May 10, 2018
I do so love this time of year...
seen from Canada
seen from T1
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Netherlands
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from India
seen from China
seen from Italy
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from Indonesia
seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
I do so love this time of year...
Tempus Vernum Ep.5
That one time the Queen bribed you with Opera tickets.
Ignis x Reader Spoilers below the cut
(If you missed the last episode - ) Episode Four: That one time you met Prompto Argentum (For mobile users that are unable to read under the cut, copy and past the link in your mobile browser or send the link to yourself and open in your browser instead of the app.)
For the past week, you’ve been successfully shadowing Ignis, learning the ins and outs of being the Royal Secretary. You’ve had the weekend off, but not without an assignment. At the end of the day on Friday, Ignis sent you a file of his verbal notes from the last council meeting. Your job was to use the information to compile the monthly political report. You spent so much time listening to his notes that on Friday and Saturday night, you fell asleep with his voice looping in your mind; ‘to affirm these negative assertions of those who deplore the crown, is to bend to them.’
It wasn’t even a sentence that could be used for the political report, but it stood out to you profoundly…
The positive to all this Ignis-exposure was that it helped make him less of a big deal to you. He wasn’t someone to be intimidated by anymore. You could take a breath.
The morning you arrive you to work with an impressive-looking folder in one hand and your own can of ebony in the other. You sit back in your office chair with a yawn. Behind you snow drifts sleepily from the half-lit sky. You take your time organizing your desk and preparing your report for Ignis. The Ebony hits you in just the right spot as you sip.
Ignis joins you not too long after. He sits on the other side of the desk from you as usual, crossing one leg over the other. You notice his dress socks have a cactuar print today,
“I have the political report ready for you,” you tell him with a tinge of excitement. You pass the folder across the desk and he takes it up into his hands. You watch him finger through the leaflets. He traces one of the sticky notes that’s sticking out, then sets the whole thing back on your desk.
“I’ll make sure that Noct gets this right away,” he smiles briefly.
“Don’t you want to look it over first?” you ask with disappointment. But right away you gasp at your own question with embarrassment. “I-I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sure your report is quite the affectation,” he responds politely.
“That was really – it was a stupid thing to say. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You’ll come to get used to it over time.”
Your cell phone buzzes on the desk top. In the heat of the awkward semi-argument, you think of ignoring the phone. But the screen lights up and you see that it’s Sam. Ignis is still saying something when you pick the phone up to read the text.
Sam’s message reads; “I’m i’ll. Not coming in today. Hopefully I don’t die in mucus-y agony.”
“Shit.” You say outloud with a grimace.
Ignis looks very confused. ‘Shit’ is not what he was expecting you to respond with to whatever it was that he was saying.
“Sam just texted me,” you explain. “He’s too sick to come in today.”
“It must be serious. Sam rarely stays home.”
“Who should run the front desk?”
“That would be you if you’re up for it.”
You take a minute to let this idea settle in your mind. ARE you up for it?
“Yeah. I think I can handle that. But to be honest, there are still somethings I’m not totally comfortable with.”
“How about this;” Ignis interrupts. “We’ll run the front desk together and in-between tasks, you can read the political report to me. It’s probably best that I look the report over to make sure you’re doing it properly – well, not ‘look’ exactly-“
“-I know what you mean.”
You’re both smiling kind of stupidly for a second.
“Well…let’s get on with it shall we?” Ignis pulls his earpiece out from an inner coat pocket and as he fastens it in place, you realize that he’s wearing different glasses today. They aren’t the bulky goggle-type safety specs, but something with a sleeker, gunmetal frame. The lens have a gradient tint to them.
“I like your glasses today,” you remark casually, gathering up the political report.
“Thank you,” he flashes his teeth with a rare, sheepish grin. “They’re new. I’ve been waiting for them for some time now.”
The morning passes smoothly. Interactions between you and Ignis are sparse as the phones have been ringing nonstop. Ever since since propaganda rained down on the city, there’s been an unrest, making work at the palace more hectic than usual. By the time lunch comes around, Evelyn approaches the desk with her black hair a mess. In between your own work you could see her pulling at her hair in frustration every time the phone rang. She looks exhausted now, and crosses her arms on the high top counter.
“I’m going to lunch first,” she says, looking at you seriously. “I’m not asking. I’m doing.”
“Go on, then.” You laugh and shoo her away. You add into your earpiece; “hey, Evelyn’s going to lunch. Forward all public relations calls to the main desk.”
Teddy’s voice responds back, “you got it, boss!” He gives you the thumbs up from across the hall.
When you turn back with a sigh, you see Ignis. His hands are folded calmly in his lap. He has a smile on his face that oozes, ‘I AM QUITE PLEASED.’
“What?” you ask. Your cheeks slightly tingle.
“You’re doing very well,” he remarks in earnest.
Your earpiece buzzes suddenly as one of the other crown channels breaks through. You recognize the voice as one of the Lt. guards that works the second floor. His voice is deep and serious.
“Lady Luna is approaching the main hall.”
Ignis is the first to stand, followed by every other single person in the hall. The members of the guard the work the first floor become rigidly attentive. Eine, at the front door, puts the entrance on lock down.
Luna appears on the balcony with the flouncy sleeves of her gown rippling behind her. Another woman walks at her side; two heads taller and two times less flouncy. You look at Teddy and direct the earpiece channel to privately connect to him. You whisper; “who is that?”
Teddy gives you a mortified grimace that you’re talking to him at such a serious moment but responds quickly anyways. “Aranea Highwind. Captain of the Queensglaive.”
Queensglaive? That’s new.
Two of the phones start ringing simultaneously. No one picks them up.
“Ah, Lady Luna,” Ignis greets loudly across the hall as Luna and her personal guard start down the stairs. “And Aranea I believe. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Luna presses her tranquil, blue gaze directly on you. “I wish to speak to our new Royal Secretary, Ignis. You may all please be seated.”
You feel a sensation similar to your stomach lurching. ME?
Ignis reclaim’s Sam’s desk chair and the rest of the hall follows suit. He takes a candid sip of coffee and says, “Miss Vernum is doing a spectacular job. I’m sure whatever task you have for her, she’ll be able to exceed your expectations.”
The Queen smiles pleasantly and gets right down to business. “Miss Vernum, there’s an important event at the Insomnia Art Theatre I wish to attend. I need you to make sure there are four seats reserved for myself and my guests.”
“Sure,” you choke a little and pull a memo pad from the desk drawer to make notes. “What event?”
“The Day of Dawn Fashion Gala,” she answers with ease. “The show is in two night from tonight. The seats need to be close to the runway."
Ignis interrupts, “do you think it’s wise that you be going to a public event with all the tension that’s arising in the city?”
“I need to show my support,” she replies. “The Gala is for a good cause and the people of Insomnia need to see that I won’t back down.”
“So four seats ...” you manage to pipe out. “Two night from tonight.”
“That’s right,” Luna folds her hands at her waist. “And here’s a little gift to show my appreciation since I’m sure this will be no small task seeing as how the gala is probably sold out at this point. Aranea?”
Aranea produces an envelope from the inside of her uniform and slides it to you across the high top counter.
“What’s this?” you ask, a little nervous to find out.
Luna leans in a little close. Her blonde hair sweeping across the envelope. She says in somewhat of a whisper, “Noctis acquired tickets to the opera for tonight. But I’m not all that interested. You really ought to go if you have time tonight. I’m sure you could use the time to enjoy yourself.”
You peek shyly into the envelope and find two tickets. “I - uh - I don’t really have anyone to go with. At last minute, I mean. I -”
Luna blurts out, “Ignis! You should go with her! You always loved the opera. And then you can act as her crownsguard for the evening to ensure her safety. We can’t be too sure with our own personnel.”
You whip around to catch Ignis’ expression. He’s frozen with one brow raised. He manages to say, “Of course, Lady Luna. If that would please you.”
“Then it’s settled,” Luna claps her hands excitedly at her chest. “Send word to my living quarters once you’ve gotten the four seats for the Gala reserved.”
“Yes,” you squeak and watch as the ripple of sleeves disappear back up the stairs and beyond the balcony.
-End NEXT EPISODE: Join Miss Vernum and Ignis on an awkward, but lovely trip to the opera. <3
Credit to my lovely AF manager, @sweetstrawberrycandy To read more of my writings, visit my Masterlist <----
Tempus Vernum Ep.4
That one time you met Prompto Argentum.
Ignis x Reader Spoilers below the cut
Episode Three: That one time you fell asleep at work.
-13 YEARS AGO-
The Industrial District of Gralea comes into view before the partially cracked windshield of your dad’s old pick up truck. He’s driving and you’re sitting in the passenger’s seat. You both gape, passing through labyrinths of metal, spire-like smoke stacks. Buildings with chrome trim are sheathed in ice from the perpetual winter. Thousands of tiny lights along board walks and nearly invisible ladders pulse softly behind sheets of falling snow.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” your dad says, accidentally swerving into the next lane. A government vehicle is escorting you to the capital and blasts out a long honk to keep your dad in line.
The highway starts a steady incline until it’s part of a massive concrete bridge passing OVER the factories. As the truck climbs up, you can start to see the tops of skyscrapers.
“You’re sure you want to do this, pigeon?” He asks seriously.
You glance in the rear view mirror at the car following closely behind. You couldn’t turn back now if you wanted to.
“I’m sure,” you say with stoic resolve, pressing the side of your face to the passenger window. Your breath fogs the glass.
“It was nice of your aunt to send you some gil.” Says your dad to break the silence. “But I wish you would’ve asked your mom. She’s got more than enough to go around.”
You scoff.
At the highest point of the bridge, all of Gralea spreads from one end of the windshield to the other. From afar, it looks like one massive, twisted gray and chrome structure jutting up from the earth.
Your dad takes gentle hold of your hand.
He reminds you; “there are great schools in Altissia.”
“DAD. I’ve made up my mind. If I go here, you’ll - WE’LL be set for life.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, honey. I know they’re accepting you on a full scholarship and everything, but the Empire will want you to work exclusively for them. It’s like enlisting -”
“ - I know, dad. We’ve been through this a million times. This is the right choice. Just trust me.”
He moves his hand from yours and to the radio controls. A gloriously sad, symphonic melody swells throughout the cab of the truck and then the city swallows you both whole.
-PRESENT-
“Morning, Mam!” Anju greets you at the doors of the castle as per usual. She’s bright-eyed; her smile gleaming in the early morning light.
The sun is a magnificent gold medallion cresting the horizon behind you. Delicious shafts of yellow light penetrate the cold, breaking through clouds and fawning on the entire front of the castle. A subtle breeze whistles past your ears. Your hair goes flying.
Eine opens the front doors for you and you step inside the lobby with over-tired, unjustifiable enthusiasm. You can be happy because the sun’s out, right?
All of that splendid, happy light spills into the lobby as you enter. The marble floors light up from your feet, down the center, and all the way up the grand staircase.
You exhale, ousting the nervous energy that’s been building up slowly deep inside of you.
Today is going to be a good day. I will shadow Ignis and it’s not a big deal.
Teasing tendrils of sunlight burst through the front windows and cast sparkles on every surface. You nod your head to yourself, building up confidence.
Yes. I can do this.
Just before the big doors close, a figure emerges from the exposed second floor corridor. You recognize it almost immediately even from 100 yards away. There’s no one like Ignis Scientia. He enters out onto the balcony at the top of the stairs and right into the sanctimonious spot light of the mid-winter sun.
“Awh! Sunlight!” he shouts as if from the hilltops. “Isn’t it marvelous, Miss Vernum?”
“How did you know it was me?” you ask with unbidden curiosity.
Ignis grins and hustles down the stairwell. “The earpiece. Eine informed me of your arrival.”
“Did he tell you that the sun was out too?”
“Well, I can sense light. But I could also feel it’s centrifugal glow radiating on my face.” He responds taking long-legged strides in your direction.
You whip your work keys from your coat pocket accidentally sending them flying across the marble. They go sliding toward Ignis and in one swift clap, he traps them beneath the foot of his fancy left shoe.
“Drop something?” he asks, amused, and slips his index finger through the key ring. He swings them around with ease. The keys ‘clink, clink’ as they spin ‘round and ‘round. You’re momentarily hypnotized.
The castle main doors slam shut and the reverberation snaps you out of your daze.
“Thank you,” you say. You close your hand over his and take hold of the keys. He trails behind you to the office. You’ve become way too aware of the sounds your heels are making on the floor.
Just as you notice that there isn’t a can of Ebony waiting for you at your door, Ignis says, “I’ve had Talcott run out for breakfast, if that’s alright. I’m afraid we’ll be sitting in the office for a bit discussing your new roles.”
“Talcott?” you ask, inserting the key.
“He’s my assistant. And a dear friend to the Crown.”
You shrug off your jacket and hang it on the coat rack before sitting down. The old chair makes an embarrassingly loud creaking sound. The wheels squeal as you scoot it up closer to the desk. (Geez. He must think I’m HUGE). Ignis takes one of the guest seats on the other side of the desk, casually crossing one leg over the other. His pant legs rise over his ankles, revealing chocobo-printed dress socks. He is the perfect portrait of POISE.
There’s a subtle knock on the door and before you can say a word, Ignis chimes out, “come in, Talcott!”
A young man enters with both arms carrying tall paper bags. They conceal most of his face. He’s got on a fur-lined winter hat, and messy brown hair peeks out across his forehead.
“Oh, over here on the desk,” you instruct, as it looks like everything’s about to tumble to the floor. You push aside piles of unread paperwork and a coffee mug you forgot to wash from the day before.
Ignis raises from his seat and relieves one of the bags from Talcott’s arms.
“That bag is from the market,” says Talcott briskly. “It has everything you asked for except that one thing. And I’ll take this one upstairs.”
That one thing?
Ignis brings the market bag around the desk and sets it on the counter top beside the Keurig. You shoved all that paperwork away for nothing. You sigh.
“Thank you, Talcott. That’ll be all for now.” says Ignis nonchalantly. He begins pulling things out of the bag. Talcott flicks you a rosey-cheeked smile, nods, and exits. You kick the chair back and wheel yourself with lazy inquisitiveness over to the counter.
You are immediately SO GLAD that you woke up too late to eat breakfast at home. Ignis sets before you a plethora of basic breakfast wonders; two of the biggest, fluffiest muffins you’ve ever seen, a small netted bag of different fruits, a loaf of fresh bread, a jar of homemade jam, and of course two cans of Ebony. In curly, gold lettering beneath the Ebony logo, it says, “Altissian Toffee.”
“There’s Altissian Toffee Ebony coffee??” you ask.
Ignis smiles and hands one of the cans to you. “Yes. I thought you might like that.”
Ok. This work partnership is starting off on the right track.
“I don’t think I could eat all of this food though,” you say, though you most DEFINITELY could eat all of it. You roll yourself back over to the desk, balancing a muffin and mandarin in the crook of your arm. Ignis follows suit and re-assumes the position in the chair across from you. There’s a simultaneous popping as you both open you Ebony at the same time.
The early morning passes smoothly. Ignis makes 99% of the conversation, explaining to you the tasks you’ll slowly be taking over that he’s been doing in the absence of a proper Royal Secretary. He asks you how you’re feeling about things so far, what you think of the team, how Sam’s treating you, and if you have any questions. You don’t. He continues. This is like this. That is like that.
Another knock at the door interrupts the lesson. Sam pokes his head inside.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he says somewhat curtly. “I did try to reach you via com, but you know what? It doesn’t look like you’re wearing it.”
You bring your hand up to your face. Nope. Definitely not wearing it.
“I’m so sorry,” you wince. “I promise I’ll try to be better!”
“I’m not talking about you.” Says Sam, planting a hand on his hip.
You look across the desk to Ignis and realize he’s taken his ear piece out. When did he do that?
“My apologies,” replies Ignis. He turns in the seat to direct his voice towards Sam. “I wanted to limit unnecessary interruptions during our meeting. So I trust this is important.”
“Prompto Argentum is here to see you and requests your audience immediately.”
Ignis shifts somewhat uneasily in his seat and pauses as if to figure out WHY this person is here to see him.
“Well, send him in. Now.” He sounds authoritative and it gives you the chills.
Sam recedes and a sprightly young man takes his place. He bursts through the door with a mess of blonde hair sweeping across his freckled face. You realize that after all the talking Sam does about this guy, this is actually the first time you’re meeting him.
“Ignis,” he says seriously. “I tried calling you.”
Ignis raises from his chair. “You sound troubled.”
“I’m troubled, alright, buddy. Can uh - can we talk here? You think?”
Blood rushes to your face as Prompto looks briefly in your direction.
“This is (y/n) Vernum, Prompto. The new Royal Secretary. I believe she can be trusted. Miss Vernum,” he aims his voice to you. “This is Prompto. I apologize that this is the smallest of greetings.”
You lift your hand to Prompto silently and nod. He smiles succinctly in return and continues talking to Ignis.
“I haven’t talked to Noct yet. So, I’m pretty sure he’s clueless. But this morning I was heading out of the city to get the Hammerhead hunter report and ran across some errr ... flyers?”
“Flyers? What of them?
Prompto looks over his shoulder to make sure the office door is properly closed. “it’s those crazies that think Noctis and Luna shouldn’t have been resurrected. They made flyers about it and posted them all over.”
“Ahh ... propaganda. We’ll need to dispose of them...” Ignis’ hand is on his chin as he contemplates.
“Already working on it. I sent Talcott, Eine and Anju.”
“Very good.” He points his head in your direction. “Miss Vernum, please make a written account of this for the files -”
Ignis is speaking AT you, but you’re distracted by a look of wonderment and horror from Prompto. He’s staring PAST you at the picture windows that overlook the main street. His mouth is gaped open.
You spin in the desk chair to see what looks like thousands of fat snowflakes floating slowly down, down; spiraling and swinging steadily back and fourth on their decent.
“Are those ... flyers?” you hear yourself say and look to Prompto. He nods, deadpan.
“What’s that?” Ignis asks. He’s been explaining something all this time. And you’ve missed all of it.
“F-flyers ...” stutters Prompto. “They’re falling from the sky.”
“Like snow ...” you add, hypnotized. You rise from the desk and push open the old window, snatching one of the flyers from its free fall.
You read the flyer out loud;
“THE KING MEANT TO DIE IS NOT MEANT TO RULE THE QUEEN THAT’S BEEN DEAD SHOULD NOT BE ALIVE THE THRONE HAS BEEN TAKEN
THE THRONE MUST BE TAKEN
RESTORE BALANCE TO EOS”
-END
Tempus Vernum Ep.3
That one time you fell asleep at work.
Blind!Ignis x Reader Spoilers below the cut!
Episode Two: That one time you learned what Ebony was.
You’re dreaming about the train again. You hear the muffled clinking of metal beneath the floor boards of the compartment. You focus on that sound to drown out the intense thumping of your heart and ringing in your ears. The compartment is pitch black. You’ve stowed yourself there in hiding. With your knees brought up to your chin you breath in. You breath out.
How long now has it been? How long have you been scrunched up amidst the crates and boxes? What if you missed your stop?
The doors of the compartment fly open. There’s a menacing silhouette against the buzzing, blinding white light from the corridor. The thumping of your heart transforms into booming. The fear is so intense that you wake up in a panic.
You gasp as if resurfacing from deep water. Every nerve ending is sizzling.
It’s okay. Everything is ok.
You’d fallen asleep at your office desk during lunch period. You force yourself to focus on specific things in the room to pull you into reality;
pile of manila envelopes ... cherry wood desk ... empty can of Ebony ... pictures of my family in Accordo ... You steady yourself with long, deep, calming breaths and make more grounding observations; dirty coffee mug ... I need to clean that. uncomfortable plastic ear piece ... display lights on the bookshelf ... You pull your cell phone from your pantsuit pocket to check the time. You’ve definitely slept past lunch. The combination of your quickened heartbeat and springing yourself out of the desk chair makes your stomach lurch.
Before you can reach for the door, someone opens it from the other side. It’s Evelyn, the secretary that works at the desk closest to your office. She pokes her pale face inside. Her black hair is pulled back into a bun with criss-crossing miss-matched pencils.
“Sam sent me to check on you,” she says. Her voice is naturally husky and a little monotone. She takes a long look at you with disarming, brown eyes.
“(y/n), Are you okay?” She steps into the office, softly closing the door behind her.
Over the past hand full of days shadowing Sam, you’ve grown closest to her. She’s a refugee from Galahd and very passionate about her work. You’ve learned that her desk works directly with foreign affairs. She organizes all the details and then sends them to you. Every report is interminably perfect. Although her hand writing is a mess, each note is tentative and well thought out. Her sticky notes have cute, anime prints and she often hides little pick-me-ups through out lengthy articles; “Stick with me, boss!”
“I’m okay,” you force a gratuitous smile. “Just fell asleep at my desk.” Evelyn makes a clicking sound with her tongue. “Tisk, tisk. Come on. Sam’s getting impatient about going on his break. And he’s the poster child for ‘you’re not yourself when you’re hungry.’” At the main desk, Sam is giving you a critical glare behind his little rhinestone-edged reading glasses.
“Sorry,” you come around and take the seat beside him.
“You know ...” he begins while flipping through some paperwork. “You left your earpiece on after you took it out. Girl, you snore like there is no tomorrow.”
You gasp and the blood rushes to your face. Frickin’ hell. You hate the earpiece. How badly you wanted one and now it’s betrayed you!
Sam adds, “don’t worry, though. Everyone was on lunch during the worst of it. Everyone except me. You know. Because I have to wait until you come back before I can go. ...”
“I can’t get used to that thing,” you confess, crossing your arms wearily atop the desk.
“Where is that ‘thing?’ I don’t see it in your ear.”
“I left it in the office.”
Sam sighs. “I’ll go get it for you. You look like you’ve seen a ghost! ... But then I’m going to lunch!” He brings his readers down from his face and they hang off his neck on a blinged out lanyard. They swing across his wide chest as trots off, leaving you in crestfallen thankfulness. You rest your head face-down in the nest of your folded arms.
Through the silence you here shoe-tapping as someone nears the desk. Now what? You peek up to see Ignis. He’s come into the half-circle enclosed work area.
“Miss Vernum, a word?”
“Sure,” you respond, nonplussed. “Fire away.”
“Are you feeling quite confident with the secretarial basics?” “Yes...” you think honestly to yourself. “I think so.”
“I’m sure there are a number of things you won’t be able to learn until the opportunity presents itself. But Sam tells me you’re doing quite well.”
That’s good to hear.
Ignis continues; “I’m going to have you start shadowing me tomorrow. I think as you arrive each morning at the time you’ve been, that should suffice. I’ll meet you in your office and we’ll go over the agenda for the day. Although I’d rather have you finish the week with Sampra, there’s an important council meeting tomorrow and I think it’d do well to have you there as an observer.”
He pauses and adds quietly, “are you alright?”
Is it THAT obvious how anxious you are that even a blind man can tell?
“Did you have a nightmare?” he inquires tentatively.
“What?” Shit. Did HE hear your snoring too?
He pulls up Sam’s chair and sits, scooting it close and talking low. He checks his earpiece. (Probably to make sure it’s off. Right?) You poke your head over the tall top of the counter. Does anyone else see this? One of the many odd things you learned about working with Sam is that you DON’T sit in his chair.
“I admit that I came into your office while you were resting,” says Ignis.
“I ... geez.” You push your chair an inch or so away. He’s way too close and you’re not sure whether you’re feeling bashful or exposed. He hasn’t spoken to you in the past few days, except in greeting. And now he’s randomly getting personal?
“Might I suggest a therapist? - If you’re not already seeing one. For your position you must be at top notch.” He says with solid fortitude. “And if we’re to work side by side, we need to lend one another a helping hand.”
“ - Uh, (y/n,)” Teddy, who’s desk is closest to the main, interrupts, looking embarrassed FOR you. “Sam wants to know where you left your ear piece.”
The surge of blood is ringing in your ears again.
“It’s on my desk!” You shout to Teddy.
Ignis reaches in his pocket and pulls out a simple, leather wallet. He produces a business card, which is oddly folded at the corner, and hands it to you.
“This is my therapist’s information. I advise you seek her council at some point today.” Ohhh. You feel so ashamed and nauseous and embarrassed. You take the card, fingering the intricate fold. What’s that for?
“Thank you. ... So ... we’ll be working side by side on a daily basis then, huh?” You ask for the sake of saying SOMETHING.
“Certainly. You’re essentially my eyes, Miss Vernum.” “Then ... what are you?” You respond reciprocally.
His lips form a casual smile. “Whatever you require from me.”
You take momentary advantage of his blindness and let your eyes wash over the broken masterpiece of his features. ... phew. What does your breath smell like right now? Did you remember to put on deodorant today? Even though he can’t see your hair, does it look ok? Stop it! Stop it!
“Now you make sure you keep this thing in, (y/n)!” Sam is hollering from the other end of the lobby. He’s striding your way with his glasses swinging on their bejewled pendulum.
Ignis removes himself from Sam’s chair; a wise decision for all parties involved. “I’ll see you in the morning, Miss Vernum.”
“Uh-huh,” you squeak and he promptly exits the half-circle before the hungry wrath of Sam can scold him for sitting in his chair. Even he knows.
Sam gives the back of Ignis’ head a conspiratorial scowl. He hands you your earpiece and you shove it into it’s place, wincing. The cartilage is sensitive. He aggressively pulls open the bottom drawer of his personal area at the desk, whipping out a simple paper bag.
“Is he bothering you?” Sam asks. He inspects his chair to make sure none of his adjustments have been messed with.
“Bothering me? No. Why? Does he usually bother people?”
“No. THAT’S exactly why I’m asking, little bird.” Everything with the chair checks out. He pushes it in and examines you. “Huh. Well at least your color’s come back in full force.”
Your hands instinctively raise to your face. Your cheeks are hot. “What do you mean? I’m sure he just wants to make sure I’m doing ok. Being new and all.”
Teddy’s voice responds in the earpiece. (Ugh. Nothing is sacred here.) “He’s always in the lobby now. We think he likes you.”
“We?” you ask in shock.
One of the bun girls, Kait (you THINK,) says, “someone from serving told Anju who told me that he leaves a can of Ebony at your office door every morning.”
“That’s because he found out I’ve never had it before. Let’s not look into this, you guys.” The earpiece quiets. You look to Sam helplessly. He shrugs.
“Girl, they’re just stating facts. I’m gonna take my lunch while I can. Try to keep busy.”
The duration of Sam’s lunch is relatively calm. You DO notice a lot of Ignis-activity in the background. But even if he IS interested in you, if he can’t see you, what’s the point of lingering around? You saunter over to Teddy’s desk. His secretarial duties are in the City Building department. It’s the dead of winter and so there’s a slump in this area. He looks bored.
You mute your earpiece and beckon him to do the same. He does and presses his chin with interest into the palms of his hands. “I don’t get it though,” you tell him. You’ve got to talk to someone about this. “I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks. And how do you become attracted to someone if you can’t see them?”
“Okay,” starts Teddy with one raised brow. You can tell you’re really in for something. “First off; love it blind. Maybe he likes the way your voice sounds. Or the way you smell or something. I don’t know.”
The way I SMELL? He goes on, “and why are you bothered by it? He’s HOT, girl.”
Huh? You cock your head to the side curiously.
Teddy roles his eyes, “I’m bi.”
OH. “Anyways, Ignis is never interested in anyone in the lobby. We’ve always thought he felt he was too above us commoners to make idle conversation.”
You lean on the tall top of Teddy’s desk and watch Ignis conversing with Eine at the front door. “That doesn’t seem like him at all. You guys are just pulling my leg because I’m new. I used to substitute teach, you know. I was the butt of a lot of jokes. I think I can tell when I’m being messed with.”
“Whatever, MISS VERNUM.” He imitates Ignis’ cultured accent. “I bet he likes that you used to be a teacher. I’m sure he’d be happy to be your teacher’s pet.”
If you’d known Teddy for longer, you’d reach behind the counter and slap him on the shoulder.
“Stop it,” you hiss, glancing behind you in both directions to see if anyone heard him. Note to self; Teddy is a loud mouth. A lovable loud mouth. The bun girl that sits at the next desk heard. She’s laughing. Oh boy. You retreat to the sanctuary of the main desk where no one can see your profuse blushing.
Later that night, in the comfort of your apartment, you starfish out in bed. You’re still wearing everything from your heels to the uncomfortable hair clip that’s digging into your scalp. You stare at the ceiling, slipping into an idle torpor. What was this day even? You’re never going to fall asleep at your desk again. That’s for sure. You’ve got your cell phone in your right hand and it buzzes.
You groan and bring the screen to your face. It’s a text from Evelyn.
It reads; “wanna talk?”
How does she know? Yes. YES, you want to talk. You call her and she answers right away.
“Heyy, (y/n).” She says in her ashy, low voice. “How did you know I wanted to talk?”
She scoffs. “Because you TALKED to Teddy. Really shouldn’t have done that. I know your mind has got to be racing right now.” You knew it was a bad choice the moment Teddy said, “first off.” You’ve been repenting ever since. You blow stray strands of hair off your face with a heavy exhale. Evelyn continues talking.
“The bun sisters were talking about it for the rest of the day. It was so annoying. I wanted to choke them. For you AND for me.” Bun SISTERS. You like that better than ‘bun GIRLS.’ Wait. What? “What were they talking about?”
“YOU, dummy. And how obvious you are with the Adviser.”
“Ugh! I’m not obvious! About ANYTHING! He’s the one that keeps bugging ME!” You protest.
“You’re in denial. I don’t WANT to agree with the sisters. But you are most definitely in denial.”
“What? I don’t think so. There’s NOTHING there and I’m going to shut this thing down with all the chick-a-dees first thing in the morning.” You respond seriously.
“AFTER your meeting with Ignis? And ‘chick-a-dees?’ You sound like Sam.” “I HAVE to shadow him to learn my job. This is ridiculous. You really think I have a thing for him? Don’t answer that. I haven’t ... fallen in love in over ten years. And it’s not going to happen again.” You know you’ve sounded harsh. But it’s the gospel truth. Your heart is on lock down. That’s just the way it is. Evelyn waits before responding. She answers with something like pity for you. “You haven’t fallen in love in how long? WHY?”
It’s been a long day. You’re really not ready to open up about it entirely. You answer simply, “it’s a long story. He was my one and only. And he’s gone.”
You listen to the static as the silence between the two of you becomes prolonged. You feel so dramatic. Like you need to start pacing the room furiously to get the angst out. Maybe you’re about to start your period. Somehow the idea of menstruation is more welcoming than the idea that you might have a crush. Evelyn sighs and says, “look, I want to be your friend. I’m here to help. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. But opening up about something traumatic that happened ... well, it’ll help you move on. Trust me from experience.” Open up? You’ve been closed up tight for a very long time. And now, talking to Evelyn, it suddenly sounds like a cathartic thing to do. Maybe you’re ready to move on...
-END
Tempus Vernum Ep.2
That one time you learned what Ebony was.
Blind!Ignis x Reader Spoilers below the cut!
Episode One: That one time you started working as the Royal Secretary
On your second day at work, you arrive at the castle EARLY. You’ve got just under a dozen bags hanging from both arms as you hoof it up the castle stoop. Today you’re going to unleash your personality onto that posh new office. There are too many niceties and you’re determined to make it feel more like home.
Icy rain spits down relentlessly from the half-lit sky. An angry morning breeze whips it at you and it’s cold. The straps of the bags cut into your stinging fingers. The same Crownsguard who greeted you yesterday is at the top. She squints down at you from beneath her rain drop speckled hood and starts down the stairs to meet you. “Good morning, Miss Secretary! Let me give you a hand,” she insists. As her breath hits the winter air it condensates immediately, forming swirling clouds of fog. Today you get a closer inspection of her. She has a softened square-shape face and two differently colored eyes; one brown and one blue with perfectly sculpted brows to crown them. Her nose is aquiline, framed by lightly freckled cheeks which have been rouged by the cold. Lots of brown hair is tucked behind (almost comically) round ears. “Thank you so much!,” you respond, exasperated. You create your own clouds of condensation. “I didn’t get your name yesterday, by the way.”
She smiles with congeniality. There’s a slight gap between her two front teeth. “I’m Anju, mam. I’m happy to help.” She raises her hand to her communication device. “Open the doors, Eine. The Royal Secretary’s here. I’m helping her bring some stuff in.”
Eine? Must be another guard on the inside. Anju takes all but two of the bags onto her own arms. The doors shift open and you both rush in to take shelter from the rain. Once they shut behind you, Anju unabashedly shakes the water off her body like a dog, starting the shake from her feet and up to her head, letting chestnut hair loose from the hood.
“Damn, Anju!” Says the guard who’s shut the doors. “I didn’t want to get wet until it was my shift outside.” Anju beams. “Mam, this is Eine. Eine likes to sit on his ass.” You gauge Eine. He doesn’t LOOK like he’s always sitting on his ass. He’s an average-sized young man with tidy black hair and brown eyes. His mouth is quirked in a grin. ...It occurs to you that this is what flirting looks like. (It’s been a while, ok?) “Good morning, Eine,” you say. “Thanks for getting the doors.” “No problem. It’s literally my job,” he respond with an impassive shrug. He takes some of your bags from Anju. You can tell she doesn’t want to give up the load, but she submits as if to recompense for getting him wet. They follow you to your office door.
The lobby has a completely different aura at 6:ooam compared to the early afternoon setting you arrived in yesterday. It’s EMPTY in there, except for the three of you and a couple of other Crownsguard at the other end. You’ve got neat little heels on and they clap loudly against the marble. You feel yourself wincing with each step as if you might wake someone up. As you get to the office door, you notice a faint, ebbing glow through the stained glass window. “Does it ... always look like that?” you ask Anju. Eine answers, “the book shelf has lights in it.” Anju gives him a sideways glance. He adds with another shrug, “It used to freak me out, so I walked into the office one day and ... made the observation.”
You fish around in your coat pocket for the key Sam gave you yesterday and pull open the door. You see for yourself that the floor to ceiling bookshelf that separates the lobby and lounge is lit up with tiny ropes of display lights. Fancy. You feel around the wall to the side of the door until you find a light switch. LED ceiling fixtures inundate the room with sunshine-bright, white luminosity. Anju and Eine let the bags down on the floor in front of the desk and leave you to the silence of your office.
You meander around for a while, transferring personal items from your bags to various areas in the office; a framed photograph here, a trinket there. You find your favored coffee mug amidst the mess and fire up the Keurig. It is SO time for a cappuccino. You fill the cabinets on the walls with some of your own supplies. You have specific little things you prefer over what you’re usually given. It’s an idiosyncrasy you gained as a teacher way back when. You stuff your favorite snacks up there, extra clothes (because seriously you just never know. Have you ever worked with children? Not that your new coworkers are children, but hey! Accidents happen!) You sander to the other side of the office, fall into the couch - fuck it’s comfy - and turn on the tv.
The local news channel is on when you hit power. The small font in the corner of the screen displays the time. It’s about 7:3o now. When does work start for the staff that works in the lobby? You’re about done with unpacking your bags and kick your heel-clad feet onto the coffee table. Might as well just hang out until Sam gets in. You rest your head on the back of the couch with a long sigh. You just weren’t made for mornings this early. Good thing you only have to unpack once. The volume of the tv is low and you can hear the ice/rain mix spattering on the windows on the opposite side of the bookshelf. There’s an Altissian toffee aroma settling in the office thanks to your cappuccino. It’s so warm. So quiet. So cozy. You close your eyes. “Good morning, Miss Vernum!” An inadvertent voice greets you from the doorway. You nearly spring off the sofa in shock. You turn your head, eyes burning with a desire to sleep, to see Royal Adviser Ignis. He’s wide awake and incontestably fresh as a fucking daisy. He’s got a black can of some kind of drink in one hand. He sips from it, waiting for your response. “Good morning,” you say a little bit confused. You stand and instinctively brush down your skirt. “Two things though. One: how did you know it was me? And two: how are you so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on a morning like this?” You immediately want to face palm yourself for the idiom that spurted thoughtlessly from your mouth. Bright-eyed. Oh gods.
“I was on my way to get the morning report from the Crownsguard at the front of the lobby when I smelt Altissian toffee.” He says perceptively. “I figured it couldn’t be anyone else at this time of day. Our lobby staff is notoriously late. The LOT of them. I’m always tactile and ready at this time of day. Especially considering that I live here.”
“You mean that in a literal sense, don’t you?”
“Indeed,” he nods, taking another sip. “I have my own private quarters here in the castle.”
Neither one of you says anything for a solid thirty seconds. He looks as though he’s taking in the alterations of the office, turning his chin slowly from left to right. Is he smelling out your things? Or maybe he can see a little bit out of that eye? Maybe he can see that you’re staring at him? You muster yourself up off the couch.
“Would you like a cappuccino?” You ask for antiquity’s sake, walking past him and toward the desk. “No thank you, Miss Vernum. I’ve got a can of Ebony.”
“Ebony?” You pull your mug out from the dispensary area of the Kuerig. It’s contents are almost cold now. “What’s Ebony?”
Ignis was in the middle of a third sip when you ask the question. He clears his throat and inquires ardently, “you’ve not heard of Ebony?”
Obviously not. You answer him nicely, shoving your mug into the microwave that sits beside the coffee machine. (You need that cappuccino HOT.) “I’ve heard of the color. But not the drink.”
What the FRACK are you saying? That’s the lamest thing you’ve ever heard. Why are you so befuddled by him?
“Would you ... like to try some?” He asks.
What? He adds, “unless you have an aversion to sharing drinks. But I can assure you, the taste of Ebony is worth the risk.” What could taste SO good that he’s not willing to let you WAIT to try it? It’s a damn good thing he can’t see (or can he??) Your cheeks feel hot. They’re no doubt as flushed as Anju’s who was outside in the cold rain for who knows how long for. “Ignis Scientia!”
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Sam shows up in the doorway, brushing past Ignis and straight into the office. He’s officially your tall, dark and feminine knight in some kind of salmon-colored dress suit of sassy armor. Thank you. “Stop flirting with the new girl and get your fancy slacks out of here. I’ve got work to do!” He says, shooing Ignis away. “I beg your pardon?” he backs out of the doorway, holding his beloved can in the air to protect it from Sam’s swatting.
“Do-on’t even try to pretend. I know you, pretty boy. Get out of here. Out!” He shuts the doors and turns his heel to face you. His expression turns quickly to a pleasant one. He folds his hands at his chest.
“You’re here early, little bird,” he says taking a look around the office. It’s like slamming the door on Ignis never happened. “I like your stuff.” “You’re here early too,” you revere.
“What do you mean by that?”
“It’s something the Royal Adviser said,” you remark, taking your mug from the microwave. It’s steaming. YES.
“Ignis? What’d he say about me?” “That you guys are always late.” “Hmm,” for a second he looks like he’s going to be offended. He plants a hand on his hip, then rolls his eyes. “It’s true. ... BUT, I wanted to get here before you today.”
You blow the steam off the liquid gold. “Why?” “I have a surprise for you I wanted to get set up.” He produces a small package from his pocket. “It’s your earpiece!” Oh! You get one of those. Cool. Sam continues; “almost every member of the staff has an earpiece. Even cheeky Mr.Scientia. But we all communicate on different channels. The Crownsguard has their channel. The council has their channel. The secretaries have their channel. Etc. etc. We usually wait about a week to give new people their ear piece. But you did so well yesterday, I thought I’d surprise you.” You think back on yesterday and all the chatting Sam did into the earpiece with the other ‘chick-a-dees,’ falling in and out of laughter through gossip and small talk. You hated to admit that you felt a little left out of the fun. But now you were being accepted early into the circle for your hard work. It felt good and as an added bonus; took your mind of fancy-slacks.
“Wow. Thank you.” Sam is pleased with the results of your happiness. “You’re welcome, girl! Now come with me. You’re working at the front desk again. We’ll get your ear piece worked out and introduce you formally to the rest of the lobby crew.” He already feels like your best friend. He finds the remote to the tv and turns it off for you, shoves what’s left of your untouched bags beneath the desk and leads you by the small of your back out of the office and into the lobby.
The secretaries enter in cliques through the front door. There’s a very young man, maybe 19 years old, who goes by Teddy. He’s got ruffled sort of sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. He’s shortish and slim. He walks in with a woman that’s at LEAST 20 years older then him. She introduces herself as Marnie. Her hair is three blonde shades lighter than Teddy’s - almost white. Her eyes are enormous and brown and you can tell just by looking at her that she’s the kindest out of the group besides Sam. Behind those two come three girls, in their early twenties.
Sam bends down and whispers to you, “These are the bun girls.” All three of them have their hair in messy work buns. All three of them have brightly dyed hair and cat-eye winged eye liner. They vary in shape though. There’s Kait, the short and pear-shaped one. Beside her is Jemma, the tall one. And lagging a little behind is Ann, the one who probably still wears junior sizes.
“Evelyn will come in last. That’s my boo,” explains Sam, taking his seat behind the desk. You follow suit and sit beside him. “She’s the dark and moody one. But don’t let her fool you. She’s got a bigger heart than all of the bun girls combined.” Evelyn enters the lobby some ten minutes later, in no rush. She’s probably your age. She’s got ebony hair (ebony ...) that lays flat down to the middle of her back and bangs that have been cut straight across her forehead. You ADMIRE her eyebrows. They’re pencil thin above almost black eyes that aren’t entirely void of warmth. Her desk is closest to the front of the lobby and furthest away from Sam’s. She nods her head tactless in greeting to the both of you and takes a seat, adjusting her earpiece on the way down.
“Well, that’s everyone that works the desks,” says Sam. “Sorry you weren’t able to really meet them yesterday. It got kind of busy. Anyways, you’ll learn more about what their individual jobs are as we go along. For now, just watch what I do and listen to what I say.” You take notes throughout the morning as Sam works, writing down important things like where certain supplies are located and what time different deliveries or important people come through. He teaches you how to use your earpiece and the difference between talking into it and using mute just to listen. He tells you quietly that every now and then he’ll listen in to other channels to get a heads up on what’s happening in the castle. Evelyn knows the passwords to every single channel somehow and they get a delightful kick out of listening to Anju and Eine when they set up their own chat outside of the Crownsguard network.
Learning the social ins and outs of working the lobby is exhausting in itself. Every now and then Sam will reach for the phone before you and allow you to sit back. You catch a glimpse of the Royal Adviser passing through the lobby a few times. He’s always on a mission and never running into anything. It’s confounding. After the fourth time in passing he stops at the desk and hands Sam a giant manila envelope.
“Sampra, these are from Captain Amicitia to give to Prompto when he arrives with the hunters’ report today.” Sam examines the folder and responds, “what’s in it?” “Hunter-y things,” says Ignis, pushing it further across the tall counter top of the desk. You’re looking up at him from where you sit. There’s a necklace hanging out from the unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt. The little silver piece dangles over the envelope, swaying slightly as he talks. There are a few scars across the curve of his neck.
“Classified things too, I bet,” says Sam taking the envelope. He has a specific spot for it in the drawer by his knee. “Oh, by the by; I have Miss Vernum’s earpiece hooked up and she’s live and wired on the network.” “Ooh. Good!” Ignis praises in your general direction. You sink into the chair. He continues; “I trust you’re adjusting well, Miss Vernum?”
“Ahh ... as well as I can.”
There’s another moment of weird silence between the two of you. You turn quickly into the computer chair to pull yourself away from his magnetic allure. The wheels of the chair squeal at you from the sudden force.
“Well ... I’ll leave you two at it then,” he taps the counter top and walks away.
When lunch time finally arrives you’re far beyond relieved to take shelter in the privacy of your office. You yank the earpiece out because the unfamiliarity of it is irritating the cartilage and shove it into the drawer Sam’s assigned to you for the week. When you stand from the desk, you find yourself stretching as if stepping out of a car after long ride. It feels good to walk - to stretch your legs. You nod in passing to the other secretaries. The stain glass door of your office is calling to you. The comfort of that couch is calling to you.
There’s something sitting at the foot of the door though. Something small. Something black. You walk a little bit faster and glance over your shoulder before stooping over to pick it up. It’s a can of Ebony. When you sink into the sofa and pop it open, you muse on the gesture. ... Then drink. It’s cold. But damn is it heavenly. Smooth and rich.
When you come to work the next morning, arriving an hour later than before, there’s another can waiting for you.
-END
@chocobrowritings @not-that-edgy @loonriderx
Tempus Vernum
EPISODE ONE: That one time you started work as the Royal Secretary Ignis x Reader Spoilers below the cut.
Blind!Ignis x Reader INTRODUCTION: Noctis’ spiritual ashes blow into the astral winds, up and away into mortal nothingness. On some heavenly plain, The Six stand at the Round Table together, contemplating the fate of his soul. Should his soul be recycled into the infinite beyond? To join his father in the afterlife? An ethereal image of the Oracle appears on the center on the table. She bows. Her silvery, blonde hair sweeps the surface.
“Blessed are the 6,” she says in greeting.
“Oracle,” comes the commanding tones of Bahamut. His eyes are cold and collected. “We’ve summoned you concerning the fate of the Sacrificed King.”
“I am honored that you would include me in such an important decision.”
“What say you, Oracle?” Straight to the point.
The Oracle nods. She holds her hands calmly at her waist. “There is no longer an heir to the Throne of Lucis. Being as such, there is no ambassador to hone the powers of the Lucii. Eos has no protector.”
Shiva stands singularly beside Bahamut and interrupts. “The Brotherhood remains. We temporarily transferred our favor over them until a new King rises to take the throne.”
The Oracle closes her eyes. “There is no one left alive suitable for the task.”
The 6 exchange indiscernible glances. Beneath the Round Table, the sun is rising in Eos for the first time in 10 years.
Bahamut continues, “we are considering the mortal, Talcott, to bestow the responsibility upon.”
“With all due respect; why have you summoned me here then?” the Oracle is uncommonly flustered.
Ramuh speaks from the other side of the table, “When we banished the tarnished soul of Ifrit to damnation, you came forth with the afterlife spirit of one we would never have considered to take the role.” Ifrit stands at the side of Ramuh. The flames surrounding him make his face hard to see. But he smiles in recognition of the Oracle.
Ramuh goes on, “you are most tentative to all plains and considerate of all souls. ... Who should take the throne?”
Without missing a beat, the Oracle says, “Noctis. Resurrect him and give him the chance he never had to rule. He can produce an heir and the natural line continues. The people of EOS will rejoice and respect him.”
“Then you should go with him,” says Shiva. Bahamut shoots her an intense glare. Shiva continues anyways, “Produce an heir with Noctis Lucis Caelum who will be our Ambassador as both Protector AND Oracle.”
Lunafreya Nox Flueret emits a grin. She looks to Ifrit for approval. His horns dip up and down through the flames in an assured nod.
“I would be HONORED.” Lunafreya bows again.
“It shall be, then.” Bahamut climbs atop the round table. The others join him. The table tilts as Titan clambers aboard.They create a circle around Lunafreya and chant in voices so deep that they are nearly inaudible. The astral winds blow again and just as the sun pours light like paint onto EOS, King Noctis Lucis Caelum and his bride-to-be are resurrected.
One year and one month have passed since the light returned. You worked diligently in that time in Lestallum, providing administration to the recovery and rebuilding efforts. The King and Queen visited from Insomnia on the anniversary and offered you the position to serve the Crown as Royal Secretary. You accepted and took a month to prepare. Now you’re standing before the great silvery edifice that is the castle, shivering from the wintry cold and from sheer nervousness.
You take a breath for courage and ascend the stone stairway which is still slightly damaged from the fall. A member of the Crownguard greets you at the doors. It’s a woman with sinewy brunette hair and freckles. Her expression is ALL business.
“How can I help you, miss?”
You speak through pounding heartbeats, “I’m (y/ first name) Vernum. I’ve come to take the role as Royal Secretary.” Gods, it sounds unreal coming from your mouth.
“Miss Vernum!” her lips soften in a smile. “I was told to expect you. Welcome to Insomnia.”
She brings her index finger to her left ear and speaks into an unseen communication device. “The Royal Secretary has arrived.”
Right away the two stories tall doors fold open and the warmth from the inside hits you like a fiery wind. The lobby is huge and glossy. The floors are made of exquisite black tile that have hints of swirling silver. They blind you momentarily, reflecting the light of the sun that is shining bright behind you. The walls are black, maroon and gold and yawn way up, up, up. Sparkling gold chandeliers hang from the ceilings of the second floor. There are black granite counters and dark wood furniture. Although the interior is dark, everything it’s glowing from low set, under lying lights and little brass lamps. At the end of the 100 yard lobby is another staircase, enclosed by intricately carved, dark wood banisters that curve up to the second floor and a balcony. The doors close behind you with a THUD.
Offset from the center of the lobby is a huge and tall half-circle reception desk. A head pops up from the other side. “Thank.The.Six.” says the person behind the desk. It’s a young dark-skinned man that looks about your age; somewhere in his early thirties or late twenties. He stands up and towers over the desk. Damn. He’s TALL. He puts a hand of relief on his chest and shouts across the lobby, “Are you (y/n) Vernum?”
You start his way, past a row of five or six small high-top desks. “Yes. That’s me.”
You extend your hand in greeting and he takes it with soft flamboyancy. He appraises you at arm’s length, putting his hand on his hip. So you do the same. He’s got perfectly tidy, almost shaved black hair. His eyes are massive, round and deep brown and they are examining you, girlfriend. He’s got a well maintained stubble for facial hair and he’s so tall. He has broad shoulders and a girth that is wide only because he’s probably literally big-boned. Everything about him is big.
“I am so relieved that you’re finally here,” he says, throwing his hands up palm-out. “I’m Sampra. But everyone just calls me Sam.I’m the Head Secretary of our little floor here and I keep all the chick-a-dees in line.”
You glance over your shoulder and realize that there are heads inquisitively poking out from all the desks you’ve passed.
“Back to work, chick-a-dees!” He shouts playfully with a flick of his fingers. The heads disappear. “I’ll show you to your office, Royal Secretary Girl.” He starts something similar to a slow trot back towards the front of the lobby. You follow him, looking left, right and up, getting a better surveillance of the castle.
“If you’re in charge, why didn’t you take the Royal Secretary position?” you ask fairly with legitimate curiosity.
“O-ooh no,” he says, leading you to a tall door with a stained glass window that reaches from bottom to top. “I don’t want that job, honey-pie.” What? Why? He opens the door and leads you inside.
Your office is an opulently decorated room split in the middle by a floor to ceiling bookshelf. On the side to the right is your office. There’s a really nice, L-shaped, cherry wood desk that faces the book shelf and behind it is the outer wall of the castle with windows looking out to the city. It’s a nice contrast compared to the lobby. On the other side of the bookshelf is a lounge. A plushy looking couch is centered before a coffee table and fireplace. There’s a tv the width of your desk hanging above the mantel. Behind the couch and against the wall is curio cabinet for serving with bottles of wine and swanky, crystal glasses. The room smells like the fresh binding of newly opened books and coffee. Your eyes dart to the L-shape desk. There’s a Keurig on the length of the desk against the wall. YES.
“It’s a nice office, isn’t it?” Says Sam in awe, leaning in the doorway. It’s so nice. “Well, go ahead and get settled in. I think Ignis is on his way down. Don’t be intimidated by him. He’s the King’s Royal Adviser who WAS doing your job until you arrived. I don’t think he’ll let the responsibilities go so easily. Poor baby. He probably just needs to get laid.”
You’re running your fingers along the rich wood of the desk as Sam says the last statement. He sure is outspoken.
“Sampra,” there’s an equally tall figure in the doorway behind Sam. He’s got silver glasses on that look more like work goggles. His lips form a hard line. “I can assure you. I do not need to get laid.” You can assume right away that this is the Royal Adviser, Ignis.
Sam isn’t embarrassed at all by getting caught. He rolls his round, brown eyes and takes a step back. “Honey, you need to get laid ten years ago.” He recedes back to the lobby.
You circle around the desk and try out your new chair. It’s leather, rocks slightly and can spin. Awesome.
“Welcome to the castle, Miss Vernum,” Ignis begins, remaining near the doorway. “I hope you’ve found your new living situation favorable. It’s rather unfortunate the length you have to take to commute. But I can assure you that it’s in one of the safest neighborhoods where newer building developments are being made.”
“Yeah,” you say somewhat mindlessly. You move on to inspect the Kuerig. “I’m very grateful to the King for finding a place for me to live. And this office is incredible. I can’t wait to get started.”
“Yes. Well ... I’m glad to hear it.”
As you turn back to face him, you realize that he’s not making eye contact with you. He talks out toward no specific direction. One of his eyes is slightly closed and wow. Look at those scars. They make him kind of roguishly handsome and he has a nicely sculpted jaw line. ... You’re staring. - Wait. He’s BLIND.
“Are you a part of the Brotherhood?” You blurt out, recalling the story of the group of hunters who helped King Noctis banish the usurper.
Ignis’ brows raise. There’s something like an amused smile. He’s got great teeth too. His two front teeth are a little bit big, but in a cute baby bunny kind of way. How has he NOT been laid lately?
“Yes. I was a part of the Brotherhood. Or so it’s been called. We all take part in different important tasks to serve the crown now. But that’s all irrelevant, Miss Vernum.” The clouds cover the sun outside and lower the sheen of Ignis’ glasses. You can better see his eyes; behind a foggy layer, they’re emerald green.
He goes on; “You’re job is one of the most important ones here. You will keep the King and Queen on a neat schedule, answer the most important calls, take notes at all of their meetings, and see over Sampra and his ‘chick-a-dees,’ to name a few. Noctis has informed me of your former administration background; most recently at Lestallum. But I wonder where your experience lies before then.”
“Oh!” You circle around to the front of the desk and lean back against it. “During the Starscrourge? I was still in Lestallum. Running efforts to keep the refugees fed and housed. ...ALL ten years.”
“I’m surprised we’ve never previously been introduced in that case ...” he muses on a lighter note and take a couple of steps into the office.
“Likewise,” you respond. Is he interviewing you or is he just making small talk? He’s hard to gauge.
“What was your occupation BEFORE the Starscourge?” he prompts.
You let out a puff of breath.
Ignis stops you before you can say a word. “I understand. It’s a sensitive subject for many of us. I only wish to know what you’re capable of and what areas you might need instruction on.”
Was it that obvious that you weren’t ready to open up on some of the details? You tell him; “I ... lived here in Insomnia. Unemployed for a little while. Before that ... I was a school teacher in Galahd. I graduated from Niflheim University with honors. Emperor Aldercapt sent me to Galahd to educate young inquiring minds. Really, I was ordered to restructure their education; tailoring it to fit a more favorable Imperial history.”
Ignis is staring in your general direction, arms crossed. He’s speechless. You turn back to the desk, trying to casually examine the pile of folders that have been left there no doubt for you to look through. You’re used to this sort of reaction. You finger through the papers, giving him time to process.
He’s quicker than most people. “That’s ... impressive. Are you from Niflheim?”
“No,” you say wryly with your back to him. “I’m from Accordo.”
You hear movement as he makes a swift transfer from the bookshelf to your desk. He stands opposite of you, taking up the files.
“I’ve had Sampra put these in order of priority for you. Do try to keep them that way, or you might become overwhelmed.” He says eloquently, a poor attempt to expunge the stale atmosphere created by the conversation. “In any case. As far as your duties are concerned, any appointments made go into the main calendar and need to be approved by myself until you get into the swing of things.” He goes on about different chores and rules. It’s all somewhat mundane, but you’re intrigued by his talent of moving around and senses things without his sight. It distracts you somewhat. Halfway through the conversation you’re only halfway listening.
“I suggest you shadow Sampra for the day,” you hear him say as you pull through an empty daze at the bookshelf. So many books. After ten years of doing the same thing, you ARE starting to feel overwhelmed. “Sampra can give you a rundown of how things operate in layman’s terms for the next few days until I empty my list of priorities. Then you’ll shadow me....Have patience with Sampra. He does have a certain candor about him. But he does efficient, quality work.” You laugh quietly out loud. They must butt heads for them to both warn you of the other.
“I like that about him,” you extol, following Ignis as he heads out to the lobby. “I’ve learned in my ten years in Lestallum that having a sense of impartiality will earn you the respect of your colleagues.”
Ignis pauses. He becomes taciturn, leading you past the desks. “Precisely.”
You stop at the main reception desk where Sampra’s sitting. He’s so tall that he’s arched over his work. He’s got a pair or little black-framed reading glasses with rhinestones on the temples sitting at the tip of his long nose.
“Sampra,” Ignis addresses him. “Miss Vernum will be shadowing you over the next few days as I’ve got a full schedule with his majesty. Please see that she becomes accustomed to how things run and where the necessities are located.” Ignis is gone before you can thank him.
Sam removes his readers and stores them into a little velvet pouch. He crosses his massive arms atop the desk. “Okay Royal Secretary Girl. There are five rules when you’re working at the main desk. Number one: Put it back where you found it. Number two: When Prompto Argentum comes in to drop off the Hunter’s Report, make sure he gets his little snack pack. Number three: Answer the phone before me. Number four: We all stand for King Noctis when he passes through the lobby REGARDLESS of what we’re doing. The same goes for her highness the Queen. And last but not least, number five: don’t you come into this lobby with a shitty attitude. We all take care of each other down here. So if there’s something on your mind, we love a little gossip.”
So that’s all, huh? You smile and nod, taking it all in; the strange and sincere requests. Sam pulls out a chair next to him.
You say, entering into the half-circle, “Five rules shouldn’t be too hard to keep.”
-End
EPISODE TWO: That one time you learned what Ebony was
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