For a man who could destroy things with a crush of his hand, who could break through stone columns when he's determined enough, Gladio's hand is feather light against Prompto's skin. The last thing he wants to do is bring around more pain as his fingers delicately work the potion in around Prompto's eye socket, his thumb catching a bit of the liquid as it tries to dribble away. The wince only brings a tired rouse of anger, but he knows the potion will take some of it away.
His arm stays strong and firm around Prompto, keeping him close. How can someone feel so damn cold? How long had he been hanging there? It all brings up another lick of rage within him, a fire banked temporarily so that it could become an inferno later, but every bit of damage he finds, every flinch and wince, adds another piece of charcoal. Waiting.
"We couldn't find either of you until suddenly Ignis' five hundredth phone call to Noct actually gets picked up. ...Noct... shit. He tore himself apart. I could hear him on the phone with Iggy." Like a broken wail, the sound of a dying thing, full of fear and anger and guilt. "When we finally stopped, we got the Regalia out and started towards this hellhole. ...the old girl protected us from daemons and explosions and fire and got us here, but only by the skin of our teeth. Served the prince until the end."
A fitting end, in a way, to a car that had seen so much, but not a deserved end.
His fingertips move towards Prompto's arm, hovering above the ragged damaged to a wrist that had been in shackles, but he stops before he makes contact with potion-laden fingers and gives a questioning look. Okay?
/trying to remember the exact events of play while on less than five hours of sleep
His arm stays strong and firm around Prompto, keeping him close. How can someone feel so damn cold? How long had he been hanging there? It all brings up another lick of rage within him, a fire banked temporarily so that it could become an inferno later, but every bit of damage he finds, every flinch and wince, adds another piece of charcoal. Waiting.
"We couldn't find either of you until suddenly Ignis' five hundredth phone call to Noct actually gets picked up. ...Noct... shit. He tore himself apart. I could hear him on the phone with Iggy." Like a broken wail, the sound of a dying thing, full of fear and anger and guilt. "When we finally stopped, we got the Regalia out and started towards this hellhole. ...the old girl protected us from daemons and explosions and fire and got us here, but only by the skin of our teeth. Served the prince until the end."
A fitting end, in a way, to a car that had seen so much, but not a deserved end.
His fingertips move towards Prompto's arm, hovering above the ragged damaged to a wrist that had been in shackles, but he stops before he makes contact with potion-laden fingers and gives a questioning look. Okay?