Chapter Text
Ignis reaches for another Leiden sweet potato, accidently finding an unusual onion. He studies it for a moment, considering whether or not to add it and how it might affect the current meal he’s working on. Suddenly his eyes widen, and he drops the onion as if burnt by it.
“That’s it!” The other three Chocobros turn to him expectantly. “I’m fed up of cooking!” He cries and sweeps the rest of the ingredients off the makeshift counter at the campsite straight onto the rocky platform. “All I ever seem to do is cook!” He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes.
“We were barely awake for 10 minutes this morning before we set camp again! Prompto hadn’t even gotten himself up and dressed before the whole day bloody reset. And here I am again, in front of a sodding fire, making yet another new recipe!” He walks off and throws himself into a chair, rocking it back with force. He leans his head skyward and closes his eyes. “Someone else can cook, I’m on strike.”
Prompto and Gladio share a look before banging a fist onto their palms three times. Gladio holds out a fist, at the same time Prompto holds two fingers apart.
“Rock beats scissors, you’re up.” Prompto pouts before dragging his feet to the chaos Ignis left behind. Gladio puts his hands back behind his head with a smirk on his face.
“Prom, when will you learn, Gladio is always rock. Every. Single. Time.” Noct chuckles, shaking his head at his best friend.
Prom cleans off a few potatoes and begins preparing a simple stew. “I know, but there’s a little voice in my head saying… this time… he’ll go paper.” He holds a knife towards the shield, challenging him to choose paper next time.
Gladio ignores him, glad to get out of cooking. If it were up to him, he would choose Cup Noodles. In game or not, he couldn’t get enough of them.
“I don’t think I can bear another day of skill increasing.” Ignis mumbles to himself. Noct lies back on the ground, close to the campfire. He sighs loudly, one hand stretched out over the flames, twisting them over his fingers, feeling a warmth but knowing he won’t burn.
“Tell me about it. 3 hours I was fishing in yesterday’s session. 3 hours! Do you know how long that is in game time?”
“Well, at least it’s an improvement on last week.” Prompto says as he brings the pot of stew over to the fire. He gives Noct a quizzical look. “What was that about, anyway? Continually running in circles for hours on end?!” Noct shrugs, not really sure himself.
Noctis had been made to run around in a tight circle for most of a game day last week. He had been hoping for some decent hunts to bring in a little more cash, but instead the player had him literally chasing his tail all day. The other guys had randomly tried to follow, but stopped every now and again. Noct didn’t have that luxury, and so it was with leaden legs that he finally sat down at the end of the day after they turned the game off.
Gladio glances at Noct, a guilty look on his face. “Er yeah, sorry guys, I think that has something to do with my stats. I picked up a ton of items after they did that. Pretty neat.”
“Pretty lame!” Noct sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around his knees and glaring at his shield. “We could have bought all those items you picked up. We’ve got about 50 Hi-potions! Despite Ignis telling us constantly to stock up on curatives.” He finishes with an additional scowl thrown in Ignis’ direction for good measure.
“Well, at least it’s better than a stinking fish!” Gladio pulls his boot off and throws it at Noct, aiming for his head. “Ain’t no more cats to feed, so why do you keep fishing?!”
Noct catches the boot easily and chucks it over the edge of the camp crag, following with an obscene gesture to Gladio that had Ignis rolling his eyes. It was fair to say it had been a long week for the boys, and their tempers grew more sour with each passing day of repetitive game play.
Clearly the player had a reason for their methods, but it was affecting the morale of the group. Everyone is quiet for a period of time, Noct staring into the flames of the fire quietly wondering about the next chapter of the game. Gladio rubs absentmindedly at his foot, regretting throwing his boot but not wanting to show weakness by retrieving it. Ignis has his eyes closed again, so he isn’t inclined to watch Prompto and comment on his culinary methods. Prompto prepares the bowls for the stew, taking his time about it, his head low and face hidden.
“‘Least your skills are useful…” His voice is quiet but is still heard over the silence of the night in the plains. “I just take pictures.”
Everyone stops and looks towards him. Noct stands slowly, brushing the dirt from his backside as he makes his way over to a very sullen looking Prompto. He reaches out, taking Prompto’s hand, holding a few of his fingers, lightly in his grip.
“Prom, your pictures are useful. I love looking through the reel at the end of the day. It always makes me happy.” The two sets of blue eyes met as Prompto gives a hesitant smile to Noct.
“Really?” Noct gives a warm grin in return, nodding his head and rubbing the fingers held in his hand. Gladio’s gruff voice adds to the sentiment as he says,
“Yeah, me to.”
“Agreed.” Ignis says. “I very much enjoy reflecting on our day through your photographs. Our memories are what tie us together.” Prompto beams at them all, feeling a little more confident in his skill.
“Although,” Ignis weighs his next words, eager not to upset the blonde again. “Perhaps you could limit the pictures you take during battles? It does have a knock-on effect with the rest of us.” Ignis glances at Noct, who had died earlier that day in battle due to Prompto taking an ill-timed shot.
Prompto bites his lip, shrugging his shoulder ruefully. “Oh yeah, my bad.”
“Hey, no worries.” Noct nudges his arm, grinning. “At least you got a shot of Gladio falling on his face.”
“I thought we were doing a link-strike!” Gladio shouts defensively. “You left me hanging!” Noct and Prompto start laughing as Gladio storms off in a huff to collect to his boot.
Ignis shakes his head, tasting the stew. He adds a little extra seasoning before walking off in his own huff, having broken his own strike.