Ignis Scientia

For how exhausted he was, for how battered and broken and bruised, it had been a very rough and restless night for Ignis. Thank goodness they still had a long stretch of the night ahead of them, because it was slow going, shambling their ways through the jungles of Shandalar in their current states to find the rendezvous spot for their portal. A night filled with tenuous uncertainty that had nothing to do with what might lurk there in the shadows of the wilderness, and a bit of paranoia, that their exhaustion would sweep them under so much that they would miss the short window they had to get off of this plane and get back home. Ignis had set his phone with an alarm, but it proved mostly unnecessary. He'd barely slept a wink, plagued as he was by thoughts of what had just occurred here. They'd came in search for answers about the Chain Veil, and, well, they certainly got some, didn't they? Just as he suspected, those answered were not encouraging, either, but he took no pleasure at all in being proven correct, and now, he just desperately wanted to be away from here. He wanted the safety and comfort of their own home, food in their stomachs, proper treatment for their wounds, a godsdamn bath...

Thankfully, when the portal finally did arrive, it had the decency to drop them off at their own doorstep, and so all of those things could be attended to immediately once they arrived. And Ignis could focus on something productive, something useful, instead of just sitting there and stewing in his own thoughts about what had transpired the previous night. Forget any concerns he may still have lingering about that Liliana might just eventually lose interest or get bored with him or this plane and simply 'walk away; those fears had long been assuaged. Now, apparently, he had to concern himself with the fate of just simply being forgotten, of having his entire existence erased from her memory thanks to a bunch of stubborn, persistent spirits that she had unwittingly bound herself to--

No. No. He'd spent too much time already dwelling in these thoughts. He'd barely even started to unpack the implications of what had happened in the mausoleum, about what might have happened, if not for Gentiana, if not Noct, and why now? How did it even happen? What did that all mean?

But those were things for later. For now, there were things that needed doing, and he was going to do them. Or, rather, instruct the steward to do them, if Liliana hadn't already. First and foremost, to get a bath started, so that it would be ready for them once they'd finished cleaning off in the shower. Then, if he would be so kind as to ensure that his medical supplies were also brought to the bedroom? And lastly, some food, something simple and nutrient dense, iron rich for all of the blood loss, that should be easy to procure from what was already prepped and prepared in the kitchen, easy to eat in small bites. And plenty of water, no matter how desperately he'd rather coffee or wine.

Once that was in order, then, his attention shifted back to Liliana and helping her upstairs.

"We're home now," he told her, quietly, and he wished he could say unnecessarily, but... "Come on. Let's clean ourselves up, and get some proper rest."

Ahh, damn. He'd have to tack one more task onto the steward, he realized, in letting Summer know that their plans for this weekend would, indeed, need to be...postponed.

[[ for the necromancer, of course ]]

Gladio felt like he'd chosen well; Noct would have loved fishing in the spot. Granted, Noct would have loved fishing pretty much anywhere, but it was quiet and peaceful and nicely removed from everywhere else, so he would have approved. Most of the good fishing would probably be done tomorrow morning, but there might still be a few bites as evening settled around them, after they'd set up camp and gotten their poles. Hopefully at leas tenough for Iggy to fry up something good for their dinner. But it wasn't really about the fishing, anyway, a sentiment that Prompto offered up in due time.

( This is nice.... )

They might all have to figure out a few things, really, although there was always the chance that it didn't mean anything at all. It could also mean...everything, and there was no way of knowing. But, at the very least, at least they would momentarily be spared having to think on it too much just then, as Prompto felt a harsh tug at the end of his line, let out a surprised yelp, and quickly got up to brace himself in trying to reel the fish in. Swept up and occupied by the sudden excitement and the fine art of backseat fishing and bickering, they were able to pull up the impressive bass, which then passed Ignis' inspection, and a unilateral decision was made, one much easier to answer than the question that would now be worming its way through their brains: they were quickly losing light, and it was time to eat.

[[ mostly establishy, but absolutely open if anyone wants to get in touch with any bros via phone, or hell, even crash the campsite, if you wanted! ]]

It had been, for the most part, a very typical Saturday morning for Ignis. Slipping out of bed without too much complaint or resistance from the necromancer he shared it with was even that much easier as Liliana slept off, hopefully, what still lingered and remained of all that rage and frustration they'd so diligently worked on easing out of her throughout the day yesterday. There was the morning run around the island with Gladio and Prompto followed by a small training session, a return to the mansion for a quick shower, and then down into the quiet of the morning kitchen so he could make his coffee and a light breakfast to tide him over until what Liliana would deem a far more acceptable hour for such things. And then settling with his mug and some quickly whipped up eggs on toast to be very contemplative about things and also take a moment to listen in on the morning's broadcast.

As as he listened with the sort of vague detached interest as he usually did, he chose a very poor moment to lift his mug to his lips and take a sip just as a seemingly innocuous sever-word sentence hit his ears.

Dean was helping Liliana learn to drive.

And, yes, folks, that would indeed be the very rare, the very hilarious Ignis Scientia spit-take.

Mind suddenly reeling out of its rather calm and placid meditations on life, he quickly wiped the coffee dribbling from his chin and splattered onto the table up, attempting to tidy himself and frowning deeply at the small wet spot marking his shirt that let him know he'd managed to get some on himself, as well. And it was likely nothing a napkin could solve, so he dabbed at it futilely before heading to the sink to treat it more sufficiently with something that would not allow the stain to set. And, really, he thought to himself that he should go change the shirt right away, but he had to, at least, verify that he'd even actually heard what he thought he had and go and listen to it again.

And even a third time, just to really make sure.

Well, then.

This certainly put a lot of things from yesterday into perspective, didn't it? That furious, demanding need when she got home after what had been a much quicker excursion than he'd expected it to be, the tension he tried to work out with a massage, and the tentative questions and the dodgy answers that tumbled into more distraction from the point. All that ridiculous car horn beeping he'd heard even from the mansion while he was outside enjoying the sounds of the woods with his (second? third?) cup of the day.

Dean was helping Liliana learn to drive.

Help with necromancy stuff, indeed.

Now, to try and decide exactly how to proceed from here, as it was very clear that this was something Liliana had wished to pursue in secret, but had not been, shockingly, more thorough in her attention to the squirrels.

After tending to that potential stain on his shirt and procuring a new one, of course.

[[ and it's open! ]]

His conversation with Dean earlier had made Ignis realize that he was probably well overdue for broaching a few conversations with Liliana, and, so, really, it was just a matter figuring out precisely when to find the right time to do so. Dinner and a bath both had much more appealing things to pool his focus into, so that just left when he brought her a glass of bedtime wine (of course they often had bedtime wine; have you met them?) to finish their long process of unwinding as he settled comfortably beside her in their bed.

"Darling," he said, his head lolling slightly toward her, "you know, Dean came into the diner today and we had a conversation that made me realize just how easy it is for certain specific proclivities of the island's oddness to fall through the cracks for many people, often thanks to their sporadic nature. I was reminded of a few that left me wondering if anyone's had the chance to mention to you yet..."

A fine introduction into the topic, he felt. Certainly a shade better than just coming out swinging with 'so about these random children and returning loved ones...'

[[ and obviously for the one with the bedtime wine~ ]]

After a morning of pursuing the fine art of reciprocity and knowing full well that he would not be holding class that afternoon, Ignis then set to the task of whipping up something for lunch that would, of course, be blatantly ignored and starting his day on its carefully planned tragectory.

But then...the pie arrived.

Ah-ha, he thought, as that sharp sour sting on his tongue at that first bite soothed itself out with the sweet tang of the strawberries, so it's war.

In a week already full of dizzying thrills, none of them were quite so potent, so stirring as that.

And so all previous plans were summarily scraped, and his mind started to whirl on a new strategy, a new tactic, pacing the kitchen with all thoughts of lunch now blown away by the storm brewing in him head. Stroking his chin, occasionally muttering, pausing with the first thread of an idea, and then shaking his head as he dismissed it as not quite right, not quite there, he could do better.

And then, finally, the moment struck, and he snapped his fingers before him with a triumphant declaration of "That's it!" and set to work on a new recipeh plan.

It would take some doing, perhaps even some pulling of strings, but he did have time. And, in all its orchestration, there was the faint voice in his head trying to goad him elsewhere. Trying to convince him that all this trouble was really hardly worth it when all he really wanted to do was sweep into Liliana's office right now and test the durability of that chaise once and for all. How easy it would be to just give in....and how rewarding...

But all it took was remembering that sharp burst of rhubarb on his tongue to remember that some of the best rewards were hard-earned.

And so, new plan now set into motion, Ignis informed the steward that, should she ask when she returned home to find him absent, he should tell her that he'd simply stepped out for a bit, with no indication as to where or when he might deign to return. Though if he could kindly point her in the direction of the kitchen, where she would find that slice of pie with just one bite taken out from it, a glass of wine poured for her from a bottle of one of their Argentinian wines, and, neatly folded and compact, his glasses.

One more message left, this one clearly intended to put all those others before it to shame for their lack of detail, and then he caught his portal, and, soon enough, he would be sitting there in the Argentinian sunshine, with a glass of wine of his own, but it was not the delicate nose or subtle tannins of the glass that he ruminated on, or even the sudden clarity of the fresh air tinged with sunlight and sea, but rather the even more intoxicating blend of the triumph of a successful move dancing oh-so-voraciously with almost unbearable longing, traipsing right to the very edge of his tolerance.

Check. Your move, 'Iana...

[[ and absolutely hers, if she is so compelled to take it ]]

When Liliana hadn't shown up for his class today, Ignis' first instinct was to be concerned, but his second, much more logical, reasonable, hopeful instinct was to wonder if perhaps he had simply heard incorrectly when he'd gone over the roster. So, as soon as everyone had cleared out of the classroom, he pulled out his phone, directed it to his saved files and had it pull up the roster so he could listen to it again. Alphabetical order by surname, of course, so he had to wait until the very end to confirm that, yes, according to when the list was last sent to him, anyway, she had signed up.

So. Back to concern, then. Worry. And even dread, which felt perhaps a bit....overdramatic, but, well, have you met him? Also, there was a good precedent set for him feeling that way, and with how....off everything had been last night, how...strangely out of step they'd been....stilted conversations, private baths, no doubt a line run into the rug of the study from his endless nocturnal pacing...

It did not exactly bode a great deal of confidence.

And so, naturally, he wasted no time in returning to the mansion to seek her out. Perhaps she'd not been feeling well; that would explain how...distracted and distant she seemed last night. Perhaps the arduous trouble of waking so early for her first class of the semester had simply gotten the better of her and she'd settled in for a nap and merely unintentionally slept through his. But when he arrived and called out her name, and went searching through the various rooms and received a confirmation from the steward that his mistress was, indeed, not home, things went from not boding well to boding even worse.

"Do not tell me she's gone off to Innistrad again."

"The Mistress did not say."

That was not at all encouraging, especially since Ignis could not even be entirely certain of the Mistress truly did not say, or if the steward was just compelled to say she did not say.

And so he called her.

Several times.

All of them bouncing directly to her voicemail. Each time, he was tempted to leave a message. Each time, he hesitated, with that same hesitation that held him back from disturbing her last night. Of not wanting to bother her, or make whatever it was worse, or just getting in the way and making himself more of a nuisance than a pleasure, not to mention his lack of confidence in being able to keep the desperation out of his voice.

But, with the last one, the final one, and then he'd likely be off to pace more lines in the carpeting, he did leave one. Short. Brief. Concise. "Liliana. It's Ignis. Call me back when you can. Please."

So much for keeping that desperation out of his voice.

And, once that was finished, he sighed, and, feeling the need to only have to juggle one potential explosive issue at a time, instructed his phone to make another phone call that probably should have been made days ago, really.

[[ mostly for....myself, brain willing, although the post is certainly open for anyone else who live s there, or might want to visit or call or even fallaciously shout out accusation of gentrification ]]

It would hardly surprise anyone that Ignis was the first one stirring in the mansion that Christmas morning; it was quite his natural state to be an early riser, but this was especially so when he had a lot to do in preparing a good proper feast for Liliana's first Christmas, and this was made especially true now that he'd gone and invited Gladio and Nell to join them later. All that food for just the two of them seemed like a waste, and sharing was quite a key element of the season. Besides, they'd have the morning together for their own exchanging of gifts and for him to get a break from the cooking for a bit once several things were prepared and set into motion, and he was going to revel in those quiet hours of just getting to work without worrying about half his ingredients going missing.

Besides, he absolutely planned on informing Liliana that her getting to sleep in without nagging was part of her Christmas gift.

The best gifts truly were priceless.

She would eventually be waking up to cinnamon rolls and coffee, though, so he doubted that would be too many complaints. Especially once the gifts that actually came wrapped in boxes actually made an appearance.

But for now? Just quiet reflection over the first of many cups of coffee to come, the beginnings of a day in the kitchen, some soft instrumental carols playing lightly in the background, and, quite honestly...contentment.

Quite the rare and priceless gift, indeed.

[[ up early for great holiday SP justice, with some minor ocd! Mostly for those who know who they are, but also open for anyone who might want to stop by! ]]

It was not unusual for Ignis to wake up in a very large bed not his own, as he and Noctis would often drift off together at the end of a long day, but it was a bit unusual for him to wake up in a very large bed not his own without Noctis there as well, and even though there was another small, dark-haired head amongst the pillows, it was very clearly not the prince. And so Ignis, somehow able to find his glasses waiting for him on the bedside table and putting them on, took a moment to look around before wholly dismissing everything about it, climbing out of the bed, and going to go find where the prince might be.

He, naturally, planned to check all the usual places around the Citadel, but this was very clearly not the Citadel, although it did feel similar to it in many aspects. All the same sorts of rooms, really, although aesthetically a bit different, but no less grand and ostentatious. Eventually, though, he found himself in the kitchen, and the kitchen was the first room he'd found that wasn't completely empty as all the other rooms except the bedroom had been, but the person standing there gave him pause, especially the odd way he looked, and then a small spark of panic made his heart jump.

"Are you," he asked, "an MT?"

He'd never seen one before, but everyone always said they looked like pale imitations of humans, lifelike but actually lifeless, uncanny and unsettling, and all of those things Ignis felt he could use to describe the figure that stood before him. And if an MT had made its way into Insomnia, then they were going to be in dire straights indeed.

But when the figure didn't answer right away, and when it seemed that there was no immediate threat, Ignis tilted his head thoughtfully. "Have you seen Prince Noctis?" he asked. "I should really find him as soon as possible..."

What followed was a thorough description of the prince, ended with a hopeful glance up, but the figure just shook its head in the negative and Ignis' shoulders fell with disappointment But then the steward made a sound and a gesture toward the kitchen, and it became clear what was inherent in its suggestion.

"Oh, I suppose you're right," Ignis realized. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and if I'm to have to look for the prince this morning, I'll need fuel and energy. Do you know how to make tea? Here, I'll show you."

And that was how, eventually, Ignis came to be sitting at a table, with a hot mug of tea and a small plate of a meager breakfast before him, chatting eagerly at Liliana's steward, and explaining to him further about what an MT was. "So, I'm terribly sorry for making such an incorrect assumption, but you can see why I might have been mistaken when I first saw you, and why I would be doubly concerned if there was an MT here as well as a missing prince....Is there a fishing pond, in that garden just outside? He would enjoy that a good deal, although, I have to admit, it looks as though you could use a more capable gardener, it looks a bit overgrown, and I've heard that that's a good way to invite both rodents and potential structural damage...."

[[ and, of course, open for she who lives there, should she feel so inclined! ]]

As he found himself groaning reluctantly into some sense of consciousness, Ignis did find that one thing had improved substantially from the last time he'd awoken in a state of being this hungover: at least he didn't have to worry about the light bothering him. But something about the darkness almost made the pounding in his head more intimate, more contained, few things to distract his mind from its throbbing. So he tried to focus on what else he could: the feeling a cold compress on his face, his hand moving up to confirm exactly what that admittedly relieving sensation was, the odd taste in his mouth that was both far too dry but also heavy with a variety of different herbs and lingering sourness from too much alcohol, and he just tried to think back and remember what had happened, all of it currently just a fog, including not entirely knowing where it was that he'd woken up.

Not the hotel room in New Zealand, that he was sure of, but somewhere more familiar. A deep breath brought in a familiar scent, as well, strong on cedar and mulberries, once he was able to pick it out from his own sweat. All of it mixed together made his stomach churn in protest, and, as he realized where he was, he was now also remembering why he was there and how he got there.

With another groan, shifting the compress for a moment to rub his aching temples and then placing it back gratefully, Ignis started to just map out the distance to the nearest window so perhaps he might just throw himself out of it. But that would require moving, and it was very clear to Ignis that that was something he did not care to pursue right now, or quite possibly ever again.

But at least he was alone, at the moment, affording him at least some time to just wallow in his misery.


[[ for she who lives there, if she waaants to, omg ]]

While Ignis knew he could just send Liliana's steward out for what he needed for dinner that evening, he much preferred to fetch them himself. He liked to have that personal hand in making sure everything he'd selected met his standards, and to be able to sway the course if, for whatever reason, they failed to do so. Besides, in defiance of the part of him that would be quite content existing further in her thrall, he felt it would be good for him to go out and get some...fresh air. Clear his head a little, after last night and some breakfast (well, brunch, really), and focus on what had been the entire purpose of his phone call last night.

(Well, not the entire purpose. At its core, he'd mostly just wanted to hear her voice again, and everything else that came with it had just been...ancillary.)

But with ingredients and supplies now in hand, he returned to the mansion and the kitchen that would now eke a smile out of him just by him existing in it, and got to work, laying out what he'd need to prepare a squid ink pasta, with some fresh bread and a request for a nice pinot gris from Liliana's own cellars.

[[ for the necronerd whose progressively less abandoned but still creepy mansion has been so shamelessly modded, por favor ]]