Soup to the Wound
The pleasant aroma of Ignis' fish soup filled the camp with soothing promises of warming broth to counter the humid, chilly atmosphere of the Vesperpool. As Prompto wrapped himself in blankets inside the tent, he felt almost able to muffle Noctis' grumbling noises outside. On normal days, he would be filming the tantrum, but today the flu had numbed his body enough to render him unable to mock him beyond a few chuckles and watery-voiced jokes.
Besides the stove, Noctis had given up on rational thought and was childishly yanking Ignis from his suspenders, the elastic stretching back and forth with each pull.
He had been enjoying himself just before, fishing to his heart desire inside the Myrlwood till late afternoon when he was rudely taken out because he had 'already caught what they came for'. Ignis took his precious platinum myrltrout into the camp to feed Prompto's cold away, denying him of precious angling quality time.
Not satisfied with the insult, they were now camping in Capitis Haven, were the tempting waters of a nearby fishing spot sang their siren song at a few feet of distance. It didn't take much; he would be there, fishing as always, while the rest chilled at the camp, and if something happened they knew how capable he was of defending himself. It wasn't hard to understand!
"It's cold, Noct. It's already dark and one of us is sick. We have expended the last five days getting soaked and without proper sleep. We cannot risk all of us catching a cold, so we -are- going to sleep earlier tonight. Think of it like this; tomorrow is a new day, and you could even wake up at dawn for fishing, if you so wish. An efficient use of daylight."
Noctis ignored Gladio's not-so-muffled snort.
"Ded ee goo Noc!," managed Prompto from the tent.
Ignis decision remained unshakable, his attention focusing on moving the bubbling soup rather than the prince's irrational demands.
Annoyed, Noctis carelessly let go of the stretched suspenders.
Smack!
The sound echoed through the whole campsite, rendering the cries of the few bugs around silent. Gladio raised his head from his book, and Prompto crammed his out of the tent to look outside.
Noctis froze, fearing the worse as Ignis' hand stopped stirring. For the next 4 seconds, nobody in a twenty-meter radius made a move.
Ignis' ever-calm voice surged above the tension, "Gladiolus."
From his seat by the fire, Gladio struggled to find his voice. "Y-yes, Ignis?"
"Move the soup for a moment, it won't be long."
Then, a series of events unfolded at the same time.
Ignis let go of the ladle, turning around and crouching to sprint off after the prince. Noctis warped out of the campsite, his shimmering afterimage contorted in a face of pure fear. Prompto scrambled to his feet and out of the tent, camera ready at hand, boots left forgotten.
Still flabbergasted, Gladio watched as Ignis chased after the prince in the dark. He could spot the sparkling clones appearing here and there from time to time. Shield of the King or not, he is not getting between whatever punishment Ignis had in store for Noct.
On the thought of avoiding Ignis ire, he quickly stands up to stir the already good-smelling food with soft circular motions, as if failing to do the simple task would nail him misplaced glares.
"I hope Prompto takes some good ones."
There's a high-pitched scream and a flash of light.
Many pictures were taken that night.
A/N: I sacrificed Noctis common sense to the fishing and comedy gods for this fic to work. Oh great gods, are you pleased? (sorry Noct, the idea wouldn't let me).
Loosely based on those pictures of Ignis chasing after Noctis.