Chancellor Izunia entertains himself while he waits for the others to show up. And by "entertains himself", he really just dabbles in a little one-on-one torture so they're, as he puts it, officially past the acquaintance mark and now at the friend stage. When he gets bored of that, he...talks and maybe that's worse. He has these one-sided conversations about things that Prompto's too out of it to really digest, his quiet wheezing not loud enough to drown him out. Some of it sounds like it's personal and sometimes Ardyn even gets nostalgic, for a second almost like he's a normal human being.
Drained, hanging by wrists chaffed raw by the restrains, Prompto wishes he could force himself to pass out. Sure would be nice to shut Ardyn up. But since nothing in life is easy, he's more or less awake to listen to him go on and on and sip the lukewarm water that suddenly materializes in front of him in a tin cup. When he coughs it up on himself, unable to force it down, the Chancellor tuts like a disappointed parent.
Prompto isn't the most pissy guy out there but man.
He kinda hates Ardyn.
Prompto doesn't pick up on the sound of Gladio getting closer, not at first. Ardyn left a security feed on to taunt him, to track their progress and see the dramatic close encounters with the MTs. He spends a bit trying to doze off and conserve his energy, an animal part of him dreading the sound of footsteps because they usually mean it's the Chancellor back for more. These footsteps fall different. Whoever's there even breathes different. A reserve of strength he didn't know he had kicks in and Prompto actually lifts his head, feeling it loll weightlessly to the side like he can't quite control it. The stare he gives Gladio through the mask of cuts and bruises, the start of a black eye purpling his cheek, is unfocused, glassy.
"...Gladio?" Prompto doesn't sound jazzed. Mostly he sounds stunned, a little suspicious like he doesn't dare trust his eyes, voice wobbling and cracking.
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Drained, hanging by wrists chaffed raw by the restrains, Prompto wishes he could force himself to pass out. Sure would be nice to shut Ardyn up. But since nothing in life is easy, he's more or less awake to listen to him go on and on and sip the lukewarm water that suddenly materializes in front of him in a tin cup. When he coughs it up on himself, unable to force it down, the Chancellor tuts like a disappointed parent.
Prompto isn't the most pissy guy out there but man.
He kinda hates Ardyn.
Prompto doesn't pick up on the sound of Gladio getting closer, not at first. Ardyn left a security feed on to taunt him, to track their progress and see the dramatic close encounters with the MTs. He spends a bit trying to doze off and conserve his energy, an animal part of him dreading the sound of footsteps because they usually mean it's the Chancellor back for more. These footsteps fall different. Whoever's there even breathes different. A reserve of strength he didn't know he had kicks in and Prompto actually lifts his head, feeling it loll weightlessly to the side like he can't quite control it. The stare he gives Gladio through the mask of cuts and bruises, the start of a black eye purpling his cheek, is unfocused, glassy.
"...Gladio?" Prompto doesn't sound jazzed. Mostly he sounds stunned, a little suspicious like he doesn't dare trust his eyes, voice wobbling and cracking.