why do i feel like every log he does is gonna have something to do with food

[protecting]

Who: gladio + you!
Where: main street & a dumpster near the end of main street
When: 8th, noon & 10th, almost midnight
What: looking for very different but very important things
Warnings: none idk

[Open!]


THE 8TH, NOON (A BAKERY ON MAIN STREET)

❰ if anyone looks completely and totally out of place in a cute little bakery, it's gladio. 6'6" not counting his unruly hair, tattooed to the nines, and looking entirely unconvincing in his attempt to browse like he knows what the hell he's after.

he's made a couple of laps around the store before he lets out a resigned exhale, turns to the nearest person who looks even remotely confident in what they're doing, and says: ❱

Need a cake. Got any recommendations? ❰ he lifts a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. ❱ The guy's a chef, so I feel like plain old chocolate or vanilla's not gonna cut it.

THE 10TH, MIDNIGHT (IN A DUMPSTER)

❰ anyone within a block of the end of main street late this evening will hear... well. a disturbance. following the sound to the source reveals gladio. top half entirely immersed in a dumpster, digging urgently through the bags and cursing occasionally.

maybe he... lost something?? ❱

Comments

8th

[failtography]

( stocking up on groceries so they won't have to head out too much in this weather is an easy enough errand that takes prompto past the bakery, and it's entirely by chance that he looks into the store and makes out a silhouette that makes the blond stop in his tracks and stare. his memories have still been a confusing haze since the accident, but things occasionally popped out at him like a puzzle piece fitting into place, and prompto is struck by an incredible urge to go right up to him, his mind perhaps refusing to deal with unsatisfied curiosity.

he's still figuring out how to make this not awkward when the absolute mountain of a man turns to him and shoots a question that prompto doesn't actually hear properly, and has him fumbling with words and how they work. ) Um --

( now faced with the stranger prompto feels like he does, in fact, know this guy; an unshakable familiarity has him grasping for a name to put to the face but coming up short. gosh, why is this so hard?? )

[protecting]

❰ it's okay, blondie. gladio's currently in the same boat, the question barely out of his mouth before his brow knits and he looks prompto up and down. he knows this guy. he's hung out with this guy. deep talks at stupid hours of night, he remembers it even if the details are hazy. in a tent - no. maybe? but also a bedroom, two teens with their stupid music and their stupid dreams.

this shit's gonna give him a headache. ❱

P-... ❰ he grasps at it for a moment, then: ❱ Prompto. ❰ that's where a greeting is supposed to go, but right now he's just rolling the name around in his head. the way it feels a little more real than most of the shit he's run into so far. ❱

[failtography]

... Gladio. ( just like that, the fragments come together . not all of them — it's the same face he saw in his photos on the camera, out in a wild, wide world that looked nothing like this town, but prompto also recalls flashes of the time spent with the older boy in their earlier years, right here; the disconnect is evident, though it's easy to gloss over for now — still, the recognition is just enough to bring a grin back to his face, and he reaches out to punch the taller man lightly on one arm. ) Hey. Man, for a moment it felt like I'd almost forgotten who you were.