originallutece | (no subject)

[he does give her his address, after several long minutes of consideration. it's a small apartment building somewhere in viea village, close to the park. it's on the first floor, a hallways of questionable condition with three other doors plus his own on the floor. his is the obvious one: the no photography allowed! sign gives it away easily.]

[prompto has no idea if rosalind intends to come in at all, but prompto's making an effort to clean up his small place, shoving dirty clothes into the laundry basket and shoving plates and glasses into cupboards, opening the kitchen door, and making his bed.]

[too bad he forgets to fix himself; rumpled clothes and and his hair lacking the usual hairstyle, soft and falling all over his face without the hair product to hold it up]

[She does, at least, come into the building, her hair hastily pinned back and her dress a little less severe. There's only thirteen years between them, and that gap seems a bit smaller tonight, when Rosalind isn't trying her best to look as old as possible.

The building is . . . somewhat what she expected, truth be told, given he'd told her he was living on his own, but that doesn't make her feel much better about it. She crosses her arms over herself, a little uncomfortable, and knocks firmly.

She'll take him out, if that's what he's amiable towards, because truth be told, she isn't quite certain of what to do with him now that she's come by. Perhaps they'll simply stay here. Either way, she's worried about him, and her eyes dart about his face as he opens the door.]

Hello, Prompto.

[he opens the door for her and can't even raise his head to look up at her. his eyes are lowered, looking down at their shoes, and he but nods at her greeting]

Hello.

...sorry making y'come all the way here. I don't... have any tea, or anything...

I hardly expect you to entertain me.

[A little pause. She wavers on her decision, but then:]

Come take a walk with me. It's a good night for it.

[he doesn't say anything, just moves to get his keys and put a gray (it's blue, alright) cap over his head, a wolf patch stitched to its front]

[stepping outside, he closes the door behind him, locking it.]

Okay.

[So they go down, side by side, Rosalind's hands clasped behind her. She'd been right: it is a nice night out for a walk. The heat of the day has cooled, and there's a lovely breeze coming from the west. She tips her head back, inhaling deeply as they start down the block. There's her BMW, red and shining, but she walks them past it, choosing to stick to the sidewalk instead.

They walk in silence for a fair bit. It's only once they're at least a block away that she says:]

I went to university when I was . . . I was fifteen, nearly sixteen. Cambridge. I made my first friend there-- I'd never had one before, because I'd never met anyone I could connect with. But there . . . her name was-- is-- Victoria Pendergrass. She was a few years older than me, naturally, and the sort of person who . . . well. She was very social. She made friends so easily, and I rather basked in that bright energy. She swept me up in her wake, and I followed along, and so in that way I grew to have three friends. Not, perhaps, the people I would have chosen for myself, but they were companions nonetheless.

[She remarks all this to the air, not looking over at him.]

I've never felt as though I wasn't worthy of someone's time or attention, because I think very highly of myself. I've always known I was brilliant, and bright, and better than everyone around me, and so each time I was rejected, it was their fault, not mine. My parents wanted a son, but they got a daughter; they wanted a socialite, but they got a scientist. My peers looked at me and saw someone who was different from them, so much so that we were simply on different levels-- and as I'm sure you know, someone different is someone worthy of mockery. But so what? I knew-- I knew, sure as anything-- I was something special, and so I wrote them all off.

But with her . . . I grew lax. I grew used to her companionship, and yet in the same breath I knew in my heart it was a matter of time before we parted, because I was so unlike any of her other friends. And that thought terrified me, because oh, I loved her so very much.

But I was right, of course. Once I graduated, once I moved to America, our friendship . . . it didn't break. But I only speak to her around once a year now.

But. That doesn't mean I haven't made new friends. And that doesn't mean that the time I spent with her or our little gang was any less meaningful for that.

There's not a person in the world who isn't afraid of being alone, Prompto. But part of growing up is . . . is learning to accept that. It's learning that you yourself are worthy, no matter what anyone else thinks.

. . . we were very similar as children. But I think where we diverged was that I turned in on myself, and you seem to have turned outwards. And I don't think either are advisable, frankly, but . . . my way means I've a hard time socializing, and yet know that I can stand alone, because I've done it all my life. And your way means that you've a hard time believing you've any worth if you aren't externally validated.

You're so scared of them leaving. But if they do, you will still be you. And you, a boy who loves photography and is good at physics and takes law, who has struggled and survived despite being left by his parents, is worth a great deal.

[prompto appreciates the walk, he really does. he always feels very small in his room, with its literal four walls. this is why he's usually outside, jogging or socialising or taking pictures. it feels separate from reality in some strange way, like he's actually moving forward.]

[and there, rosalind's words, they strike a chord of sentimentality in him that has him hunching his shoulders--in a pained, stressed out way--his cap doing him favors in covering his face in shadows. because her story sounds similar but so different.]

[the fact that she's sharing this much with him upsets him. who is he to deserve this kind of recognition, to safeguard rosalind lutece's inner workings and memories?]

My mother...

[he starts, small and quiet, coming to a stop; his voice is thick with emotion]

I was never g-good enough.

Everything I did wasn't... good.

[here he is, reaffirming her words; yes, he needs that external validation. he's been struggling for so long]

My father left because of me. She was... always unhappy, because of me. She told me, everyday.

[and his father never keeping in touch answered all the what ifs that prompto ever had]

Edited 2017-07-25 22:51 (UTC)

She was unhappy because she made the wrong choice, and as a result, had you. There was nothing you could have done that would have pleased her, Prompto.

[All those little words, those sighs and pointed glances and talks about how proud they'd be, if only she was a boy . . .]

You can't hold yourself responsible for the deeds of others. And frankly, Prompto . . . adults make their own decisions. Simply because your mother is defensive enough not to want to hold herself accountable doesn't make her wild accusations true.

[A beat, and she sighs.]

But I appreciate that simply saying so isn't automatically going to convince you.

[he pushes lower the bill of his cap even as rosalind tells him her honest, unbiased opinion on the matter. she knows prompto, yes, but he figures that she isn't much of a bleeding heart as to try to say the nicest of things to him all the time. he feels frustrated--with ardyn, with togusa--because they're always saying things nicely around him, or at least that's what it feels like, at this point.]

[he can trust that rosalind is objective.]

I... I guess so... but, yeah, it's still hard.

[he knows she's right, and by the gods has she tried to be stronger about this and tell himself he doesn't need these kind of thoughts in his head.]

[...but then there's a laugh, deprecating as it may sound]

I'd love to stop feeling like people are better off without me. I know it isn't true, but with every stupid mistake I make, I just...

[a floundering shrug of his shoulders]

Mistakes like what?

[They turn the corner. There's a vendor there, selling . . . some kind of miscellaneous street food, and she adds:]

Do you want something?

[he shakes his head. he doesn't want her to feel obligated to get him anything, although those kebabs smell good...]

I guess, being myself, in general.

Saying things out of line, doing things without thinking...

Ah. You think if you could attain perfection, and not annoy anyone ever, it would be all right?

[She pauses, glancing over at him, and then makes her way to the vendor, buying two water bottles.]

You know, Ardyn and I had a bit of a fight back when I first got this app.

[She passes him a bottle.]

I wanted to conduct a dangerous experiment. It would have put my life in danger, and indeed might even kill me, but nonetheless I wanted to do so. He protested. He called me reckless, and he wasn't wrong, but . . .

[Well, anyway. Rosalind waves a hand, dismissing the point.]

My point is, simply because we fought doesn't mean either of us were-- were unworthy. You say Ardyn expects more of you? Perhaps. But if you supposedly let him down by being yourself, he isn't going to leave. Nor is he going to be inherently disappointed in you.

. . . you'll end up destroying yourself if you keep trying to change for everyone. You can't be perfect for everyone-- not only because everyone has a different standard, but because it's unfair to both them and you.

[he takes the bottle with a soft thank you, even if he never wanted her to spend her money on him. supposes... that's just how nice people are. so, he opens it and drinks up, having water in his system apparently refreshing him enough that he's now keeping eye level with her.]

That sounds like him.

[trying to be the voice of reason, he means. he smiles softly at that, because he really is fond of ardyn, as the father figure he never had, but the thought itself makes him sad, because he's let ardyn down... and said things to ardyn; mean things.]

[her words make sense, and a part of him wants to protest, but he knows that's just him being petulant.]

...I guess I thought that hardest part was something I already left behind. I didn't expect it to continue haunting me like this.

Mm. Another secret of adulthood: the traumas of childhood don't simply vanish, no matter how far you thought you've left them behind.

[She glances over at him. Standing up straight, he's a bit taller than her, but honestly, who isn't?]

. . . is it easier, though? In any capacity? Even if you don't feel it right now . . . surely having people around you must be better than being alone.

[it's her last statement that kind of... breaks through him a bit. yes, he's not entirely alone, and for once he has people that care enough for him that he's able to be angry at them for whatever stupid reason, without them threatening to cut off ties with him.]

[in part, he realises that he's taking things for granted.]

[his lips become a thin line, and it's almost like he's hesitating, twisting the cap of his bottle closed... but, before he says anything, and before rosalind bothers to interrupt his thoughts with more questions, prompto surges forward and hugs her.]

[being taller than her means that he gets to hunch over a bit, but there's sincerity and genuine affection in the embrace.]

[rosalind worried enough about him--enough to find him in his apartment and take him out for a walk, even buy him a water bottle. his chest feels tight, honestly.]

[when he pulls away, he's hardly apologetic, but his voice is small]

Thank you for caring about me.

[Of all the things she was expecting, that wasn't it. Rosalind stares over Prompto's shoulder, her eyes wide, her arms held a little awkwardly at her sides as she tries to understand what's happening. He's . . . hugging her. He's hugging her, and for the life of her, Rosalind doesn't understand why.

And further, frustratingly, she doesn't understand why she doesn't understand.

Why shouldn't he hug her? She'd been kind in coming over and taking him out. She cares about him, and yes, that's unusual for her, but it's not unheard of. Doesn't she care for Noctis? Ardyn? Fawkes? She has her loved ones, so why should this sudden display of affection leave her so shocked?

(Because it's not him, some quiet part of her heart whispers, too faint to be heard. It's because it's not him and he's the only one, it's always been him and her, she and her gentleman, he's the only person--)

She's being foolish, she thinks, and closes her arms around him for a long few seconds before he draws back.]

Prompto . . .

[Her smile is uncertain at the edges, but that's nothing to do with him, not at all.]

. . . all that I said extends to myself, as well. I shan't leave you if you make a mistake, or vex me in some way.

Edited 2017-07-28 01:17 (UTC)

[he nods, sudden determination in his eyes. he's a little ashamed to have hugged rosalind without any kind of warning or context, really, but he tries to be a brave boy about it.]

[showing feelings is not a weakness]

I guess I owe a couple of people an apology.

[For just a moment, there and gone, Rosalind thinks to push her hand through his hair. But that's a childish impulse, silly and too affectionate, and so she curls her fingers and keeps them at her side.]

Was there a fight?

Kind of?

[an uncomfortable shift, and prompto starts walking, waiting for rosalind]

...so, like, I got a gun, right? Retrospec sent it to me. Found it in my mirror cupboard, actually, but I just knew it is mine. I actually went for safety classes, right... but, so, I told Ardyn about it, and he got angry at me because I hadn't told him earlier, then he sent officer Togusa to give me shit about safety and whatnot.

I was annoyed.

[they were treating me like a kid]

[She's a little surprised at Ardyn's reaction, truth be told. He's a caring man, but he only seems to get vexed when someone he loves puts themselves in danger. Certainly he's gotten annoyed with her a few times, but that was because she tends to get a little reckless in her enthusiasm for experimentation.

But it doesn't sound as though Prompto was waving it about. Perhaps he was, of course; he is young, and certainly a gift like that is exciting. (God knows she'd been fair foolish with her own gifts from Retrospec, but that's neither here nor there). But . . . angry because I hadn't told him, no, that is strange.]

Why did he expect you to tell him?

[She falls into step next to him, sipping at her water.]

...I guess he kind of feels responsible for me.

[like a dad, is what prompto knows but doesn't say. it's true enough.]

[he shrugs his shoulders]

I probably should have, but I wanted to sort it out by myself first.

[She tips her head in acknowledgement of that, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.]

. . . so he got angry. And did you argue with him?

I basically hung up on him.

[And then he'd texted her, panicky and in tears, because such an action would surely come with terrible repercussions.

What had he said? I know Ardyn expects more of me but I can't bring myself to be 100% honest all the time, that certainly makes more sense now, doesn't it?]

Well. That, at least, deserves an apology. But I don't know if keeping your weapon from him does. That's something you two are going to have to sort out on your own, I suspect.

[he glances at her, fidgeting with his bottle. it's a nervous tic although he doesn't realise it at all, when he fidgets with his hands]

You think he'll really want to talk to me again?

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