It's safe to say there's only now

[thatsit]

Lucis was in trouble.

That there was the crux of it. There were enemies at the gates, and Lucis was not assured it could hold them off. The Empire loomed, as Empires were wont to do over small, formerly-isolationist Kingdoms that possessed limited but very attractive resources.

They needed allies, and quickly, and they needed to know who their enemy's allies were even more quickly than that.

The tip off had come from a friend of the family. Ignis was Insomnian born and raised, but his mother had been born in Athlum where her family had occupied a position of slightly more prestige than the Scientia family of Insomnia, and with such prestige came connections. Connections that had, by dint of birth, filtered down to Ignis.

It was his Aunt that had contacted him, and put him in touch with the family friend who had useful information. Or at least, useful information about where and how precisely Ignis might obtain further useful information. She would vouch for him personally, she had promised.

Which nominally was why Ignis had been sent to the Lowerworld. There was, Ignis knew, another coldly practical reason it was him; he, unlike any other in Insomnia who held a position of interest, was expendable. Should he fail, another would eagerly step into his shoes, and since the Prince was yet young and the King's reign not yet, and Goddess-willing not for some time yet, growing short, there would be ample time to train and educate a replacement accordingly. Ignis was Hand to a Prince who would not take the throne for some years, and it was a position earned on merit and association which also made him replaceable.

The inherent danger was why Ignis had to be the one to go. It was also a reason for him to be sent with a bodyguard; for the show and proof that he was important enough to warrant one, and thus making it look a little less like no one would care overmuch if Ignis died. So it had thrown him somewhat when his bodyguard and travelling companion had been named.

Gladio was not expendable. If he died there would be unpleasant ripples through Lucian society. He was the latest in a long and storied line of Shields, his own father holding the position by King Regis's side just as Gladio would go on to hold it by Prince Noctis's. Ignis had expected a Glaive, or if the Citadel was feeling generous, perhaps another member of the Crownsguard. He had not expected the duty to be delegated to his friend, and future close colleague.

If this venture failed and he and Gladio were to fall foul of the people they were set to meet it would have unpleasant repercussions for the future of Insomnia. It would leave Noct vulnerable, minus the two people he would have expected to rely upon the most when it came his time to reign, and create a vacuum in his vicinity that would need to be filled with alacrity.

It was the first real inkling Ignis had that perhaps Insomnia wasn't as internally stable as it appeared, and enemies resided within, as well as without.

Noct, however, had been pleased about the assignation. Ignis had kept his upcoming task from him as long as he reasonably could. He hadn't told Gladio either; he hadn't wanted to concern them. As a result, Ignis had endured a few weeks of less than subtle probing from Noct, who had at least paid sufficient attention to realise something was afoot, until finally Ignis had relented and told a rather snappy Prince where he was being sent.

It had, as anticipated, upset Noct, who had become his belligerent, unco-operative, taciturn self for a few days until it had been announced that Gladio would be Ignis's bodyguard. Then Noct had settled down once more, as if the fact Gladio was being sent away too was somehow good news. Ignis hadn't the heart to explain how much worse this actually made the situation.

They'd been given the Type-F, refitted with a Jagd-proof engine by the Crown mechanic in Leide, in order to get there. It was small, certainly not a craft you'd overnight in, and a little ostentatiously designed for Ignis's tastes, and Ignis would freely confess to being a man that could unashamedly wear purple coeurl-print, but it was a comfortable ride, and a joy to pilot. They'd also been given funds, as much information on the people they were set to meet as could be gathered, which was woefully little in some cases and practically nonexistent in others, and strict instructions to maintain regular contact with the Citadel.

A dark part of Ignis's mind wondered if that was so that whoever wanted the Prince to lose both his Hand and Shield could waste no time in finding his replacements.

The Desert Palace, as it was named, was most easily reached from the air. It was also one of those cases where 'most easily' did not by any stretch mean easily. There was a hangar, according to their information, and the map Ignis had been given by his family contact. All other routes involved lengthy journeys through the Mist streaked and monster filled Zertinan Caverns. Still, finding the way in by air required navigating Jagd, and one really had to know exactly where to look to have a hope.

Ignis guided the craft in. The yawning mouth of the hangar swallowed the Type-F like it was an insect flying into the mouth of something accustomed to much larger prey. Indeed, inside the hangar there sat, parked up and dormant, some craft that dwarfed their own.

Landing the Type-F was less joyous than flying her, and Ignis took care as he set her down, and taxied her into a spot alongside a much bigger and more sleekly designed vessel. "And here we are," he said, his gaze fixed beyond the windows and out to the walls of rock that engulfed them. His legs and his backside ached with having been sat down for so long, but Ignis showed no rush to step out.

It all began, now.

Comments

[shieldoftheprince]

The situation in Lucis was serious, but Gladio didn't feel that it was quite the edge-of-the-void level of serious Ignis did. The Niflheim Empire were a problem, that much was certain, but they weren't quite congregating at the Wall with several fully armed battalions just yet. They were just growing in power, and dangerously so.

The rest of Jylland was safe but then... they would be. They operated as a Union, a Union that Lucis had declined to join when they ended their isolation a century ago, and had kept declining regardless of changes in circumstances or monarch since. If one of the Jyllandi Union city states got attacked by invading Niflheim forces, the others were duty-bound to come to their rescue. Lucis had no such assurances. It was an ally to the Union, but not a member of it, so while they had opened themselves up to trade agreements and any number of personal alliances with Jyllandi individuals of varying levels of power and influence, they lacked the protection that members had.

Joining had not been an option, Clarus Amicitia, Gladio's father, had said, not even if done nominally as Ankh-Morpork and Altissia had. Doing so would be too difficult to negotiate. It would involve giving the Lucian cities outside of Insomnia the sort of independence that shifted the balance of everything, on both sides of the scale. Insomnia would lose valuable resources and the other cities, Lestallum and Galahd and Balterossa... they would lose the protection that being within the territory of Lucis currently afforded them, and throw them into a state of governmental chaos as they scrambled to establish a leader, policies and a military of their own. They all lacked either the size, manpower or Remnants that the Union member-states had and, if separated from the country's protection, would render them easy targets for Niflheim's aggressive expansionist policies. That wasn't even taking into account the frontier villages, extra-city rest-stops or wilderness ranches.

Niflheim was currently comprised mostly of their capital city, a few nowhere-rivals to Lucis's own rag-tag bunch of settlements and villages strewn across the vastness of Überwald and Ueltham. They shouldn't be a threat, and yet... the intelligence they had suggested that they were and that they'd been gathering forces of late, new weaponry included. It was something they couldn't take lightly, even if they weren't lurking at their borders just yet, and that was why he and Ignis were wading into a nest of vipers.

Gladio hadn't been told which member or members of the Lucian Government were actually members of Clan Khamja, ostensibly for his own safety and also because he lacked the clearance for information of that level as yet. He was the Prince's Shield, not the King's. All he knew was that somebody was a member and had been since they had been approached by an undisclosed individual from the Clan. Ignis also had a contact associated with the Clan outside of Lucis, because he had family there. They were supposed to vouch for them, assuming they had already arrived.

He didn't know much about the Clan, either, not that he was supposed to. As far as he knew, they were variously described as a mixed-country Clan that did things below the table, never above board, and took on jobs and tasks of varying levels of legality, in secret. Some referred to them as terrorists.

His father had been clear on what to and not to do.

Listen to what is being said. Take in who is there, especially if they're Jyllandi. Don't start anything with any member or representative. Don't ask too many questions. Don't give away more information than you get. Don't volunteer information about Lucis when it's not pertinent to do so and even then use your judgment on whether to reveal any of it. Better still, leave it to Ignis.

It all fell under Ignis's training. Ignis was to do the talking. Gladio himself was there in his usual job roll -- a shield, albeit not to the Prince for the moment, but his Hand. Treat Ignis's safety with the same level of diligence as you'd treat that of Prince Noctis.

It was nerve wracking, but they needed the aid of the Clan if they were to remain safe against Niflheim, even if receiving it meant tap-dancing on very thin ice.

The entrance to the Clan's Headquarters was well-hidden. Nearly impossible to find from the air without a map and probably worse from the ground, it was surrounded by Jagd to make life even more difficult. Jagd-proof ships were hard to come by, especially on the continent of Jylland. There were specific non-Jagd flight paths designed to negotiate off-continent flight without falling foul of them. That didn't help when you had to fly to a HQ in one. As such, the royal mechanic, or at least, the granddaughter of King Regis's favourite mechanic, had managed, against all the odds, to procure an old Jagd-proof engine to insert into a new vehicle prototype for the trip. It was risky, and akin to sitting in a car for hours on end, but it worked well. Ignis even landed it smoothly, if amongst much larger and more impressive-looking ships.

"Is your contact supposed to be here yet?" Gladio asked gruffly, eyes scanning the hangar with the same sort of ill-disguised nervous curiosity seen on the faces of children visiting the houses of friends for the first time.

Even if they weren't, Clarus had assured them they shouldn't have a problem. Granted, he'd done so with the sort of tight-lipped expression a doctor might give somebody when telling the they should be able to save the limb, but it was enough. Members of Khamja were allowed representatives to attend meetings if they couldn't, if cleared with them first, and they definitely had been.

[thatsit]

Ignis allowed a small frown to cross his face, his lips tightening. "Our last communication stated they were delayed by a couple of days," Ignis said, as displeased with that fact as he knew Gladio would be. "They have, however, forewarned them of our arrival, and association with them."

Ignis had never had much contact with Sir Integra before recently. Little enough, in fact, that he hadn't dared broach the subject of gender, which was not as clear cut as Ignis had assumed. They were a friend of his aunt's, and he gathered that friendship included undertaking some of the less savoury activities that were an unfortunate necessity in modern politics. Membership of Clan Khamja, and all that implied, notwithstanding, the family were effective Daemon hunters of some renown among the Athlum elite. Ignis had found Integra to be straightforward, shrewd, and brutally pragmatic in their communications. As such, he was confident that Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing was not someone who made false promises.

"I doubt we'd have got this far if they hadn't," he added. A clan such as this did not allow unknown craft to fly right in amongst their airships and park unharrassed. Still, the notion of what awaited them prickled unpleasantly at Ignis's mind.

Khamja were dangerous. He'd read the scant information they had on those they knew of, but very few of Khamja's members were public about their membership. Most of those were concerned primarily with the mainland, rather than Jylland. Still, there were Jyllandi members, and there were members that kept to the sidelines and operated in the shadows.

This was more than a mere's Viper's nest they were walking into. They were strolling into a Coeurl's den, and looking delicious while doing so. Lucis had enemies, and those enemies had connections, and Ignis was here both to shore up connections for Lucis, and to root out the connections held by Niflheim.

Upset people in the process, however, and this was also a wonderful place to eliminate two important people in the Lucian Heir's entourage without repercussion. They could not, on the other hand, tempting as the idea was, sit in the ship all day.

Ignis opened the door, easing his long legs out first before he stood, feeling every muscle and bone protest about being used after so long stationary. His knees protested as much as his backside, but less than his shoulders. It was obvious why people preferred bigger craft for such journeys; the ability to get up and walk around was practically a requirement. He rested his hands on the back of his hips and stretched, feeling his shoulders creak delightfully as he pushed them back.

Then he tapped his glasses higher up his nose and gave the surrounding ships a critical once over. Noct would love them, he thought, and there was a part of himself that wanted to go inside them and take a look.

[shieldoftheprince]

Gladio groaned as he unfolded himself from the ship ... car. It was a car. There was no hiding it, it was a fancy-ass car that flew. Calling it a ship was just something he did to make himself feel better about being stuck in the damned thing for so long. It was a bit like being the same sort of charitable as calling a chihuahua 'the descendant of a wolf'. It was technically true, but that didn't make the statement any less laughable.

He felt like he'd overslept. Parts of him he didn't know could seize up had seized and it was uncomfortable. He stretched, feeling joints pop.

The news about Ignis's contact wasn't good either, but it shouldn't be a problem. Even without them, they were there on behalf of Lucis's undisclosed member of the Clan, not as an ally of Athlum's. They were going to be at risk no matter who they were, or what their contacts said. One thing his father had warned them about was that one of the top causes of death for members of Clan Khamja was other members of Clan Khamja, so they weren't to start anything. Under any circumstances. That meant him, not Ignis.

"Not as many ships here as I expected," he said, glancing around at them.

They varied as much as ships usually did. One was large, imposing and a glossy marine blue swirled with gold. Another was a small and relatively plain silver-black runaround that looked useful for short hops, probably to nearby cities on supply runs. There was a speedy-looking ship of middling size that seemed to be in the process of renovation. It had a fresh coat of white lacquer on the outside and wires trailing from the open door. There was also a space reserved for a large vessel. Not as big as the blue and gold, but big enough.

He had expected the Regalia Type-F to be the odd ship out, but they were all as different from each other as they were from that.

"How do we get in?" He asked, pressing his lips together.

[thatsit]

Ignis stopped to ensure the Type-F was secure before he started to move away from it. The hangar was immense, likely capable of holding a few more large ships, and yet it wasn't well populated with them. Perhaps the members of Khamja were disinclined to arrive before it was necessary, or perhaps they favoured other modes of transport, but Ignis had to concede that there were less ships than he would have anticipated.

"The entrance is to the far end," he said, looking in that direction reflexively. He'd been given instruction on gaining access, which was only marginally less complex than finding the place to begin with. "It's magically sealed, but can be opened with handsigns." There had been some mention of it opening automatically to those pre-approved entry, but Ignis had been told the signs required and spent enough time practising to do them competently.

Ninja handsigns were an unused technique in Lucis, and an alien ability to Ignis in particular beyond the very basics of chakra control, but he hadn't wanted to find out what happened if one inadvertently did them wrong.

"Another safeguard to ensure only those with approval can enter unmolested, I'm sure," he said, glancing back at Gladio.

[shieldoftheprince]

Gladio followed Ignis's line of sight and his brow furrowed.

Hand signs? He wasn't overly familiar with them, but he'd read a little bit about the method of Chakra manipulation in books like Alternative Magic: Ivalician Traditions by Blackstone Fayette and Magic of the Lowerworld - A Guide to Protection by Hercules Warden during the brief period of his life when he'd made it his mission to work his way through part of the Citadel's library in his downtime.

Magic wasn't a field he excelled in. It wasn't that he was bad at Chakra control, it was just that it was too fiddly to perform spells in a pinch. Some people, particularly those who counted themselves among the Mage classes, preferred to use words to control their magical power, but that left them susceptible to the Silence spell. The same could be said of the Lucian variant, with its extra-Class spells, even if both could be learned without the word itself. The most curious magics he'd read about before giving up on the whole endeavour were the handsigns used by the Lowerworld Ninja, a small and not particularly well fleshed out section in either book, and the Kidō that the anti-Daemon regiments there employed, with all of their longwinded incantations, none of which were featured in print. He didn't doubt that others existed, still hidden in the pages he'd not bothered to turn to. Ignis, he suspected, knew about all of them. He was an overachiever like that.

Gladio preferred the types of rough-and-ready magic it was possible to combine with an attack. One that could be delivered with or directed by a sword instead of a wand, or staff, and that didn't require the learning of complicated chants, difficult to memorise hand gestures or the sort of fine control needed to wield Elements beyond your own innate one. Anybody could control their own element and Gladio had that down even if his application of it lacked the sort of elegance seen in people who considered themselves 'specialists'. He could command his own Element well enough and he could strip that from a spell to produce the sort of Non-Elemental magic required for basic Commando spells, but beyond that ... not so much. Complicated Chakra manipulation and the tactical application of such was more Ignis's field. Gladio preferred the tried and tested method of hitting something with a very large sword until it stopped moving. It was effective enough.

"What happens if you mess them up?" He asked, not expecting for a single second that Ignis would do anything less than perfectly. Still, it was a question he couldn't stop himself asking.

[thatsit]

What happens if you mess them up?

Ignis's mouth tightened as he considered the question. He'd been shown the signs required, and the technique wasn't unlike the sign language used by those with speech and hearing impairments. Each gesture represented a word or concept, and was matched with the appropriate shaping of one's chakra, so it was similar to casting verbally in that respect. Still, Ignis, like most who counted the mage arts among their fortes, preferred to shape the magic with his voice.

He'd practiced enough to pass muster; he had no concern that he would mess them up, as it were, but still the question had been asked.

What would a clan such as this, in a place such as this, do to and with intruders?

"A swift and horrible death, if you're fortunate," he answered, "at a guess." The truth was that he didn't know, but in the very least, he expected a swift response and no guarantee that anyone would ask questions before shooting. "Though I've had time to work on my technique, so you should be in safe hands," he added, flashing his teeth at Gladio in a smile that showed a little too much amusement.

[shieldoftheprince]

That sounded about right. He wondered if a platoon of guards would pour out of the door to question them, or whether some trained monster would burst out of nowhere to devour them without bothering to let them explain themselves. Neither option was particularly comforting.

"Rather yours than anyone else's," he said, sounding half distracted by the door now he knew where it was. He stared at it with the sort of grim, resigned determination of a man about to take their shot in a duel and gave a harsh sigh. "No use standing around, right?"

[thatsit]

Ignis's smile softened.

He hadn't expected to be partnered with Gladio, and if given a say in the matter, would have said Gladio was the wrong choice for his bodyguard. He was too important to Noct, to the future of Insomnia, and to pull him away from that to protect Ignis was a gross miscalculation of priorities at best, and an opportunistic attempt to clear the path for someone else's ambitions at worst.

And yet none of his concerns and misgivings were about Gladio. If Ignis was to do the best job he could, there was no one he would work with better. None knew him, and how he thought and acted so well as Gladio, and in his turn, Ignis knew Gladio better than any of the alternatives with which he could have been presented. He trusted Gladio implicitly.

It was why he'd have preferred Gladio stay by Noct's side. It was why, he suspected, Noct had been pleased with the assignation.

"The feeling's mutual," he said, quietly, making his way to the door.

The benefit, one of many, of being born with a trace of Royal blood, was the one didn't have to visibly carry weapons. At the very least, they wouldn't be armed newcomers to the premises. It might make introductions run a little more smoothly.

He stopped in front of the door, raising his hands to make the required signs. The magical seal was palpable, a fuzzy sort of presence that tickled the edges of Ignis's perception. Whoever had installed it was powerful, that much was clear, and learned in multiple mage arts.

He performed each sign in sequence, fingers shaping around the unspoken words, and then it was like two doors opened. One that he could feel with the same sense with which he detected the presence of magic, and the other he could see and hear as the physical door swung open as if pushed.

Beyond was sand, and more cavern. There was a notable lack of imminent seeming death coming screaming at them from the darkness.

"It would appear we go this way," he said.

[shieldoftheprince]

He raised his eyebrows as the door swung open and he released a held breath as the feeling of magic, a sensation on the edge of awareness like a skin stretched over a drum, dissipated like a morning fog.

"Let's hope the penalty for failure wasn't a wrong turn," he said, eyeing the cavern beyond the threshold.

It was sandy, which ... shouldn't have surprised him, but since landing there had been surprisingly little sand, so little, in fact, he'd managed to forget they were in the middle of a desert so desolate it made Leide look almost hospitable.

[thatsit]

Ignis would have resented the implication that he might have done something wrong had he not been confident that he hadn't. As it was, he was sure enough to brush the suggestion off. "That seems a little subtle for people that made their HQ a sunken historic Palace in the middle of the desert," he pointed out.

"There should be another door further on," he added, starting through the doorway. The air felt dry and cool. They were, without question, well underground. The nearest opening to the surface was likely the one they'd flown through. The rock looked natural, but there were marks here and there that suggested someone had widened the route in places. There wasn't likely much weathering taking place down here to erode those marks, so it was impossible to accurately guess at their age.

[shieldoftheprince]

"This place is... weird," he said, walking a lot more carefully than he otherwise might. It wasn't like the floor was unstable, it was just impossible to resist the urge to creep.

The cavern was old. Gladio wagered that it was originally carved out, as caves tended to be, by water. Water long, long gone if the desert was any sign. It was possible that it was only a few centuries ago that the desertification happened, of course, Jagd could have that effect, but he doubted it.

The door, when it came into sight, surprised Gladio a little bit. It was both grand and understated. Immense... it certainly was, but it wasn't as ornate as he'd expected. Sure, it had carvings, but they weren't inlaid with anything. It was just a big door.

"It use the same hand signs?" He asked.

[declaregamuza]

The trickle of members into the Palace had been, so far, just that. They were expecting a flood just before the meeting itself; doubtless some would show up on the day, and others only the night before. Most of the members of Khamja didn't want to be stuck in a confined space with others members of Khamja for too long.

Nel had greeted most of them by accident, and done well enough that she'd been asked to keep an eye out for a couple of incomers. They weren't members in their own rights, she'd been told, they were representatives of a member that couldn't attend for himself. Someone else would be coming to vouch for them before the meeting, but until then, if Nel could make them welcome, and show them Khamja's hospitality.

The sort that didn't involve having your limbs sliced off.

Approved members could enter just by touching the glyph at the door, as could minions that had approval to leave and return freely, like Nel herself. For the rest, such as new members or representatives, there was a way of unlocking the door, but it alerted the Palace to both entrance and exit, just so they could be sure to kill you in the corridor before you reached the front door if you weren't wanted after all.

The alert was a sound. It was less intrusive than the screeching alarm Kuja had created in the event of a breach, and it rang, crystal clear through the Palace. A moment later, two new reiatsu signatures became detectable.

Nel slid a bookmark between the pages of her book and left it on the garden chair. She idly tugged the hem of her top down and adjusted her bra strap as she made her way indoors, through the kitchen, and then out to the entrance hall.

Two men stood there. One of them was tall, lean, smartly dressed, with glasses, and hair like he'd stuck his fingers in a plug socket. If it wilted, it might look like Grimmjow's. He wasn't hiding the fact that he was fire elemental, and if she was made to guess at his classes, Nel would put him down as a mage.

The other was taller, broader, darker, with the rough stubbly look favoured by men that liked to look a bit of a bad boy. He had a jacket, but no shirt, and Nel found her eyes trailing over a set of abdominals and pectoral muscles that he probably considered it a crime to cover after all the work that had clearly gone into sculpting them.

Nel agreed. Long legs and large hands just completed the look.

"Hello," she said, remembering on the second syllable to look the man in the face instead of the chest, and then turn her eyes towards his companion as well. "I take it you're the representatives from Lucis?" she asked, although it was a rhetorical question. They weren't expecting any other representatives, and no one else would be getting in. She smiled as she looked back at muscleboy, making sure she looked him in the eyes first this time. "We've been expecting you."

[shieldoftheprince]

Gladio raised his eyebrows when the woman appeared. He'd expected somebody to appear, especially given their method of entry, but he hadn't expected ... her. He'd envisioned a heavily armed mook, probably one bigger than him. Instead ... a busty young woman with shockingly green hair. That was unusual. Selkies were seen very occasionally within the walls of Lucis, but not often enough not to be worthy of a second glance.

He looked at Ignis, leaving him to do the talking. Ignis was the representative. Gladio was there as a bodyguard, so he decided not to talk in case it looked like he was undermining his much nerdier, less brawny looking companion's perceived authority. He resisted the desire to give Ignis a half-grin and instead stood there professionally, his training as a guard taking over.

[thatsit]

A Selkie came to greet them. Ignis was too well mannered to need to remember them, but he could count on one hand all the Selkies he'd ever seen in Insomnia. She was pretty, and voluptuous, and carried herself with a confidence that made Ignis wonder how long she'd been a part of the clan.

She was also clearly thunderstruck by Gladio. Ignis couldn't claim to blame her, but that distinct break between her eyes alighting on Gladio and her speaking brought a faint twitch of a smile to Ignis's lips. Gladio likely knew he had that effect on women, or he wouldn't dress the way he did.

He had that effect on men sometimes, too. Ignis wondered if he knew that as well, or if he was oblivious to it.

"We are," he answered, his accent in common Ivalician reflecting the upper class tutoring he'd had in the language. "I'm Ignis," he said, gesturing to himself with one hand, "and this is Gladio." He could have introduced him as Gladiolus, of course, but Ignis wasn't quite mean enough to do that.

He glanced at Gladio, meeting his eyes for a split second. It was best to avoid using their surnames if they could, at least until they knew whom they were dealing with.

[declaregamuza]

Nel zeroed in on Ignis. The names sounded foreign, even for Jylland, but Ignis's accent sounded like people impersonating the posh kids in Archades. It was like taking Arc and Refia's accent, and making it stand up straight and tuck its shirt in.

Second language, she thought. Apache spoke standard Spiran as a second language, but she sounded pretty much normal. This one had learned it, probably from classes.

She smiled at Ignis and extended her hand towards him. "Neliel Tu," she said, her teeth flashing with her smile as Ignis took her hand and shook it confidently, "but everyone calls me Nel."

She turned back towards Gladio. Did he only speak Jyllandi, perhaps? Or was he just back up for Ignis? The way he carried himself screamed attentive bodyguard, and his physique matched that impression.

She held her hand out to Gladio as well, "It's a pleasure."

[shieldoftheprince]

"Pleasure's all mine," Gladio said, shaking her hand with a smile that showed his teeth.

His accent, unlike Ignis's, made him sound like he'd learned from a teacher that spoke Ivalician with a Landisian, or perhaps Bancouri accent. There was none of the stiffness that accompanied the Archadian one, none of the careful pronunciation. It was almost as though he hadn't learned from a special and stuffy upper-class tutor sent from the lowerworld explicitly for that purpose. Fancy that.

He'd joked in the car about standing there as a silent oaf for the duration of their visit, but Ignis huffing at him for being ridiculous had made him back down on it with no small amount of laughter.

Most Jyllandi natives spoke Ivalician nowadays anyway, it would be weird if he just grunted in response to questions and statements. Some people from the slums of Insomnia or certain Lucian and Überwaldean backwaters didn't speak Ivalician, or did so badly or brokenly, but for everybody else it was taught in schools from the age of seven onwards. It had been the case for the past thirty or forty years, all over Jylland, with the areas of the greatest literacy being cities, especially those where it would be useful for trading or travel. The opening up of the routes between the Purvama and the Lowerworld had made the endeavour worth undertaking.

The accent with which an individual spoke Ivalician -- Jyllandi natives seldom referred to it as 'Standard Spiran' because as far as they were concerned it was not that -- depended on numerous factors. Their native dialect, that and the accent of their teacher and the sort of media they consumed all shaped their pronunciations and tendencies with word choices and gave the speakers accents as varied and different as those on the Lowerworld itself.

Gladio and Ignis had clearly had very different teachers.

[declaregamuza]

Nel smiled broadly when Gladio spoke. His voice had a pleasant, deep thrum that she could get used to. It seemed he was fluent in Standard Spiran, and just letting his... partner, companion, charge? Whatever association Ignis and Gladio held, it was clear Ignis was calling the shots.

Gladio sounded as normal as Apache when he spoke too, although it had only been those few words. They obviously hadn't learned together.

It would have been strange to hear Ignis's accent come from Gladio's mouth, she thought. Gladio looked the more rough and ready of the two. That wasn't a bad thing, in either respect.

"Would you like some refreshments?" she offered, glancing back at Ignis because she had the sneaking suspicion he'd be the one to answer. "You must have had a long journey."

[thatsit]

Ignis glanced at Gladio again, using a lot of his strength of will to resist rolling his eyes at him. He was turning his charm on the young lady and he'd been in her presence for all of thirty seconds. Still, it wasn't a bad thing. It certainly seemed to be working, because Nel was struggling to keep her eyes off him.

Refreshments, however... It had been a long journey in the Type-F, one that had become less comfortable as time had worn on. If he was honest, Ignis wanted a coffee, a bath, and something to eat, followed by another coffee, in approximately that order. He didn't doubt that Gladio felt likewise.

Besides, it would be an opportunity to ask questions of Nel, who was a polite and adept host, but who didn't give off the impression that she ran the place. It was like being greeted by a well trained servant, not a house's master. Servants, however, often knew more than their masters about the comings and goings of a household.

"That would be very kind of you," he answered, giving Nel a gracious smile. It wasn't quite the brilliant, flirtatious smile of Gladio, but it was genuine nonetheless. "Do you have coffee?"

[shieldoftheprince]

Gladio gave a snort when Ignis immediately asked for coffee. He really did have a problem. He'd worked his way through at least a can or two during the flight, but obviously it hadn't been enough to sustain him through his addiction. Honestly, he was half surprised that Ignis hadn't immediately asked to be hooked up intravenously to a coffee machine yet.

"Please," Gladio said, not bothering to put his order in yet. He wasn't quite as fussy as Ignis was. He'd happily accept anything halfway cold and had absolutely no desire for the astringent taste and heat of a coffee so soon after getting out of a metal box that had flown through a desert hot enough to make the one that surrounded Balterossa seem pleasant.

[declaregamuza]

Nel's gaze flicked to Gladio when he snorted. Something about Ignis asking for coffee was funny, then. She was sure she'd find out what it was soon enough.

"We do," she answered, turning towards the kitchen, "if you'll follow me?" She could get them both a drink, and maybe something to eat, find out a little more about them, and then take them on the tour later. The Palace was a big, confusing place the first time you visited it, and she doubted anyone would be keen on the idea of two mere representatives wandering into private parts of the Palace.

"The kitchen is something of a free for all," she said, glancing back to ensure the two were following before she continued, "but if you want something made, just ask me nicely. Likewise, if you'll be with us for a few days and want anything adding to the shopping list, just let me know."

She opened the door to the kitchen, and stepped through, holding it open for the two guests.

[thatsit]

Ignis pursed his lips and bowed his head before he lifted it again to issue Gladio with a challenging look that had no malice or venom in it. Ignis liked coffee. His preferred brand was Ebony, of course, but he doubted that would be in ready supply on Ivalice. He could make do, if need be, with a lesser brand, he could not make do without coffee.

He knew this. Gladio knew this.

Ignis expected the matter of Gladio's preferred instant noodle brand to come up sooner or later, so Gladio finding Ignis asking for coffee to be amusing was rather a case of the pot sniggering at the kettle.

He followed Nel as she began to walk, explaining the routine with the kitchens. If they were a free for all, then there were no staff, and yet Nel appeared to be taking on the role of staff. Or at least of chef and quartermaster.

He entered the kitchen after Nel and looked around. It was large, but Ignis couldn't help but think it probably hadn't been a kitchen originally. Someone had repurposed it as such, judging by the size and placement, and to great effect. The equipment was modern, and the room was bright. A large dining table occupied the centre, big enough to seat over a dozen people comfortably. His eye was immediately drawn to the oven, fridge, and countertops.

"I'll bear that in mind," he said, as he looked over the equipment from afar, and resisted the urge to go up and examine it and start turning dials, "thank you."

[shieldoftheprince]

Gladio was much, much less interested in the kitchen than Ignis was. Ignis was into cooking, Gladio wasn't. The closest he wanted to get to cooking was cooking the flesh of some animal over an open fire or adding water to noodles. Anything more complicated than that was up to Ignis, or his mother. Or people paid to do it in restaurants.

He glanced beyond the window and his brow furrowed. That sure was a garden out there, under open blue sky invisible from above. In a cave. In a desert. He shook his head and helped himself to a chair.

"Thanks," Gladio said, thinking about how offended Ignis would be if he went to Nel to beg for food instead of having him cook meals. "You're the one that got stuck waiting for the envoys, huh?"

It was obvious enough. She wasn't simply a random person who happened to intercept them and guess who they were, she knew quite well. Their identities as Lucians had been given to her before they arrived, or she probably wouldn't have known who they were. Hell, she probably wouldn't have known that Lucis existed.

[declaregamuza]

Nel nodded at Gladio's very correct assumption, making her way towards the kettle and cups. "Lucky me," she said, glancing back over her shoulder to throw Gladio a winning smile. Well, other members so far had included Hojo, and Kreeth, and she knew Khamja counted Kurotsuchi among its number as well. When you learned you were expecting a representative of a clan member, you stood a fifty/fifty chance of getting some rude or creepy mad scientist.

Kreeth was all right, but she was still kind of creepy, so Nel was counting her in the numbers, for this one.

Instead, she got first lick at some eye candy. All told, it was turning out better than she'd expected today.

"If you have any questions feel free to ask, but I can't promise you an answer," she said, catching a look at Ignis who was giving the kitchen a thorough once over with his eyes.

She looked back to Gladio. "Would you like a drink? I've got tea, coffee, fruit juices, fizzy drinks, beer," she trailed off, flashing Gladio another smile, "it might be a little early to break out the wine and spirits, but we have those too."

[thatsit]

Ignis watched Nel making an effort to return Gladio's flirtations, and used the time to look around. There was a garden beyond the windows, but they were however many feet below the ground, and a long way from the sun. Still, there was definitely sun in a blue sky.

He approached the door, taking in the detail of the trees, and grass, and even buildings visible at the further reaches of the garden. It had to be a simulation, somehow, he reasoned. Some projection to give the impression of a sky and sun to fend off the claustrophobic effect of cabin fever.

One that moved with the breeze, and included the faint twitter of avian territoriality.

The closer Ignis got, the more real it looked, and as loath as Ignis was to ask stupid questions, he had to know: "Is that a real garden?"

[shieldoftheprince]

"I wouldn't turn down a beer," Gladio said, giving a smile.

It was probably a bit early, but at the same time... they had just crossed a desert during the heat of the day in a metal ship. One beer was deserved, never mind anything else. Especially if the bottle was frosted with condensation from a stint in the fridge.

"Sure looks real," Gladio said, his voice low but edged with the sort of curiosity that threatened to become wonder if the answer was a positive one.