[the smell of the ocean calls to him. the first time he ever saw the ocean outside the walls of insomnia was galdin quay, but the past ten years had been rough on the once beautiful seaside resort. to be able to see the ocean, again, under the sun, is something prompto wishes to capture with his camera; to feel the grainy sand between his toes, the sting of the salty water in his eyes, the burn of the sun on his skin.]
[but none of that is something he can have, not now, if he is to follow along with the necessary rules of their mission.]
[prompto can be found by the shore of the beach on his haunches, pressing down on the sand, letting the rolling waves wet his shoes and robes.]
(So romantic...)
[at least ten years of darkness didn't take away his penchant for saying (or thinking) the most random of things that came to mind. he sighs to himself, and he'll be here until sunset unless someone stops him, trying to drink in the sun.]
B. RESTING AT THE BARRACKS
[prompto's taken command of one of the beds, quick to discard robes and shoes onto a pile. he's also stolen at least four to six other pillows from the other beds to make himself comfortable.]
[in his fort of pillows, he lies, checking through his camera's pictures]
[at anyone walking in, he'll lift his head up and offer a wave with his hand]
Oh, hey.
[but immediately back to his camera.]
C. HUNT OR BE HUNTED
[find prompto out in the hunting area, trying very desperately to climb a tree for a better vantage point. he'd much rather summon his gun from noctis' magic dimensional space, but they've got to keep appearances, right? and so slingshot it is.]
[it's not that he's bad, but getting used to this new type of weapon-type is A Thing to deal with.]
[he reaches the top, and is now aiming around, looking a lot like a fool and less like someone who knows what they're doing. the denizens of the red coast, standing a ways away just laugh to themselves at this foolish endeavor.]
[that is, until prompto shoots down one ridin on its tracks]
Bullseye, baby!
[maybe tone it down with the victory whooping, prompto]
prompto / ota
[the smell of the ocean calls to him. the first time he ever saw the ocean outside the walls of insomnia was galdin quay, but the past ten years had been rough on the once beautiful seaside resort. to be able to see the ocean, again, under the sun, is something prompto wishes to capture with his camera; to feel the grainy sand between his toes, the sting of the salty water in his eyes, the burn of the sun on his skin.]
[but none of that is something he can have, not now, if he is to follow along with the necessary rules of their mission.]
[prompto can be found by the shore of the beach on his haunches, pressing down on the sand, letting the rolling waves wet his shoes and robes.]
( So romantic... )
[at least ten years of darkness didn't take away his penchant for saying (or thinking) the most random of things that came to mind. he sighs to himself, and he'll be here until sunset unless someone stops him, trying to drink in the sun.]
B. RESTING AT THE BARRACKS
[prompto's taken command of one of the beds, quick to discard robes and shoes onto a pile. he's also stolen at least four to six other pillows from the other beds to make himself comfortable.]
[in his fort of pillows, he lies, checking through his camera's pictures]
[at anyone walking in, he'll lift his head up and offer a wave with his hand]
Oh, hey.
[but immediately back to his camera.]
C. HUNT OR BE HUNTED
[find prompto out in the hunting area, trying very desperately to climb a tree for a better vantage point. he'd much rather summon his gun from noctis' magic dimensional space, but they've got to keep appearances, right? and so slingshot it is.]
[it's not that he's bad, but getting used to this new type of weapon-type is A Thing to deal with.]
[he reaches the top, and is now aiming around, looking a lot like a fool and less like someone who knows what they're doing. the denizens of the red coast, standing a ways away just laugh to themselves at this foolish endeavor.]
[that is, until prompto shoots down one ridin on its tracks]
Bullseye, baby!
[maybe tone it down with the victory whooping, prompto]
D. WILDCARD
[anything goes!]