Baby, You're A Firework
"Chocolate?"
"Black forest, I believe, sir."
Regis nodded his approval, intrigued by what other creative confections Ignis would be concocting for the night. He gave Nyx leave to go and the sugar-coated glaive slumped off.
"Does the kingsglaive find itself in need of reinforcement?" Clarus asked upon rejoining Regis.
"I've been assured that everything is under control. Besides that, I have the utmost confidence in the abilities of the kingsglaive to ensure tonight proceeds smoothly."
"Speaking of, while the glaive is doing their ensuring, there is another matter that only the king can resolve."
Regis sighed, all too aware of the bureaucratic horrors which awaited him in the Council chambers. Not even on his son's birthday could the King of Lucis have the day off. After twenty years, he was used to it, and so was Noctis. Ten years ago, every birthday Regis missed devastated Noctis. Now, it was as if the day hardly existed.
'It's only a day, like all the rest,' his son had said.
'Not this year,' Regis had vowed to himself. 'This year, I'll get it right.'
The first step had been arranging for Luna to enter Insomnia. The amount of Nif ass he had to kiss to make that happen still made him brush his teeth twice as hard every night to try washing out the foul taste it left in his mouth. A small price to pay for being able to successfully invite the princess to the event. She had an uplifting effect on Noctis whenever she was around, something Regis expected Noctis was in dire need of today. Plus, her party-planning skills were un-matched.
The next step towards success was making sure he himself would be in attendance tonight. Which meant rapid fire Q&A with the council – a greater challenge than it sounded. Many of his advisors liked the sounds of their own voices more than they liked compromise. Getting to the root of an issue was like going into a dental procedure: it took a bit of screaming, some sharp objects, and a desperate plea for anesthesia before even beginning to solve the problem.
Regis was all set with a strategy today though. He'd keep his answers short, succinct, and, above all, decisive. He didn't anticipate there being too much controversial bullshit to contend with today, but the council had a talent for turning something as simple as a trade arrangement into a full-on border dispute.
The chamber was stock-full of the old codgers – don't throw stones, Regis – wired to detonate the instant he pushed through the doors. Getting the first word in was integral to leading the conversation. Playground rules: "last one in is a rotten egg" type of deal. Lucky for Regis, those rules included a teacher position, of whose word overruled the rest when necessary.
"Let's keep this brief," Regis said over the swell of chatter, steady voice cutting through the noise like a ship through water. "Present your cases quickly and clearly. One at a time, seniority descending."
The king deposited himself at the head of the table, Clarus at his right hand. The first to speak was the small, anemic-looking man that always fussed over claiming a seat as close to the King as humanly possible without taking the place of one of his Hands. The man cared more about getting Regis's attention than representing the people behind his badge of office. He began to detail a possible betrayal of one of Lucis's allies; that known associates of the country's queen had been reportedly flying through Niflheim airspace unmolested by their supposed enemies. The man seized the opportunity to recite a critical discourse on the policies of their allied queen.
"The sky pirates are conducting an undercover operation in Niflheim on Lucis's behalf. Control rumors of their activity, lest our people turn against their sister city. And keep your thoughts about Queen B'nargin to yourself. Let me remind all of you to be brief."
The man shriveled back down into his seat like a disintegrating worm, but his admonishment didn't seem to apply to the rest of the Council. Each member that stood, Regis had to cut off from another ramble. Profits from trading with Neworld were down and it was obviously due to a weak government; it's obviously because I don't like the policy of so-and-so. Kingsglaive efficiency was low and it was obviously because Commander Drautos was an immigrant more concerned with reaping the benefits of his position. Blah-blah was obviously because of blah-blah and blah-diddly-blah-blah-blah.
Regis rubbed his head and considered scheduling a Council cleanse in the nearby future. While he was fantasizing about the idea and the rest of the chamber was debating over some foreign politician, a courier slipped through the room to whisper at Clarus's ear. Regis tried not to feel guilty for praying for an emergency. He was sorely disappointed when Clarus's nod to the courier held no gravity. He met the king's eye and Regis silently begged him to blow whatever trivial news the courier carried way out of proportion so he could have an excuse to exit this circus.
"The fireworks have arrived," Clarus said, unheard beneath the din; each word sounding like an apology.
Regis's fingers drummed against the arm of his chair, desperately considering a way of turning that into an emergency worthy of a king's attention. Clarus assured him with a hopeless look that there was no point in trying. Instead Regis tried to race the clock. The festivities didn't begin until later that night; there were still hours of daylight left for him to rein in his council.
The king huffed out a breath and straightened in his chair. He'd get it right today. Even if it killed him.
It almost killed him. He was in awe of the gods' twisted sense of irony. In his haste to escape the Council chamber, he'd ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time and it nearly cost him his life…according to Cor and Clarus and everyone else whose job it was to be hyper-attentive to ensuring his continued state of well-being. In actuality, the situation was far less grave than they made it out to be. He read as much in the eye-roll of the young glaive who saved him.
The Council had broken for a recess and Regis could not stagger his way out of there fast enough. The air in that chamber became so suffocating after hours of blowing hot air at each other. Even Regis's best effort could not quell his Council's lust for debating. So much for the "yes or no" strategy. So much for "getting it right."
The sun was already slipping westward when he stepped outside, and he hadn't heard half of the Council's complaints yet. Regis pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, resigned to begging for his son's forgiveness and knowing he didn't deserve it, yet again.
"Are you unwell, My Lord?"
Cor materialized at the King's side, vigilant as a scouting raptor. The Left Hand of the King was permitted everywhere his liege-lord went except inside the Council chamber, a rule Cor had decried since he'd first been appointed to the position. "The first place anyone will try to kill you is in that den of wolves," he'd snarled. His disdain for the King's Council hadn't won him any favor when his allowances had come to a vote.
"Very," Regis said, in answer. "If anything's shortening my life-span, it's not the Wall."
Cor snickered in agreement. The only thing in all of Eos that could make Cor Leonis laugh was contempt for the Council. Regis tried – again – not to feel guilty for relishing in Cor's hateful laughter. His Council debated because they were passionate (entitled) about their service to Lucis. They were concerned (greedy) for the safety (votes) of their country's people. They all had a purpose (paycheck) for being there. He couldn't (shouldn't) despise them…
"How may I be of service, My Lord?" Cor recited, asking in so few words how he might aid and abet his escape from the Council.
"Unless you can fabricate some mortal travesty…" Regis sighed and shook his head. "Walk with me, Cor. Perhaps I can play the feeble old man and say I got lost in my own castle when they come looking for me."
"Would that your feebleness were true, My Lord. Would make my job a lot easier."
"And let you be complacent? I'd worry for your survival."
Cor was like a shark: if he stopped moving, he'd plummet to the bottom of the ocean and die. If not for his own entertainment, Regis kept Cor on his toes for the good of the man's continued existence.
Regis limped from gate to gate, Cor walking at a slow prowl a step behind him. Things were quieting down now that the day was receding, Cor told him. The guards reported mobs at their doorstep all morning. They all tired out eventually though. The tabloids were an endurance game that the Caelums had been winning for generations. If only the same could be said for politics, Regis thought to himself, quietly contemplating how to accomplish his mission tonight. Short of sending in Cor with a big-ass summon, he was running low on options.
They passed around the back of the property where the previously announced pyrotechnics display was being set up. Men and women in skull caps and safety gloves lurched between boxes of brightly-colored rockets, placing them in particular rows and patterns that made sense only to themselves. There was a glaive over-seeing the operation – Crowe Altius, if he remembered correctly – as well as keeping a look out for a wandering prince. Noctis didn't have a routine he kept to and it was a challenge the staff had grown used to. Today though, the stakes were a touch higher.
Crowe's gaze raced circuits around the perimeter. Her vigilance was a fearsome thing to behold until she spotted the King and his guard. Crowe's focus snapped to attention like a broken rubber-band.
"Your Majesty!" she announced, her voice a bit louder than she may have intended.
"At ease," Regis said before the firework handlers all started bowing as well.
"How may I serve you, sir?" Crowe said, eyes forward, but not quite meeting the King's. They were always a hair down, up, right, or left, never looking him directly in the eye.
"By continuing your good work," Regis answered. "I've yet to hear of any incidents that might endanger the night's proceedings." There was a slight wrinkling of Crowe's nose that suggested just because he hadn't heard anything, didn't mean something hadn't happened. If the state of Nyx Ulric was anything to go by, he was all too aware of that fact. "You're doing your job well," he assured her with a knowing nod.
"Thank you, sir." That prompted Crowe to return her sights towards surveillance, searching every lane and corner that turned into the back lot.
One of the technicians approached them then, her cap in her hands and her head bowed. "Good day, Your Majesty. Is the arrangement to your liking?"
"I'm afraid I wouldn't know," Regis replied, laughing lightly. "The most I know about fireworks is that they sparkle once they're off the ground."
"That they do, Your Majesty," the woman laughed, timidly.
"Would you care to show me how they work before that?"
The technician's eyes sparkled with pride for being asked about her work by the King of Lucis. She nodded, vigorously, and directed him towards the set-up. For Regis's part, it was a lot of nodding and pretending to understand pyrotechnic jargon, but the point wasn't to understand it; the point was to listen. For all the work going into this display, the least he could do in return was appreciate it at its less recognized stage.
Cor shadowed his every step, but it was Crowe that tackled the King to the ground when one of the fireworks was set off by mistake. No one saw how it happened, only that for one second the lot was full of the quiet murmurings of the technicians, and the next, there was a hiss and a pop and one of the small rockets was suddenly zooming over the concrete. Shouts of panic followed its glittering tail and people scrambled out of the way. The shouts rose in horror once they realized who the rocket was aiming for.
Regis had a second to blink before he was knocked off his feet. He thought, This black-top will murder my back, before considering how much a firework to the gut was going to hurt. He was less surprised that he wasn't dead when his back hit the ground than he was by the fact that he'd somehow landed on the decorative strip of grass lining one side of the lot. That hurt a lot less.
The rogue firework spiraled overhead and burst into a clumsy fizzle in the daylight. Oh, good. That'll do nicely for the party. The thought that those pretty sparks might have killed him didn't cross Regis's mind until Cor started thundering at the fireworks technicians. But, that was after Crowe's sloppy brunette head popped into Regis's field of vision.
She said, "Are you hurt?"
He thought, I hope I'm paying these people enough. How she'd been faster than a firework – as well as faster than Cor – and been able to tackle him onto a less treacherous plot of ground in a single movement mystified and amazed the King. That awe was quickly pushed aside when the next thing to creep into Regis's sight were the tiny horns of flames prickling up from her shoulder.
"Fire."
Crowe's brow wrinkled, then her nose upon being graced with the scent of smoke. All her knightly decorum was traded for a trucker's swears as she rolled off the King and threw her burning cape to the ground, viciously stomping it into cinders.
There was a lot of yelling – from Cor – and a lot of consoling – from Regis – after that. Cor would have liked to put every member of the fireworks troupe into prison. Regis assured them all that accidents weren't considered treason. Honestly, Regis thought Cor was just mad at himself for not jumping in front of the oncoming rocket in time.
"When was the last time I gave you a raise?" he asked Crowe while Cor delivered his final round of scolding.
"When you gave me the job, sir. Being able to afford a hot meal is all the compensation I need."
Been a while since he heard something that noble. Nevertheless, he promised himself to remember that the kingsglaive could be spared a little extra gil come their next pay day. Cor marched back to his side, leaving the troupe looking like a litter of scared puppies. Regis bid them all thanks for their hard work and gave them a smile that basically said to ignore whatever Cor had told them. He nodded to Crowe and started back to the Council chamber.
"I almost wish that had killed me," he groaned once they were on their way.
And as if the gods had heard him, they sent him a message that sternly said, "No, you don't."
Noctis appeared around the bend, half-awake and shell-shocked. Relief spread across his face when he saw his father. "I thought I heard a gunshot," he said, breathless. "Are you alright? What was that sound?"
Cor and Regis were quiet, staring at him, and the prince's relief quickly curdled into concern. Regis spoke before Cor could say anything. "Just a little target practice."
"Target practice?"
"I've allowed the glaive the back lot while their shooting range undergoes some construction. I'm surprised you heard them. Aren't you usually asleep at this time of day?"
"I was," Noctis grumbled, pressing the heel of his palm to his eye to rub some of the sleep away.
"Having a nice day?"
The prince grunted noncommittally and turned back the way he came. The pair stood there for a moment, waiting until they couldn't hear his footsteps anymore.
"How long are you going to let him walk around like that?" Cor asked.
"He'll stumble in front of a mirror eventually."
Maybe the black whiskers on his reflection would even make his son laugh. It was the thought of Noctis's smile that gave Regis renewed purpose in facing the Council.
"Do me a favor, Cor. When explaining why we're late, play up the idea that I was nearly murdered by that firework. Nothing gets old men talking quicker than the threat of mortality."
When Cor smiled like that, it was like gazing into the face of the Devil. "You make this job all the more worthwhile, Your Majesty."
