Chapter Text
There are two distinct species of chocobos:
- Xanthus tridigium domesticus - a domestic breed, selectively bred for centuries to be riding companions and a source of meat and eggs
- Xanthus tridigium - their remaining wildtype, now found primarily in pockets of the Duscae region of Lucis
Historical records dating back to the time of Lucian Monarchy depict chocobos ridden to battle by the knights of the King’s Glaive. Although those times are long past, these birds remain popular riding companions, for sport and hobby, and the domestic subspecies has an important role in modern society. Known as an “everything bird”, the domestic chocobo are a source of companionship, transportation, work power, meat, and eggs.
The wildtype populations, however, are in need of help. Both genetically and morphologically distinct from their domestic counterparts, these birds are dwindling in number due to habitat fragmentation, illegal poaching, and a devastating population decrease after the introduction of pesticides to the Duscae countryside at the turn of the century. Reintroduction efforts by select organizations, such as the Insomnia Zoo and Lucis Fish and Wildlife, have made a significant impact in boosting these vulnerable populations once more.
Wiz Chocobo Post is the proud home to a mix of domestic chocobos, non-releasable wildtypes, and a small breeding population for wild reintroduction. Wiz Forlane spearheads the conservation efforts of the Post, having experience with reintroduction programs after working with Lucis Fish and Wildlife to release a flock of eight young wildtype chocobos nearly 40 years ago. Living alone in the Duscae wilderness for four months to study and observe these young birds, Mr. Forlane provided invaluable data on the behaviors and natural history of wildtype chocobos that is crucial to the success of the conservation programs seen today.
"Sunshine's the best bird at the Post, dude. Hands down."
Prompto plants himself within the wooden frame of the stall door and stands his ground to defend the yellow chocobo behind him. She's far too busy picking at the best parts of her breakfast to defend herself, even if she probably doesn't deserve the chance to do so given the current state of her stall. Prompto steps in a puddle as he shifts his weight. There’s water on the floor, there’s somehow water on the ceiling; it's a mess at best, but Prompto figures it’s been worse. Probably. Not that he can remember off the top of his head– it’s pretty bad if he’s being honest with himself– but who’s keeping track?
(Nyx, probably.)
"She floods her stall once a week." Nyx says and gestures to the soggy mess of wood shavings at Prompto's feet. (Nyx is definitely keeping track.) He’s standing opposite of Prompto in a stall just across the barn aisle that belongs to a chocobo named Shepherd.
Prompto frowns and chucks a shovelful of damp shavings into the wheelbarrow between them. It’s not the first and it won’t be the last.
"She didn't do it on purpose. The waterline is just sensitive and when she sticks her head in there she knocks it around and it overflows…”
“Uh huh.” Nyx tosses his own shovelful of chocobo manure into the wheelbarrow. “You let her get away with everything. Sometimes I think the only reason she doesn’t sleep in your bed is ‘cause she wouldn’t fit in the front door.”
“She fits in the front door.” Prompto says casually as he picks around the sad remains of dry shavings. “She’s just not good at the stairs.”
Nyx raises an eyebrow and then Prompto says, very quickly, “Please don’t tell Wiz.”
His request is met with nothing but laughter from Nyx, who shakes his head and tosses one more load into the wheelbarrow before trailing off down the aisle to the next stall. There’s a whopping thirteen more to clean between the two of them and Prompto’s still pitching waterlogged bedding out of the same stall he’s been stationed in for the last fifteen minutes. Gods, Sunshine is lucky she’s cute. He has half a mind to just full strip the entire thing and save himself the time, but it’s the perfect mix of not quite soaked enough to throw it all away and so much soaked that it’s annoying. So Prompto keeps picking.
…And reminds himself that chocobos are incredible creatures that he’s lucky to live and work alongside.
Even if it does mean dumping another shovelful of heavy-ass shavings into the wheelbarrow.
“Tell you what,” Nyx starts. He walks the couple of steps back up the aisle with his own pitchfork and dumps the mess into the wheelbarrow. “I won’t tell Wiz if you pick us up lunch on your way back from the city this afternoon.”
“Blackmail? Really? You’d sink that low?”
“Fuck yeah, Blondie. You should know this by now.”
Prompto sighs dramatically and resigns himself to his fate paying for lunch. It's fine. He was going to offer to pick something up anyways; Nyx knows this, Prompto's sure, or he wouldn't have said anything at all. The threat is flat– mostly because Prompto could counter with a million other stories about dumb shit Nyx has done over the last almost-decade they've worked together.
“Yeah– deal– whatcha want?”
“Soup from that place on Tenth?”
This time, Prompto perks up. “Oh hell yeah!”
“Figured you’d like that,” Nyx says with a grin. “‘s freezing today… I just want winter to be over already.”
“Few more weeks- it’s almost spring! And then we get to deal with breedy chocobos.”
“I’ll take courting dances all day if it means no more ice,” Nyx grumbles and trails away again to his stall to continue cleaning.
They both fall into the quiet rhythm of cleaning again, chattering here and there between stalls once Prompto finally finishes cleaning up the flooding. Behind them, Prompto’s designated morning barn chore playlist crackles through the ancient speaker perched on the ledge of a tack shelf. It’s a good enough mood booster to keep them trucking along through tasks of cleaning stalls and collecting eggs, even as miniscule problems pile up and slowly put him further and further behind schedule. Prompto swears all the chocobos are in an alliance to make as much go wrong at once as possible: broken waterers, a clogged drain, Ezio with a cut on his leg, and a certain menace named Charlie intent on smearing all manner of disgusting substances along the walls of his stall.
Nyx is done with his half of stalls before Prompto is done with his and easily transitions to the fun task of turning chocobos out for the day. Prompto watches glumly between shovelfuls of shit as Nyx slips halters over birds' heads, attaches their leads, and guides them out of the barn to their appropriate flocks and pastures.
When the weather is nicer and guests are more frequent, they tether a handful of birds near the front of the main building, for socialization and potential racing. But with the weather as miserable as it is, it's easier to let them roam in the paddocks unless needed.
"I left Sunshine for you," Nyx offers as he comes back into the barn. "Sorry man, I know it's your favorite part but we've gotta get everybody out before we open. And I've gotta take off for that feed pick-up at Furloch in a minute."
"I get it," Prompto grumbles. And he's not grumpy about it. He's not. "Tamagotchi is still in her stall for that riding lesson today though, right?"
"Yup. And Cap. Way too cold out for that grumpy old bastard."
"Maybe he's grumpy cause you call him an old bastard," Prompto muses.
"Maybe. But I call Cor that too and he adores me."
"Is that the word he uses?"
"Yeah, he told me last week, " Nyx smirks as he zips his flannel coat up. "All right. See you later. Don't worry, I'm takin' the other truck– Wiz ordered like fifteen bags of chick starter so I need the bed space."
"My truck's still better even if it's smaller!" Prompto calls after Nyx as he leaves down the aisle. "It's yellow!"
"Sounds like a medical problem; you should get that checked out, Blondie!"
"D-dude!"
He hears Nyx laughing as he slides the barn door shut and disappears.
With that, Prompto is left alone with his playlist to finish up. (It’s a pretty good playlist though, so he’s definitely not complaining about that part). He manages to clean out the remaining few stalls and cart the garbage off to the dumpsters before he resigns himself to the fate of fixing the waterer in Sunshine’s stall. There are worse tasks, he guesses; tinkering with the finely tuned mechanics and finally fixing the problem is usually enough satisfaction on its own and it keeps him from whining too much. Little victories and all– even if he'll probably have to do it all over again next week, or tomorrow for a different waterer.
Prompto pulls the door open and slips back inside Sunshine's stall. He checks on the chocobo where she’s still picking around the last of her breakfast. She won’t be distracted for much longer, so he sets about pulling the cover from the waterer and draining it into a bucket from the plug in the bottom. Once it’s empty, he stares at the bobber mechanism in the bowl and debates if he can get away with leaving it how it is.
He's interrupted by a heavy presence at his back, the shadow of a chocobo creeping over his shoulder as Sunshine abandons her food to press up behind him and see what he’s doing. It would be intimidating if Prompto wasn't intimately familiar with nosey chocobos and knows in his soul that Sunshine wouldn't ever hurt him over something like this. Cor would tell him that's stupid, they're still animals, and he's right, but Prompto has never questioned Sunshine's gentle (albeit mischievous) nature and he's not about to start now, either. She jostles his arm as he tinkers with the little lever and he very pointedly ignores her intrusion. Only when she does it again does he finally stop.
“Hey,” he scolds softly, not turning around. With a semi-annoyed laugh, he nudges her away with a leg. “Go back to eating your breakfast, girl. Go on.”
She nudges him back for good measure and then trails away again, so Prompto continues. He carefully drops the bobble for the bowl to refill, hoping the water level will stop where it's supposed to instead of filling up the entire bowl until it's dripping over the edge and soaking the stall. Slowly… he turns the main waterline back on to test his theory.
Instead of success, he’s immediately met with a chaotic spray, straight up from the basin and directly into his face. It’s ice cold and he yelps in surprise, staggering back.
“No–! Shit–! Oh, come on!”
Prompto spits and sputters and throws a hand in front of his face to keep the water from pelting him any further, but it still manages to soak his jacket through and splash the ceiling before he can reach up and pull the lever to turn off the water supply again. The stream slows to a stop and Prompto sighs, more than a little damp. He winces at the cold that seeps into the skin of his torso and thighs, water dripping off his face and clothes. What a mess.
Behind him, Sunshine trills and ruffles her feathers against the stray mist and the chilly winter air.
“You aren’t helping,” he grumbles, shooting her a glare with no real malice. Like he could ever actually be mad at her.
It’s as if she knows this, moving behind him to shove her head into the space between his shoulder blades with all the confidence of a bird that’s never been in trouble. He isn’t mad at her– he really could never be mad at her. With a small smile, Prompto turns around, sliding his hands (and his disgustingly wet sleeves) under her beak so she can rest her head on them. He rubs his thumbs gently over the feathers that border the stiff keratin of her beak and the soft fluff of her face. She sinks into that, grinding her beak in contentment and cooing low in her throat– it’s just about everything Prompto needs to melt right into the floor of the stall and forget any of his building frustrations.
“Okay, maybe you helped a little bit,” Prompto says. He kisses her beak before she pulls away and he takes a deep breath. “Still gotta fix this waterer though. You down for the challenge?”
Sunshine calls, shaking herself out again and turning in a circle. It's the closest thing to a pep rally Prompto’s going to get from her; by the time he turns around, she’s already busy plucking through her produce again. He mutters something along the lines of figures , and sets to it by himself, determined to get it done before she’s finished eating and becomes an even bigger distraction than she already is.
Fifteen minutes of tinkering later, Prompto has only soaked his coat with water one more time (there is more water on the ceiling– it’s fine) and he wipes what little dry fabric is left on his coat sleeve over his face before putting the cover back on the bowl. He turns on the water line again, standing to watch as the level fills up and stops at the right spot in the bowl.
“All right! Nice! Sunshine, we did it!”
"What're you celebrating in there, kiddo?"
Prompto looks up through the slats in the stall door to see Wiz peeking in at him, eyebrow raised. The man's expression shifts as soon as he gets a good look at Prompto's soaked clothes, something between amusement and sympathy.
"Waterers got the best of ya?"
"Just a little," Prompto says with a tiny, helpless laugh. He scrubs a hand over his face again for good measure, and then adjusts the beanie on his head. "Fixed it though, so we're good to go! And Sunshine helped!”
“Did she now?” Wiz smiles. “Mighty special bird she is.”
“Yeah, of course she is! She cheered me on and everything.”
Wiz chuckles and opens the stall door to step inside. Sunshine approaches him immediately. She sticks her head in between them to beg for scratches, tiny chirps bubbling from her beak. Prompto is her favorite, an accomplishment he claims with more pride than almost anything else in the world (even making it through college or beating Noct at Mario Kart more often than not), but there isn’t a single bird at the Post that doesn’t get excited to see Wiz.
His touch is gentle, in a way Prompto likes to think he’s learned to replicate after years of watching Wiz work. Wiz has also perfected a steady calm and unending patience for the wayward lifestyle of running a chocobo ranch; they're skills Prompto knows he doesn't have – at least not nearly as developed as he wants them to be.
Sunshine closes her eyes happily as Wiz strokes down her neck.
"Are you all set for those deliveries today?"
"Yeah! Take the new bakery's order and the rest go to the housing shelter. Be there at noon," Prompto confirms.
Wiz nods. "You've got it."
"Nyx is making me pick up late lunch for us while I'm there. Soup– you want anything?"
"I'm set. We've got leftovers at the house." Wiz straightens himself out and opens up the stall door. "You good to finish up here? I've got to get set up for that riding lesson."
"Totally! Got it all covered. See? No flooding." Prompto tips his head, gesturing to the waterer. It's sitting, appropriately filled and blissfully still and quiet, thank gods.
Wiz returns an acknowledging nod. "Thank ya kindly, Prom. Good work this mornin'."
Sunshine calls excitedly after Wiz, punctuating the little burst of happiness Prompto feels in his chest at the praise. He laughs and pats her neck before heading to the tack room to grab her designated halter and one of the lead ropes and she dances in place eagerly the moment he returns, already excited for what comes next. Prompto slips the halter on her head and leads her out to the pasture with her flock– a group of several other younger chocobos– and gives her a goodbye scratch along the beak before letting her go off with the others.
He's just finishing hanging up the lead rope when he feels his phone begin to buzz in his back pocket.
Incoming call from: Cor 😡 Leonis
Prompto chews nervously on his lip before answering. It’s usually nothing good when he gets a phone call from Cor– even though Prompto and Nyx have a special little hobby of ribbing him for being old, he still tends to shoot off a text for anything that can be answered at a more leisurely pace. A call means it’s something that can’t really be ignored and Prompto doesn’t want to find out what. But he’s already on the third ring and even a minor problem isn’t something that will escape a lecture from Cor if he keeps him waiting.
“Heya! What’s up?” Prompto chirps into the phone, as if a chipper greeting will tackle whatever inevitable problem is headed his way.
It doesn't.
“Come out to the north pasture,” Cor orders, all formalities skipped. “Now.”
Any manner of disasters cross Prompto’s mind. There are so many possibilities in the world of chocobo care, especially the world of chocobo care on a multi-acre ranch in the middle of the Duscaen countryside, with all sorts of wildlife and diseases and trouble to get into– Oh gods–
Cor must sense Prompto’s increasing worry through the phone line because he speaks up again, affording Prompto more information.
“One of the fenceposts cracked and the flock hopped over the downed rails. They haven’t gone anywhere yet, but I don’t plan on giving them the chance to do so. I need you out here before they stray too far.”
The rapidly hammering heartbeat in Prompto’s chest slows. Slightly. He huffs a sigh and stops his panic just long enough to screw his head on straight. Truck– he needs the truck. And Pryna, probably. A couple lead ropes… Maybe a big bucket of grain.
“I’ll be right out.”
“Thanks.”
Cor hangs up and Prompto glances at his phone to check the time– barely even ten and he’s running out of room on one hand to count all the things that have gone wrong so far. He’s way behind schedule; all the problems in the barn didn't help and now there are birds outside of a pasture, where birds are not supposed to be.
It’s not exactly a full five alarm fire. None of these birds are the type to take off and never come back, but it’s enough of an issue that Prompto still feels a pit of anxiety in his stomach and finds himself hustling to meet Cor.
So many tiny fires, all before lunch.
…It’s a pretty typical day at the Post, actually.
Prompto swings into the feed room and dumps a huge scoop of chocobo grain into a bucket before he picks back up down the aisle, headed for the closed barn door and the truck parked right outside of it.
“Pryna, c’mon!” Prompto calls to their herding dog as he goes. She’s been sniffing in and out of stalls through the morning and comes racing from one down the aisle, little white body streaking towards him.
As they clamber up into the truck, she leaps into the front seat with Prompto, standing on his lap and digging tiny paws into his thighs. A happy grin plasters her face, tongue flopping from her mouth, and Prompto only feels a little bit of regret as he gently nudges her to sit on the passenger's side seat, where she finally settles for digging her paws into the door instead. Prompto starts up the truck and takes off. It’s bumpy all the way out to the field, until Prompto stops, peering through the windshield.
Off in the distance, he can make out the multicolored blobs of a loose chocobo flock. There’s five of them, lazily exploring the opposite side of the fence. Only one has the bright yellow plumage most people picture when thinking of a chocobo; the rest are all varying neutral colors blending in with the drab, gray background of late-winter Duscae.
Prompto keeps them in sight as he slides out of the truck, leaving Pryna in the cab for now– at least until he can gauge the situation and talk to Cor, who’s already opened the gate to a nearby paddock. He's standing, hands shoved in the pockets of his black canvas jacket as he watches the flock. His face looks a decade too tired and extra stern to match; if Prompto didn't already know him he'd be intimidated enough turn the other way and try to find someone else to worry about catching chocobos. A couple decades of knowing him has at least broken the general persona down to an only-slightly intimidating facade.
"At least it's just the Oldies that're loose?" Prompto offers, glancing up to read Cor's expression.
The chocobos on the opposite side of the field belong to their oldest, original flock, with none of them younger than a decade and the oldest being an impressive twenty years old. It's a tiny blessing that none of them are in top racing form and most have slowed down significantly since their youth. But, on the other hand–
"You mean the moodiest birds we have?"
Prompto grimaces. "Well, when you put it like that…"
"Did you forget Charlie is out there?" Cor asks, and it's only the whole two-decades-of-knowing-him that lets Prompto detect the amusement in his voice.
"I didn't forget, I just try not to remember," Prompto sighs as he trails back over to the truck to haul his bucket of grain out of the bed. It's a meager offering at best. "I'm already mad at him for trashing his stall this morning."
"Unsurprising."
“Soooo… What’s the plan?” Prompto asks.
“We can try a recall,” Cor starts, glancing down at Prompto. “When that inevitably doesn’t work we’ll round them up with Pryna.”
The ever present and noticeable thumping in Prompto's chest hasn't fully gone away as he watches the five of them. They haven't gotten any further away, but when they send in the dog, all bets are off. Most of them are well-socialized and beyond used to Pryna, but that doesn't promise they'll stick around, especially when she starts nipping at their heels. (There's a reason Prompto left her in the truck.)
"Sounds good. Whistle?"
"Go ahead. They like you better anyways."
Prompto beams at that and pulls his whistle from his pocket. He takes a deep breath and blows into it, as loudly as he can manage. The sharp trill of their signature chocobo call rings out across the field. Out across the field, all the birds visibly turn to stop and look at them, with varying levels of interest.
"Let's go, guys!" Prompto calls, shaking the bucket of grain for good measure. "Charlie, I see you looking at me! Trudy, Blanche, Bo, Liability– c'mon!"
Beside him, Cor chuckles. Very quietly.
Only one chocobo makes any real motion to recall. The tiny, white speck of a bird approaches them slowly at first, head lifted high in an attempt to navigate. Prompto shakes the bucket of grain and calls to her again, encouraging.
"C'mon, Blanche– 'atta girl!"
He grins as she picks up the pace, following the sound of the rattling grain all the way along the edge of the pasture lines and right up to Prompto. Carefully, trying not to spook her, he holds the bucket out to the bird and lets her stick her head in to reward herself with a big helping of food. Prompto smiles, his voice quieting as he praises her.
"Good job, girlie. You're such a good chocobo."
Blanche continues picking at the grain, stopping only to ruffle out her white feathers before diving back in. She's a smaller bird, with the characteristic, thinner frame of her wildtype species. Her home at the ranch was solidified by her injuries: a missing eye on her right side and poor vision in the remaining eye. With such injuries, it would be nearly impossible for her to forage for food or properly evade predators. But at the Post she lives an easy life.
"Our blind wildtype recalls better than our domestics," Cor huffs. He clips a lead rope to her halter while she's busy nibbling from the bucket. "Unbelievable."
Another few bites of food later, Prompto pulls the bucket away and Cor leads the bird into the new pasture, where he secures her to the fence with a quick knot before returning to Prompto's side.
"I guess you could say she's a Golden Girl, huh?"
"Don't."
Laughing, Prompto puts the bucket back in the truck bed and clambers into the cab again, where Pryna greets him with an excited yip. Cor follows without being told, because Cor manages just about everything without needing to be told, simply for the relief of not having to hear other people speak. After firing up the truck again, Prompto drives them the rest of the way to the flock, where it quickly becomes Pryna's turn to shine.
She launches herself out of the truck the second Prompto holds the door open for her, ready to work. It’s not unskilled chasing by any means; Wiz has trained her well, and she artfully follows Cor’s instructions to change sides or push with a well-timed nip and dodged kick. Through a combination of Pryna pushing them forward from the back and Prompto driving a little too recklessly in the front, they manage to file the chocobos into the open gate of the new pasture.
Pryna seems incredibly proud of herself while she stands in the opening of the fence line, staring down any chocobo that dares to risk darting back out until Cor can hop out and close the gate. He unties Blanche and then climbs back up into the truck, where Pryna joins him to receive no small amount of praise from Prompto.
Even Cor gives her a few congratulatory scratches behind the ears while they drive to the maintenance shed to grab tools and a new fencepost. By the time they make it back out to the pasture, Prompto feels like he's been awake for three days. The day’s problems have knocked most of his usual energy loose, though he does his best to scrape it all together again for the next task, which is almost definitely going to be a pain in the ass.
“Hope you like shoveling ice," Cor muses as they pull tools out of the back of the truck.
Prompto chuckles and slides down from the back of the truck bed, handing Cor a shovel before he trails over to the broken fencepost and gives it a few kicks. It wiggles in place pretty easily and shouldn’t be too hard to dig out, despite the cold weather and somewhat-frozen ground. Cor gets to work on it immediately and Prompto follows suit, doing his best to help the other man wiggle the post out of where it’s been lodged in the earth. Between the shovels as leverage and Cor straight up strong-manning the remains of the post, they manage to pull it free, and they toss the splintered piece in the back of the truck before grabbing a new one and the post-hole digger.
“Wiz checked all the fence lines this morning, right?” Prompto asks. It’s odd for Wiz to miss anything, let alone important details such as broken fence posts. Prompto glances back at the split wood of their broken piece and then drives the digger into the ground with a grunt.
“He did. It was fine before the birds went out.”
Cor crosses his arms over his chest and shifts his weight while he watches Prompto take another whack at digging the hole a little deeper. It's becoming increasingly apparent that it's still only late winter and the ground isn't nearly as thawed as he wants it to be. He better get toned from this.
“So... which chocobo do I have to blame for this?” Prompto asks, a little breathless as he pauses in his shoveling and hands the tool to Cor, who continues where he left off.
"...There's a reason I named her Liability."
Prompto lets out a tired breath. Of course.
"To be fair, you named her Liability because she broke my arm when I was twelve," Prompto reminds him.
Cor huffs, glancing back out at the birds. "And she continues to live up to her name. Daily."
With one last pile of dirt pulled out, Cor sets the post-digger off to the side. Prompto doesn’t even have to ask for Cor’s help before the man picks up the post and jams it down into the ground. He does a quick check to make sure it’s even with the rest of the fenceposts, far enough down to stay steady, and then gestures for Prompto to start packing earth back around it again.
“You know she’s not so bad,” Prompto continues as he shovels the dirt back. Cor holds the post wordlessly. “Last week a huge-ass Gigantoad lumbered out in front of her on a trail ride and she totally could have spooked but she didn’t. Kept her cool with the guy who was riding her even though Caliber jumped like two feet in the air. She just stared at it like it was nothing.”
“That’s because she’s too confident for her own good,” Cor responds.
Laughing, Prompto packs down the dirt a little bit more and then adds another few shovelfuls. And repeat. He glances up at Cor again. “You love her so much, though.”
The noise that comes out of Cor’s mouth is nothing short of a grunt, but Prompto stares at him with enough intensity to see the tiny way his lip twitches upward. It’s enough of a smile for Prompto, from Cor especially. Not that they didn’t already know it; all of them have their favorites, even if they insist they don’t. Cor’s is undeniably Liability; the only chocobo on the ranch he named on his own and spent the summer training after she was surrendered to the farm as a yearling. She’d been a wild child– Prompto remembered that much as well as the cast that had come from it– but Cor seemed to have a soft spot for those, or something. He still does, over a decade later.
“Yeah you do,” Prompto says. “It’s cute.”
“Keep shoveling, kid.”
“But I’m done!”
“Done shoveling or done talking?”
“...Both?” Prompto grins.
The barest hint of a smile touches Cor’s face as he inspects the post and Prompto counts that as a win. Even better is the way Cor claps him on the back and says looks good before marking the top with bright orange paint so they can come check it as the ground starts to thaw. It’s quick work to reattach the rails and from there, Cor helps Prompto load the tools into the back of the truck before climbing in and plopping down in the driver’s seat.
Prompto watches with restrained horror as Cor adjusts the seat, cranking it way back to fit his longer legs.
“You’d think you’re trying to lick the godsdamn windshield,” Cor mutters as he starts up the car and Prompto just barely sputters a response, drowned out by the engine turning over. He sighs as he hops up in the truck, on the passenger’s side this time, before inviting Pryna up and closing the door behind them both.
“Some of us are just short kings, Cor.”
Cor acknowledges him with an eye roll that Prompto deliberately chooses to read as begrudgingly affectionate and drives them back to the shed to put away supplies. Prompto is halfway through pulling the old, broken fence post out of the back of the truck when he pauses.
“Ah, crap– I never finished bedding the stalls.”
"Go on." Cor gives him a small, dismissive hand gesture. "I'll finish up here."
"Thanks, Cor," Prompto says, grinning. He wastes no time backing away from the truck and towards the barn. "You're the best!"
The barn is blissfully warm compared to the paddocks outside and Prompto slumps against the wall with relief when he slips back in the sliding door on the far end of the aisle. Some of the sting in his cheeks seems to melt instantly as it closes behind him. If it weren't for his severely crunched schedule, he would take half a minute to just enjoy it and bask in the familiarity of a recently-cleaned barn: warm air, the low hum of the generator a few doors down, and the acquired enjoyment in the smell of chocobo feathers and clean wood shavings.
But he has way too much to get done still, so he pushes himself up off the wall and takes off to the ladder for the loft, dropping down bags of shavings until he has enough to fill in the stalls they emptied that morning. Prompto clambers back down the ladder and zips in and out of stalls– he tips over bags of shavings, going down the aisle to repeat the process one by one with a pitch fork in hand to spread the piles out and cover the bare spots in each stall. He leaves Sunshine's stall alone so it can dry a little more, content to forget about it until they pull all the chocobos back inside at the end of the day.
Just outside the barn, he hears the familiar rumble of the truck being returned to its usual spot. Cor doesn't pop into the barn, probably also behind schedule with his own tasks, and Prompto doesn't pay it much mind as he goes about finishing the last step of re-bedding. With all the stalls full of shavings, he starts moving bales of straw. A couple flakes worth of straw in each stall along the east side– the ones that belong to their female chocobos– provide them each enough material to gather into a nest. Each bird will spend part of the evening rearranging the straw to their liking for whatever egg they may or may not lay.
“Hey, Blondie!"
Prompto pauses to look back over his shoulder and sees Nyx. He strides down the aisle alongside Prompto and gestures to his watch. Prompto squints at the tiny number. Gods, it’s been a long morning. How did it get to be past noon already?
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Prompto pauses…
Stops.
Realizes that he is very late for–
“Shit –!”
Unceremoniously, he tosses the bale of straw at Nyx’s feet and takes off down the aisle towards his truck, calling back over his shoulder as he goes. “Take care of that for me!? Don’t forget Laserbeam is double laying right now so she needs extra! Thanks, dude– you’re the best– see you later!”
Somewhere behind him, he hears Nyx muttering something about slowing down. He doesn't have time to stop and snark back at him about it being a hell of a morning thank you so much for helping, Nyx, so he just keeps going, throwing open the door on the truck and jamming the keys in the ignition.
“Blondie– ”
He’s so late for this delivery, but he stops anyways, pausing where he’s halfway through closing the door to see Nyx walking toward the truck. With his arms thrown out on either side, he looks… pissed isn’t the right word. Annoyed? Vaguely amused? Prompto grimaces.
“You gonna drive all the way into the city before you remember you need to put eggs in your truck for an egg delivery?”
Right. That’s definitely… important. Just the entire reason for his delivery– no big deal.
Prompto groans, taking just a second to throw his head back and sink into the misery of his own stupidity before he resigns himself to getting out of the car. With any luck, he would have at least remembered before he made it out of the ranch, but with the whirlwind this morning has been, that’s probably pushing it. Prompto slides out of the truck, only to be met with Nyx’s hand on his shoulder, spinning him around towards the cab again.
“I got it covered,” Nyx explains, nudging him back up into the driver’s seat. “Already loaded it up before I found you. Figured you’d had enough shit going on this morning.”
Some of the tension fizzles out of Prompto’s body with that and he sighs in relief. He instantly eats his words (mental or not) from earlier about not helping and sinks back down into the seat. “You’re the best.”
“Yeah, I know.” Nyx grins. “Just promise me you won’t speed on your way there.”
“I’ve literally never seen you go less than ten miles an hour over the speed limit.”
“I’m a horrible role model,” Nyx says, ruffling his hair before he shuts the truck door to cut off any of Prompto’s protests. He slaps a hand on the hood before tipping a salute and walking back towards the abandoned straw bale in the barn.
Alone in the cab, Prompto settles for grumbling quietly to himself as he straightens his hair back out (not that the waterer from earlier did it any real favors) and shoves his beanie back on his head. Prompto is rudely reminded that Cor was the last to drive the truck as he hikes the seat way up to the front before clicking in his seatbelt. He grumbles about that too, because Cor knows how he feels about people messing up his truck seat (it's not his fault he's shorter than all of them!). Though the one time Cor actually bothered to put the seat back for him, he’d cranked it so far up to the steering wheel that Prompto had felt the need to ask if Cor thought he was actually only two feet tall. Wiz had quietly taped a line on the seat track the next morning.
It’s not exactly Prompto’s truck. On paper, it belongs to the farm– to Wiz– and has belonged to the farm for way longer than Prompto’s been driving, but over the years, through a careful collection of more-and-more of his things in it, Prompto’s made it his own. The chocobo feathers hanging from the rearview mirror (Sunshine’s of course) and a Galahdian charm for protection, hand-carved and given to him by Nyx for his birthday two years ago, are the clearest mark that he’s officially claimed it. Wiz has all but sealed the deal, never even fighting the way they all call it Prompto's truck.
He pays for all the gas in it, afterall.
Prompto completes the last step of getting his truck ready to go; it’s the most important step– even more so than the eggs. He plugs the aux cord into his phone and throws on his playlist. Decade-old pop punk flares to life on the radio as he pulls out of the drive and heads towards the city, just a little too fast– against all Nyx's wishes.