Charlotte 'Charlie' Marie Gale

If Liliana had just remained a cat this whole time these past two weeks, then Ignis would likely be fine with it, even with all the dead mice that had been left proudly for him, especially in their bed, which he could at least understand as the gesture it was meant to be. But there was something about having had her turn back oh-so-briefly last Thursday, only to revert back to her current feline state, that made everything exceptionally harder.

Though he would admit a certain respect for the dedication to academic pursuits/complaining about ancient assholes.

Which basically meant that the mansion was spotless, the pantry was filled with fresh baked goods and everyone's freezers had all sorts of prepped meals stuffed into them, he had at least two semesters' worth of lesson plans if he ever did start teaching again, and the training room was getting some extensive and intensive use these morning. Ignis had been so dogged and determined in nailing the drills that even Gladio was getting a little winded and wondering if maybe they should take it easy.

Which meant Prompto was practically dying, groaning as he plopped down on the floor and spread out his limbs, crying mercy.

"I'm too young to go this early!" he declared. "I have children! Do you want Liz to be a widow?"

"Well," Gladio offered, giving Prompto's foot a small nudge with his own, before offering out a hand to pull him up, "on the bright side, at least she won't have to change her wardrobe much for mourning."

"We've almost got it to perfection," Ignis insisted. "Just a few more times, and--"

"--and we're just going to get more tired and make mistakes, which makes it harder to get there," Gladio countered. "Aren't you the one who's always harping on us about pushing past our limits?"

"Oh," Ignis huffed slightly, "I haven't likely said that in years."

"Not for yourself, maybe," Prompto pointed out, and there was a bit of a pause, and Ignis sighed.

"Let's just run it five mor--" His words were buried in groans. "Three more times, and we'll have ourselves a break."

"Or," Prompto tried, "call it a day."

"Well, we'll finish the job once we do it right, then. Come on. Liven up. Practice makes perfect."

"Practice," Prompto murmured, mostly to himself, maybe a little to Gladio, "makes me want to just shoot a guy right in the butt."

"I heard that."

[[ for the lady of the house, please! and if you don't expect this to go NFSW then I don't know what you think you were reading... ]]