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“Ok, ok,” she sets her glass down on the bar and nods toward the bartender for another, “What about this one?”  Eyes flit back up to Prisca, “Was your mother a beaver?  ‘Cause damn!”

     “--So anyway, I shoot the red giant in the face, but there’s a ton of goblins clawing at me, so I just start punching the little fuckers, and that’s how I wound up with this.” A gesture at the bloodied tooth marks in his fist, just behind the swell of his knuckles. Prompto laughs, takes a swig of energy drink.       It’s a thing now, to share daemon battle stories with other survivors. It’s how Prompto stays sane: sharing bits and pieces of life, reminding himself that they’re all together in this. Like Prisca. Hard to believe how many years they’ve been running into each other now.       Prompto brushes a fond kiss to the back of her hand, like he’s some kinda gentleman now. “What about you? Been stayin’ safe?”

//but pris would deserve a bottle of wine at least...

Also, as a note for anyone and everyone, please never be intimidated to talk to me!  Might take me a minute but it’s a nailed-on certainty that I wanna chat. :)