melodiesofeternity | 🎂🎂🎂

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Who: Noctis and you
When: August 30th
Where: Yun'Ashia
What: It's someone's 21st birthday...
Warnings/Notes: Just a nerd, fisher, king trying to have a quiet cake day (and none of his closest friends letting that happen)

1. Just a Quiet Day...
2. Distraction of Flight (closed to Regis)
3. The Setup
4. Surprise Party!

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[~~omg~~ He raises an eyebrow at Rhalgr (Castor, you still really need to sit down and talk to him about their different pantheons), but he's distracted by the package and how the kitten on his shoulder purrs even louder at the scritches. He takes it with a quiet hmm, delicately opening it to not disturb the feline on him. His eyes light up with a sort of excited energy that rarely shows up. Because fishing.]

You kidding? These look sturdier than some of those I used back at camp. [Aside from maybe the sea serpent. That's a lot of moving parts. He grins.] They're great. Thanks, Castor.

[Though now he has to ask.] So, what's Rhalgr the god of in your Star?

M' jes glad they turned out. S' been a while since I've done fishin' jigs. Tell me how they fare, yeah?

[ Noctis' smile makes hers grow and she shrugs lightly at his question. ]

'Es known as The Destroyer, and the god've my homeland. Ye might think Destruction's a mite...dark, but it's of the sort that makes way for new an' better things, yeah?

I will, and considering my family decorated the entire capital in homage to the god of War of our Star? Can't really say much about dark.

[...Well, that and look at his normal clothes. All skulls and crossbones in different shades of black.]

Well, there's sommat te be said about commitment, I suppose. I take it that's why I hardly ever see ye in anythin' resemblin' colour, huh? Maybe fer Starlight I'll get ye somethin' bright.

Oh, I had a couple outfits... They just didn't make the trip through the 'Width.

Were they all more shades've black? I ought te take ye te the Azim Steppe; 's an absolute riot of colour.

An while we're into askin' questions, whos yer star's God of War?

Two of them were, and then there was the Chocobo Moogle festival t-shirt I picked up one year. It's yellow, white, and a few other colors that I'm pretty sure Ignis would sigh and look all sad if I tried to wear it outside of said festival or outside the house.

[Who lets this king dress himself? Anyway. He pauses, remembering the way she reacted to the name drop at the dinner. He didn't have that good of a reaction, either. Likely for a different reason.]

The Draconian, Bahamut. [There's a reason why he will never pick up Dragoon; while he'll never bemoan anyone else who picks it up, he wouldn't be able to look himself in the mirror. Same eyes, far-too-similar default armor. All it's missing is the wings.] It's part of the reason why every one of my people took the news hard.

Ye really ought to...

[The rest of her phrase turns to absolute ash in her mouth as Noctis continues. Where wouldn't the Dreadwyrm's shadow follow? Castor has to try to keep her face from falling. To keep herself from falling back into the fires of her own memory.]

The Draconian, huh? Eorzea calls 'im the Dreadwyrm. An Elder Primal, sommat near 5000 years old. 'E was trapped in what we thought te be a moon until recently. Couldn't be unsummoned; couldn't escape. When the moon was brought down, 'e damn near destroyed Eorzea an' everyone on it.

Sadly, it's not here. [Otherwise he would have. Maybe it'll show up before the next festival here. Who knows.

The thoughts of doing so despite Ignis' wishes are pushed to the side. He notices a bench to his left and nods toward it. Maybe they should sit down? Because what she says of Bahamut reminds him of the Infernian, which in turn reminds him of a promise he'd made. One he doesn't know if he'll be able to keep, now.

All that destruction...] You know, you never did tell me the difference between a god and a primal.

[Something to take them slightly off the topic at hand, or so he hopes.]

[ She follows his indication, seemingly grateful for the change in topic. Her face becomes pensive as she thinks how best to word this, sitting...surprisingly delicately. ]

S' a fuzzy line, really. Primals...An' I'm hardly the most qualified te speak on this, but Primals are...more the idea've a god, or sommat close to it, made real. Summonin' a Primal needs Aether te give 'em form, and willpower or prayer or the like te give it purpose an' power.

Ain't good, sufferin' a Primal te live. Even the most benign of 'em bleed the land dry of it's Aether, an' those more inclined te destruction usually make their own trouble 'fore long, or their worshipers do. An' if there aren't enough worshippers, a Primal can jes....make more. Steal a man's soul forever, if they're so inclined.

So...I guess te answer ye best, Gods are jes concepts. Primals are concepts someone gave life te.

[He sits down beside her, surprised for a brief second how delicately she does, but. Only for a moment. And he listens. Intently. It's fine that she isn't the most qualified; from what she said, sounds like she has more hands on experience with one type over the other.

But,] "Make?" [Noctis winces at that. Gods be good.] Damn, and I thought my world was messed up in terms of deities.

[He frowns, leaning forward as his arms rest on his knees.]

In Eos, there's only the Hexatheon and their twenty-four divine Messengers. The Six are charged with the protection of the star, and the defense of any who would do it and its people harm. Even themselves. The Messengers pass along the gods' wills to the people, and the Oracle... speaks to the gods on the people's behalf.

[His voice cracks a little at the end, eyes narrowing slightly as he clasps his hands together.]

Only the Oracle could awaken them, to forge covenants for her King. Most of them caused no destruction... except Leviathan.

Aye, "make." Only way te unmake 'em is with a few feet of steel.

[She takes her turn to listen quietly, smiling a little at the explanation of the Messengers. She can't help but think a few of those would not go amiss in Eorzea.

But he continues and...]

Aye, the Lord of the Whorl is a right ornery fucker in Eorzea, too...but the Oracle...friend've yours?

[His frown deepens slightly, knuckles turning white. It isn't the same, but he understands the pain that likely causes for those left behind. He's had to kill countless daemons for a similar reason.]

Sometimes the most merciful act is a swift one.

[All those MTs, born to... He shakes the thought from his head.]

Yeah. You could say that. [He stands, turning slightly to smile at her.] So, see you tonight? [A pause] If the others haven't decided to throw a "surprise" party, I'll eat my arm guard.

I'm sorry, that took sommat of a darker turn than a nameday deserves. I'm sworn te secrecy on the matter of a party, but I promise this won't be the last ye see of me today. [She winks a little as she speaks. Of course there's a party.]

If he have any trouble with those jigs, come see me, yeah?

Nah, it's cool. And that just more than confirmed what I already knew. [He grins back.]

Will do. Wouldn't want these beauties to break, after all.

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