Work Text:
Ignis peers down at his character creation sheet, a little bemused by its entire existence. This isn’t the first time he’s heard of this RPG before, of course—Gladio’s been into it for years, though with a different circle of friends than the one Ignis spends much time in. There is a comic shop Gladio frequents for his games, and while Noctis spent the first year of high school pretending he was uninterested in it, Prompto’s blatant enthusiasm for it when he found out Gladio ran his own games finally cracked Noctis’s aloofness.
It seemed almost inevitable that Ignis would be roped into this, too. And now it’s finally here, since Noctis presented Ignis with a rather handsome set of sparkly, dark purple dice, and asked Ignis to join them on a campaign in lieu of an actual high school graduation gift.
(Prompto’s puppy dog eyes and Gladio’s fond smirk in the background made it very difficult to say no.)
“So the—stats—on this sheet,” Ignis says slowly, “in combination with the dice throws we’ll make in the actual sessions will determine how well my character succeeds at a task?”
“Or fails,” Gladio agrees. “I’ll prompt you guys to make rolls when necessary, but you’ll figure it out pretty quick.”
Ignis eyes the categories and the little blank lines beside them, wondering how the entirety of a person can be summed up in six attributes in combination with one-in-six or one-in-twenty or what-have-you whims of the universe. Then, abruptly, decides it will probably be easier if he simply accepts that if a game is to be played, it is probably best not to pick at the mechanics of it all.
“All right,” he says. “How do I set this up?”
Astrals bless Gladio—their first actual session (not the character creation session) doesn’t require Ignis to actually play until the end. Instead, Ignis gets to observe Noctis and Prompto while they have their characters, a pair of experienced adventuring siblings (the sister, Bellona, a fighter, and the brother, Liber, a rogue), to explore the small city the game starts in.
Noctis and Prompto’s characters’ rapport is not far off their friendship in real life, though perhaps the bickering is a little dialed up for admittedly comedic affect. Gladio appears to be enjoying himself immensely swapping between different roles—shopkeeper, blacksmith, barmaid—while Bellona and Liber resupply themselves and hunt for information regarding the next hunt they should take.
There’s a rhythm to this kind of game, and Ignis is slowly starting to be able to identify parts of it. He’s still a little uncertain what prompts Gladio to ask for a roll for different stats, only it is rather amusing whenever someone doesn’t do well enough. Liber’s attempt to flirt with a woman behind the bar goes so spectacularly poorly, she charges them triple for their drinks.
From context, Ignis gathers that this is not an unusual occurrence for Prompto’s character—Liber is a flirt, but he also has a slightly lower-than-average charisma stat that, combined with some unlucky rolls, makes his flirting a dicey prospect. Bellona is simply pleased they didn’t get their payment for a room rescinded, which is apparently what happened when Prompto last rolled a one on a flirting attempt.
But that same barmaid is the one who gives them the tip-off they need to head for the small temple where Ignis’s character resides. Ignis laces his fingers together in front of him and glances down at his character sheet, doing one last review of his character’s details. He feels—not quite nervous, and perhaps he never intended to play one of these games, but he would hate it if Noctis regretted asking him to join.
“The acolyte leads you to the back of the temple, where the living quarters are,” Gladio narrates. “There’s very little remarkable about this place, but corridors are well-swept and the mosaics on the walls are in good repair, if a little old. You pass some clerics, adepts, and acolytes in the halls. The ones in their official robes are heading toward the chapel to prepare for the evening prayers, and the ones in brown work clothes will be taking their shift in the kitchens and dining hall for the community meal afterward. The acolyte leads you to a plain wooden door about halfway down the hall, and knocks on it.” Gladio raps the table twice, then says in the higher acolyte’s voice, “Adept Sancus, you have visitors.”
“Come in,” Ignis says, after a half-second’s doubt. He does not try for anyone’s voice but his own.
“Wisdom check,” Gladio says.
Ignis rolls his d20 and adds his proficiency to it. “Fifteen.”
“The two strangers before you are clearly experienced adventurers, or maybe mercenaries, based on the weapons they carry and the wear and tear on their armor and other gear. They’re successful at it, too, because they seem well-fed, in good health, and have all of their limbs. The woman is a little taller than the man, though they seem of age and are similar enough in coloring and facial structure that you wouldn’t at all be surprised if they were related.”
Ignis hums at that information, considers the backstory he crafted with Gladio, and asks simply, “Has Mother hired you to kill me?”
“You had fun?” Prompto asks as they wait for the elevator together.
“I did,” Ignis says, simple and honest. He may still be a little stiffer than the rest when it comes to the role playing and not entirely versed in the mechanics and takes a little longer to make sure he’s calculating his rolls correctly, but—
He’s always loved a good story. Crafting one with his friends is something he hadn’t ever expected to do.
(And he bullied Gladio into letting him borrow the reference book he was consulting during the session so he could do some proper study.)
“Cool,” Prompto breaks out into a grin that lights up his entire countenance. “I mean—good, I’m glad. I loved your intro, seriously.”
The elevator dings, and Ignis motions Prompto forward. “Gladio had his hand in it as well.”
Prompto laughs. “He’s got a pretty amazing sense for the dramatics,” he concedes cheerfully as he steps by, “but don’t sell yourself short.”
Ignis bites the inside of his cheek in an effort to stay in character and the measly six Prompto just rolled for his attempt at flirtation. “Have I given you any reason to believe I am not devoted to my clerical calling and its traditional celibacy?” he asks, and he hopes his amusement sounds close enough to the bewilderment Sancus would probably be feeling.
“A man can dream,” Prompto says, earnestly, committed to being a terrible flirt simply because the dice dictated he should be right now. He waggles his Astral-forsaken eyebrows. “And you’re in a lot of mine these days.”
And then he winks, and Ignis can’t help the snort that escapes.
Their first actual battle is a slog. Ignis does surprisingly well for himself—he manages not to bring everything to a halt whenever it is time for him to do some clerical spellcasting to buff his allies—but the odds simply aren’t in their favor. Most of their rolls are mediocre to poor, and a steady stream of small hits ends abruptly when Noctis rolls a two, and Bellona goes down hard.
Prompto immediately moves Liber to cover, but his rogue isn’t built to stand up to direct confrontation with so many enemies of this class type. They’ll be overrun in the next round, maybe the one after, and Sancus doesn’t have the type of combat spells that are good against entire groups of enemies.
“Do I need a wisdom check?” Ignis asks, gesturing to the battlefield before him. “To know we’re unlikely to win?”
Gladio shakes his head. “Bellona is down, and Liber is sporting obvious injuries. You have a chance to flee, if you’d like to take it.”
It’s an empty offer—no version of Ignis would ever flee. Instead, Ignis pulls out his small notebook and flips to the page with his second set of stats and the notes he took down carefully when Gladio explained how the possession mechanic worked. “Then I’d like to bargain with the demon I’m hosting.”
After the massacre, Sancus uses the last of his demon-assisted strength to drag Bellona to a relatively safer clearing within the forest. Once Sancus is free of demonic influence, Ignis has him cast a couple rounds of healing, first on Bellona and then on Liber. Noctis rolls a couple times but ultimately can’t get Bellona conscious again, and it’s late enough in the real world that it’s up to Ignis and Prompto to wrap up the session.
“I expect you have questions,” Ignis says, once Sancus has exhausted his healing spellwork.
“About a million,” Prompto says, “but that can wait until Bellona’s awake again. No need to make you explain this twice. And—thank you. For saving us.”
“You wouldn’t have been in such danger if you hadn’t tried to help me,” Ignis counters. “Those soldiers didn’t wear the emblems of Mother’s house, but no one else would know to send them.”
To Ignis’s surprise, Prompto makes a roll against his charisma and gets a fourteen. And then, even more surprisingly, doesn’t use it to flirt. “Thank you, for saving Bellona. For saving us.” Prompto is truly into the moment, his voice so sincere it’s almost painful. “It’s been a long time since we had anyone else to watch our backs. We owe you our lives.”
“As I shall owe you mine, should you help rid me of this demon,” Ignis says. “Consider it a prepayment on what I shall owe you at the end of all this.”
This part of summer is always busy for the crown. Ignis spends nearly two weeks straight shepherding Noctis from one meeting to political event to public engagement to another, ensuring he is properly attired, prepared for whatever discussions will be happening, and has enough down time he doesn’t retreat into sullen stubbornness. Gladio is there, too, escorting Noctis as his Shield, and his professional public demeanor leaves little room for his genial warmth.
Last year, Ignis had given very little thought to Prompto during this busy season. This year, Ignis finds he—misses Prompto’s presence. He misses more than just Prompto’s ability to ease Noctis out of his darker moods and get him smiling.
Ignis misses Prompto’s willingness to say silly or outrageous things in order to sweeten a sour moment. He misses Prompto’s kindness, which frequently manifests as offers to help. He misses the way he pokes fun at some of the more—archaic customs and points-of-view that Ignis has privately rolled his eyes at for years but never dared to comment on.
Hey Iggy, Prompto texts one night. Hope things are going well. Miss you guys!
I’ve missed you, too, Ignis types out but doesn’t send.
Astrals willing, we’ll still be able to make the session next Thursday, he writes instead. I still think that the mayor is hiding something.
“Since Bell’s going to be busy,” Prompto says, “want to explore the city? Together?”
Ignis blinks. He had assumed that with Noctis’s character running off to infiltrate the suspect mercenary company, the rest of the session would focus on that. But the idea of spending some time in the session doing lower-stakes, character building moments sounds—refreshing.
“We should always take advantage of a moment to resupply and enjoy the conveniences of a city,” Ignis says.
The pun Prompto tries out on the shopkeeper is absolutely befitting the one he rolled, so utterly terrible that Ignis muffles a bemused groan into his palm. And when Gladio snaps an in-character why’s this clown looking for a new audience when he’s got you, Ignis breaks character entirely and laughs.
It takes three more sessions for Ignis to realize that Prompto has taken Gladio’s question to heart. Liber no longer outrageously flirts with NPCs—Prompto’s redirected all of that energy and all of those charisma rolls toward Sancus. They are still, on the whole, not great rolls.
It means Ignis spends at least a portion of every session fighting for his own composure (difficult, when Prompto has such an expressive face and looks at him instead of Gladio when he says his atrocious lines) and Sancus’s (a little easier, since the dice’s whims have decided to favor him for unfathomable reasons when it comes to charisma, despite the lower stat). Gladio and Noctis, at least, seem highly entertained by the funny man vs straight man routine they are replicating.
“One of these days,” Prompto/Liber says toward the end of their session, “I’ll figure out exactly what to say to win you over.”
“Hey,” Prompto says from the kitchen threshold.
Ignis closes the oven door and sets another five minutes on the timer. “Yes, Prompto?”
Prompto shifts his weight onto his left foot and his eyes dart around the kitchen for a second. “Need any help?” he finally asks.
Ignis isn’t expecting the sudden warmth in his chest, and it takes him so off guard that he can’t find any words for a moment. “Ah, perhaps you could—set the table for me?”
Prompto lights up. “Sure thing!”
“We’ll find another way,” Prompto/Liber insists. “We can’t just—it isn’t fair.”
Ignis pulls his eyes away from the sticky note Gladio handed to him, what information Sancus scried for the purifying dagger Bellona looted from the corpse of the mercenary captain and an out-of-character note. I’ve got some options for you.
“We will,” Ignis/Sancus says with as much unfounded confidence he can muster. “Still, Bellona—keep the dagger, please. I would much rather we have a safety net and never need it than need it and not have it. The last thing I would ever want to do is to let the demon hurt either of you.”
Ignis sends Prompto off ahead of him, lingering in Noctis’s apartment until Gladio is ready to leave. “What are my options?” Ignis asks as they head toward the elevator.
“That depends. You’ve been a good sport about playing a campaign for Noctis,” Gladio says frankly. “But narrative-wise, Sancus is absolutely set up for a heroic sacrifice if you’d like to take a graceful exit.”
Noctis whoops in glee at his natural twenty and takes great delight in describing exactly how he takes one of the enemy soldiers down. But Ignis can’t help the way his eyes keep searching for Prompto and the way his happiness overtakes his entire countenance.
“I can’t believe Gladio stopped us just before the boss fight,” Prompto complains as the elevator descends. “It’s not that late—” and then he is shameless enough to yawn, jaw-cracking wide.
Ignis smiles a little, unable to help the fondness that sweeps over him. “It’ll be more exciting if you are fully awake for it.”
Prompto grumbles halfheartedly. “I am excited for Sancus to confront his mom,” he says, suddenly animated again. “It’s wild that she offered a kid to host a demon in exchange for power. And then to blame him for it when it started manifesting—!”
The elevator dings for the ground floor, and before Prompto can step forward, Ignis says, “I’d be happy to give you a ride home, if you’d like.”
“Isn’t that out of your way?” Prompto asks.
“Not much,” Ignis says, in spite of the actual realities of geography. “It’s late, besides. Let me?”
Prompto, to Ignis’s utter surprise and fascination, gets a bit pink. “Yeah, sure. Thanks, Iggy.”
“I’ll hold them off!” Noctis/Bellona says. Noctis has positioned his character in a hallway, just before the door to the room Liber has dragged Sancus to. It limits the number of demon-possessed soldiers that can engage with him at any turn, which will make the fight more manageable, though not easy.
“What can I do?” Prompto/Liber demands.
“Roll wisdom. Ignis, roll constitution.”
“Fourteen.”
“Eight.”
“The collar is clearly cursed, and demon forged besides in a metal you’ve never seen before. There are no seams, no lock—nothing you can pry open or pick or break. If there is a way to physically force the collar off without hurting Sanctus or releasing the demon, you can’t think of it. Ignis, roll 1d4 for damage.”
“Two.”
“The smell of burning flesh fills the air. Sancus convulses as another jolt of lighting from the collar goes through him, and the demon’s marks spread further across his skin.”
“You said it’s cursed!” Prompto says, before he turns to Ignis. “Sancus, the dagger. Can it—can it break the curse?”
Ignis passes the constitution check Gladio demands of him, but he doesn’t demand a wisdom check—Sancus scried this information in a prior session. “No. But it will kill the demon before it can break free.”
“But that will kill you.”
“Don’t let me hurt you,” Ignis/Sancus pleads.
“Noctis,” Gladio interrupts. “Combat, let’s go.”
There’s a terse round of combat, but Bellona prevails, taking down two of the remaining thirteen soldiers in exchange for a bloody gash down the outside of her left thigh. Noctis is grimly pleased, but he’s also looking rather concerned as the action turns back to Ignis and Prompto.
“I can’t,” Prompto/Liber says despairingly. “Please, Sancus—what can I do?”
“Ignis, roll wisdom, then constitution.”
Ignis picks up his d20 and squeezes it tightly before he lets it go. “Seventeen, then five.” He rolls the 1d4 without prompting. “Three again.”
“You’ve learned over the years with the demon that whatever bargains you make with it, they must be precisely worded. They must be exact. And your mother offered a child who would never be loved as a host in exchange for her house’s power. The skin around Sancus’s collar starts blistering, but he can’t scream because the convulsions knock the breath out of him. Roll constitution to stay conscious.”
“Eleven,” Ignis says tightly. Gladio nods, so Ignis turns toward Prompto and demands, “Kiss me. The cur—”
Prompto lurches out of his seat and does. Warm and insistent, and Ignis’s shock doesn’t at all stop him from raising a hand and threading his fingers through Prompto’s hair, hanging on to him tightly.
In the distance, Gladio chokes, then starts laughing, low and loud and hard enough that he starts wheezing.
“In the middle of our game?” Noctis demands. “Are you serious?”
Prompto breaks their kiss and pulls back. There’s a wildness about his eyes and a flush to his face that are the perfect mixture of heartbreaking and lovely. “Uh, I—”
“Yes, in the middle of your game,” Ignis says primly, and pulls Prompto back into another kiss.