[There are a lot of people here. This is the third gala Noctis has attended in as many days and it feels like each one is more extravagant than the last. He knows that this is as much a method of coping and resilience as any other, but there's something that just doesn't sit right with him about it. It's a lot of festivity for so many casualties. A young man passes on his left, tray laden with an array of brightly colored drinks and equally bright garnishes. While he hasn't seen Qresh with his own eyes, he's sure that what passes as optimistic extravagance here couldn't hold a candle to that kind of opulence.
Noctis spends the brunt of his time ghosting around the edges of these gatherings- well dressed enough to fit in and doing his level best to avoid anything that looks like it might end in dancing. He's not above ducking into hallways or loitering beside a familiar face for that matter. Lucky you?]
aren't you a riot| westerley
[The Accords, they say- in what starts as a murmur and becomes a rallying cry. Noctis doesn't plan to be there when the riots begin but that's because he hadn't really expected them to begin with. He's always assumed that even the crown in Old Town was more worried about living day to day than banding together to make some kind of statement.
When rumor becomes fact and Westies are heading out into the streets in droves he's- worried. It's telegraphed by the crease in his brow and the lingering gaze he turns on the windows. The voices that carry are enough to prompt him to open his mouth should he see you standing up to join them-]
Are you heading out there?
[By the time the riots are in full swing and Company orders are lethal force, there's no more pretending to avoid it.] I need help over here! [His voice will carry, doing his best to bear another's weight.
When attempts to stay out of harm's way fail and Noctis is without the influence of a sensible companion, he does his best to push through crowd in search of a medic. Coming up empty will leave him lingering near trash chutes, trying to wrap some nasty burns with fabric from who only knows what.]
ride on the magic schoolbus | leith & westerley
[Security is tight, and with tensions mounting what was once a relatively simple ordeal is now one fraught with suspicion. Noctis is both willing and able to transport those who can't find legitimate means to leave the planet- but it isn't a comfortable ride. His ship is searched daily, like any other in the docking bay. It's still a nerve-wracking process.
If you're one of the many in need of a lift, maybe you got his name from a friend of a friend. If you're one of the officials tasked with security he'll want to see some I.D. But if he's between jobs and you're a familiar face, he might turn up on your doorstep not with a hello but instead with-]
noctis | ota | leith & westerley
[There are a lot of people here. This is the third gala Noctis has attended in as many days and it feels like each one is more extravagant than the last. He knows that this is as much a method of coping and resilience as any other, but there's something that just doesn't sit right with him about it. It's a lot of festivity for so many casualties. A young man passes on his left, tray laden with an array of brightly colored drinks and equally bright garnishes. While he hasn't seen Qresh with his own eyes, he's sure that what passes as optimistic extravagance here couldn't hold a candle to that kind of opulence.
Noctis spends the brunt of his time ghosting around the edges of these gatherings- well dressed enough to fit in and doing his level best to avoid anything that looks like it might end in dancing. He's not above ducking into hallways or loitering beside a familiar face for that matter. Lucky you?]
aren't you a riot| westerley
[The Accords, they say- in what starts as a murmur and becomes a rallying cry. Noctis doesn't plan to be there when the riots begin but that's because he hadn't really expected them to begin with. He's always assumed that even the crown in Old Town was more worried about living day to day than banding together to make some kind of statement.
When rumor becomes fact and Westies are heading out into the streets in droves he's- worried. It's telegraphed by the crease in his brow and the lingering gaze he turns on the windows. The voices that carry are enough to prompt him to open his mouth should he see you standing up to join them-]
Are you heading out there?
[By the time the riots are in full swing and Company orders are lethal force, there's no more pretending to avoid it.] I need help over here! [His voice will carry, doing his best to bear another's weight.
When attempts to stay out of harm's way fail and Noctis is without the influence of a sensible companion, he does his best to push through crowd in search of a medic. Coming up empty will leave him lingering near trash chutes, trying to wrap some nasty burns with fabric from who only knows what.]
ride on the magic schoolbus | leith & westerley
[Security is tight, and with tensions mounting what was once a relatively simple ordeal is now one fraught with suspicion. Noctis is both willing and able to transport those who can't find legitimate means to leave the planet- but it isn't a comfortable ride. His ship is searched daily, like any other in the docking bay. It's still a nerve-wracking process.
If you're one of the many in need of a lift, maybe you got his name from a friend of a friend. If you're one of the officials tasked with security he'll want to see some I.D. But if he's between jobs and you're a familiar face, he might turn up on your doorstep not with a hello but instead with-]
I need a favor.