Can't be anything but that, blondie. [ Aranea responds, cavalier as ever. A blind man could see the way he's ogling her, but she does her best to remain unaffected. Her gut does an uncomfortable twist every time her eyes meet his, and it disgusts her unlike anything else. Only he could manage to get himself locked in a god damn car like some sort of small animal, and only she would be stupid enough to answer his pleas for help. He would've survived the night in a temperate climate like the Quay's. He wasn't in any real danger, either, since daemons wouldn't dare to venture this close to the light of the resort.
It would be a lie to say that Aranea doesn't think of their "special" time together at all, but it would be a stretch to say that she thinks back on it with fondness. The thought of his face makes her insides twist with annoyance, even on nights when her body feels like it's alight with want for stimulation. Though she will likely never, ever admit it aloud, she's fucked herself to the memory of their time in the river on more than one occasion, coming hard and fast before being left with a chilly aftermath of irritation and vague shame. While the Commodore doesn't really do embarrassment, she finds herself internally groaning at her own behavior wherever Prompto is involved.
It's around the time that the head of her lance shatters the window that Aranea begins to rethink her decision, the glass shattering as neatly as it can into the rear of the Regalia's seats. Prompto's whimpering cause a fire to begin to burn in her belly, irritation clawing its way to the forefront of her consciousness as she glares at him through the property damage she's just committed. Aranea marvels at how easy it is to just bust through the luxury vehicle's windows, distracting herself from the way he scrambles into the back seat. When her eyes refocus on his face, it's with another icy glare and a scoff. ]
What, scared of a little glass? [ She taunts, clearing a few wayward shards from the window frame before leaning her lance against the side of the car, bending over in order to clear the upholstery of any sharp pieces. She's practically inside the car with him as she does so, opening a path so he can get through without grievous injury. ] Maybe you should, though. It'd save me the trouble of doing you in myself.
no subject
It would be a lie to say that Aranea doesn't think of their "special" time together at all, but it would be a stretch to say that she thinks back on it with fondness. The thought of his face makes her insides twist with annoyance, even on nights when her body feels like it's alight with want for stimulation. Though she will likely never, ever admit it aloud, she's fucked herself to the memory of their time in the river on more than one occasion, coming hard and fast before being left with a chilly aftermath of irritation and vague shame. While the Commodore doesn't really do embarrassment, she finds herself internally groaning at her own behavior wherever Prompto is involved.
It's around the time that the head of her lance shatters the window that Aranea begins to rethink her decision, the glass shattering as neatly as it can into the rear of the Regalia's seats. Prompto's whimpering cause a fire to begin to burn in her belly, irritation clawing its way to the forefront of her consciousness as she glares at him through the property damage she's just committed. Aranea marvels at how easy it is to just bust through the luxury vehicle's windows, distracting herself from the way he scrambles into the back seat. When her eyes refocus on his face, it's with another icy glare and a scoff. ]
What, scared of a little glass? [ She taunts, clearing a few wayward shards from the window frame before leaning her lance against the side of the car, bending over in order to clear the upholstery of any sharp pieces. She's practically inside the car with him as she does so, opening a path so he can get through without grievous injury. ] Maybe you should, though. It'd save me the trouble of doing you in myself.