Prompto would later insist that everything came back to Ramuh. If the god of storms hadn't locked himself away in a cave, they would never have gone inside to begin with, and certainly not for a second round. Thus they would have wholly avoided the catastrophe that followed.

But, as they say, hindsight is 20/20. Especially if the observer in question wears expensive Insomnia-manufactured spectacles and happens to be acutely intelligent, with exceptional attention to detail and the uncanny ability to sense guilt.

xxx

Noctis, Prompto, and Gladio slogged through the underbrush outside Fociaugh Hollow, a cold afternoon rain soaking them from above and a thicket of waterlogged pine saplings supplying whatever was missed from beneath. Despite the hour, dusk loomed more than it had any right to; not much of the day's heavy gray light seemed to puncture the forest canopy. What they could see of the mountains beyond the trees was cloaked in mist. Even the wildlife was quiet; all the men could hear beyond their own labored breathing (and occasional muttered curse) was the distant, splashing rush of cars on a sodden highway.

Prompto abruptly sidelined the dismal procession as he stopped to lean against a mid-sized fir, its bark stained with rain. "Hold on, guys, there's something in my shoe." Yanking at his foot, he overturned a boot, liberating mud, rainwater, and a gallon of pine needles in the process.

Noctis sank down on a boulder, grateful for the respite. "I'm dying of thirst here," he sighed.

"I'm starving to death," Prompto added.

They both cast furtive glances at Gladio, who stood as unmoved and implacable against the rain as a marble pillar. Sensing their stares, he shifted slightly to face them, arms still folded comfortably against his body. "What?"

"Ah, you know." Prompto whacked his boot against the tree a few times, frowning as a small cave fish slid out. "Thought you might fill in for Iggy. Y'know, to remind us that we're all very much alive."

Gladio snorted. "Don't put that on me. I let you bitch about your misfortunes all day."

"Yeah," Prompto agreed. "Like when you say, 'Hey, your pillow called; it wants those tears back.'"

"Or, 'Hear that? That's the sound of nobody cares.'" Noctis volunteered from his rock.

"Or, 'Thanks for the concussion, I couldn't hear that daemon coming over your endless crying.'"

"Or –"

"Yeah, yeah," Gladio cut in. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I'm having as much fun as you. Fociaugh was bad enough the first time, much less the reunion tour." He finally unfurled to lean heavily against Prompto's tree, unleashing a shower of giant droplets from its boughs that straightaway fell down the back of Prompto's shirt.

Noctis rested his eyes as his friend wailed about the loss of the last dry spot left on his body, allowing the water that had been collecting at his hairline to run unimpeded down his face. He dreamily envisioned the moment he'd be back in camp, huddled in his sleeping bag and nursing a cup of Ignis' signature hot cider (regardless of what Gladio said about taking food into the tent). Fociaugh Hollow ranked toward the bottom of their Hottest Daemon Hubs of the Month list – or at least it would if one existed – it not being much more than a series of increasingly tight spaces, and stalagmites for one to bang one's shins on, and even an ankle-busting drop-off thrown in for extra laughs. Despite the pay involved this time, a revisit had not proven to be any more fun than Round 1. Combined with the thirty-three hours they'd now been awake and on their feet, it was not turning out to be his favorite day.

Gladio was saying something to Prompto about "Noct" and "fifteen random circles," so Noctis cut in to remind him, "We weren't lost."

"My bad," Gladio replied. "I guess it was the other prince who accidentally warped all the way across the main cavern and then couldn't find his way back through the stalagmite forest for six hours and then was so turned around by the end of it that he led us into a Mindflayer orgy instead of the exit."

"Now boys," Prompto said placatingly as Noctis scowled. "What's important is that we made it out in one piece. Maybe Iggy's even feeling well enough by now to cook us something. Assuming he hasn't called out the Glaive because we've been gone so long, or tried to charge in after us and got lost, or something like that, but you know! I'm sure he's fine. And we will be too once we get back to our nice, toasty campfire."

Noctis scrubbed at his dripping hair with his dripping hands, the action only serving to rearrange the water on his face. "It's still another four miles to camp."

"See, we'll be there in a…four miles did you say?" Prompto's cheer, largely fabricated anyway, deflated. "Dude, haven't we basically gone twenty or thirty already? These boots were made for walking, like, to the store and back – not Altissia in one go."

"I could really go for a drink," Gladio muttered, the closest thing to agreement with Prompto he was likely to admit. "Noct, you got anything rolling around in that armiger?"

Noctis obligingly checked, his eyes glazing slightly. "Sixteen potions…eight elixirs…one expired ether…an Ebony…someone's half-gone very flat soft drink…a couple empty beer bottles…" His eyes momentarily refocused in irritation. "Ugh, guys, this is a repository for kingly arsenals, not a locker room. …A megalixir…Prompto, is this your half-eaten cookie?"

"What about that Ebony?" Gladio suggested. "Not exactly the drink I was aiming for, but it seems to keep Ignis going."

Prompto's face took on a vaguely repulsed look. "Ugh, bad idea man. Been there done that; would not recommend. I dunno how Iggy drinks that scuz on the regular. Does have a decent kick, though, so there's that. Would probably get you back to camp, at least."

Gladio looked thoughtful. "Noct?"

"Coming right up." In a shimmering of blue armiger dust, the Ebony appeared in Noctis' hand. He cracked it open and took a long drag, then passed it over to Gladio.

"Huh," Noctis said as the heady flavor plowed its way through his sinuses. "That's…different."

"Are we talking freaky-deaky different or special snowflake different?" Prompto asked. "Because I found it pretty offensive, myself."

"I dunno." Gladio took another deliberative swallow. "It's got a nice finish. A bit flamboyant, but not cloying. And there's the barest suggestion of spice; really brings out the warm undertones."

Prompto's face twitched in a way that spoke of some forcefully suppressed emotion. "Whatever you say, Big Guy. I'll take my chances with my own all-natural, 100% organic adrenaline. Oh hey, fair warning, that was Ignis' backup can – the one he keeps hidden away for times of 'dire need.'" He wiggled his fingers in an approximation of one of Ignis' Ominous Pronouncements.

Noctis paused in the middle of draining the can. "Wait, what?"

Gladio suddenly looked worried, like that time the Regalia had broken down in the middle of the night in the Ravatogh wilds and two Red Giants had sprouted up in the road at the same moment an Imperial dropship had wandered in, angering a flight of wyverns in the process, just as Noctis had dropped his sword in a hot spring. "You're sure?"

Noctis added, "Because it's not really a 'fair warning' after we've already drunk it, Prompto, you know Ignis is going to destroy us—"

"Hey, hey, at ease," Prompto soothed, raising his hands pacifyingly. "There's more in the car, right? Just sneak one back in when we get to camp. No big."

Noctis slowly relaxed, exchanging a glance with Gladio. "Yeah, all right," he agreed. "Easy enough."

xxx

It turned out Ignis was not feeling well enough to cook them something, though his relief for their safety was plain as they piled into camp shortly before dark.

"Well aren't you lot a bleeding mess," he observed in nasal tones from a towering cocoon of blankets. The four of them were huddled in the center of the tent, as the walls were currently so heavily saturated with rain that brushing against them felt much like being ambushed with a wet salmon. Fishing a handkerchief from somewhere deep within the folds of his nest, Ignis blew his nose and coughed rather feebly. "Run into some trouble, did you?"

"Nothing we couldn't handle," Noctis assured him, shooting a barbed glance at Gladio as the big man's eyes lit up and he took a breath to answer. "How's the cold?"

"Progressing, I suppose, as these things do," Ignis dolefully replied. "This unceasing deluge isn't exactly helping, and I believe the integrity of our tent may have reached its limit. Prompto, a small river has been running through your bag; I'm afraid you'll have to share with one of us tonight."

"Awww yeah, bro bonding time!" Prompto crowed with exaggerated cheer. "Noct, looks like it's you and me tonight."

"Why me?" Noctis protested. "You kick, and your clammy feet singlehandedly refrigerate the whole tent."

"First of all, you most def meant singlefootedly," Prompto replied, wholly unconcerned. "Second, Gladio is a blanket terrorist, and third, I'd rather not get cuddly right now with our much-loved but germ-encrusted menace. Therefore…" he let the sentence trail off meaningfully as Ignis, somehow managing to look wretched and distinguished at the same time, mouthed "germ-encrusted menace" to himself.

"Or," Noctis suggested, "we could just go back to the Coernix tonight, shell out the 15 gil for a caravan, and give everything and everyone the chance to dry out."

All eyes swung to Ignis, bright with sudden longing.

"Well…I suppose it wouldn't hurt, just this once," Ignis relented in a voice that sounded as if he'd swallowed a cheese grater. A phlegmy cough gripped briefly at the muscles of his shoulders. "If it will aid you all in your recovery."

xxx

"Psst…Gladio," Noctis whispered.

Gladio was reclining in his favorite corner of the Regalia, eyes trained on one of his books despite the exhaustion that must be tugging at him just as insistently as the rest of them. Rain sheeted on the window behind him, the countryside now shrouded in night. Up front, Ignis blasted the heater in an attempt to dispel both his chills and the increasingly dank smell clinging to his still-soggy companions, and Prompto, lulled by the hum of the engine, was dead asleep in the passenger seat, mouth hanging open and a bit of crusted mud streaking his chin.

"Gladio," Noctis tried again through gritted teeth, then lightly kicked his friend's boot.

Gladio didn't twitch, but amber-brown eyes lifted to peer at him rather challengingly over the rim of his book.

Noctis made some hand motions that he hoped conveyed a need for subtlety, then casually slumped forward to rest his head against the back of Ignis' seat, casting a meaningful glance toward his Shield. Gladio's eyebrows climbed several inches up his face, but he obligingly made a show of yawning, tucking his book away, and slumping forward himself. Once in position, he side-eyed the prince. "Yeah?"

"We're out."

"Out?"

"Of Ebony! It's gone."

Any sign of amusement that had been lurking on Gladio's face vanished. "You're kidding."

"Do I look like a comedy club to you?"

"For the dead? Probably."

"Hilarious. Anyway. I've triple-checked, and we're out."

Gladio toed his own side of the floor for a moment, as if he could unearth one of the glossy black cans from the mud mat. "That's...not great."

Noctis shook his head emphatically.

"Especially because we were supposed to be tracking the supply."

Noctis nodded.

"And also because we drank his emergency backup."

Noctis only stared at him like a man headed for the grave.

"Well, no need to panic just yet," Gladio said, trying for reassuring. "We're almost at the Coernix. Iggy's not likely to want one this late, so we can just quietly stock up there."

"They closed half an hour ago."

Gladio grimaced. "In the morning, then. We'll grab a few cases soon's they open. It'll be fine."

"Right," Noctis slowly agreed. "Fine."

xxx

"Good morninggg!" an evidently much-improved Ignis sang.

It was oh-six-hundred, and as a result Ignis was probably the only happy human in the time zone. Gladio didn't mind mornings, per se, but definitely preferred a good quiet spell before he was expected to interact with anyone. Prompto took them more or less in stride, albeit somewhat less enthusiastically than the other twenty-three hours of the day. Noct faced them like they were his executioner.

Such was the case now, Gladio noted, as he watched his friend stagger off toward the mini-mart, likely powered only by a growing fear for his life. Gladio had taken extra pains to assure him that all would be well, but Noct had merely replied with a dead-eyed stare.

Well, he'd be back to his impassively content self again soon enough. Gladio returned Ignis' salutation with a grunt and a nod, belatedly remembering to ask about his health. "How's the cold?"

"Much improved, thank you," Ignis chirped. He seemed a bit congested still, but overall was a far cry from the bundle of snot and misery he'd been the evening before. "It seems a night indoors was just the ticket. And you, Gladio? How are the other two?"

"Oh you know, the usual. Studying up on the art of dragging their asses out of bed." It was 50% true, anyway; Prompto had been woozily attempting to navigate the hazards of a route from the top bunk to the floor last Gladio had checked. "Figured we could order breakfast today for added motivation. These last couple days wiped them out pretty good."

"A hot breakfast does seem to be in order," Ignis agreed. "Perhaps the proprietor will be so kind again as to include it complimentary with the bounty."

As it turned out, the proprietor would, so it was with companionable contentment that the two settled into a corner booth of The Crow's Nest, absorbing the homey smells of hash browns and waffles. Prompto entered a moment later, inhaling the savory warmth – unsurprisingly – like a man who had been stuck in a cave for two days.

"That smells yum-az-ing," he declared, flopping into the seat next to Ignis with the finesse of an avalanche. "What're we having?"

"What you should be having is a socking great bowl of fruits and vegetables after three days of protein bars," Ignis remarked. "But I imagine even an appeal for the working order of future hotel washrooms won't be enough to convince you of that."

"What I took from that is that we'll be shacking it up at the Lestallum Leville tonight, eh Gladio?" Prompto turned to toe his friend rather overenthusiastically in the shin.

"Absolutely not," Ignis replied. "Our funds are depleted enough as is."

"Aww c'mon, Iggy," Prompto wheedled. "Just send Noct out after some low-level Voretooths or something. He warps them into oblivion, and boom! Dinner at Tostwell's."

"The only way we'll ever be able to afford Tostwell's again is if Insomnia spontaneously un-vanquishes itself. Besides which, I doubt that any of Lestallum's tipsters are posting such menial hunts these days. And continuing on the subject of Noct," Ignis said, still in the same breath, "where exactly is His Highness?"

Gladio twitched, violently enough that any chance of playing it cool was probably off the table. "Uh, I'll go find out," he said, rather too hurriedly. Noct was undoubtedly fine, but if Ignis decided to go out and do some sleuthing there could be hell to pay. "He's probably just stuck in the bathroom. Protein bars and all that."

"Indeed," Ignis replied, and there was a sudden, specific quality to his voice that made Gladio very nervous.

"Be right back," he assured his friend, and hastily swept out into the morning light.

He stepped briskly toward the mini-mart, eager to outrange Ignis' speculative gaze as quickly as possible. Glancing down at his phone, he found he'd missed a text from Noct. Without breaking pace, he tapped it open.

SOS HELP, it read.

Any passerby would not have believed the laws of physics could allow for someone of Gladio's size to accelerate from zero to breakneck in the time it took them to blink. As it was, the shopkeeper was the only one to witness the remarkable event, and his astonishment quickly morphed to horror as the enormous man plowed through the front door, sending the welcome bell flying off into a corner, and inexplicably brandishing what appeared to be a misplaced guardrail, lethally sharpened, and which had definitely not been there a second ago.

Noct, who had been glaring up at a shelf stocked with potions and canned goods, turned. "There you are," he said, in obvious agitation.

Gladio skidded to a stop, looked left and right. He, Noct, and the shopkeeper were the only living things in the store. It was six in the morning, after all.

"Noct."

"What?!"

"You'd better be in the process of getting kidnapped or murdered."

"Worse!" Noct snapped. "Gladio! They're out!"

"What?"

Noct jabbed a finger at an unassuming-looking shelf populated with shiny dark cans. Gladio frowned at his prince, still annoyed, then peered closer, plucking one from its perch. It was the wrong color. And rather than displaying Ebony's distinctive white branding, the words Dark Dreams swirled down the length in a repugnantly frilly font.

"All they've got is some knockoff brand!" Noct turned an accusatory stare toward the shopkeeper. "And he says there's nothing in the back, because it's not coming out of Insomnia anymore."

The shopkeeper, having already recovered from his shock (being the operator of a mini-mart, he'd seen worse), shrugged in neutral apology. "That's what happens when the Empire blows up the manufacturer, I'm afraid."

Noct turned back to his Shield with a grim sort of satisfaction. "See? The only place left in the world that makes it now is some satellite company in Lestallum. And they're not even exporting."

Gladio looked from Noct, to the shopkeeper, to Noct. He rocked back on his heels and folded his arms. "Well. Shit."

The two of them stared at each other bleakly.

"Well," Gladio continued after a moment of consideration. "We're bound for the Lestallum area anyway. It's not even a two hour drive."

Noct shook his head. "No good. You know as well as I do we'll never make it; ninety-to-one Ignis'll need his hit before then. Having a place to buy more does nothing for us if we're already dead."

Gladio didn't even bother to argue; he'd known it was a feeble suggestion before the thought had even entered his head. So maybe it was time to try for crazy.

"Noct. Where'd you put the Ebony we took from the armiger? The empty can, I mean?"

Noct blinked. "I threw it in the trash bag back at camp. Where trash is supposed to go."

Ignoring the rather unsubtle barb, Gladio continued. "And where'd that end up?"

Reading his intent, Noct's eyes lit up – only to cloud again just as quickly. "Ignis emptied it in the diner's bin last night."

Gladio growled in frustration. So even if the can was still retrievable, it was presently being guarded, unwittingly, by Ignis himself.

Then again…

"And when was our last trash run?"

xxx

Gladio contemplated the likelihood of the Crown firing a Shield during a time of war as he willingly assisted the Prince of Lucis in planting himself face first into a dumpster. Defunct or not, he had no doubt they would find a way; it would be just like Cor to come stalking around the corner right now. Who would they replace him with? Iris, probably. Which, in retrospect, might not even be such a bad choice; her problem was in never taking her eyes off the prince.

Noct levered himself further forward, the lip of the bin digging into his stomach as his legs extended behind him for balance, the red-stained soles of his boots teetering toward the sky like the seat of a drunken see-saw. Gladio's hand shot to the back of his knee as he momentarily overcompensated, steadying him before his prince could inhale a mouthful of Kenny's greatest hits, several days ripened.

"There's gotta be one in here somewhere…" Noct's muttered assertion rebounded as if from the bowels of the Balouve mines.

"You sure it was here? We've been to like six Coernix stations in the last three days."

"We've been stuck in Fociaugh for the last three days," Noct's voice echoed back irritably. " 'Member how Specs had us clean out the car right before we turned south for the haven?" Sounds of rummaging reverberated dully among the rusting, slime-slicked walls of the bin, then paused. "I think there's something alive in here."

"You're imagining it." Gladio leaned out to cast a furtive glance around the corner. "C'mon, hurry it up in there. You really can't find a single—"

"—Ha!" A triumphant voice interrupted as Noct's arm shot out of the pungent gloom, brandishing a gleaming, black, slightly crinkled Ebony can like it was the Ring of Lucii itself.

"Great job, Noct." And if his voice was shaded with the tiniest bit of sarcasm, the prince was too busy attempting to struggle his way backward and one-handed out of a dumpster while avoiding giving himself tetanus or an infection to notice. With a sigh, Gladio reached down and grabbed a fistful of shirt just in time for a blur of fortunately-not-Cor-shaped blonde to come bouncing around the corner.

"Yos, bros, breakfast is served—" Prompto came to an abrupt halt, his boots practically leaving skid marks on the concrete. "…whoa. Is that Noct in a dumpster?"

Gladio plucked Noct the rest of the way out and set him on his feet, disheveled and clutching the empty can triumphantly to his chest. "Nope."

"The one time I leave my camera in the car," Prompto breathed. "The one. Time. Anyway, thought y'all should know that Iggy's raring to come after you himself in a minute here, so…uh…" He reached out and picked a banana string from Noct's shoulder. "Okay, but for real. What are you guys doing?"

"Every place in the world except Lestallum is out of Ebony so we're filling this can from last week with a knockoff brand and hoping Ignis won't notice so that we can all live to see another day," Noct explained.

Gladio watched as Prompto's brain clicked through the myriad implications and consequences of that information, his eyes momentarily glazing.

Then, "Doesn't sound like the worst plan we've ever had," he said. "How can I help?"

"You can brush all this rusty crap off him before Ignis sees," Gladio grunted, scrubbing none too gently at the front of Noct's shirt. Noct, for his part, was ignoring them both, wiping his hands on his pants before leaning in to examine his catch.

"Cool; not sure how well slime 'brushes off' anything, though," Prompto replied, starting on the back. Frowning at a particularly repugnant-looking stain on Noct's shoulderblade, he glanced over at the bin, as if waiting for it to acknowledge culpability, and immediately performed a double-take.

"Holy crapsickle dude, how often do you think they empty that thing anyway?" he asked no one in particular. "Like, I really hope those totes-last-century shoes are in there because someone finally decided to abandon their hoarder lifestyle and not because they've actually been sitting in this dumpster for like fifty-five years. Seriously, Noct, I think this trash might predate the reign of your grandpa."

Noct peered clinically at his prize before flipping it upside down. A thick black sludge bled out, smelling somewhat worse for wear. Gladio felt something in his gut shudder.

Prompto leaned closer to the bin, staring into its depths in mild horror (the task at hand now entirely forgotten). "Hey Big Guy, do you think daemons spawn in there at night? Are we gonna have to go daemon excavating at the Alstor Coernix dumpster? Would be better than Costlemark anyway. Ew, whaaaaa….would not have thought of mixing garulessa sirloin with pudding. No wait, that's just a hella dead rat. My bad…"

Noct was frowning at a large dent creasing the stylized aluminum of his can. Poking a grubby finger deep inside, he popped it back out.

Gladio winced and abruptly reached out, snagging one companion in each hand, and steered them firmly around toward the back of the building. "Bathroom. Now. We're not looking to poison anyone. Noct, you'd better be sanitizing the hell out of that thing."

xxx

A short time later found the three of them crowded into the concrete cupboard that served as a Coernix bathroom while Noct frowned and batted at a plastic soap dispenser on the wall. Pink goo oozed out intermittently, splattering on the sink like overcooked Flan.

"It's all gloopy," Noct complained.

"Welcome to the other half, buddy," Prompto chirped. "There's still a whole world of delights out there for you to discover: coin-operated laundromats, Sunday morning sidewalk vomit, public transpo in the summer, subway seat stains that aren't food…"

"Soap is soap," Gladio loudly interrupted. Even if it could double as paint thinner. "C'mon, let's get moving."

Noct dutifully set about assaulting the dispenser in a rapid-fire series of strikes, pink glops shooting off into inexplicably varied trajectories each time until several managed to make it into the can. Cranking the water as hot as it would go (luke-warm at best), he filled it, plugged the mouth with the heel of his hand, and shook vigorously.

After several repeats, Gladio was just about to deem their efforts adequate when a familiar voice made itself known behind them, terrifying in its perfectly polite, lethally pointed civility.

"What, pray tell, are the three of you doing?"

Prompto whirled around so fast that one of his hair spikes poked Noct in the eye. Noct, to his dubious credit, bit off his complaint and instead deftly transferred the dripping Ebony from sink to pocket. Gladio did his best to block them both from sight as he turned to face his friend.

"Hey Iggy," he greeted with a casual nod. "Just washing up for breakfast."

The perfectly arched, deeply skeptical raise of Ignis' eyebrow would have devastated a lesser man, but Gladio had built up years of tolerance and merely smiled with bland innocence.

"Well then, I daresay the world must be ending sooner than we'd anticipated," Ignis finally replied in a voice that was drier than the wastes above Hammerhead.

That one did make Gladio wince a little, but he merely slapped his friend companionably on the shoulder, attempting to guide him away from the now critically crowded bathroom in the process. "Desperate times, Ig."

Ignis didn't budge. "And I suppose Noct is planning on washing up the motor oil, coffee grounds, and—might those be feathers? –-from his shirt as well?"

Noct laughed nervously from behind his Gladio-sized fortification. "Yeah, I realized today I'm out of clean shirts. This was the only one not caked in mud." That part was, in fact, true. "Sorry, Ignis."

Ignis pursed his lips and took a deep breath.

Then he obviously decided to throw his lot in with that tried-and-true alliance of ignorance and bliss, and suddenly he was standard-issue Ignis again. "Well," he said, his frown softening. "Evidently a trip to the launderette is in order. I suppose we could do with a stay in town tonight after all, though we shall have to take on extra hunts to recoup our losses. That means no sleeping in – Noct I am looking at you – and considerable frugality during these 'pit stops' of yours – Prompto, I hope that goes without saying – and Gladio, beef jerky is generally meant to be consumed over several days, not a pound per sitting; that mess is costly—"

"Yeah, and we don't want to lose the Heir of Lucis over your butt fog, Gladio, last time that reeked so bad."

"Charming, Prompto. As I was saying, it's costly, and best consumed in small amounts. After tonight, we are back to camping, so enjoy Lestallum while you're able…"

As Ignis continued to lay the shape of the future, the others nodded in eager relief and the four of them ambled back toward the diner, pursuing the smell of pancakes.

xxx

The moment of reckoning arrived sooner than they'd hoped. Such is usually the case with plans built on that stalwart foundation of empty wishes and panic (as Prompto later remarked).

It was a singularly beautiful day, the kind where sunshine slants gently through the trees, gilding the passing forests in a striped golden-green; where the pleasantly chilled winds of the road card gently through the hair; where breathing the bright, clear air alone soothes the soul.

All this assumes one is not actively fearing for one's life, of course. In which case, Ignis was currently the only pleasantly chilled, soul-soothed member of the party. Prompto was unusually subdued, scrolling mindlessly through his phone from the passenger seat. Noctis and Gladio sat quietly in the back, Gladio reading without actually moving his eyes and Noctis blankly summoning daggers into and out of existence until he'd accidentally snagged one of Gladio's greatswords and Ignis had henceforth banned all armiger use in the car.

As it was, they were hardly thirty minutes gone from the Coernix when Ignis glanced up into the rearview, his pale green gaze flitting the length of the back seat. "Would one of you be so kind as to pass me an Ebony?"

It was a simple query, one that had been repeated so often that the words themselves had lost their individual meanings. Yet the Regalia crackled with an unusually charged silence.

Ignis frowned. "Noct, are you playing with your elemancy again?"

Noctis made a strange sound and quickly cleared his throat. "No, Ignis. Here's your…your Ebony. I already opened it for you."

With a hum of acknowledgment, Ignis plucked the gleaming, curiously creased can from Noctis' hand. "My thanks," he murmured, and unceremoniously knocked it back.

Somewhere in the hills of Rydelle Ley, a herd of arba startled as the angry screech of tires echoed off a highway overpass. Snorting, they leapt to their feet and lumbered deeper into the forest, away from the humans and their clamorous ways.

Inside the Regalia, no such escape was possible.

"What," Ignis ground, his body twisting in his seat so that his gaze could entrap all three unwitting members of his audience, "in the cocksure toffee-nosed names of the Six is this offensively loathsome rot?"

Three dismayed gazes goggled back at him in return. Noctis, wedged as deeply into the intersection of door and seat as he could manage without phasing, opened his mouth, then immediately rethought the decision as Ignis' stare dropped on him like a falling anvil. Prompto capitalized on the distraction to quietly search for his phone, which had flown off to some distant corner of the car. Gladio was the only one who managed to appear mostly unperturbed, though his eyes were fixed hawkishly on Ignis' every move.

"Well?" Ignis seethed, meticulously ignoring the growing chorus of car horns blaring from both lanes. "What have the three of you to say for yourselves? Because THIS—" he held up a can now bearing the distinct imprints of four fingers and a thumb— "is NOT. Ebony."

"Hey, take it easy, Iggy," Gladio ventured. "The Coernix was out, but we'll get you more in Lestallum."

"Easy? EASY?" Ignis hissed. " 'Easy' is poisoning me with what is obviously a poorly-disguised, vile off-brand rather than simply owning up to your unconscionable blunder, is it?"

"Yeah…about that…" Noctis said, clearing his throat. "It's my fault, Ignis. I'm sorry. The other two had nothing to do with it, so don't blame them."

"I had something to do with it," Gladio countered. "But Prompto didn't, so don't blame him."

"Actually I was the one wh— mrphh!" Prompto said as a knee like an oceanliner jabbed him through the seat.

Ignis' glare assailed them each in turn. Then, without a word, he rammed the gearshift into first and returned to a relievingly legal side of the road.

Just over one highly uncomfortable hour later, the Regalia eased into its customary stall in the car park while its occupants eased their way out. Despite the sticky heat already sitting heavy on the air, Noctis clutched his jacket more snugly around his chest, as if cinching tight a piece of armor.

Ignis exited the driver's seat, his bearing as regal and cold as the kings and queens of Lucii themselves, and turned to face his prince. Gladio, approaching from the back, half-stepped between them, the ghost of a shield flickering reflexively into being; as Ignis' icy stare shifted to him he cleared his throat in embarrassment and quickly returned it to the void. He didn't move from his spot, though.

"Noctis. Gladiolus," Ignis began in tones frigid enough to worry Ifrit. "Your instructions are as follows: Prompto and I will speak with the tipsters about local hunts and report to the hotel. You two will restore the Ebony cache. We will all meet back here in one hour, after which time we will complete said hunts, thus earning enough to cover supper and sundries and henceforth return this party to some semblance of sanity and civilization. Is that quite clear?"

"Quite," Noctis muttered, in concert with Gladio's "Sure, Ig," the ease in his reply wholly manufactured.

"Excellent. Prompto?" Without any further ado, Ignis seized Prompto's arm and marched him away. The last glimpse they caught of him was the pleading stare he cast over his shoulder before the two disappeared around a corner.

Noctis sighed and nudged at Gladio, who was still acting like a wall. "He'll feel better once he's gotten some of his favorite burnt dishwater back in his system."

"I kind of liked it," Gladio said.

Noctis shot him a bad-tempered look. "I swear to the Six, Gladio. If you get hooked on that crap too Prompto and I are going solo. You and Specs will have to find yourself a new band."

Gladio walloped him on the back with something that was meant to be a friendly pat but usually ended up restarting his heart. "Wouldn't let you if you tried. Come on, let's get this over with already."

A/N: Coming up next: Part 2. (Because you know it couldn't really have been that easy, now could it.)

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