Can't stay in one place 📷

[crowncitizen]

WHO: Prompto and you~
WHAT: Various shenanigans
WHEN: Throughout the month of Solace
WHERE: Throughout Kirkwall; see prompts for specifics
NOTES: Will update as needed, but none anticipated

A) But first, let me take a selfie

If one finds themselves in the Gallows, or even the docks nearby, they may see a peculiar sign:

WANT A PORTRAIT? DON'T HAVE THE TIME, MONEY, OR PATIENCE FOR A PAINTING?

THEN YOU'RE IN LUCK!! SEE PROMPTO IN THE GALLOWS FOR A PORTRAIT YOU CAN HAVE IN AN HOUR! FIVE SILVERS ONLY!

**Supplies limited, so first come first serve! Will take reservations if all remaining spots for this month are filled**

Curious now? In the Gallows, if you look in the right places, you'll see signs pointing to where Prompto is in the Gallows. Follow those signs and eventually you'll come across his little set up. He's staked out in front of the supply closet he commandeered for a dark room. In front of is him in an old stuffed chair, fiddling with his camera. When he hears someone approach, he looks up and grins.

"Welcome!"


B) You gotta snatch and sneak, or your future's bleak

So Prompto's made the mistake of walking through Lowtown alone. At night. Yeah...

Needless to say, even though he's trying to hurry, he inevitably finds himself being tailed by some, uh, shady characters. It's the Carta or the Coterie; Prompto doesn't know who is what yet, he's just heard the names get tossed around. He grew up in a city, and while Insomnia is far safer than Kirkwall for the most part, he's no stranger to watching his back at night and knowing when he's being followed. And that's definitely what's going on.

Worse yet, since the city's a maze, Prompto gets himself a little turned around trying to lose his tail. As he emerges out of an alleyway, his heart slams into his ribcage when he comes face to face with a small group gathered loosely in front of him. So much for losing that tail, he just got corralled into a trap.

"Heeeeey guys," he says nervously, glancing around for an escape route. "Look, I got a few silver coins on me. But that's really all I have, I haven't been here long." He digs them out of his pocket. "Don't want a fight, so I'll just lay them on the ground and walk away, okay?"

"Nah," one of the thieves says. "If nothing else, those clothes are worth something." He motioned to the others. "Get 'em."

Prompto breaks out into a run, gunning for another small alleyway. He barely misses being grabbed by them, but he can hear his pursuers' pounding footsteps behind him. "I could use a hero in shining armor right now!" he yells as he sprints through the streets. "Or a good Samaritan! That'd be great, too!"


C) Is it worth the waiting for if we live til eighty-four, if all we get is gruel?

Prompto's not one to bite the hand that feeds you, but... well, what he's being fed is so not great.

He's been relying on the Inquisition's food provisions to get by, but after being spoiled for so long by Ignis' cooking, he's developed a particular palate that no longer allows him to enjoy mediocre grub. Today he's finally hit his limit. With a scrunched nose, he shoves aside his plate of... some kind of stew, and sighs. "What I wouldn't give for Iggy's cooking."


D) Let's be alone together

In a corner of the library in the Gallows, one might find Prompto hiding amongst some books. It's clear he's been reading, but the books have been pushed aside for now in favor of something else. Anyone who's not a Rifter from a technologically advanced world won't recognize the device he has in hand. It's not his camera, which he happily flaunts. No, this is something much more personal.

Prompto doesn't often look at it, and with good reason. He's reminded why when he looks at the battery indicator, and it shows as 50% charged. The reality sinks into his stomach like a cold lead weight. Once his phone dies, there's no turning it back on. When it goes, he'll lose his last remaining tie to his home. Sure, he'll still have the device, but what good is it dead?

Not that it's much good here, what with no reception and no means to access, well, almost anything. Save for his photos. The photography hobbyist in him rarely uses the phone as a camera, as he has a much better one at his disposal. But occasionally he did snap some pictures on it, when it was convenient or when his camera was charging. Those photos are now all he has of his friends and life in Eos. He only uses his phone to look at them; using it otherwise drains too much battery. He shuts it off when he's done, but all his battery conservation techniques only delays the inevitable.

Still, he can't help but scroll through the photos he has, lingering on the expressions of his friends. The sights around them comfort him too: cars and paved roads and cities, all against the natural backdrop of Eos.

49% now. Prompto knows he shouldn't linger much longer, but he just needs another minute or so, just to get him through. Of course, being so absorbed in his phone, he might not quite catch anyone walking up to him until they say something.

E) Wildcard

Hit me with your own starter!

Comments

[aforethought]

A snort.

"Shit kid, you say that any louder, cooks’ll solve the problem for you neat-like."

By slimming his portions considerably, if she had to guess. Then again, maybe the servants here come from more charitable stock than her own blood; it’s not exactly a career anyone’s accused her of being all that well-suited to. There’s only ever so long you can scrape and bow before something in you snaps and comes up swinging.

"Sure beats the slop we used to get. Real meat. Potatoes. What d’you need, a silver spoon stuck in it?"

For all this, she sounds in good humour about it. Giving her (more accurately: letting her take) free stuff seldom fails to endear.

[crowncitizen]

Prompto makes a much wilder leap of logic at her words, and his eyes widen in horror. "You don't think - they wouldn't put something in my food, would they?" Please tell him they're not that vindictive here. Gods, he's going to get himself poisoned isn't he? What a way to go (and way to let his imagination go wild with that one. Yeesh).

"Variety for one thing. I don't know, maybe I'm just getting used to how they cook things here." He's used to ovens and other technological conveniences. Food cooked over an open flame is a lot different. "Also, a bit of seasoning would go a long way."

[aforethought]

"Well, seasoning," Melys dismisses, as if Prompto's just suggested they dye the soup green for novelty's sake. "Tell you what,"

She leans in, affects a look of deep solemnity,

(Or as near to it as might be offered, when she's been wearing open amusement not but a comment or two back,)

"They probably overheard you by now. Ain't nothing you can do for that. But you get worried they've got to feeling vindictive, you come to me first and I'll make sure it's alright." By taking, you know, most of it. "Got an iron stomach by now, can't get nothing bad in my blood."

There's a joke for you.

[crowncitizen]

Prompto gives her the side eye. But he's also trying not to laugh. Oh, she's got gall, and that's pretty damn awesome in his book.

"So like one of those people who tastes food for royalty to make sure it's not poisoned? I'm moving on up in the world!" Did Noctis have a person like that? He doesn't think so. Ha! If only he were here to joke about it with him. "Well, ma'am, I am pretty honored and appreciate your sacrifice." He grins, his amusement leaking through.