originallutece | (no subject)

[ Noctis looks absolutely satisfied to get insight to young Rosalind. It indicates a side that he's not at all used to, which is both odd and weirdly comforting. And amusing.

He smiles. ]

I don't think I could ever imagine you wasted. Do you remember anything from that night at all?

[ Inquiring minds must know! ]

Perhaps sometime you and I can share a beer, and you'll get a hint of it.

Let's see . . . I remember us setting up the shots. I remember the first few rounds, and the way I assured Charlie that I'd undoubtedly emerge the victor. And then I remember him carrying me to my dorm later that night.

[ That image is absolutely hilarious. ]

I'm holding you to that.

Sounds like you can't hold your liquor, though.

[ Neither can he. ]

We... Might wanna consider a cab if this is gonna be a thing.

I can hold my liquor perfectly well, thank you. He was a foot taller than me and four years older, the odds were stacked against me. And you and I are not going to be slamming back shots, not least of which because I'm in my thirties now.

Edited 2017-08-13 06:49 (UTC)

I'm finding that pretty hard to believe.

Still.

[ Noctis shrugs. ]

Technically, I can't slam back shots with you anyway. Considering I'm not 21 for another few weeks.

[ Hasn't stopped him from drinking. That... One time. ]

[She pulls a face and waves a hand airily. He's of age at home, which is all that really matters. WAY MORE IMPORTANT:]

Don't doubt me. I can hold my drink perfectly well, Noctis.

[See, it's set-ups like this that ended in her blackout drunk and being carried home by Charlie Astor.]

Should we start another bet?

[ Have you not learned, Rosalind? ]

That depends entirely on the parameters of said bet.

[SHE'S GONNA WIN THE OTHER BET TOO DON'T DOUBT HER]

[ WE'LL SEE ABOUT THAT. ]

I'm thinking... Laser tag and go-karts. Loser's the first one to pass out.

Edited 2017-08-13 06:59 (UTC)

Oh, good god . . . not until one of us passes out.

[Don't make her deal with the two of them throwing up in her apartment.]

Three shots. Whomever can successfully . . . oh, let's say pour us another round, without spilling, wins.

[ Noctis laughs. ]

Alright fine. Deal.

[ And again, he extends his hand. ]

Didn't take you for a gambler either, Doctor. My childhood view of you might be ruined.

[She leans forward, taking his hand again, before settling back against the couch.]

Poor Noctis! This isn't even the worst thing I could have told you.

Now. Go-karts, you said?

[SHE'S NOT REALLY ALL THAT HAPPY ABOUT THAT . . .]

Can't I shoot you in paintball?

[ Paintball? Noctis looks amused. ]

That doesn't at all sound like a bad loss. You and a paintball gun?

Sure, I'd take a hit to see that.

Good.

[A beat. A smirk crosses her lips as she adds:]

And when I win . . . I want you to cut your hair.

[ And excitement has been suddenly burned. Now he doesn't look amused at all. ]

... My hair is fine the way it is.

Noctis, the only reason I know what color your eyes are is that I knew you when you were a child.

[ !!! ]

Y-you can see my eyes just fine.

[ Now he's fussing with his bangs. ]

Besides, Retrospec yanked the color anyway. That's an invalid argument.

Either accept the bet or I'll renegotiate my terms as well.

[ SIGH. ]

How short are we talking?

Trim your bangs towards around your eyebrows, shorten up the rest of it by at least an inch and a half.

That'll look stupid. My bangs aren't even that long.

[ STILL. PROTESTING. ]

What if I just push it back for a day or something?

Noctis, if you're not prepared to bet with me, that's perfectly all right. All you have to do is say.

[ Damn it. ]

Okay, okay, fine.

I'll cut my damn hair. But only if I lose. Happy?

Oh, very much.

[Listen, this might just end in her showing up at laser tag and paintball. Who can say what the future will hold.]

Don't be sulky, now.

I don't know why everyone's so obsessed with it, is all.

[ Noctis rolls his eyes and lets himself collapse backwards on the couch, one leg bent while the other dangles off of it. He puts his arms behind his head. ]

You, Prompto, Dad.

Everyone's a critic.