“But I don’t wanna…” Prompto whined in his best, most pathetic voice, going limp and boneless until only Cor’s grip on the back of his shirt kept him upright.
“Don’t care,” Cor deadpanned, impressed by the display, but not enough to let the boy off the hook. “You’re going anyway.”
“Shut up, Prompto,” Cor said quietly, voice even. Prompto pursed his lips and remained a free-shaped liquid in Cor’s grasp. Cor sighed. “Fine.”
But rather than let him go, as Prompto had hoped, he set out walking at a brisk pace out of his office. Were Prompto the least bit less stubborn, he would have scrambled to keep his footing and started walking. But alas, Prompto was having a decidedly Ulric tantrum, so he remained limp and loose-limbed, and turned on Cor’s grip only enough that he was dragging his heels, his arms folded stubbornly over his chest.
So they went, across several corridors across the Citadel, Cor strolling at his usual pace, dragging along a very stubborn, sulking child, all the way to Nyx’s office.
“Your son,” Cor said dryly, presenting Nyx with the stubborn boy, raising him a foot off the floor by the back of his shirt.
Prompto sulked with all his might.
“Thank you, Marshal,” Nyx said, trying his best not to laugh. “You know he will drop you, Prom. Stop being stupid.”
There was a moment of terse silence, and Prompto sighed, unfolding his arms and catching himself on his feet as Cor let go of him.
“Now go on and tell him why Clarus has an ulcer now,” Cor encouraged after a moment of solemn silence.
Nyx arched an eyebrow, leaning forward on his desk. Prompto sighed dramatically.
“Now don’t be mad, Dad,” he began, like all his best worst confessions did. “The thing is…”