[ It's the sound of screaming, as well as accompanying growls that pull the prince to wakefulness in record time. The ground underneath him is unpleasantly sandy, and, as he discovers as he sits up, unpleasantly clotted with what looks like blood. There are collections of massive foot/hoof/claw prints of indecipherable nature around him, haphazard and criss-crossing each other. But Noctis has very little time to parse this particular piece of information, especially when his last memory had been in Zegnautus Keep, facing down everything that was left of Ravus, a horrific tragedy that's seared into his heart, and --
-- and what the hell is that?
He barely manages to duck and roll out of the way of a pair of massively snapping jaws, getting a whiff of fetid, rotting breath as it passed narrowly by him. It's not nearly as massive as some of the things he'd faced down, but it's somewhere near the top of the list, and the beast moves faster than anything he's ever seen. ]
What the -- whoa!
[ And he brought friends! Bigger friends, Noctis notices with no small amount of disgruntlement as they start to circle around him, closing in. He thinks swiftly, his gaze caught on a familiar glint of metal -- his father's sword, stuck hilt-up in the sand just beyond the hungry animals. Right, this is easy, he can do this without getting an entire chunk bit out of him. The problem, you see, with creatures that big is that they lose at least some flexibility, what with all the bulk around -- and naturally Noctis does something very reckless very quickly, taking a running leap at the closest and largest, landing right between its eyes and sprinting down the immense length before its momentum could work against him.
Another instant, and his hand closes around the hilt of the sword, the familiar weight of it now in his hand as he hefts it --
-- only to nearly be ambushed by another one of their monstrous brethren; this time one surging out of a nearby pool narrowly missing him. This place is crawling with them! Which brings to his mind another dreaded thought; he doesn't see any of his friends around in this glorified animal pit, and he hopes against hope that it's just that they aren't here, as opposed to currently being digested by one of them. ]
Ignis! [ He calls anyway, because hope springs eternal and maybe one of them can hear him in the midst of all this chaos. ] Prompto! Gladio!
[ Crap. One of those crocodiles is turning back with uncommon speed, and Noctis swipes it across the snout once, twice, blade digging into its softer underside when it rears up in pain. He presses his advantage, shoves deeper before he drags the sword out, darting out of range before it can snap at him again, but it's wounded now, blood smearing across the sand.
Someone, however, should warn him about the crocodile that's about to come up from behind him. ]
three;
[ Hangovers are most definitely not his thing, and neither is drinking. Drinking necessitates keeping late nights, partying (most often both), and naturally a taste for the really awful-tasting alcoholic stuff that Noct's tried and summarily dismissed.
So, in short, not his thing, which makes the whole hangover fiasco a lot more unfair, and all about the cruelty of the gods. He feels like Titan got himself a girlfriend, had a whole bunch of giant earth babies, and then had definitely not stood on ceremony about using him as a welcome mat. To add insult to injury, his mouth is cottony and with all the possibility that he may have just discovered what the armpit of hell tastes like. It takes one hell all the effort he can muster to even get out of his bed. Is this his bed, even?
Where in the name of the Six is he? ]
Ugh... [ Will to live rapidly deteriorating, it takes colossal effort to make it from the bed to the nearest wall by the open door, propping himself against it and fighting to ignore the way the floor spins underneath him. His words, distant and muffled to his ears, comes out slurred. Even the heel of his palm pressing up against his temple does nothing to alleviate the excruciating headache. ] What's -- happening?
[ Also, asking for a friend: can one adequately function without a head attached? ]
noctis lucis caelum | ffxv
[ It's the sound of screaming, as well as accompanying growls that pull the prince to wakefulness in record time. The ground underneath him is unpleasantly sandy, and, as he discovers as he sits up, unpleasantly clotted with what looks like blood. There are collections of massive foot/hoof/claw prints of indecipherable nature around him, haphazard and criss-crossing each other. But Noctis has very little time to parse this particular piece of information, especially when his last memory had been in Zegnautus Keep, facing down everything that was left of Ravus, a horrific tragedy that's seared into his heart, and --
-- and what the hell is that?
He barely manages to duck and roll out of the way of a pair of massively snapping jaws, getting a whiff of fetid, rotting breath as it passed narrowly by him. It's not nearly as massive as some of the things he'd faced down, but it's somewhere near the top of the list, and the beast moves faster than anything he's ever seen. ]
What the -- whoa!
[ And he brought friends! Bigger friends, Noctis notices with no small amount of disgruntlement as they start to circle around him, closing in. He thinks swiftly, his gaze caught on a familiar glint of metal -- his father's sword, stuck hilt-up in the sand just beyond the hungry animals. Right, this is easy, he can do this without getting an entire chunk bit out of him. The problem, you see, with creatures that big is that they lose at least some flexibility, what with all the bulk around -- and naturally Noctis does something very reckless very quickly, taking a running leap at the closest and largest, landing right between its eyes and sprinting down the immense length before its momentum could work against him.
Another instant, and his hand closes around the hilt of the sword, the familiar weight of it now in his hand as he hefts it --
-- only to nearly be ambushed by another one of their monstrous brethren; this time one surging out of a nearby pool narrowly missing him. This place is crawling with them! Which brings to his mind another dreaded thought; he doesn't see any of his friends around in this glorified animal pit, and he hopes against hope that it's just that they aren't here, as opposed to currently being digested by one of them. ]
Ignis! [ He calls anyway, because hope springs eternal and maybe one of them can hear him in the midst of all this chaos. ] Prompto! Gladio!
[ Crap. One of those crocodiles is turning back with uncommon speed, and Noctis swipes it across the snout once, twice, blade digging into its softer underside when it rears up in pain. He presses his advantage, shoves deeper before he drags the sword out, darting out of range before it can snap at him again, but it's wounded now, blood smearing across the sand.
Someone, however, should warn him about the crocodile that's about to come up from behind him. ]
three;
[ Hangovers are most definitely not his thing, and neither is drinking. Drinking necessitates keeping late nights, partying (most often both), and naturally a taste for the really awful-tasting alcoholic stuff that Noct's tried and summarily dismissed.
So, in short, not his thing, which makes the whole hangover fiasco a lot more unfair, and all about the cruelty of the gods. He feels like Titan got himself a girlfriend, had a whole bunch of giant earth babies, and then had definitely not stood on ceremony about using him as a welcome mat. To add insult to injury, his mouth is cottony and with all the possibility that he may have just discovered what the armpit of hell tastes like. It takes one hell all the effort he can muster to even get out of his bed. Is this his bed, even?
Where in the name of the Six is he? ]
Ugh... [ Will to live rapidly deteriorating, it takes colossal effort to make it from the bed to the nearest wall by the open door, propping himself against it and fighting to ignore the way the floor spins underneath him. His words, distant and muffled to his ears, comes out slurred. Even the heel of his palm pressing up against his temple does nothing to alleviate the excruciating headache. ] What's -- happening?
[ Also, asking for a friend: can one adequately function without a head attached? ]