one day the light of love, though it may seem far away

[founderinglight]

Who: Grandpa Sleepy and you!
What: Izunia has some projects catchall!
When: Late march and a couple days into April
Where: vvvvvarious
Warnings: None YET

March 28-April 3, daylight; space between the station and the lighthouse

[Sticking out in his black coat against the outline of the roof, here's Izunia -

And then he suddenly isn't, with an impressive throw of a greatsword that's nearly his own height spinning through the air. It embeds in the ground, kicking up sand, and he follows in a flash of blue before it vanishes. And then again, straight up into the air - and back down with an explosion of sand.

Or perhaps you catch him with a series of... cards? floating in an array around him, before he suddenly sets one to spinning and conjures a burst of water or ice from the ground. Or, rapier in hand, setting fire to the blade in a... mostly controlled manner. Ignore the singed grass.

Either way, it's clear that he's practicing - putting his abilities on full display for probably the first time, aside from that fateful seagull fight. And perhaps a sparring buddy wouldn't be out of the question...?]

April 4th, east laundry, afternoon

[Well, it's not a total mess. But a keen eye will spot Izunia at one of the sinks - for once, sans scarf. In fact, sans shirt entirely. The reason why is clear in what he's bent over - a bit of dark metallic blue dye and a teeshirt that used to be entirely white. Clearly, he didn't want to risk the rest of his clothes getting stained.

And, well, he was right to be worried, considering that there's a streak of the blue dye running up his forearm to the elbow from where he mistakenly leaned it against the edge of the sink as he works. Also, there's that tattoo on his chest - a flock of crows, indeed, an entire murder, flying away from a series of cracks directly over his heart.]

I suppose I should have done a test run, first...

April 4-5th, late evening/early night

[And once the shirt is finished and hung up to dry securely in his room (and a towel streaked with the dye that mostly came off his arm), Izunia settles himself back in the kitchen again. There's the smell of something in the oven - cheese? garlic? - and while he waits for it to finish, he sets with a notebook at one of the bench-style tables. There's an array of sketches (mostly, now, people around the station), a deck of what seems to be metal playing cards, an empty fountain pen, and directly in front of him, a journal written in neat handwriting...

...Completely in what someone from Earth would recognize as Latin. And unlike the majority of writing around the station, this doesn't seem to want to translate if you sneak a peek.

Good luck sneaking up on Izunia, though, because chances are he hears you and closes the notebook when you approach. There's that usual smile in place, but it seems a bit emptier than usual.]

Good evening.

And also the usual places at the usual times

[If those projects don't interest you, perhaps you've caught him somewhere having a nap, or out on the viewing deck some sunrise or sunset? Strange as he is, even he has a routine.]

Comments

[photoshooter]

Is there really that much to think about? I mean, I know you've got stuff on your mind, but there's not that much going on here.

[founderinglight]

I might ask you the same question.

[A pause to chew and swallow.]

It's not all thoughts of things here. There are far too many thoughts, still, that I need to work out for myself.

[photoshooter]

Oh, I'm not really, uh... the kind of guy who thinks a lot about stuff. [Shrug.] I'm fine! Things are a lot better here now than they were at first.

[Or: "Noct is here now and I'm not going to let any stupid prophecy take him away, ever, in any world, period, so everything's great!"]

[founderinglight]

I may have noticed that.

[It's a gentle tease, still tinged with melancholy.]

But since they are thoughts I can't really share, I feel the need to put them somewhere.

[photoshooter]

[And, like an idiot:]

Why can't you?

[founderinglight]

Because it involves a huge amount of historical and personal context that is exhausting to explain on the best of days, and impossible on the worst, to anyone who isn't from Eos. And I respect that you and Noctis would both rather not hear it.

[photoshooter]

[Prompto's expression goes through a couple distinct stages of Figuring It Out before he drops his gaze to his plate.]

Oh.

[The next potato only gets poked listlessly, rolled back and forth with the tines of Prompto's fork.]

...That's... not real fair to you.

[founderinglight]

It's not fair to make you listen to it, either.

[He looks down at the table, where the notebook was spread before.

To love is a truly painful thing.]

[photoshooter]

No.

[Whatever Ardyn's true agency in the Astrals' gambit to rid Eos of the Scourge, however prophecy constricts the free will of men, the fact remains: Prompto and Noctis are victims as much as heroes, and it's not their responsibility--it shouldn't be their responsibility--to hear the story of the man who destroyed their home, their families, their lives.

Prompto starts cutting a potato into cheesy little slices with the side of his fork. It ends up kind of mashed instead.]

But it's not good not to talk. Or to feel like you're all alone with stuff.

[He stops playing with his food, looking off to the side, one hand wrapped around his wrist.]

...It's all about him?

[founderinglight]

Most of it at least touches the subject.

[Blood flows back to the heart, sooner or later, as it goes throughout the body.

And then there is the matter of what will be, and that is one truth that he will respect Prompto's right to live in ignorance of.

Ironically enough, Izunia too fidgets with his fork.]

Family is the anchor that keeps me tied to the earth. I don't know who I would be without that.

[photoshooter]

[Prompto puts his chin in his hand and scoops his poor squished potato into his mouth. Once he chews and swallows, he notes neutrally:]

It's not making me listen if I ask.

[He separates another potato from the herd.]

As long as you don't expect me to, like. Agree about anything. I'll keep quiet. [A little more firmly:] I think you should talk about it.

[founderinglight]

[For once, Izunia has nothing at all to say. The look of shock on his face is plain.

He doesn't... not understand what that offer means. And it is strange and foreign and full of so much reminder that it burns. And so for a long moment, he doesn't know what to say. He just lets the thoughts throw themselves around his head, waiting until something shakes into place.

Finally, on the far side of much silence and a drink of his soda, slammed back as though it were something alcoholic and more fortifying - ]

I miss him. Daemon or mortal, he's always been there, like a force of nature, inescapable as gravity, and now I... I don't know what to do.

[photoshooter]

[Prompto actually looks at him now, but keeps to his word and says nothing. He just nods and continues to eat, alternating between staring at his plate and actually daring glance at Izunia's face between bites.]

[founderinglight]

It makes me feel like a fool. A child left alone in a dark house, chasing after a candle.

[He finally makes himself stuff another bite of the potatoes in his mouth, swallowing mechanically. It's more something to do with his hands.]

I knew what the cost was, to rid the world of the Scourge. I expected to leave the world the same way I entered it - barely a moment after him.

[A sigh.]

It's true what they say about living being harder.

[photoshooter]

[A child left alone in a dark house.

Prompto closes his eyes, not tasting any of the cheese or pepper on his tongue, and swallows.]

...Yeah.

['Just leave me here, I'll die, I don't care.'

He doesn't add anything else except the quiet clink of fork on plate.]

[founderinglight]

[Prompto will live. That Izunia knows, deep in his gut, even without the confirmation of the ten years that he has that the boy in front of him does not.

And it'ts that thought that gives him something almost resembling determination. Whatever else, he will at least equal the strength it took to survive that darkness.]

Do not despair yet, for the dawn shall come. I churned out a great deal of poetry on that theme, in the latter half of my physical life. In retrospect, some of it was quite horrific and deserves to be lost to time, but a few became proper songs and compositions, and those have a bit more staying power.

[He did warn you that his thoughts are kind of terribly disjointed, Prompto. Another bite of the potato.]

We were named for the sunset, you know. I'm sure the Draconian or someone had a great laugh to themselves about it.

[photoshooter]

[Prompto shrugs a little.]

And Noct's named for the night. It's not that weird.

[All y'all tryin'a be "ironic" like Night Skylight of the black Kingdom of Light and the land of Shadow whose royalty all wear white and la-di-dah. Whatever, Quicksilver's onto you, literal nerdlords.]

Is that what your name means? Sunset?

[founderinglight]

Not that straightforwardly. 'Izunia' means roughly 'of the stars' in a language of the Tenebraean region that hasn't been spoken in over a thousand years. 'Ardyn' means 'burning' or sometimes 'passionate,' in the language you know as Ancient Lucian. Thus, the burning light of the sky - the sun, tinted red, as it dips below the horizon - and the light of the stars that follows.

[His chuckle is a little forced.]

I still find Noctis' name more ironic than not, but at least Regis had a better sense of aesthetic than the generations immediately before him.

[photoshooter]

Heheh. King King.

[Prompto isn't even really bothering to eat anymore, which is sort of sad, since he didn't get very far.]

How come you two have names from different languages?

[founderinglight]

[It's okay, he can always take it back to his room. It microwaves up nice.]

Our parents were from two different countries - Father was native to the region that would become Insomnia, but Mother was from an immigrant family. We inherited this from her, as well.

[He brushes the fingers of his free hand through his hair, indicating the color - the red would stick out among the dark-haired people of Insomnia as much as Prompto's blond.]

When it was discovered that we were going to be twins, my grandmother insisted that one of us have a name from her language, and so here we are.

[photoshooter]

Oh. That sounds nice.

[It's the first faint smile Prompto's offered since they started talking about this.]

[founderinglight]

[He's sure it would, to Prompto who has no family to speak of. There are times when he misses it deeply.]

It wasn't too terribly uncommon, in those days, though I imagine no small few of the more xenophobic of the modern Insomnia's elite would writhe to know it. People gathered together in whatever combinations fit, after the war.

[photoshooter]

It's kind of poetic, too. Like, even from the beginning, Lucis and Tenebrae were... were together.

[He rubs his arm, thinking of Lady Lunafreya.]

A combination that fit.

[founderinglight]

...I suppose it is, at that.

[He hadn't really thought of it that way.]

[photoshooter]

Hey, you know, you never told me about your wife? What was she like?

[Prompto Argentum is apparently really bad at shutting up and listening. In other news, scientists discover water still to be the wettest substance known to man.]