A soldier on my own, I don't know the way

[sirnyxalot]

Who: Nyx Ulric and YOU
Where: Nyx and Luna's house, Crossbones Boxing, around town, etc
When: Late April into May, dates applied where necessary
What: Open Catch-all for various non-plot going ons
Warnings: Blanket warning for potential Ibaraki, but other than that we should be good. [Thumbs up.]
[Open]

A. Papa War Chicken has arrived!

[He knows there are chocobos in town. He isn't sure how they got here, since there don't seem to be any wild nests, but here they are. They're small, adorable, and only a minor handful all things considered. But current digs aside, Nyx has lived all his recent life in a city. He hasn't owned so much as a cat since he left Galahd. And apparently a small child or two if his fake memories were any indication.

So why is he stepping outside one morning to see a fully grown, green chocobo trying to dig up all the grass around their mailbox?!

Nyx stops short, not yet comprehending just what he's seeing. The bird is huge, clearly big enough to ride,
and seems momentarily content to remain tethered. He steps back into the house, closing the door behind him. He needs to make some calls.]


B. For all your ogling needs~

[Five days out of the week, sometimes six, Nyx spends hours working for Rumlow. It's not nearly as exciting as being a Glaive, what could be? But he's hauling weights, wiping down bags, and maintaining equipment, and in his off moments he gets to use it all. It's enough. Most days.

He'd had to adjust some old habits: learn how to tape his knuckles and turn his body into armor in the absence of leather and steel. This wasn't bar brawling by any stretch of the imagination. It was a focused style of combat that resulted in him on his ass more times than he'd like to admit, but there's a thrill in his blood every time he gets up in that ring that isn't tempered by a quiet knowledge that death could be around the corner.

Even without a partner to fight with, Nyx works out hard; pushes himself to regain what strength he'd lost coming out of the hospital. Making sure he's ready, but for what he wouldn't be able to say.]


C. Why bother locking the door when no one pays attention to it anyway?

[Before Luna arrived, Nyx had done very little with his house. He'd taken the main bedroom and then spent the majority of his time there when he was at home at all. Couldn't remember why until he started getting his memories back and realized he missed his stupid apartment in Insomnia. The house was just too big for him.

Now, though... now it's practically lived in. There are flowers decorating tables, and new things on the wall, and most of the rooms are even used for one thing or another. Nyx still spends most of his time in his room, but the rest of the house no longer feels empty. So he keeps the kitchen stocked with whatever gets put on the list on the fridge, keeps a list of numbers for whoever needs to be called if something goes wrong, and somehow manages to carve a life here.

It's weird, and somewhat wrong, but it reminds a part of him of Galahd, and every day it's just easier and easier to fall into an old routine that the soldier in him had long forgotten. He's even getting used to the regular company he gets, so whenever he's home he ends up just leaving the door unlocked so that he doesn't have to worry about someone parkouring through a window.

And sometimes, when the nightmares get too bad, one can find him sitting on his front step, staring up at the stars in the middle of the night.]


D. Choose your own adventure!

(ooc: Feel free to ambush him anywhere about town or use this to establish specific threads that might not fit into the above prompts. Otherwise, please question him about his overgrown green chicken or catch him working out in the very very rare times he's ever close to shirtless in public. Or hell, just walk in and say hi and steal his hot pockets. He'll only complain a little.)

Comments

[sirnyxalot]

[Well, he'd had the advantage for all of two seconds, but she's as slippery as he is and has him pinned in a maneuver that would be dirty if he had a mind to think of her like that.

He might have, if he didn't have conflicting memories of a wedding and being almost equally as fond of her not-actually-husband. ...it would probably sound like a good reason if their entire conversation hadn't been full of fake-flirting. He's a little disappointed these memories aren't somewhat real. She would have fit right in with his unit.]

Oh, I'm sure you do. It's an incredible...asset.

[He's never tried to do this without an anchor to bind the magic to a destination, but she already knows he can cast a little so it's technically not cheating if they hadn't laid down ground rules. He reaches inside himself and focuses, thinks 'away', and is rewarded by the familiar dizzy feeling of his body breaking down in a shower of blue and moving.

Sure, he only moves about a foot before he's materializing, but it worked. Nyx regains his feet, skin buzzing with exhilaration as he looks down at himself to make sure he's all in one piece.]

Well, how about that?

[unweaving]

[ There's really no excuse for the fact that she doesn't put it together immediately. Maybe it's the sheer surprise of it, or the fact that she's spent about a month trying to put Prompto so far out of her mind that his best friend (and more importantly the magic he'd used so effectively, first against and then alongside her) is temporarily forgotten too. Maybe it's just the sudden and unexpected rush of blood to her... libido, but she's too busy laughing in delighted surprise and getting back to her feet to think of the king's magic.

Instead, she's moving again. Grinning at him, still in a fighting stance but openhanded now that the rules have been mixed up. ]

And here I thought we got good toys with the Imperial Airborne.

[sirnyxalot]

[He frowns slightly, head tilted to the side.] Im..perial Airborne?

[He's distracted going into the next round of the spar, gears working in his mind. He knows what that is. But that's impossible. She can't be an Imperial. He left Niflheim behind when he woke up in the Wayward Pines. But that's not necessarily true...is it? Luna came from home. Ignis and Prompto were both from Insomnia. It only made sense that someone would come from the other continent too.

Nyx doesn't realize when he starts striking harder. He's not carrying kukri but he fights like he is, hitting with forearms rather than his fists.]

[unweaving]

Captain of the 86th, for my sins.

[ Maybe she'd add that they were good men, and that it was a crying-ass shame she couldn't get them all out, but her focus goes immediately to the way he steps it up; the speed of each strike, the force behind them. She blocks one, two, and when the third hits her hard enough to make her stagger back she realizes he's fighting like he means it. ]

Fuck, okay.

[ No point practicing your skills if you don't actually use 'em, she guesses. Back to blocking, and she's looking for an opening to get in with a knee or an elbow when she catches the look on his face. It's all wrong for the situation, none of the cockiness of before. He looks like he's in the field. It's too far. She drops her hands. ]

Nyx, hey.

[sirnyxalot]

[The confirmation only makes it worse. A part of him shuts down, clamps down on the camaraderie he'd had only minutes before. It's a good thing this wasn't real. Only a spar means he isn't prepared to fight like his life means it. He doesn't turn to magic to settle it before she has a chance to get under his guard, only tries to break hers.

He almost tosses all style out the window, tries to change tactics again to catch her by surprise but instead he's the one who stumbles. Aranea drops her hands, probably trusting that he'd recognize the motion and pull his punch, only he doesn't. It's after he actually connects that he falters and stops pressing the attack, breathing tightly through his nose.

He can see a much younger woman in his mind. Laughing and sparring and joking. A friend. Someone he trusted.

He trusted Drautos too, and look how that turned out.

The difference being that Aranea never did anything to break it.]

Shit.

[unweaving]

[ She can tell she's made a mistake as soon as he throws that punch, too fast and too real for her to avoid. And then the next thing she's completely aware of is the sound of his voice, her position and how she got there - a crouch, one steadying hand on the floor, one raised open-palmed to ward him off - all background noise to the throbbing, dizzying pain radiating from her cheek. The kaleidoscope shifting of the room tells her she's damn lucky it didn't knock her out cold.

The pain sharpens things, the sense of danger making her think the way she used to, before a life of selling frilly panties and pretending everything's fine. The way he'd repeated Imperial, the cold fury in his eyes. His hair, his tattoos. ]

Galahd?

[ Reason enough to hate the Empire, but... the magic. ]

Fuck. You're a Glaive.

[sirnyxalot]

[Galahd. He'd stepped back away from her, jaw tensing, and he paces two steps to either side to try and burn off the sudden need to do something. She knows Galahd. She knows who he is as a soldier...and also as a person?

Nyx makes a confused sound in his throat and locks his fingers together behind his head. Thinks of Luna, back in Insomnia, talking him down in the aftermath of the King's death when his rage had been overwhelming. Taking that anger out on Aranea now goes against everything he believes in.]

And you're Niflheim.

[There's a wealth of loathing all packed into the one word and it hurts. His head's telling him he should be used to betrayal at the same time reminding him that she'd done nothing to deserve his wrath. He's better than this.

It's slower than he'd like, but his breathing steadies' the tight knot in his chest loosening.]

[unweaving]

[ The way he paces is enough to have her scooting back a little before she pushes up to her feet. It makes the room lurch in a nasty way and really she should be sitting, icing her damn face, but the hate in his voice is enough to make him her primary concern. ]

I'm told I lost the right to call myself that when I defected. Seems fair.

[ It's said in as much of a wry drawl as anything she says is. A poor cover for the fact that she's afraid to turn her back on him. ]

[sirnyxalot]

[Nyx steps further back as she gets up, more than happy to maintain some space between them. Sparks momentarily dance between his fingers as he drops his hands to his sides, but it's barely even a warning so much as a sign of his wariness.

He's not going to make the mistake of thinking one punch has rendered her harmless if she wanted to come after him.]

Defected?

[Less angry.]

[unweaving]

[ The shift in his tone isn't enough to keep her eyes from going to his hands, cautious and cold. She's painfully aware of just how much of an advantage her equipment gives her; she can hold her own in a barfight or a scrap, but when there's magic in the mix?

She smiles, and it's an unpleasant little thing, all sharp edges and bright teeth. ]

Found out more than I was supposed to know. Hauled ass and joined the relief effort instead. It was a start.

[sirnyxalot]

[This doesn't look like her anymore, not how he remembers her, and whatever part of him that's always lived in sleepy little Wayward Pines hates it. He clenches his fist, cutting off the magic. He recognizes his mind trying to grasp on to this thread of conversation, to give him a reason to accept this.

She's probably playing him and he wants to believe in it anyway.]

Why should I believe anything that comes out of your mouth right now? The Empire took everything.

[unweaving]

Want me to beg?

[ And then - I am very sorry to say - she spits on the floor. ]

I won't. Not gonna cheapen the first sound choice I made in thirty years by using at as a bargaining chip, either. If you're gonna try to kill me, get the fuck on with it.

[sirnyxalot]

[That puts a little more clarity on things and Nyx sighs. He can't do it. Not unless she tries to kill him first. Maybe back home he wouldn't even question it, but here? Whatever the intent behind these false lives they're doing a great job messing with everything he thought he knew.]

No.

[He rubs a hand over his face, decided, and takes a step to close the distance between them. His hands move up and away from his body. Nyx is well aware that it doesn't mean a damn thing against his ability to fight, but he hopes she'll accept it as the peace hes offering.]

[unweaving]

[ It's hard to know just what he's saying no to - begging? killing? - so she decides to take it as all encompassing anyway. What she should do is leave. Book it for the door while he seems less inclined to light her up like a Christmas tree, and count him as a friend lost for good.

But. But. Leaving the Empire wasn't a difficult decision. Once she had the information it was the easiest she'd ever made. That doesn't mean she's not proud of it, somewhere under all that bluster and bravado. She'd gone from being a callous mercenary to being a good enough leader that when she left most of her troops went with her, and believed enough to keep trying to radio back in and get more out. Her posture shifts, protective but not offensive, and she looks him in the eye and tips her chin up. ]

You know, when you're growing up in an evil empire, they don't tell you it's evil. They feed you a whole lotta bullshit to justify it. We don't just pop out wondering where to invade next.

[sirnyxalot]

[His lips turn up into a smirk at that. At least one thing seems to remain consistent: her tongue is as sharp as ever.]

And here I thought all imperials came out of the womb with a gun in their hand. Myth busted.

[She hasn't retreated or tried to hit him yet, so he ventures within arms reach. He's still moving slowly as he lifts one hand between them so she can see what he's doing. He reaches for his magic, letting cold run through his veins this time. There's a whisper of chilled air as his palm frosts a little.]

Here. Let me?

[He doesn't have any of Jack's healing spells, but he can make an effective ice pack.]

[unweaving]

[ The mention of guns is too close to Prompto and what she suspects about him - about what the empire might have done to him - for her to crack a smile. And when he frosts his hand up she shies away instinctively, her hands curling into tight fists, before his intention registers.

She was not part of the invasion of Galahd, but her nation bears the guilt of it. She didn't participate directly in the attack on Insomnia, but her actions contributed to making it possible. She deserves whatever he doles out.

She sucks air, hissing through her nose as she relaxes her hands into something open and loose, and shrugs. ]

Fire at will, Glaive.

[sirnyxalot]

Appreciate the sentiment, but wrong phrasing. [Dry.] If I were going to do anything I'd have stayed at a distance.

[Instead he rests his palm against her cheek where he'd hit her. He can already see her skin discolouring. It's harder than he'd like to admit to regulate the spell so that it doesn't expand and bite into their skin, but his hand remains merely cold instead of frozen. He's aware that if she wanted to retaliate it would be all too easy from this position.]

[unweaving]

Oh, you seem just fine with close-up to me.

[ Not the point, and she probably shouldn't be ribbing the guy who's just a) punched her in the face and b) fired up a potentially very harmful spell, but some habits die hard. She holds steady through the initial sensation but it takes an effort; the chill sharpens the ache at first, making her want to shy away before it starts to soothe.

Still, it's more of a relief than she's ready to admit out loud when it doesn't turn into an attack, and she gives him a crooked little smile. ]

Thanks. Don't suppose you're any good with makeup? This is gonna be a hell of a shock for my customers.

[sirnyxalot]

[Her sass makes him breathe a little easier, if he had to be honest. He'd have taken a punch in return but if he doesn't have to? Bonus. Plus it opens up the chance that they might be okay. Maybe not today...but soon?

The idea of being angry at her makes him ill, despite an equal discomfort at knowing who she used to work for.]

Sorry. I was never around any of my sisters long enough to pick up their tricks. Unless you want festival paint?