[You know that little kid who tries to put on a garment that’s too big, manages to get his arms through, but gets lost in the fabric void as he tries to attempt to pull the rest over his head? And he just stands there, awkward for a moment, shuffling, trying to get it to work but it’s futile; he’s trapped himself in his cloth prison, and will probably need assistance to see this through to the end?
Noctis is that 30 year-old kid right now.]
Gods… dammit…
[-can be heard, as the folds of too-many layers catch on his shoulder, making it impossible for him to do much of anything without being able to see what the issue is. But of course he can’t, because his vision is obscured, the top of whatever robe-like mess this was supposed to be folding in half over his head, making this even more embarrassing for him. You can’t see it, but the walking robe pile is frowning.]
Can I get a little help here? [He directs to whoever must be nearby. He hears shuffling. Noctis knows you’re there.]
II. IN FLIGHT ENTERTAINMENT
[Now properly dressed, Noctis holds back complaint about how heavy all this cloth feels. It lingers on his mind, but remains pushed aside for more pressing matters, such as focusing on the situation at hand. He helps with passing the books down, commenting to whoever happens to be near:]
…Some light reading.
[The levity might fall flat, with how withered and dry the words are that accompany it. Still, he won’t say much more for the rest of the flight.
Boredom, however, settles in quickly with Noctis, as it always does. He shifts his weight in his seat more than a few times, raps his fingers against his knee. Leans his head back and closes his eyes, only to open them a few minutes later. Anticipatory anxiety, maybe, or just a restlessness that’s always run through his core since he was young.
After a while, he amuses himself by making the book he’s been given disappear in fractured blue light. A crystalline glow envelops the tome, and it’s gone. Another wave of his hand, it it appears and solidifies again mid-air; Noctis catches it between his fingers before it falls. Rinse and repeat. His royal magic put to the best use, clearly.]
V. A COMMON PURPOSE
(Hold on, which one is the eel?)
[Noctis glances at all of the dishes, ignoring the overwhelming scent of spices and strange foods filling his nostrils. It’s too much at once for him to decide which he thinks is appetizing, and which he’d rather avoid for now. It’s with an automatic motion that he hands dish after dish down the table, curiously scrutinizing each meal being brought out in the interim.
It's during the brief moment his hands are empty when it comes into his periphery; the eel dish, its meat soft and cut evenly for ease of consumption. It’s fragrant and covered in some kind of slick sauce, or at least, he assumes that’s what it is.
And of course, it’s placed squarely in front of him.
The obvious option would be to ignore it, of course, but a Rabadocean, smiling serenely at him, interrupts this intent with a polite comment. Telling him that he should try the eel, it’s delicious, and it’d be a shame for him to pass over it in such a way. Noctis can feel the gentle pressing of obligation from those words, and he seems to hesitate.]
(You’ve gotta be kidding me.)
VI. EVENING’S END
[The show’s impressive, but Noctis sees it for what it is — pomp and circumstance. After the introductory speech is over and the lights fade, he can’t help but comment.]
(A lot of words, just to say “play nice with each other for now”.)
[A subtle glance around the crowd, music reverberating in the background still.]
no subject
[You know that little kid who tries to put on a garment that’s too big, manages to get his arms through, but gets lost in the fabric void as he tries to attempt to pull the rest over his head? And he just stands there, awkward for a moment, shuffling, trying to get it to work but it’s futile; he’s trapped himself in his cloth prison, and will probably need assistance to see this through to the end?
Noctis is that 30 year-old kid right now.]
Gods… dammit…
[-can be heard, as the folds of too-many layers catch on his shoulder, making it impossible for him to do much of anything without being able to see what the issue is. But of course he can’t, because his vision is obscured, the top of whatever robe-like mess this was supposed to be folding in half over his head, making this even more embarrassing for him. You can’t see it, but the walking robe pile is frowning.]
Can I get a little help here? [He directs to whoever must be nearby. He hears shuffling. Noctis knows you’re there.]
II. IN FLIGHT ENTERTAINMENT
[Now properly dressed, Noctis holds back complaint about how heavy all this cloth feels. It lingers on his mind, but remains pushed aside for more pressing matters, such as focusing on the situation at hand. He helps with passing the books down, commenting to whoever happens to be near:]
…Some light reading.
[The levity might fall flat, with how withered and dry the words are that accompany it. Still, he won’t say much more for the rest of the flight.
Boredom, however, settles in quickly with Noctis, as it always does. He shifts his weight in his seat more than a few times, raps his fingers against his knee. Leans his head back and closes his eyes, only to open them a few minutes later. Anticipatory anxiety, maybe, or just a restlessness that’s always run through his core since he was young.
After a while, he amuses himself by making the book he’s been given disappear in fractured blue light. A crystalline glow envelops the tome, and it’s gone. Another wave of his hand, it it appears and solidifies again mid-air; Noctis catches it between his fingers before it falls. Rinse and repeat. His royal magic put to the best use, clearly.]
V. A COMMON PURPOSE
(Hold on, which one is the eel?)
[Noctis glances at all of the dishes, ignoring the overwhelming scent of spices and strange foods filling his nostrils. It’s too much at once for him to decide which he thinks is appetizing, and which he’d rather avoid for now. It’s with an automatic motion that he hands dish after dish down the table, curiously scrutinizing each meal being brought out in the interim.
It's during the brief moment his hands are empty when it comes into his periphery; the eel dish, its meat soft and cut evenly for ease of consumption. It’s fragrant and covered in some kind of slick sauce, or at least, he assumes that’s what it is.
And of course, it’s placed squarely in front of him.
The obvious option would be to ignore it, of course, but a Rabadocean, smiling serenely at him, interrupts this intent with a polite comment. Telling him that he should try the eel, it’s delicious, and it’d be a shame for him to pass over it in such a way. Noctis can feel the gentle pressing of obligation from those words, and he seems to hesitate.]
(You’ve gotta be kidding me.)
VI. EVENING’S END
[The show’s impressive, but Noctis sees it for what it is — pomp and circumstance. After the introductory speech is over and the lights fade, he can’t help but comment.]
(A lot of words, just to say “play nice with each other for now”.)
[A subtle glance around the crowd, music reverberating in the background still.]
(Anything of note beyond the obvious?)