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WHO: Ignis and Colin. Ignis and OPEN.
WHAT: Ignis suffers the affects of the illness - Which for Ignis means non-stop battle training.
WHEN: During the Flu Season Plot.
WHERE: Gallows Training Ground / Closed Comment to Colin takes place in Colin's shop
NOTES: The prose has some small spoilers for Episode Ignis

He wasn't useless. He couldn't be useless, and yet when he had found himself on the ground under a Rift he could do little more than cower behind shields conjured by Saoirse and let her and Prompto take on the demons alone. He had to learn how to listen for the demons here, because while they were similar to daemons in a lot of ways there were enough differences to be wary. He needed to learn the patterns of their behavior and the noises that left them.

There was nothing that could honestly prepare him for that battle though, other than doing it. Right now, that meant getting used to the way his blades worked now. They didn't move exactly the same way they had back home. Traveling through the Rift had fundamentally changed them and he needed to get used to the way the Runes changed the weight in them.

He was trying not to feel utterly frustrated by his situation. He had never once regretted putting on the Ring of the Lucii to protect and he wasn't about to let this new world make him feel that way now. So he used this surprising amount of energy he somehow had found to train.

And train.

And train.

That's where he can be found during nearly this entire illness. The first days he focuses on how the blades feel and ropes anyone willing to train with him.

Then, he just doesn't stop. Not to sleep, anyway. He can be coaxed into eating something, and there a moments when he disappears for a couple hours and comes back smelling of spices and food. Then it's back to training.

[For Colin]

It's the first day of the illness, when he doesn't realize that it's more than finding a good wind. He had spent the morning on the training grounds and then had wandered a bit around the Gallow's proper. The smell of good cooking is what lead him to Colin's shop. There was a strange sense of ache at the scent of good food.

He had enjoyed cooking well enough and he knew he had a good talent for it. It hadn't been something he had thought to do for his entire life before, though. It had been something he could do to care for Noctis. Noctis was... missing now. And he certainly wasn't in this new world. That should mean that Ignis didn't have a reason to want to cook now.

And yet that exact desire lead him into Colin's place. He thinks he'll just taste what is being offered. He's itching to get back out to train and isn't sure that he can sit still long enough to eat a proper meal.

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The bell on the door rings when it's opened. Colin is just finishing up today's dish, and it's typical for him to get a rush when everything is fresh and hot.

"Five silver for a bowl," he says before he looks up and smiles. "Good day."

The man who stands before Colin has a visor that helps to obscure but not completely cover intense scarring around his eyes. One eyelid is forever closed, while the other exposes a milky eye that sees no more than it's partner.

When he walks he has a cane that helps him figure out where nearby obstacles are.

"Ah," he says, and reaches into his coat where he has some coins. He had figured out the different shapes early after getting them and counts out the silver by running his fingers long the edges. "I believe this will be enough." He breathes in, trying to tell by scent what Colin has made.

Oh.

Colin takes the silver and dips Ignis a bowl of beef noodle soup, adding slices of beef a soft-boiled egg on top. The soup is peppery and rich, with a touch of malt vinegar.

"Here." He makes sure Ignis can feel the bowl and has it in hand before letting go. "And here." Fork and spoon. "The noodles are fresh. I made them an hour ago. And there's beef and an egg in. I recommend cutting the egg open and letting the yolk mix in the soup. Need a place to sit?"

Ignis can smell the beef and feels reassured when Colin tells him that's what is inside of it. He lets the warmth from the bowl settle on his fingers.

"I do," he admitted. "The better to savor this dish."

Colin turns around and pulls up a chair next to the counter. He feels slightly awkward, not wanting to offend the man by over-helping, but wanting to help enough and so he's left to guess.

"Here," he says, touching Ignis' elbow with a feather-light touch and guiding him to the chair. "The counter is right here," he pats the surface. "You can use it for a table if you want."

Ignis would normally bristle a bit at being touched without permission, but he knows the stranger has good intentions. He makes a point to settle as gracefully as possible, proving that he still has the ability to do some things for himself.

"Thank you," he replies, before focusing on eating some of the food.

Colin starts to go about doing things as normal, trying not to act awkward or make Ignis think he pities him.

"I'm Colin, by the by," he says belatedly. "And I have some pickled vegetables if the soup's a bit too oily."

Ignis takes a bite of the soup and has to pause for a moment for how much he likes it. If he were a less dignified man, he might start slurping it down.

"It's lovely, thank you." He turns towards the sound of Colin's voice. "My name is Ignis. You said you made this noddles yourself?"

That's the kind of expression Colin likes to see. He grins. "I did. There's a meal this time every day, same price. Something different every day, depending on what I find at the market in the morning."

"It must be a joy to provide for others in that way," Ignis says, his voice getting a bit more thoughtful and introspective.

"You should be very proud of your skill."

"I'm all right," Colin says lightly, with a pleased smile. There's no doubt as to his talent; he's being humble and slightly cheeky. "My mother could make these incredible things out of very simple ingredients. I learned it all from her."

Ignis smiles gently at that idea. "That would make it a heartwarming memory, I imagine. I myself used to cook for people I looked after. It made the experience part of what it meant to tend to them." For a moment he trails a finger along the edge of the bowl, as if trying to capture a sense memory from the past.

"I haven't been able to recapture my culinary skill since... Well..." he gestures towards his face. "Perhaps one day... But to do so would require some aid."

Colin considers for a moment, brow furrowing. "Well, I could try. I'd have to think about how, though. Cutting things up or dealing with hot pans might require a bit of ingenuity."

Ignis seems to perk up a bit at the offer. "I can still do those things, what I need is someone who knows how it should look to keep watch to ensure I don't harm anything...."

"That wouldn't be any problem. How often would you like to?"

Ignis smiles then. It's not an expression that spreads across his entire face, rather the corners of his mouth uplift slightly. Still, it manages to seem warm and pleased.

"I would prefer once a week, if possible."

Saoirse is returning from the city, supplies in her carried bag, when she spots Ignis in the training grounds. For a moment, she stands back and watches before approaching to get a closer look at his movement. She had never seen Prompto fight until the other day when they battled the demons that had fallen in through the rifts. It was clear that he was used to battle too and had to wonder just what they had been through back home...

Ultimately, she shakes her head and clears her throat before speaking: "Hello again," she says brightly. "Ignis, yes?"

He is grateful that she clears her throat to announce that she is near. He pauses and turns a bit towards her. "Yes," he responds. "And you are Saoirse?"

"Yes, that's right." How exciting when knew people not only remember her name but also how to correctly pronounce it. "Have you settled into the Gallows?"

There was a lot that went into literally falling into a new world, she's sure not unlike being thrown out into the world when the Circles fell but at least Saoirse had always existed in this world.

"I know it must be difficult but I'll help if possible as this place was once my home. Besides, it'll be nice to hear more about you... well— from you that is! Prompto has was really excited earlier and was telling me a little about you."

"The two of you seem rather close," Ignis replies, changing the subject a bit. It's not that he doesn't want to talk about himself so much as he likes the idea that Prompto has been exploring a bit more than just Thedas's lands.

"Considering how capable you've proven to be, I have to say I approve." His approval wasn't vital, but he still felt it was a good idea to share it. He wanted her to know that he thought well of her.

"Well, hmm..." There's a stumble in her words when he talks about her and Prompto. She can't help mumbling, muttering a word in the tongue of her alienage but ultimately chuckling in a way that comes off quite fondly despite her shyness.

"I very much care for him and I was fortunate that he returned my feelings. He makes me..." Another pause as she tries to find the words because Prompto makes her feel a lot of things, all good and all making her realize how lucky she was. "He makes me very happy."

Simple but perfect.

"That can mean everything in times of daemons and darkness," he offers. The way he says 'daemons' isn't exactly the same pronunciation that one would encounter in Thedas, because he uses the word they assigned to monsters on Eos.

"It is reassuring to know that he wasn't alone while he was here. He has a very kind heart and has been through... quite a lot." He probably would never speak so openly if Prompto was around to hear, nor if he wasn't under the influence of the illness that is making him itch to keep moving, distracting him from keeping things close to his chest.

The odd pronunciation is noted but Saoirse does not press her curious thoughts for now. Instead, she makes a thoughtful (but understanding) noise as she shifts in place slightly. Honestly, she doesn't talk about herself a lot... let alone her feelings but with Prompto there is a part of her that wishes to be more honest.

"Mmm... I just hope I can bring him some comfort as he has brought me." She says lightly, her attention shifting to the Gallows and its walls. "This place is filled with terrible memories but Prompto has truly helped in creating new ones, better ones. I wish he had not had to be seperated from his friends for so long but I am very grateful that I was able to meet him."

"How long has he been here?" Ignis asks. He already understands that this place functions as sort of a pocket dimension and that the timelines of Rifters sometimes don't match up, but he hasn't thought to ask Prompto outright about his experiences just yet. He wanted to give the blond time to readjust to having him near.

Saoirse, however, seemed reliable in her desire to give Prompto the best that she could. She would be reliable in providing answers about his stay in Thedas as well.

"I met him toward the end of Bloomingtide," she breathes out in thought. Oh, right. "That is the fifth month in our twelve month calendar. I am not sure of his exact arrival as I was absent from the city when we first came but it will be a year soon then based on our first meeting at least."

He isn't certainly not wrong in that regard. She is, in fact, determined in her desires toward his happiness. It was the very least she could do after all he had done for her in the same regard.

At being told it had been a year Ignis is visibly surprised. He usually keeps better control of his emotions but he hadn't been expecting it to have been that long.

It made sense though, the more he thought about it. Prompto had managed to master using a bow. Prompto was capable but that still had to be a sign of a long time on Thedas.

"I see," he commented after regaining his composure. "I should learn your calendar. I've focused on politics and history but day to day things are an important part of cultural identity."

She cannot help her silence at his surprise. It must have been a hard fact to swallow when, for him, it had not appeared that way back home. Adjusting her pack, she hums thoughtfully and makes an agreeable sound to his suggestion.

"Yes, of course, there's also our holidays and celebrations. Though even that depends on the country you are in. Thankfully, we Marchers are not as extravagant as Orlais."

He is happy to find that he knows what countries she speaks of, if the Free Marches can really be considered a country. He's retaining the information he's gaining about Thedas, even as it seems to be an endless amount of facts to learn.

"Tell me about them, if you don't mind. Perhaps start with your favorite?" Holidays could tell you a lot about what a culture valued.

This Rifter is hardly the first or only one to take an unprecedented solace on the training grounds, and under any other circumstances, Malcolm would take this as a good sign. But it seems to be the same people out in all hours.

Though he watches when he can. At the very least, he can at least help them improve. This fellow seems already well-acquainted with blades, and while Malcolm prefers a bow and a shot from a distance, his swordsmanship is nothing to scoff at. The strange mask over his eyes gives him pause. To protect them from further damage? He can see the creeping edges of some kind of scarring over one. Damaged, or blind?

"Good ser," he starts, then quickly amends. "Rifter, with the daggers. You needn't prove your endurance to anyone. Sit, drink, rest. Tomorrow is another day."

He's starting to suspect that his suggestions will fall short of the mark given the murmurings about a strange manner people are acting in. But he has to try.

Ignis pauses when he realizes the voice is directed to him. He stops and turns towards the sound of it. The daggers remain in his hands for now.

"You needn't worry," he promises. He doesn't feel the need to stop or rest at all, but then he hasn't felt that need for the last few days.

"I'm afraid that's like telling the ocean to stop crashing or that the sun need not shine. Worrying is the thing I do as often as breathing." He takes a few steps closer--out of immediate dagger reach, still, but closer. "The last thing Kirkwall and the Inquisition both need are people exhausting themselves. Surely we could find you something else to do."

Ignis can't help but relate a bit to that, and it helps him to force himself to stop. His body still feels like it's itching for movement, but he can imagine how he would work to make others stop of he came across a scene like the one he was making.

"Did you have another task in mind?"

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