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"Did you bring the money?" asks the man. His voice, slightly muffled by the Malboro-kun mask, is just as unpleasant in person as it was over the phone, the vowels dragging in plaintive whine even when he's trying to sound in control. "You don't look like you have the money. Hey, it better not be a cheque! I said cash only!"
Ignis feels the tension leave his shoulders. "So this really is blackmail."
It's such a classic setup: an anonymous voice over the phone threatening scandal, a demand for outrageous amounts of money presented in cash, meeting in a seedy motel, etc, etc. Ignis drags his gaze over the stained carpets, the ugly prints on the walls, the bed that looks like it climbed throughd the window to nest in the far corner of the room, allowed to stay because the cleaning staff weren't payed enough to risk evicting it.
If there is a cleaning staff.
The location matches the scenario matches the man, who Ignis suspects to be one of the many 'journalists' who infest the city like roaches, peering into windows from behind telephoto lenses. It would explain how he managed to get the pictures he's attempting to threaten Ignis with, though the fact that he'd have had to be on Citadel property to access that particular window is concerning. Was in fact the whole reason Ignis suspected something sinister at play here.
"Of course it's blackmail! Did you think I was joking?!"
What Ignis had feared was something far more sinister. Assassination, perhaps, or abduction for ransom, or even an attempted suborning. That this man wanted nothing more than money was almost refreshing in its pettiness.
Almost.
An hour lost to coordinating the security for a worst-case scenario. Kept Prompto waiting in the car, by the time I get to His Highness' apartment Gladio will have fed Noct cup noodles, and that lovely fresh fish I purchased this morning will have gone to waste . . . He opens the door and pokes his head out into the hall. Calls, "You can bring your people in, Marshal."
"Wha-! Is that the Guard?! I said no Crownsguard or I'd hit 'post'! Hey, you fuck, are you listening to me? I'm really gonna post these!"
Ignis glances back over his shoulder at the man, who is now brandishing his cell phone like a grenade, finger poised over the touch screen as if to pull the pin. "I heard you. I simply don't care. Sorry to have troubled you with this," he says to Cor as he enters, flanked by a pair of young Guard.
Cor shrugs, flicks his hand to brush away the matter. "It was a useful learning experience for the new recruits. Patty, read him his rights."
"Yes, sir."
Malboro-kun is stumbling backward and away from the Guard, spluttering, "Don't touch me! Motherfucking government dogs! Sciencia you shitstain! You cocksucking catamite-"
Definitely a journalist to have the vocabulary to sling that antiquated insult.
"-you think some uniforms are gonna make me back down? Fuck you!" He wrenches away from the Guard's grasping hands, trips on the bed and falls backward, the phone tumbling from his grip onto dirty sheets. Patty dives for it, Malboro-kun thrashes in an attempt to kick her away, and the second guard joins the fray with relish.
The brief scuffle indulges in a bit too much police brutality. Ignis decides not to notice, busying himself with retrieving the phone from the floor and checking through its photos.
Prompto does a much better job.
Of course, Prompto isn't obliged to take pictures while hiding in the bushes, so perhaps Ignis is being unfair.
"It doesn't matter if you delete them," snarls Malboro-kun, who has lost his mask in the fight and stands revealed as a 30-something man with too much nose and not enough dental hygiene. "I've got backups. I've got connections. I'll show everyone you're His Highness' literal bitch!"
'Literal' is a bit strong, but considering the photos are of a few nights ago when Noctis had brought out the leash and collar, Ignis is willing to let it slide. "Please don't indulge in slander. There's no way of proving it's His Highness in these photos."
Malboro-kun had said as much over the phone. 'I'm not looking to bother the Royal Family. That's way over my head. Besides, you were so pretty on your knees like that, a much better subject. Tell me, were you a bad dog? Is that why he had to muzzle you?'
Making sure His Highness' reputation was safe had been the other reason Ignis had to come. And though further investigation will be needed, for now he's satisfied that Malboro-kun had been truthful and Noctis is in the clear.
"That-" Malboro-kun's voice dribbles off into sputtering for a few moments before he manages to get it to congeal into actual words again. "The hell you- Everyone will know-"
Ignis hands the phone over to Cor. "Please give me a full background check for this person and an investigation into any other pictures he might have taken. Let me know if you need anything to get a warrant for his address."
"No problem."
"Thank you. And, a last request, Marshal? If at all possible, please ensure that whoever is responsible for the lapse in security that allowed him to take those pictures be forced to deal with the paperwork."
"You're a cruel man, Sciencia," says Cor, a chuckle lacing his words.
"Let the punishment fit the crime." Double checking security parameters, accounting for personnel and guests that came in and out on those dates, the incident report for this little drama, the paperwork for a warrant to search a civilian residence and a full background check, the forms for overtime pay for various people pulled in to act as Ignis backup . . . yes, let whoever was at fault for this choke on the fruit of bureaucracy. Ignis has wasted enough time on Malboro-kun already.
With that in mind, he nods farewell to Cor and leaves, the sound of a would-be blackmailer's confused whining fading away behind him.
Outside the hotel he signals the all-clear to the backup Guard. He crosses the parking lot, mindful of the litter and oil puddles, and taps on the glass of his car's passenger window in greeting.
Prompto glances up from his own phone and grins, leaning across to open the driver's side door for Ignis. "All done with the baddy?"
Ignis slides into the comfortable embrace of the bucket seat. "Yes. Nothing serious. Just some fool trying to use pictures of Noctis punishing me as blackmail. As if I'd cave to a sex scandal."
"Pffft, amateur. Everyone knows if you wanna blackmail someone you have to hit the target's weak spot. Speaking of . . ."
The seatbelt buckle snaps into place. Ignis does a brief check of the mirrors and then glances at Prompto, only to be met with a sight that sends ice sliding through his guts. His gloves creak as he grips the steering wheel tight, too tight, as he tries to steady himself. He has to swallow to wet his dry throat before he can choke out, "When did you take that?"
"A magician never reveals his tricks. So, how about ditching Noct to be on my team in tonight's Monster Fighter Mayhem tournament?"
"You would have me commit treason?"
Prompto waves around his phone, the screen merciless with its depiction of Ignis sneaking zucchini into chocolate loaf batter. "Isn't that what this is already? What's a little more between friends?"
". . . it seems I have no choice."
"Whoo hoo! Gold trophy, here I come!"
"You will delete that after tonight, won't you?" asks Ignis, starting up the car.
"Sure thing, buddy."
The machine rumbles to life, and Ignis pulls out of the parking lot, waving a last salute to the Guard. He joins the flow of traffic, heading toward his Prince and his Shield, and he's just starting to relax when Prompto looks up from his phone again and says oh, so casually,
"But you know. I might forget. I'm like that. Scatterbrained, right? Space out sometimes?"
"Prompto-"
"Just something to think about. So, uh, think you could schedule in some time for me to have a little photo shoot of my own? Get some nice closeups up you in that muzzle . . . "
"Prompto!"