025 » and besides my reputation's on the line

[inlay]

[when he comes to, the first thing prompto feels is the touch of cold steel to his wrists.

the last thing prompto remembers is falling off the train, but the first thing he remembers is noct's face — the anger, the yelling, the fury in his voice. like he knew something. like he'd found out. like maybe noct realized, finally realized that prompto was all one big fake, and he never deserved to be in lucis to begin with, and they weren't friends — couldn't be friends.

prompto takes a deep breath and tells himself that's impossible before he opens his eyes to the sight of iron bars and a dark room.]

Ugh...

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[vengefulness]

[On the whole, this has been a very good day. He knew when he stabbed the Oracle that Noctis would get all worked up and come for him (silly boy, she was doomed regardless), but he really didn't expect such hysterical fury. It was almost embarrassing in a way. A king should know how to keep his cool, after all. Granted, Ardyn does try his very best to ensure he loses it. This little diversion with Prompto is designed for exactly that. It's not really necessary for him to do anything more than keep him locked up like a princess in a tower waiting for rescue, but since he has the means to make this really interesting he can't resist. It's not as if he has much to do while he's waiting for the MTs to fully switch over to his control, anyway.

Honestly, he's truly delighted that an opportunity like this has presented itself.]

Ah, you're awake. Welcome home! I do hope you're feeling comfortable. Anything I can get you?

[inlay]

[ardyn.

the realization that he is in a cell and that ardyn is in the cell with him is enough to make prompto's skin crawl. revulsion washes over him like a wave and sinks deep into his bones. it feels uncomfortably like fear. all the same, his lip curls in disgust, but he tries to keep his tone light and jovial when he responds. unfortunately, he's got a dry throat, and he has to do some undignified throat-clearing before he responds.]

How 'bout a comfy bed and a glass of something nice? Personally, I like chocolate milk.

[screw you, ardyn. you're not gonna get to me.]

[vengefulness]

[What a pleasant surprise, he's trying to play along! Ardyn thought that the horror of having a friend fail to recognize him would still have him too jarred to toss jabs back and forth. They have quite a bit of time to fill, so perhaps he should extend this a bit.]

I'm afraid I can't let you down just yet, but I can certainly get you a drink. Would you like a little bendy straw?

[He turns to open the heavy cell door just a crack, smiling sweetly at the other Prompto waiting just outside. He doesn't let his captive see who he's speaking to yet.]

Would you mind bringing some chocolate milk here? Our guest is feeling a little parched.

[plated]

[the voice that answers ardyn is entirely too familiar.]

Aw, too bad, Chancellor. We don't have chocolate. Maybe I could get him regular?

[vengefulness]

What a shame.

[He twists to look back at Prompto over his shoulder, wearing an exaggerated pout.]

Will regular milk be all right?

[inlay]

[prompto knows that voice.

prompto knows that voice entirely too well.

it's not about revulsion anymore. cold fear runs its way up his spine straight to his throat, where he feels like he's being strangled. it can't be. it can't be.]

What the hell...

[he says, too quiet, and then he tries again.]

What the hell!

[plated]

[ordinarily, "prompto" doesn't do things around ardyn without specifically being asked.

the delicious terror in his "little brother's" voice is just too much, though! "prompto" can't resist the temptation to just slip into the cell with a smile like a knife in the dark, one hand on his belt and the other hanging loosely at his side.]

Wow. What an incredibly good-looking guy!

[...some promptoisms are universal.]

[vengefulness]

[Young people really have no patience. Ardyn would have preferred to draw this out a bit more, but now that the cat's out of the bag he'll go along with it. He reaches over to place a hand on his little pet's head, clucking his tongue at Prompto's horror.]

That's terribly rude. Didn't they teach you any manners in Insomnia? You should show a little more respect for your elder brother. Are you not happy to see him?

[Of course he isn't. No one would enjoy a reminder of the fact that they're less of a "who" and more of a "what".]

[inlay]

Don't call him that!

[he doesn't want this. he doesn't want the reminder that he was ever anything less than prompto argentum, the ordinary lucian citizen. he tugs his arms hard against his restraints, but it prompts only a clattering sound from the steel frame behind him.]

He's not... he's not...

[plated]

["prompto," for his part, shoots a slightly worried look at ardyn — he didn't overstep his bounds, did he? he hates doing that — but the hair ruffling makes him grin. he turns back to prompto-on-the-steel-frame, giving him pained puppy eyes.]

Gosh, Prompto. I'm so hurt. I'm Prompto, too, you know? I thought we could be friends.

Like you and your little prince.

[vengefulness]

[A laugh bubbles up in his throat at Prompto's obvious distress, but he easily quashes it in favor of putting on a pained expression.]

The poor thing. I think he's just feeling lonely since his friends haven't arrived yet. Why don't you be a good big brother and go give him a hug? I'm sure he'll feel better then.

[Usually the lights in these cells are kept quite low since many subjects are daemons, but he thinks he'd like to see every detail of his captive's face. Ardyn walks over to the wall where the environment controls are, boots clicking ominously on the cold, hard floor. The mostly empty room is flooded with light in an instant.]

[inlay]

We are not brothers! He's just — ugh —

[they're just clones.

artificially produced humans, made to serve as magitek troopers for the empire's ever-expanding army.

but the sudden and unexpected flooding of light in the room cuts prompto off. he finds himself wincing under the harsh, unfiltered lightbulb; his vision struggles to adjust. dimly, he can make out his double's shape, like seeing himself through a hazy mirror.]

[plated]

[it's funny, the differences between them. they're cut from the same cloth, sure, but prompto, the king's dog, is all dressed up in lucian royal black; "prompto," ardyn's pet, prefers a blue denim vest and a pure white shirt that makes him look like an angel.

he likes to wear white because blood shows up easier on it.

anyway, "prompto" couldn't care less about prompto's little existential crisis. he's been given a job to do, and he's well-trained enough — at least for a task like this — that he'll do it. a hug, hm? how sweet. easy enough. he walks over to his trussed-up "little brother" — struts, really, he's all slinky grace — and wraps his arms tenderly around prompto's neck, hands sliding into his hair, where "prompto" smooths it down to look a bit more like his own.]

There, there. Don't you worry, Prompto. Everything's gonna be just fine.

[vengefulness]

[What a perfect example of nature versus nurture they make. They're almost identical at a cellular level, yet they couldn't be more different in their behavior. Where Prompto is nervous and insecure due to what he assumes was a somewhat neglectful upbringing, under Ardyn's careful guidance his prototype has grown into a man that's capable of exuding confidence with every step. That's not to say they don't both possess an anxious desire to please, because they do — he essentially programmed that into the MTs. Once given orders to follow, "Prompto" doesn't hesitate, doesn't fret. He simply carries it out like it's the most natural thing in the world. Such a loyal creature is a rare find. Perhaps he should look into fully converting him into a proper MT after this so that he can keep him in his service...]

Such a touching family scene! [he croons. Ardyn then raises his hand to his mouth in a mockingly.]

I suppose that makes me out of place, doesn't it? Though you could consider me your father in a way.

[inlay]

[the worst part — the worst part is that it feels good to be in "prompto's" arms. even with their differences, his "brother" smells familiar, in the best of ways. there's a sensation, sometimes, when other people touch you, that they're not quite right - that their skin is too warm or too cold or too dry or too moist — but "prompto"'s touch feels just right.

like sinking into the welcoming scent of your own bed.

prompto hasn't been able to do that in a long time now.

ardyn's words make him laugh derisively though, as prompto tests his bonds in vain once more, making the metal frame rattle.]

Is that what this is about? You wanna be my daddy, Ardyn?

[plated]

[that's a slight that "prompto" won't take.

snarling, and without receiving an order to do so, the original seizes prompto by the hair and slams him hard into the frame, leaving a gash at his temple and a hint of blood against the metal.]

Don't you dare insult the Chancellor!

[vengefulness]

[That's hardly worth dignifying with a response, but "Prompto" answers for him anyway. He would be content to allow the violence to continue if not for one little detail:]

Ah ah ah, be careful now —

[Ardyn steps forward, gently prying his hand from Prompto's hair. He then takes out a potion from his jacket and dabs some on the cut, clicking his tongue with false sympathy and patting his cheek.]

We wouldn't want him to fall unconscious, now would we?

[All of a sudden he drops the unctuous tone, voice sounding low and dangerous as he continues.]

Don't damage his head.

[inlay]

[helpless to do anything else, prompto just closes his eyes and winces his way through the slightly dizzying pain of having his head smashed against hard metal. the soothing touch of medicinal gel to his forehead is welcome, even if it is ardyn's hand applying it; prompto musters just enough energy to glare at the man, but doesn't say anything more.]

[plated]

["prompto" is still riled up, even as ardyn takes his arm away and mends the damage that he's done; he jams his hands angrily into his pockets, still walking circles around prompto like a wolf trying to find an opening to pounce. not that he needs to do that. in his shackled state, his copy is full of openings.]

...Yeah. Yeah, you got it, Chance. Just got a little mad, is all.

[his eyes narrow as he asks:]

The rest of him is fair game, right?

[vengefulness]

[Ardyn pats Prompto's cheek to get his attention, patiently waiting until he makes eye contact to make his next move. He holds out his hand right by his face, summoning one of his arms (a pair of daggers) in a very familiar manner.]

Of course. I can repair him easily enough, after all.

[Not heal. "Repair". Prompto needs to remember his place. With a wicked smile he holds the daggers out to his pet.]

Here you are. Bruises are hardly any fun if you can't see them, so go ahead and cut off his shirt.