. he's grown enough to know this, too. his frown lingers, but the deep furrow between his brows evens out somewhat; there's no point in arguing the truth that, yes, sometimes thinks like that do happen.
but he just doesn't like it happening to Prompto. which is probably the sum total of all of their problems: that Clive likes Prompto too much. he considers telling Prompto that he felt his heart stop beating when he saw Prompto fall, but.
that probably won't help things any. so he doesn't. ]
...Then I'll do my utmost to tend to you. [ still kneeling, he cranes up to press his lips against Prompto's cheek. ] Anything you need. Just say the word.
[ another potion would probably be nice. Clive fishes one out of his pack after he pulls back, placing it carefully on Prompto's lap. ]
[ it's probably not a good thing to rely on them anyhow; they're expensive, and the resulting hunts or tasks they go on to earn gil wouldn't even cover the end result depending on how many items they use to begin with. but he sort of gets it? a little? real death is something he knows all too much about, and again, this is why they should probably talk about some of this at some point.
but maybe later? right now, prompto is exhausted and still in an incredible amount of pain. ]
I know, [ and he says it as he uncaps the bottle and downs that too. ] You always take care of me.
[ prompto swallows at the taste, familiar now after having had so many of them but still not his most favorite thing. he almost misses all the healing magic, something he can't access on his own because he's just a normal person with normal abilities (that are way OP compared to the average guy), and he's stuck with normal ways of recovering from injuries.
abandoning the now-empty potion to the floor, he carefully shifts to the edge of the chair and draws clive in close. ]
Wanna shower? I can still smell that thing's breath if I breathe in too much. [ not to mention the blood... ]
[ god knows that Clive is not going to launch into existential quandaries when Prompto looks like he's been hit by a truck. any confessions about the amount of catastrophic deaths he's seen (and caused) can happen when it doesn't hurt Prompto to breathe, so―
―another kiss, this time to Prompto's jaw. ]
I'll draw us a bath.
[ showers require standing, and Clive has committed himself to carrying Prompto everywhere for the foreseeable future (the next few hours). it's going to be A Time when he figures out room service and makes the poor hotel employee deal with everything going on.
later, though. straightening up, Clive hefts Prompto back up against his chest and into the bridal carry from before, and makes his way over to the room's (nearly unnecessarily) spacious bathroom. a far cry from their cramped motel showers. ]
―What hurts most? [ just so he can be mindful. he is also absolutely proceeding on the basis of getting into the tub with Prompto, despite it being designed for one and a half people to fit inside it comfortably. ]
[ he barely gets a word out before clive is picking him up again, drawing in a sharp inhale through his teeth. any other time, he would have squirmed at all the extra attention, but right now, it isn't terribly comfortable in any position that requires a lot of weight pressed to certain parts of him. the potion has helped with some of the cramping and his energy levels, but they aren't a cure-all for bruising or bone-deep discomfort.
so, for a moment, prompto rests against clive and focuses on breathing. ]
I dunno. [ once he's set down, he'll begin pulling off his socks and removing his wristband. ] Feels like everything, but I think, um, my hip. It got me pretty good with its tail.
[ which is how he'd ended up flipping over in the first place. and prompto is so focused on undressing, using part of the wall for balance as he shoves the stained and damp material of his skinny jeans down his legs that there's no room for shyness. not that he should be considering how intimate they've been, but it's one of those things for him. he hisses softly as he lifts one foot to free it and then the other.
yikes, he's already starting to bruise. ]
Yeah, I think that's gonna be sore for a while. [ not to draw clive's attention to it, but it's kind of hard to miss given how dark it is. ]
[ the bruise is an angry-looking thing, shaped like a whip, extending from thigh to hip. purple-red, bigger than the span of Clive's hand. he crouches next to Prompto to inspect it, but doesn't touch; it's the worst of many other smaller but nevertheless concerning-looking injuries, from the slight swelling of an ankle to the various cuts and scrapes that have soothed over from the potion, but still look inflamed regardless.
he helps Prompto out of the last of his clothes, setting them aside to be cleaned. there are a few soft-looking bathrobes hanging on the wall of the bathroom, which he takes note of for later use― he inspects the bath to make sure it's lukewarm instead of hot, and stops the water.
fussing. it might be a bit funny, all things considered, to watch a grown-ass man flit about like this. ]
...I should have been more careful. My magic doesn't work here the way it does in Valisthea.
[ not to provide any excuses for his poor performance, obviously. he strips off his own layers as he talks, though he's not exactly the one covered in dragon slime. ]
[ prompto focuses on getting out of his clothes and making it over to the tub, though he thinks it'll be better to wait for clive to climb in first. it'll be easier to situate himself and then relax rather than try to squeeze them both into the tub. it's not small, but it's also not the kind of thing one would find in a more expensive suite. ]
And I should've paid more attention. [ there's that slight but lazy shrug again. ] I was tryin' to reload when it swung around, so... all of this'll heal.
[ it hadn't been terribly life-threatening outside that one brief moment, and prompto doesn't want to relive it so soon. instead, he eases into the tub with clive's help and sinks into the water just as slowly, his breath hitching at the movements and how much it burns to fold himself to sit. but he manages, and they're both mostly submerged in the water when he presses back against clive's solid frame in quiet relief. prompto will get to cleaning his arms and chest and face as soon as he finds the motivation. ]
And I know you're here too, and that's a big help. [ unlike before, when he'd been on his own, he has clive to rely on. ]
[ Clive submits himself to being a man-shaped mattress shielding Prompto from hard porcelain, and loosely wraps his arms around Prompto's middle once they find some measure of comfort in their position in the tub. water displaces under him, and he takes to moving it over Prompto's shoulders, then gathering some in his hand to comb through sun-blond hair. careful, and tactile.
he'll stop if told to. far be it for Prompto to exhaust himself by putting up with anything that could be seen as an externalization of Clive's self-doubt. ]
...I'm sorry. I didn't intend to make you reassure me.
[ a sigh, and kiss to the back of Prompto's neck. ]
Ignore me. It's only that I care for you.
[ the obvious reason for all of Clive's angst, reframed in a way that has nothing to do with Prompto or what he did (which was 'everything right'). ]
[ the simple motions of having water pour over him – gentle and sweet under clive's reassuring hands – has him practically melting. it feels good; even if he hadn't been injured, a bath would have been the first of many things on his list to accomplish. there's no rush to it either, soaking in the added benefit of warm water and the careful attention clive gives him.
prompto hums a little, a quiet and encouraging sound. ]
I'm just telling you how it is. [ reassurance or not, anyway. ] But I get it. I'd probably be doin' the same if things were reversed.
[ it's a gentle tease, an attempt to prod at clive and get him to stop focusing so hard on what could have been. prompto isn't usually the type to hold grudges or seek recompense unless it's under the most extreme circumstances, and this? it's really nothing. he doesn't know how else to prove it, turning his head towards him so he can see clive's face. ]
I care about you too, you know. [ biting at his lower lip, prompto hesitates before adding, ] Like, a lot.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
could he even go with him?
it's a subconscious worry, twisting at his heart every so often, but once they finally reach lestallum, there's no time to consider anything really. they need supplies, information. splitting up will cover more ground, making sure to settle on a meet-up point and a time before reluctantly going their own ways.
the city hasn't changed much beyond the extra precautions they've taken to secure the perimeter, still crowded (and getting even more crowded) and busy despite the climate of the world's safety having shifted. prompto's in the middle of purchasing a few more potions and various other items when he hears commotion outside, dropping gil on the counter and making a beeline for the exit. out beyond the horizon, there's the darkening shape of a winged thing moving closer to the outskirts of the city, and his first instinct is to reach for his phone and call clive.
no answer.
he calls again. then texts.
not necessarily in panic, but there's a growing weight in his chest, urging people to find somewhere safe to hide while those capable of fighting dispatch the daemon. it might simply be a nuisance, but prompto heads off in its direction anyhow, nearly at the entrance to the city when the phone clicks over. ]
Dude, hey! [ the connection doesn't sound all that stable, speaking loudly over static. ] Where are you?
no subject
(a miracle, how one person in his corner can make all the difference.)
he maneuvers the occasional double-takes, the handful of giggling-behind-hands that he spies out of the corner of his eye; at one point, he asks a bored-looking young man where he might find a hall of records or a tomeskeeper, and gets summarily laughed at for his trouble: "come on, man, don't make me an NPC in your roleplay. you gotta get permission for that sort of stuff."
he deals. he's grown enough not to let any of it bother him.
but there's still a bit of wretched relief when the din of the unfamiliar recedes to make way for the din of the familiar, a creature in the distance that needs slaying. this, he doesn't question himself about― this, he knows he can manage. which is why he misses the first call, then the second, and the text. too busy parting his way through a frightened crowd towards the mounting chaos, too busy trying to find the right time to draw his sword without causing undue alarm.
when he finally answers, Prompto should be able to hear the same sort of static on Clive's end, and scattered sounds of people speaking loudly in the background. ]
Prompto? [ obviously. he's the only one with Clive's number. ] ―I'm near the entrance of the city. There's a monster threatening the border that needs handling.
[ implied: he's more than willing to handle it. terminally incapable of not rushing to aid. ]
no subject
I'm almost there too. Don't do anything crazy yet. [ worry? absolutely. ] Oh, hey – I think I see you!
[ and hanging up, he tucks his phone away, not so much out of breath when he reaches clive as he is full of sudden adrenaline. without the use of noct's hammerspace, he's had to be much more careful with his weapons and the amount of ammo he uses; it's not like he can call anything to him like he had before, so it's what he has strapped to him that he reaches for. his guns and clive's sword (and magic) against... prompto squints at the daemon beginning to swoop in low. ]
They don't usually come this close like that. Maybe something's wrong. [ he steps closer to clive, prepared to assist but also wanting to take a moment to reassure himself he's still there. ] I dunno. We should try drawing it away from the city before somebody gets hurt.
[ not that lestallum is completely defenseless, but there are fewer and fewer people capable of truly fighting like they can. ]
no subject
Prompto, he breathes in greeting, brushing his fingers against Prompto's forearm for a fleeting moment. a touch that relents as soon as it's given, as he pivots to face the creature fast approaching in their periphery. ]
A sound plan. [ regarding moving away from the more defenseless citizens. on one hand, he doesn't want the monster to hurt anyone around, and on the other hand, sometimes Clive can be the cause of collateral damage, if he's not careful.
flames flicker over his fingers; he balls his hand into a fist, and extinguishes them. ]
With me, [ is a soft request, followed by the barest hint of a smile. confident and trusting, before he－
－bolts. broadsword drawn, headfirst into the fray. this isn't a creature he's ever faced against, but he doesn't need to know what it's called to kill it. ]
no subject
convincing them takes precious seconds, and by the time he's close enough to get a good look at the daemon, he's lost sight of clive. the monster is massive, something akin to a wyvern but much bigger. possibly mutated? prompto isn't going to get that close to check, not when it's unusual for it to be this far from its typical post. and he knows better than to get within arm's reach of something with a wingspan that big too, hanging back and trying to make a calculated guess as to where to strike first.
eyes maybe? but blinding it would send it into a rage and...
prompto fires a testing shot, clipping it in the foot. but as he'd suspected, its hide is too thick for normal ammo to penetrate properly. he winces to himself and dashes further out, quickly searching through his bag for the few rounds of combustible ammo he'd cobbled together. if he can draw its attention, maybe clive can get the drop on it. ]
Clive! [ he's shouting now, running as he reloads his gun. the daemon, now on the ground and pissed, is turning towards him. ] I'm gonna distract it! Just do your thing after that!
[ whatever he feels is necessary to do anyway. ]
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so. Clive does his thing. heels digging into dirt, wide shoulders braced as he pools the aether inside of him, draws it out in a burst of teal-blue.
bahamut, he calls to the creature nested inside of him. it answers in the form of wings bursting from his shoulderblades, crackling with light. it requires concentration and finesse to maintain: he draws magic from within himself and his surroundings, gathering as much energy as he can for the firepower necessary to down the monster in one blow－ something he can't manage with a swing of his sword.
it takes a longer than anticipated. possibly because this isn't Valisthea, and his borrowed Eikons don't attune to this world as well as he'd like; he clicks his teeth in frustration as the wyvern in front of him unhinges its jaw in a loud screech, lunging towards Prompto with bared claws and whiplike tail. ]
―Prompto! To your left!
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Shit – [ he dives back, barely missing the claws. ] Oh fu –
[ the wyvern's tail slams into his hip and knocks him off his feet, his breath thoroughly punched out of him as the pain radiates through his very bones. and prompto doesn't have time to recover, not with the daemon pouncing at him with open jaws. with his arm up to protect his face and the other raising his weapon, he unloads the chamber right into its mouth and (hopefully) into its brain.
his adrenaline is in overdrive, ears ringing from the close impact of each shot, and worse than that is the sticky warm feeling of blood running down his forearm. his or the monster's, he doesn't know. because he's on autopilot now, squirming on his back in an effort to crawl away despite his legs being pinned down. ]
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Clive feels his blood run cold at the sight of it; all that blood, and Prompto pinned down by his legs by the creature's massive arm. he relents his hold on the pull of his aether, lets go of bahamut, and sprints towards where Prompto is on the ground with the still-twitching body of the wyvern. sword drawn, slightly pale. ]
Prompto! [ a clean slice through the wyvern's wrist. he severs it, and kicks it aside to give Prompto more room to wriggle. ] Forgive me, I wasn't fast enough－
[ brows furrowed, arm extended in offering. blue eyes flick nervously over the breadth of him, trying to gauge anything that might be immediately serious; even if he doesn't spot anything visibly, he crouches down and tries to make the executive decision to heft Prompto up into his arms. ]
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his head is swimming, everything thrown into high gear. ]
I'm good, I'm good. [ it's a reassuring mumble, though he barely has any thoughts in his head. ] Not the worst that's ever happened...
[ he leans into clive for a moment, sucking in a sharp breath as he tries to stand, but the discomfort in his legs is immediate. almost unbearable, even worse than the embarrassment of having to be carried, if clive decides to pick him up, prompto won't put up too much protest. ] I've got potions in my bag, [ he attempts to add helpfully, hoping none of the bottles had gotten smashed. or maybe they had, and they'd kept him from completely biting it. it's hard to tell. ]
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"not the worst" isn't particularly reassuring. it would have ruined Clive if the worst happened to Prompto on his watch. ]
I'll take you somewhere quieter first, [ is calmer than he feels, as he surreptitiously touches the bag against Prompto's hip and finds the fabric of it wet. Clive frowns, but leans in to press his mouth quickly against Prompto's temple as he starts to walk in the direction of the city this time, hesitating only momentarily when he spots a few civilians running towards them to presumably volley questions at them about what happened.
a bit of a nuisance. he tries to avoid them as best he can, holding Prompto close as he fields a few persistent onlookers with terse not now-s and clear the way-s. ]
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at least he can feel his toes. it's mostly like bruising that will be the issue. ]
There's, uh. They have a hotel, [ prompto tells him, directing clive with the slightest turn of his head. ] Down that street a little to the left. Pretty sure we can get a room.
[ it's where they would have likely stayed anyhow, disliking the useless feeling beginning to settle in his gut the closer they get to their destination. leville hotel is a nice and upscale kind of place, the kind that isn't easily accessible on the road, and it's only after the fussing of the staff and arranging accommodations that prompto finally relents and sags against clive. ]
You're okay, right? [ asked quietly as they head towards the room. ] I don't think it got you, but...
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[ as they make themselves up the stairs and around a corner, down the hall to a room at the far end of it. Clive is demonstrably fine: not a nick or scratch on him, much to his shame. never has being uninjured felt like less of a point of pride.
he swings the door to their room open (easily, despite the fact that it momentarily requires him to shift Prompto's weight a little closer to his chest), and Clive is grateful, finally, for the privacy. he makes a beeline for the bed, where he gently, gently settles Prompto onto the mattress with agonizing care. ]
...One of your potions seems to be intact. You should take it― I'll go buy some more.
[ despite his first instinct being to stay close and to kiss Prompto and to apologize. none of those things will help more than being practical, and it burns him more than anything else to see someone he cares for in pain. ]
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soaked through with potions (and probably a remedy) but washable.
that's later though, and he offers clive a faint smile. ] Yeah. I'll be here, so...
[ he can manage on his own, some of the shock wearing off and replaced with a gentle sort of urgency to check himself over. prompto does what he can not to get blood all over the top blanket, tugging the bottle out of his temporarily ruined bag and downing it with familiar haste. the effects of it are quick in easing the pain, but considering the extent of the hit he took, it only takes the edge off.
it's enough though; at least, he can test putting weight on his feet because he wants to get out of his shoes and his clothes. which is what he's in the process of doing by the time clive does return to the room, sitting in a chair adjacent the bed and slowly stripping out of his vest and inspecting other parts of himself for lingering damage. ]
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blue eyes widen as the door closes behind him, and he sighs: ] Prompto. [ he draws near like a maelstrom, putting a hand to his shoulder when he's close enough. ] You should be in bed.
[ sweet, restless thing. he does appreciate that Prompto should be removing some layers, though, so he sighs again and kneels by his feet, helping with the laces to slowly, slowly tug the shoes off. ]
Don't push yourself.
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I didn't wanna get blood all over where we're supposed to sleep. [ just an explanation, sighing with relief the moment his boots aren't constricting his feet. his legs are beginning to hurt more though. ] Most of it seems to be the daemon's anyway... Good, right? At least it didn't take a chunk outta me.
[ a gentle attempt at humor, and then, he's reaching out to push back some of clive's hair. ] I'm okay, Clive.
[ he's got all his fingers and everything. ]
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his gaze flicks up when touched. contrition is everywhere on his face: in the slant of his brows, the set of his jaw, how his scar seems to pull at his features. ]
...You were injured because of my incompetence. I've never felt so useless.
[ he takes Prompto's hand, lifting it from his hair to press his lips against the back of it, head bowed. ]
Forgive me. ...Thank the Founder for your competence.
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It wasn't anybody's fault. Sometimes things like that happen.
[ with his other hand, prompto continues to tease at clive's chaotic hair, tucking some of it behind an ear. there's more he should say, he knows that, but clive is looking for some kind of forgiveness that prompto doesn't think is necessary. no one's to blame for what happened; it's not the first time he's been injured in a fight, and it undoubtedly won't be the last. still —
he tries to tip clive's face up so he can look at him. ] Hey, it really is okay. It wasn't even bad enough for a phoenix down. [ which is saying something. ] I'll get some rest, and be good as new.
[ which means no exploring lestallum on their first night there or partaking in some of the local cuisine. but it's a small price to pay. ]
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which is a Clive Problem, and not a Prompto Problem. he's grown enough to know this, too. his frown lingers, but the deep furrow between his brows evens out somewhat; there's no point in arguing the truth that, yes, sometimes thinks like that do happen.
but he just doesn't like it happening to Prompto. which is probably the sum total of all of their problems: that Clive likes Prompto too much. he considers telling Prompto that he felt his heart stop beating when he saw Prompto fall, but.
that probably won't help things any. so he doesn't. ]
...Then I'll do my utmost to tend to you. [ still kneeling, he cranes up to press his lips against Prompto's cheek. ] Anything you need. Just say the word.
[ another potion would probably be nice. Clive fishes one out of his pack after he pulls back, placing it carefully on Prompto's lap. ]
Anything.
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but maybe later? right now, prompto is exhausted and still in an incredible amount of pain. ]
I know, [ and he says it as he uncaps the bottle and downs that too. ] You always take care of me.
[ prompto swallows at the taste, familiar now after having had so many of them but still not his most favorite thing. he almost misses all the healing magic, something he can't access on his own because he's just a normal person with normal abilities (that are way OP compared to the average guy), and he's stuck with normal ways of recovering from injuries.
abandoning the now-empty potion to the floor, he carefully shifts to the edge of the chair and draws clive in close. ]
Wanna shower? I can still smell that thing's breath if I breathe in too much. [ not to mention the blood... ]
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―another kiss, this time to Prompto's jaw. ]
I'll draw us a bath.
[ showers require standing, and Clive has committed himself to carrying Prompto everywhere for the foreseeable future (the next few hours). it's going to be A Time when he figures out room service and makes the poor hotel employee deal with everything going on.
later, though. straightening up, Clive hefts Prompto back up against his chest and into the bridal carry from before, and makes his way over to the room's (nearly unnecessarily) spacious bathroom. a far cry from their cramped motel showers. ]
―What hurts most? [ just so he can be mindful. he is also absolutely proceeding on the basis of getting into the tub with Prompto, despite it being designed for one and a half people to fit inside it comfortably. ]
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so, for a moment, prompto rests against clive and focuses on breathing. ]
I dunno. [ once he's set down, he'll begin pulling off his socks and removing his wristband. ] Feels like everything, but I think, um, my hip. It got me pretty good with its tail.
[ which is how he'd ended up flipping over in the first place. and prompto is so focused on undressing, using part of the wall for balance as he shoves the stained and damp material of his skinny jeans down his legs that there's no room for shyness. not that he should be considering how intimate they've been, but it's one of those things for him. he hisses softly as he lifts one foot to free it and then the other.
yikes, he's already starting to bruise. ]
Yeah, I think that's gonna be sore for a while. [ not to draw clive's attention to it, but it's kind of hard to miss given how dark it is. ]
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he helps Prompto out of the last of his clothes, setting them aside to be cleaned. there are a few soft-looking bathrobes hanging on the wall of the bathroom, which he takes note of for later use― he inspects the bath to make sure it's lukewarm instead of hot, and stops the water.
fussing. it might be a bit funny, all things considered, to watch a grown-ass man flit about like this. ]
...I should have been more careful. My magic doesn't work here the way it does in Valisthea.
[ not to provide any excuses for his poor performance, obviously. he strips off his own layers as he talks, though he's not exactly the one covered in dragon slime. ]
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And I should've paid more attention. [ there's that slight but lazy shrug again. ] I was tryin' to reload when it swung around, so... all of this'll heal.
[ it hadn't been terribly life-threatening outside that one brief moment, and prompto doesn't want to relive it so soon. instead, he eases into the tub with clive's help and sinks into the water just as slowly, his breath hitching at the movements and how much it burns to fold himself to sit. but he manages, and they're both mostly submerged in the water when he presses back against clive's solid frame in quiet relief. prompto will get to cleaning his arms and chest and face as soon as he finds the motivation. ]
And I know you're here too, and that's a big help. [ unlike before, when he'd been on his own, he has clive to rely on. ]
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he'll stop if told to. far be it for Prompto to exhaust himself by putting up with anything that could be seen as an externalization of Clive's self-doubt. ]
...I'm sorry. I didn't intend to make you reassure me.
[ a sigh, and kiss to the back of Prompto's neck. ]
Ignore me. It's only that I care for you.
[ the obvious reason for all of Clive's angst, reframed in a way that has nothing to do with Prompto or what he did (which was 'everything right'). ]
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prompto hums a little, a quiet and encouraging sound. ]
I'm just telling you how it is. [ reassurance or not, anyway. ] But I get it. I'd probably be doin' the same if things were reversed.
[ it's a gentle tease, an attempt to prod at clive and get him to stop focusing so hard on what could have been. prompto isn't usually the type to hold grudges or seek recompense unless it's under the most extreme circumstances, and this? it's really nothing. he doesn't know how else to prove it, turning his head towards him so he can see clive's face. ]
I care about you too, you know. [ biting at his lower lip, prompto hesitates before adding, ] Like, a lot.
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