[Finding Noct has almost flipped a switch in Ignis. Instead of aimlessly wandering, taking his time in exploring and gathering information, trying to formulate plans or assess resources, his priority has shifted entirely. Noct is here, real and physical, and in need of assistance: therefore, he will provide it.
Perhaps it's strange, how black and white it is to him: but he's never known or wanted it any other way.
He keeps a hand on Noctis's shoulder as they walk, carefully taking an easy path away from the view of the doors. Down one of the cross-hallways and to a small seating area in the middle of the main concourse, with number of ugly, faux-leather chairs and fake plants. Ushering the prince to sit, he draws a handkerchief from one of the inner pockets of his jacket, because of course he's the type to carry one of those.]
Here, sit, let's get you cleaned up, [It's just words for the sake of making noise, of reassuring his friend that he's here and ready to take on any problem presented to him, to be that constant, unerring support that someone as burdened as a member of the monarchy needs.
(After all, no one man can be expected to singularly lead a country, especially one as embroiled in tensions and wars as Lucis has been for the past few decades.)
Even as he sits next to Noctis, wiping at the steadily-drying blood, he's already trying to make plans in his head-- Get the gore cleaned off Noctis so that he can try and relax, have less of a visible reminder of what had just transpired. Assure his safety, and ensure that Noctis knows he's safe. From there, he can continue finding them somewhere to rest or find supplies or whatever else comes afterwards--]
Noct, talk to me, [It's as gentle as a prompting as he can give, still carefully trying to clean the splatters of blood from his face and neck.] How long have you been here?
Thank you!! And me also.... lol. I have given up and basically just write whatever, tbh
Perhaps it's strange, how black and white it is to him: but he's never known or wanted it any other way.
He keeps a hand on Noctis's shoulder as they walk, carefully taking an easy path away from the view of the doors. Down one of the cross-hallways and to a small seating area in the middle of the main concourse, with number of ugly, faux-leather chairs and fake plants. Ushering the prince to sit, he draws a handkerchief from one of the inner pockets of his jacket, because of course he's the type to carry one of those.]
Here, sit, let's get you cleaned up, [It's just words for the sake of making noise, of reassuring his friend that he's here and ready to take on any problem presented to him, to be that constant, unerring support that someone as burdened as a member of the monarchy needs.
(After all, no one man can be expected to singularly lead a country, especially one as embroiled in tensions and wars as Lucis has been for the past few decades.)
Even as he sits next to Noctis, wiping at the steadily-drying blood, he's already trying to make plans in his head-- Get the gore cleaned off Noctis so that he can try and relax, have less of a visible reminder of what had just transpired. Assure his safety, and ensure that Noctis knows he's safe. From there, he can continue finding them somewhere to rest or find supplies or whatever else comes afterwards--]
Noct, talk to me, [It's as gentle as a prompting as he can give, still carefully trying to clean the splatters of blood from his face and neck.] How long have you been here?