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year 5, quarter 3
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Ignis had managed to survive his first day within the walls of Gorgon. It was more than unforgiving and relentless, and yet, he persisted. Thankfully, he couldn’t see if his nose and cheek were bruised from being slammed down into the table, but the next day it didn’t hurt much. However, that was likely more to do with the cold than anything. That evening, Ignis was sure he didn’t manage to sleep a wink. The cold seeped into his very bones as he lay on his bunk, covered in every feeble scrap of clothing he had and the scratchy blanket Gladio had given up for him. He kept tucked into himself, lost in his thoughts, wondering what sort of fresh hell the next day would bring.
The fights … it lingered on his mind. Gladio insisted he’d explain the next day. That Iggy should take the time to acclimate to everything else on the first day.
He wondered, just what all had Gladiolus seen here? What had they done to him? Gladio was a tough man, tougher than any other Ignis personally knew but … Being all alone, in the face of adversity for a long time would be rough on even the toughest man.
The next day started the same, but breakfast was much less perilous. Able to eat his tasteless gruel and moldy bread in relative peace, Iggy was finally able to absorb information about the matches as the day went on.
They retreated outside to the yard, to have some sense of privacy in which to discuss the fights. Ignis mentally counted the steps, unable to rely on any source of light for some indication of direction. Sonora was always cloudy, yet he had a feeling it was somehow even darker over Gorgon. Gladio led them to a workout area, if the clangs of metal were any indication. Ignis listened to the sound, realizing that Gladio was racking weights onto a barbell. Ah, a weight bench.
Ignis paced, in order to keep some semblance of warmth under his coat as Gladio instructed him how the fights would go down. It was nothing but pure, cruel sport; entertainment for the warden and those with the power and money to bet. The other prisoners were allowed to watch and jeer from behind fencing, and the referees were far from fair. How could anyone be so cruel? Well, weren’t all empires cruel in their own ways? With their own tortures? Gods knew Iggy had read about plenty of distasteful things in Insomnia’s past.
Gladio explained, in such simple terms, that Iggy would only need to mop him up in between rounds. Not the wisest choice, picking a blind man to clean one up, but Ignis knew well it was all Gladio could do to keep him out of the ring itself.
A part of him hated that, very much so. If he had to get his ass kicked, then so be it. But, from the sounds of it, it would be more akin to a slaughter than a fight gone bad.
And so, Ignis swallowed his pride, for the moment.
“You’ll have to let me memorize your current breaks and cuts,” the blonde stated matter-of-factly, stopping in his pacing tracks to look in Gladio’s direction, “Hopefully we have more to work with than just a rag. You know I’m well capable of mending anything with very little, but I’m no magician.”
He’d sewn skin injuries before. It was ugly, messy work, and that was when he could still see. What would he even have to work with here? A balm? Any drugs? Bandages? His ability to assess damage was still present, simply through his fingers now, and he could work very quickly, but…
It hadn’t even been 48 hours, and he was imagining sewing a gouge in Gladio’s face shut.
What a reunion.
Ignis heard Gladio sneer, the fabric of his pants pulling up from the bench as he rose. Trouble? Iggy stopped for a moment, hearing a few step cadences headed their way. Long, confident strides. One wasn’t stepping right in on time, though. Perhaps nursing an injury or disability on that leg. Ignis tucked the information away in his mind and pretended to busy himself, moving closer to the bench as the men approached. He reached out and found the unsecured weights on the bar and began to move them off and set them aside, one at a time. The heavy weight felt good in his hand.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Ignis threw the potential troublemakers a greeting while he tended to the barbell, knowing well the best he could do for himself was to stay tall, despite the damage it could bring him later, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
But its too late, to go back. I can see the darkness, through the cracks. Daylight fading, I curse the breaking. The day is gone.
Rurik breathed his name, and beyond the stench of his obviously unclean mouth, each syllable sounded wrong. Twisted. Like a mad butcher picking out the next cattle to slaughter. Ignis didn’t move from his spot, face pinned against the cold, scarred wood, feeling the steady drip of warm blood leak from the edge of his nostril. He could practically feel the rage roiling off of Gladiolus in waves -- something he’d become accustomed to knowing over the years, on the constant ready to hold his friend back when the need arose. But, Gladio remained still. No other sound filled the cold, dead air other than Rurik’s supposed goons chuckling quietly, and Ignis’s own harsh breathing through his roughed-up nose.
As suddenly as he’d been slammed into the wood, Iggy was tugged up again by his hair. It took what strength he had not to gasp in pain, not at the harshness at which he was pulled, but by the sudden onslaught of pounding from his forehead. A headache that would certainly last days.
A hand grabbed Ignis by the chin, as the blonde was forced to face forward into the nothingness. It was clearly Rurik, who took such pleasure in insulting his name (by the gods, how childish), and such little things were fine until two jagged nails pressed against the scar under his left eye. Ignis hissed, his shoulders tensing as the goons held his arms steady. It was one thing to be assaulted by someone or something he couldn’t see. It was another to be touched so intimately, a wound so close to his eye and to his heart.
Gladio spoke up, and Ignis had only a moment to feel both elated and horrified--
Until he was struck on the throat. The ability to breathe was gone and the crushing pain set in quickly. Ignis gasped and sputtered, before coughing madly, unable to reach for his throat as he was still held back. He huffed in short breathes as he could between sputters, blood dripping freely from his nose as he coughed wildly. He nearly missed Rurik’s next words while he desperately struggled to breathe.
Openers dead. Fresh meat.
A pat on his cheek.
Oh, gods. He was intended to be a sacrifice.
“No.”
Gladio’s voice broke through the insanity, and while Rurik raged at the interruption, Ignis caught his breath. For some reason, Rurik didn’t bother attacking Gladiolus for the interruption. There must have been some sort of ranking between them, at least in the moment. Ignis kept his head held up as he listened to the two go back and forth, clenching his teeth to keep quiet. A part of him wanted to tell Gladio no, that he could handle himself, not to put himself through more unnecessary pain. But the other part of him, the realist, the tactician, knew well that he stood no chance in whatever sick battle this would be.
Ignis Scientia was a blind man, and only half the warrior he once was. Though he’d been working on it, it was simply too much to re-learn in such a short period of time. In a world of sighted people, he would always have the disadvantage.
In theory, Iggy knew what being a cornerman entailed. He’d been privy to sports of all kinds, including the most barbaric. If Gladio was going to be fighting in the ring, Ignis would be the one cleaning him up on the sidelines. He was to play the role of support.
Even with his body held up by vicious strangers, the blonde felt his shoulders sag. What had he gotten himself into? Gladio’s descriptions of Gorgon … They had only scratched the surface of how rotten and terrible it was, hadn’t they?
Rurik called off his men, and as they released Ignis from their hold he immediately moved a hand to rub against the sore, aching spot on his neck. The bloody drip from his nose had mostly subsided, closed off either by clotting or the extreme cold, he couldn’t be sure. Yet, just as he was about to open his mouth to speak, a hand grabbed the back of his collar and yanked-- throwing Ignis to the cold, unforgiving ground. He landed with a sharp inhale through gritted teeth, his left knee throbbing in pain where it had thumped against the table and his right arm sore underneath his side.
Footsteps hurried by, echoing off the floor even as the murmur of life slowly returned to the mess hall. A familiar hand clutched Iggy by his left arm and the blonde ushered himself back to his feet. He didn’t want to know what grime was on his coat and face, and after the little trieste he experienced he didn’t quite care. Ignis stiffly brushed himself off as Gladio asked about his well-being, in a knowing sense.
“I’ve been better,” Ignis answered honestly, wiping the back of his sleeve beneath his nose to collect the loose blood hanging there. The one good thing about the stifling cold was that his other various sore spots would soon be too numb to bother him much.
A stretch of silence passed between them, as Ignis wiped his face with his sleeve once more.
“... You’re putting yourself at risk for me,” came the guilty realization from his lips, quiet and ashamed, “I don’t know what all is going on Gladio, I’ll gladly admit as much, but from the sounds of it, offering yourself in my place for this fight is ludicrous.”
There would be no changing his mind, of course. Gladio’s greatest strengths and weaknesses combined into his stubborn, yet bold nature to defend his friends. Noctis first and foremost, of course, but he’d raze the land for anyone he cared for.
“You’ll have to explain it all to me,” Ignis shoved the shame aside, for now. There was no sense in feeling sorry for himself -- he’d beat himself up later that night when he couldn’t sleep through the cold instead, “Rather quickly, I presume.”
But its too late, to go back. I can see the darkness, through the cracks. Daylight fading, I curse the breaking. The day is gone.
The storm outside was beginning to slow, lulling itself down into a gentle rain. What had once been a fierce and angry torrent of drops against the roof was now nothing more than a trickle, bringing life and sound back to the cafe. The murmurs of other patrons were finally audible over the noise once more, all commenting about the state of the weather. They were likely to depart soon, as well, umbrellas at their sides. It was one thing to traverse the city in a storm -- but much more reasonable to do so in a more gentle, freezing state.
Vincent was silent as he stewed over the information that had been provided to him. Ignis warmed his fingers against his own coffee cup, taking another, gentle sip. He wondered, briefly, what the man must be feeling. Was an ember of hope beginning to bloom in his heart? Did worry cling to the edges of his mind? Vincent seemed the calm and contemplative type, or so Iggy believed from their brief interaction thus far. He likely wouldn’t run himself ragged in the search for his friend.
But, what was it like? Ignis carried the hope of finding Noctis every day, a torch that never faded, but … He hadn’t an inkling, even an idea that his friend was here. There were no rumors, no sightings, none that he’d heard.
Would he too, someday, find out about Noctis’s existence through such a simple, wholesome interaction? One could only hope.
The sound of a stool scraping against the linoleum pulled Iggy from his thoughts. He put on a small smile as Vincent thanked him for everything. Simple hospitality didn’t require thanks, but Iggy knew better than to wave it off. People tended to want their thanks accepted, no matter how small the act. The blonde set aside his coffee cup, his hand pausing only for a moment as he heard the gentle clink of coins. His smile didn’t falter. Oh, how similarly wholesome Vincent and Cloud seemed to be.
“You’re welcome back anytime,” Ignis replied with the utmost sincerity, before continuing, “Though, by the time you return, I’ll have hopefully moved on to finding my own friends.”
Boots made their way to the exit, as Vincent issued his farewell. Iggy listened to the chime of the door, and felt the cold air brush over his skin once more.
“Farewell, Vincent. And good luck.”
But its too late, to go back. I can see the darkness, through the cracks. Daylight fading, I curse the breaking. The day is gone.
No culture in Gorgon? Ignis gave Gladio’s comment a polite snort, but he had a feeling that it was hardly the truth. The prison had already reared the ugly head of its culture the moment he set foot in the cursed building. It was a place of cruelty and pain. Ignis could still hear the pain and fury in Gladio’s voice from the night before -- when it sank in that Ignis was there with him, trapped in the same hell.
The line shifted along, and Iggy shuffled along with it. Despite the chow hall being a smidge warmer than the cell had been, the cold still creeped and nipped at his ankles, and no amount of moving ever really flexed the frigid chill from his bones. The blonde did his best to distract himself from that familiar bite, listening into the hardly-there conversations between others. Their complaints were airy and robotic, with no emotion behind them.
The smell in the air was a putrid mix of unwashed bodies and a rancid, molded food. Iggy took his tray, balancing whatever awful mixture was in it with precision as Gladiolus led him through the room and to a table. Apparently, I got us a spot was code for these people are going to get out of my way, as Ignis listened to the scrape of wood on metal as the other men made themselves scarce. Setting the tray down and getting a feel for the table, Ignis wondered what exactly Gladio’s reputation had become.
What this place had turned him into.
Gladiolus stole something off of his plate, and as his friend crumbled whatever it was, Ignis got a whiff of why. The scent of mold and yeast was strong even before he’d lost his sight, but now it made Iggy crinkle his nose in disgust. As if the bowl of … whatever was in front of him hadn’t done that enough. The blonde felt the tools at his disposal on the tray -- a wooden spoon, lodged into a semi-warm bowl of mystery rot, a cup of what he hoped to be water, and the appearance of a shred of bread that Gladio returned to him. Ignis took the cup of water and gave it a cautious sip, before continuing to partake in it. It tasted slightly of rust, but was otherwise fine.
“A little blood,” Ignis repeated quietly, as he chewed over the words in his mind -- a much more delectable alternative to the food, “... Scheduled fights, I presume? A man was selling a recording of you fighting in a back alley.”
The rest of their conversation would have to wait, apparently. A strange hush fell over the room. Ignis glanced in Gladio’s direction curiously, but he was given immediate instructions; keep your head down.
It wouldn’t do him any good to look, anyway. But, through the silence, the blind man could hear sets of footsteps making their way through the room. The thin tap of shoes was all to be heard over the sudden hush in the hall. No one was touching their food. It seemed as though anyone was hardly breathing. Ignis didn’t have to imagine the tension in the air. He could practically feel it radiating off of Gladio, coming out as tense exhales through his nose.
The steps came closer. Ignis slowly lowered his cup of water back to the tray, quietly pushing the mess to the side. He wasn’t sure why, but there was some sort of warning sign going off in his mind. Something telling him to run.
Yet, he stayed frozen to the bench.
A man’s voice spoke up from behind him. Another set of footsteps continued forward, stopping just short on either side of him. He’d been carefully pinned. Ignis frowned, but kept his disposition neutral as he stared forward to the space where Gladio was seated. His back tensed slowly, unease creeping up his spine. He didn’t like this man’s tone. And more than that, he didn’t like what he had to say. Ignis kept his mouth shut, despite the immediate urge to tell the man to leave. It was clear, in the man’s tone, that he held some sort of status above Gladiolus.
A rough, snarling outburst from Gladio seemed to snap the thin line of peace that had been established. Ignis gasped in shock as his shoulders and arms were suddenly, roughly grabbed and forced behind his back. When he felt the hand on the back of his head, Iggy only had half a second to barely turn his head as his face was quickly and harshly slammed into the table. The sound rang through his own ears as an intense pain blossomed against his left cheekbone. Had he cried out in pain? The action was so sudden, he wasn’t sure.
Something warm tickled at his nose. Despite having dodged the immediate damage to his nose, the force of the hit had certainly caused enough trauma to his facial sinuses to make them bleed. Vaguely, he was aware that there was blood in his mouth as well, where his teeth had ground into his inner cheek.
Ignis writhed, but the motion was for naught. He was held down by two men. Gladio’s angry voice rang through the mess hall, reverberating against the concrete walls.
When the man turned his attention to Ignis again, the blonde bit back the immediate retort that came to his tongue. Everything Gladio had explained to him so far came rushing back in that singular moment. There was a reason Gladio hadn’t leapt across the table, fists swinging yet. If he didn’t comply, he would make things much worse for himself. Immediately.
“Ignis,” he ground out his own name quietly, between clenched teeth as the blood dripped from his nose. The less the man knew, the better.
But its too late, to go back. I can see the darkness, through the cracks. Daylight fading, I curse the breaking. The day is gone.
The warmth of the nearby hearth soaked slowly into Ignis’ chilled bones, chasing away his anxieties bit by bit as the calm and relaxed atmosphere tempted him. He still sat rigidly, unsure of how to present himself to the woman who had saved his life. How thoughtless he was, to ask her for her time while she was working. Cissnei, on the other hand, seemed all too happy to oblige him. Maybe she was just as relieved to see him, as he was to hear her voice.
How often was it, that two strangers found one another in this world more than one time, by chance? Surely rarely; Zephon was a very large place, or so Iggy had been led to believe. That he would have somehow found his savior deep into the cold and busy city of Sonora, after living in the warmer west city of Provo for some time, it was … Chance. Nothing but lucky chance.
Cissnei let him know that she would be closing up for a break soon, and the blonde worried his bottom lip with his teeth, hoping she simply wasn’t shutting down because of him. He would have hated to inconvenience her in such a way.
Thankfully, he was distracted from the deluge of more anxiety by Cissnei’s kindness. She offered him a variety of coffee and espresso options, the confidence in her skills evident in her suggestions. Ignis put on a small, thankful smile and simply asked for exactly what he’d been craving for weeks, “All of those sound quite lovely, but I’d really enjoy a black coffee right now.”
Before he could argue that she didn’t need to bother herself with bringing him a variety of foods -- which would be a lie, of course, he was starving -- Cissnei was off to procure what she’d offered him. Ignis waited patiently at the table, sighing quietly to himself as he sank back into the sturdy chair. The air was warm, perhaps even stuffy when the door wasn’t opened frequently, but it was charming. The quiet buzz of activity, the tantalizing aroma of coffee beans and teas. It was the definition of relaxation for Ignis Scientia, who spent his precious, little free time in his own world at coffee shops and cafes, catching up on the local buzz while enjoying his coffee and occasional treat.
It was a lovely way to begin the day, planning out his various ventures, stops, chores and meetings.
And it all seemed … So very, very far away, now.
But its too late, to go back. I can see the darkness, through the cracks. Daylight fading, I curse the breaking. The day is gone.
Surely knowing a “Cloud” was simply a shot in the dark. In this large world teeming with people from all walks of life, and literally other worlds themselves, there was very little chance that Ignis happened to run into someone who knew another person he’d met. The odds were slim, beyond so, but they were there. It was a non-zero chance.
And as excitement crept around the corners of Vincent’s voice, Iggy knew; they had managed the impossible.
Yet, the faster thrumming of his heart, filled with excitement that he may have helped two friends potentially reunite, began to slow dissipate as Vincent inquired about Cloud’s whereabouts. Ignis frowned, turning his attention to the mug in his hands. His thumb rubbed over the warm ceramic as he did his best to recall how far along in his journey to Sonora he had been when he encountered the soft-spoken man. He wasn’t nearby, probably not even close.
“I met him on a road outside of Sonora,” Ignis replied, a soft frown on his scarred face, “I’m afraid he was heading the opposite direction of myself. It was over a week ago, now.”
That was likely not the answer that Vincent wanted to hear -- that his friend was so far removed from the city, now. Hopefully, the knowledge that Cloud was alive and well would satiate him for now.
“He was searching for you, and your other friends,” the blonde explained, shifting his weight to his opposite foot as he kept his position behind the counter, “He may have come back up this way, but I feel he may have headed toward Provo or Torensten, in the west. They’re a smidge … more friendly to outsiders.”
But its too late, to go back. I can see the darkness, through the cracks. Daylight fading, I curse the breaking. The day is gone.
The crackle of a fire. The hushed tones of fellows quietly speaking to one another.
As he took a few seconds to adjust, Ignis was able to take in the scents and sounds. The full-bodied aroma of coffee still tantalizingly stroked his senses, yet he was also picking up on something fresh. Herbs. Ah, tea, definitely different types of tea. Lavender, and oh, was that earl grey? All of the delicate smells twisted and twirled together, warming his chest and causing his shoulders to relax. How long had it been, since he’d sat down with a simple cup of tea to do nothing more than admire the weather?
It felt like an eternity.
“Welcome to the café Master…”
A familiar voice caused Ignis to turn his head sharply, searching for the source. That tone, he knew it. The blonde opened his mouth, but closed it as the name threatened to leave his tongue before he could catch it. The warmth of crackling fire and the lulling scents of coffee and tea had warmed his senses and his body, but hearing a familiar voice warmed his very soul. It was the first time, since he’d awoken to darkness in this world, that Iggy had heard the same voice more than once.
“My apologies Master Ignis. I am humbled you have arrived. Please, have a seat by the fire. May I take your coat?”
Cissnei.
Hands softly guided themselves underneath his elbow and upon his arm, gently leading him into the room. The further he moved with each step, his cane slack in his grip, the warmer the air became. It was quickly becoming stifling in his coat, Ignis barely registered, as he struggled to come up with a coherent thought of what to say to Cissnei. He owed her his life, after all. It was she who found him, blind and bleeding in the forest, and patched him up. She had taken him to a doctor, to get the help he needed. Without her, would he have been slain by daemons? By common monsters? He was a defenseless, helpless man, howling in pain and sightless.
“Cissnei, I--,” Ignis began, embarrassed by the way the words fumbled about his mouth. What could he say? What should he … No, no she was working, clearly. He would have to find the time to snag her for thanks as other people began to shuffle out of the cafe. Ignis cleared his throat, “That would be … lovely. Thank you, miss.”
Ignis missed the top of the seat with the first swipe of his hand, but located it the second time, only taking a seat after Cissnei had gently removed his coat. He truly wished he could have removed it himself, but it would have been strange, given the environment he was in. Ignis was a customer in a cafe for the gods sakes -- if it had been anyone else in the world, perhaps he wouldn’t have felt so awkward about it. Instead, he wished he’d gotten the opportunity to show that he was fully capable of taking care of himself. No, no, there was likely a coat rack somewhere else in the room, and he would have looked strange, sitting with his coat on the back of the chair.
The blonde took a moment to make himself comfortable, carefully snapping his sight cane back into its travel size to slip into his pocket. No need to potentially have someone trip over it, after all. Ignis heard the door jingle open once more, the cool air only temporarily brushing past as the door was shut. A group of people said their brisk farewells as they vanished through the closing door, but he attempted to ignore it for just a moment to speak to Cissnei.
“I understand you’re working,” Ignis muttered, feeling she was close by, but not wanting to call too much attention to himself, “But, I would love the chance to chat, if you have the time. Perhaps, after a cup of coffee?”
But its too late, to go back. I can see the darkness, through the cracks. Daylight fading, I curse the breaking. The day is gone.
There was a ruckus in the streets that rumbled louder than even the machines that pumped the city full of its vibrant life. Ignis tugged his coat closer as the icy wind kicked up once more, bringing with it the undeniably unpleasant scents of the city. Finding the city of Sonora was a piece of cake, even for a blind man. He could smell it miles and miles away. However, things seemed much more chaotic than even he expected. There was talk of dragons and other such destructive activities that were plaguing the area.
The thought of a giant, winged beast swooping down on him caused Ignis to grimace, yet still, he persevered onward. Despite all of its flaws, there was something about the city that felt familiar. More nostalgic than the quiet cottage outside of Mount Hotan, or the seaside air of Provo. The sounds were more familiar, the roar of crowds, the clink of machinery. Had he been from a city? Or, was Noct from a city? Despite all of his urging, the memories refused to reach back out to him.
Another smell wafted through the air -- something pleasant and bold, that instantly warmed his heart. The aroma of coffee. Oh, by the gods, it had been so very long since he’d tasted a cup of coffee, warm or cold. He still had a little gil to his name … Maybe enough for a warm cup of coffee, and a conversation with a stranger while he formed an idea or two of how to proceed in the city. He needed to come up with a plan for a place to stay, and a job if he intended to stay off of the streets for more than a couple of days.
Ignis followed the scent down a sidewalk, his sight cane tapping in front of him to avoid objects, cracks, and holes. The winter weather was unkind to the pavement, making it even less so to a man who couldn’t rightly see it. Other scents began to mix and meld with the coffee -- was he in a restaurant district? Eventually, he came to where the wafting aroma of coffee seemed to originate. He felt for the door, finding the handle and pushing past the very light resistance.
Warm air welcomed the blonde, soothing his windblown cheeks. He shut the door quickly behind him, to keep out the frigid air as his body temperature began to slowly adjust to his new surroundings. Ignis listened carefully, but only found the low hum of a few guests. Oh, my, hopefully he hadn’t wandered into a closed cafe? His cheeks, already flushed from the wind, tinged even slightly more pink.
“Ah, hello? Would you happen to be open?” Ignis spoke to the room, mentally cursing his blind condition that kept him from being immediately aware of his surroundings. Gods, hopefully he didn’t look the fool that he felt. With his black coat still pulled tightly against him, he awaited a response. Oh, curses, his glasses were likely fogged as well, weren’t they?
He didn’t bother reaching for them.
But its too late, to go back. I can see the darkness, through the cracks. Daylight fading, I curse the breaking. The day is gone.
Ignis had never felt so cold in his life. Of that much, he was sure. There was a fire in his soul, that Gladio was here, he was alive. However, such knowledge could only keep him holding onto dear life throughout the night as the world somehow grew darker in his blind eyes. The cold crept in from every direction, nipping at his limbs, at his extremities. Iggy tried to steady his breathing, tried to draw the itchy, worn blanket as tightly as he could to himself.
His breathes came out in short chatters, and his teeth felt as though they would snap if he kept them clenched. He moved each leg periodically, shaking off the numbness that nipped at his covered feet. When he nodded off for too long a moment, he would stir in fright, sensing that sleep could lead to death. Ignis wasn’t sure if he was simply falling in and out of consciousness all night long, or if he truly gained any real sleep. In what seemed like forever, and yet too soon, the sounds of life began stirring. Noises from others in nearby cells. The disgusting cacophony of human bodily noises, grunts and groans.
This was one of his many disadvantages; the inability to accurately detect time in a foreign environment. Ignis opened his functioning eye and looked toward where he remembered the window being, but he couldn’t detect any light. If the sun was rising, it was still quite early.
Then, an alarm sounded. A horrid buzz that came in threes, bouncing around in his skull. Ignis sat up carefully as the prison around him became a hive of activity; heavy, metal doors opening, many shoes shuffling, people muttering quietly. Ignis sat up slowly, urging his body to move despite the numbness and pain. Every muscle felt stiff from being clenched all night long, and his throat felt dry and scratchy. He coughed a few times, attempting to keep it quiet as Gladio descended from the bunk above.
He’d risen, but it would take a miracle for him to shine.
Gladiolus quickly made his way to the entrance of the cell -- or so Ignis assumed, as the sounds of moving feet all began to blend together. The blonde pulled himself from his bunk, uselessly wiping the lack of sleep from his eye. Each step he took, his body hissed angrily back at him. Limbs felt long and useless and numb. Breathing felt painful. Had he ever spent so much time curled so tightly in on himself?
Gladio has lived this every night, Iggy reminded himself bitterly, shaking out the last of the chill from his fingertips, An ungodly chill won’t kill you.
He took a step toward the entrance of the cell, a hand raised to guide him. Ignis found the fabric of Gladio’s jacket; warm, somehow. He dropped his hand to his side and waited, listening as others walked by their cell. For the most part, the crowd seemed fairly mute and docile, and if they communicated, it was by looks he would never see. A few did hurl obscene words at Gladio, and one in particular seemed upset about a fight. However, the Shield didn’t react, and Ignis chose not to ask. Not now, not in front of so many others.
Gladio had some sort of reputation. But, what good was one, in a world like this?
If he lagged behind, he’d be locked in the cell for the rest of the day. “Well, can’t have that,” Ignis muttered as Gladio took a guiding hand to his shoulder, “There’s so much more for me to see, after all. I wouldn’t want to miss it.”
It made him feel helpless, to have to be led about. However, without his sight stick, there was no way for Ignis to get around on his own. Gladio’s hand on his shoulder felt … familiar, somehow, despite the fact that he had no memories of his friend being there post-recovery of his grievous injuries. For the moment, Iggy allowed the unpleasant helplessness to fall away. After all, even with eyesight, he would still hardly have any idea of what was to come in the grey steel of Gorgon.
The air grew warmer and more humid the more steps they took, and a displeasing odor grew stronger and stronger. As they entered the new area, Ignis committed the path to memory. To the right of their cell, straight, 729 steps; the food hall. The sounds of shuffling were less as people took seats, the creaking of old wood and metal under their bodies. Silverware scraped the bottom of metal bowls.
Ignis snorted at Gladio’s sarcasm -- a multifaceted tactic as it also helped his dripping nose.
“I know I typically preach that it’s important to try food from various cultures,” Iggy lamented quietly as he was led through the line to get their … whatever that atrocious smell was, “But, I’d take back every word and bite if it meant skipping this.”
Not that he had a choice. If he and Gladio were going to get out of Gorgon, it meant they’d need to be energized. And one only got energy through sustenance.
But its too late, to go back. I can see the darkness, through the cracks. Daylight fading, I curse the breaking. The day is gone.
“So tall, dark and handsome, likes to go fishing.”
Ignis couldn’t help but chuckle at the description. Was that the impression he’d given, or was Cissnei simply ruffling his feathers? True, Noctis had grown from an adorable boy into a handsome young man, but Iggy would hardly call him the canned tall, dark, and handsome. Perhaps that description fit someone else he was thinking of more. Poor Noct tended to be one of the shortest in his groups, despite being the most important -- and royalty to boot. Not that height meant anything when one could warp about and complete any number of important or mundane tasks like Noctis could.
Their drinks clinked together innocently, betraying the difficulty of their situations. They were searching for small fish in an ever-growing pond, it seemed. Yet still, Ignis was beyond thankful to have a working set of eyes looking out for Noct. He took another grateful sip of his wine, allowing it to warm his soul for the moment. It would likely be the last of the warmth he felt for the day, as he would inevitably return to the shelter for the evening in order to get some bout of fitful sleep. It was cold and uncomfortable, housing many unfavorable types, but it was all that was available, for the moment.
Of course, Cissnei had produced a couple of options, but Ignis didn’t wish to inconvenience her anymore than he already had. He helped himself to an olive from the charcuterie plate, relishing in the pop of salt and brine that spread across his palette. It was a delicacy he hadn’t enjoyed in some time, having spent much of his life recently on the road. Oh, how the little things could bring such joy to one’s soul.
“Please, do not inconvenience yourself on my behalf,” Iggy requested proudly, setting his glass down on the bar as he crossed his legs, “I can stay a few nights at the shelter nearby, and perhaps by then I’ll have saved enough to find a place to stay. It’s a bit dreary, but it’s leagues above staying on the street.”
But its too late, to go back. I can see the darkness, through the cracks. Daylight fading, I curse the breaking. The day is gone.
