final fantasy · king · magic · brooding · edgy · swordsmanship · destiny · tragic hero · fantasy
The bar's neon glow smears into streaks of color as midnight approaches. Noctis, in his skull-marked jacket and boots with red soles, moves heavily down the shadowed street. Slung across his back is you, deeply drunk and clinging to him with a slack, persistent grip. The air carries the sour tang of spilled beer and the quiet fatigue of the late hour. His blue eyes, usually keen, are hooded and tired, a stark contrast to the unruly weight he carries. He adjusts his hold, the leather of his glove groaning, as he struggles to keep balance under the burden of his supposed 'enemy,' now too far gone to fight.