Episode Prompto Campfire Scene

Prompto Week Day 1 (10/19): Favorite Scene.

Just a written form of this scene. Which is nothing new, but I wanted to give it a try for Prompto week. Might as well, right?

Prompto sat on the cold floor of the cave a stared into the
fire. An empty expression colored his face, hurt only being apparent in his
eyes.

He was alone.

It was such a change from the campfires he’d been around
with his friends. Silent all around him, with only the occasional crackle from
the fire. The smoke coming from the flames ordinarily would have made him
happy. It used to signal another night with friends, of laughs and cheers. But
the smell of smoke was making him sick now, and he dreaded the morning, knowing
the smell would stick to his clothes. The last camp fire he’d been at, they’d
all fallen apart. That’s what he’d remember now, he thought. The smell would always
remind him of the tension between Gladio and Noct. Of Ignis being lost in his
own head without his sight.

Of them just leaving him with his photos of happier times.

A sigh left him, and he shook his head. It wouldn’t do to
dwell on that now. He got up and dug through the supplies that Aranea had
placed here before hand. Inside were cans of food, which he grabbed one and
brought it over to the fire to open. Though he couldn’t really say what it was,
it was better than the gnawing hunger he felt. Once the can was opened, he set
it nearly inside the fire to heat.

It didn’t take long for it to be warm enough to eat. The
gloves he had on only let a comfortable amount of heat through them from the
hot metal of the can, and he ate quietly. Or so he thought. He barely
registered that he was talking until the words were already out of his mouth.

“Almost as good as what Iggy used to make.”

Damned him and his damned mouth. He bit his bottom lip and set
the can off to the side, the thought of Iggy’s cooking killing his appetite. And
with that, he was once again thinking of his friends. His loud, cheerful
friends, who probably weren’t even looking for him.

“Well, at least it’s quiet for a change.” He said to comfort
himself. After all, no one else was going to. For the first time since the city
fell, he was truly on his own. He couldn’t count on Aranea. She was as erratic
as the wind. She’d blown in and out of their lives in the past. It wouldn’t be
a surprise if she left him here.

His closest friend had after all.

With a huff of pain, he looked down at his wrist. His face
pulled into a frown, more hurt than angry. He’d been careful. Or so he thought.
Perhaps Noct had seen the bars somehow. Maybe that was why he’d thrown him from
the train.

Did being an MT make him more despised than Ardyn? It was a thought
that had plagued him since he’d fallen. Noctis had went for him, not the Chancellor.
Chose to push him off instead of the man who killed Luna. That…was hard to come
to terms with.

He truly thought Noctis hated him.

Anger bubbled to the surface, even as tears threatened to
spill over. He pressed his mouth into a tight line, and began to claw at the
barcode. Through the gloves, there wasn’t much harm done. Just enough to
irritate the skin.

“Dammit,” he spat.

Without thinking, his hand shot into the fire and pulled out
a stick, embers burning brightly on one end, while the end in his hand had yet
to catch fire.

Enough to burn it away maybe.

He paused in his motion, moving slowly as he stared down at
the offending mark. He held it as far away from him as possible, the stick held
readily. He began to breath quicker, short gasping breaths, preparing himself.
He hated the mark. If he hadn’t had it, maybe he could have been a normal kid.
Just a Lucian with blond hair. Maybe Noctis wouldn’t have thrown him from the
train, and he wouldn’t be sitting on his ass in the middle of a goddess
forsaken tundra.

He grit his teeth and let the stick touch his arm.

For something that hurt so bad, he managed to keep quiet for
the most part. There had been a shout of pain, but that was it. Once he was
sure that the code had been fully burned, he cast the stick away and covered
the back of his wrist with his free hand. He drew it close to him, still
breathing a little harshly. But it was done.

Small shuddering breaths left him. It could almost be
mistaken for crying. But when he peeked under his hand at the burn, he could
see it still. The barcode. Under the burned skin and the pain, it still
existed. And a laugh left him.

“…Branded for life.”

He couldn’t even rid himself of the thing that made him
hated in the world. Which only made him hate himself more than the mark.