gladio feels the softest touch of a voice and it will never not be weird, he's fairly sure. since his arrival, it's been strange and unnerving for anyone to reach out in that way, something that doesn't belong (but belongs all the same). he heaves his sword up with a breath and at once he can feel his body settling into a rhythm that seems perfect, muscles glancing off muscles as he and noctis trade off blows to carve a path for themselves. it's one of blood and metal and heat and gladio feels the singe of something graze his arm, but lets it fuel him all the more.
the moment he returns the mental tap is when he realizes how strangely natural it feels. ]
(Don't they say if you've got it flaunt it or something?)
[ there's the faintest curl of a smile mentally, the barest flash of teeth even when gladio's own are grit fast to the point of an aching jaw. gladio watches as noctis moves for a split second in and out of space, one moment here, the next there with a blink. he barely has to think about his own motions, moving in time with noctis' quickly-paced attacks and covering his back ceaselessly. they leave in their wake a trail of fallen, some unconscious, some down far beyond the count.
the adrenaline rushes with a fury that gladio knows at the peak of a fight, dangerous but thrilling all the same and while getting cocky's unwise, there's a satisfaction that runs the thread between them, the feeling of being unstoppable. as he watches noctis cut down another enemy alongside him, swiftly and without a single moment's hesitation, every phase perfect, not a movement wasted, precise, and there's a warm beat of something proud there.
he brings his sword down to his side in the lull, wiping blood from his cheek off onto the back of his hand. ]
(Besides. Better dumb than dead. You take a look in the mirror lately, your highness? Not exactly the paragon of fashion yourself.)
pls
gladio feels the softest touch of a voice and it will never not be weird, he's fairly sure. since his arrival, it's been strange and unnerving for anyone to reach out in that way, something that doesn't belong (but belongs all the same). he heaves his sword up with a breath and at once he can feel his body settling into a rhythm that seems perfect, muscles glancing off muscles as he and noctis trade off blows to carve a path for themselves. it's one of blood and metal and heat and gladio feels the singe of something graze his arm, but lets it fuel him all the more.
the moment he returns the mental tap is when he realizes how strangely natural it feels. ]
( Don't they say if you've got it flaunt it or something? )
[ there's the faintest curl of a smile mentally, the barest flash of teeth even when gladio's own are grit fast to the point of an aching jaw. gladio watches as noctis moves for a split second in and out of space, one moment here, the next there with a blink. he barely has to think about his own motions, moving in time with noctis' quickly-paced attacks and covering his back ceaselessly. they leave in their wake a trail of fallen, some unconscious, some down far beyond the count.
the adrenaline rushes with a fury that gladio knows at the peak of a fight, dangerous but thrilling all the same and while getting cocky's unwise, there's a satisfaction that runs the thread between them, the feeling of being unstoppable. as he watches noctis cut down another enemy alongside him, swiftly and without a single moment's hesitation, every phase perfect, not a movement wasted, precise, and there's a warm beat of something proud there.
he brings his sword down to his side in the lull, wiping blood from his cheek off onto the back of his hand. ]
( Besides. Better dumb than dead. You take a look in the mirror lately, your highness? Not exactly the paragon of fashion yourself. )