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It is a perfect day—blue skies, chirping birds, steady foot traffic throughout the area of Longwythe—and Prompto is elbow-deep in prep work before the lunch rush hits. They’d just finished the breakfast rush, so while Noctis shopped through the local grocer for resupply, Prompto stayed in the truck to figure out what they were going to do for lunch.
The salmon burger, shrimp po’boy, and crab melt were a success wherever they parked their truck, so it’s obvious that those were going to be the backbone of their menu—hmm, maybe they should throw a curveball and do some sort of dessert?
Rapid footsteps head toward the food truck, but Prompto isn’t all that worried. Longwythe always had tourist families and locals running about at every hour—something about the Peak made people behave in a chaotic manner, really.
Noctis slams open the food truck door, as if he’s been possessed by some ghostly daemon near the Peak, and shrieks, “I have a new recipe!”
Prompto, who has been fileting fish for their salmon burger, very nearly sliced his palm at the abrupt scream. “What the actual fuck, Noctis Lucis—!”
“Argentum,” Noctis interrupts with the goofiest, sappiest smile it makes Prompto’s rage dissipate almost immediately. “It’s Noctis Argentum, now.”
Prompto mocks him, but he can’t deny the warmth that curls up his spine at that. “Noctis Argentum—what the hell are you doing? I almost cut my hand off!”
Noctis winces. “Oops. Sorry, baby . . . gimme, I’ll kiss it better.”
“I mean, if you want to kiss fish guts and skin then be my guest,” Prompto says and bursts into laughter at Noctis’ grimace. “Now . . . what’s this about a recipe? Wait,” Prompto frowns as he stares at Noctis’ arms, “did you, like, not buy anything at the store?”
Noctis opens his mouth, closes it, and then, once he becomes almost deathly still, whispers, “I left them at the store.”
Prompto stares.
Noctis stares back.
“I don’t know what to say,” Prompto says after another beat of quiet. “I . . . I just . . . go get the fucking groceries.”
When Noctis slinks back toward the store, Prompto spends a good five minutes or so breaking half his ribcage with laughter. By the time Noctis returns with five bags, huffing from exertion, Prompto’s regained his composure and is dipping the fish cuts into both the prepared seasoning and the batter for the deep fryer.
Noctis dumps the bag on the only clear counter in the truck and says, much calmer than before, “So, I thought of this new recipe.”
Prompto quirks an eyebrow. “Do you wanna experiment when we get back home or are we thinking about, like, adding it to the menu for today?”
“I didn’t think that far,” Noctis admits.
Prompto only gives an amused sigh and a teasing, “Of course, you didn’t.”
Comfortable quiet floats between them as Noctis finishes unpacking the groceries and Prompto double-checks the temperature of the deep-fryer and starts dropping the fish balls into the fryer. The sizzle and aroma fill up the air and Noctis hums as he slaps on a pair of gloves after he ties his hair back with a bandana.
“Alright,” Noctis says to the pile of unseasoned, uncooked shrimp. “Let’s get this bread.”
Prompto rolls his eyes and thinks, ever so fond and slightly disbelieving, he’s such a DORK and I married him.
Noctis turns on the radio and sings along off-key and obviously wrong lyrics and when he sees that Prompto’s giving him a disbelieving look, blows him a kissy face and only sings louder. Prompto only laughs and joins in a moment later.
Might as well, he thinks.
There’s a steady flow of customers once they open Little Pearl for the lunch rush. The crab melt and salmon burger are the usual best sellers, but the fish and chips aren’t doing too bad either. At some point, Prompto heads into the truck to make some more slaw and sides—people are going insane over their lobster mac ’n’ cheese.
When he’s back outside filling out orders, there’s a short lull. It’s normal, and he’s not worried, so he takes the time to update their menu board and fix up the little counter. Half the job of being a food truck owner is making sure there’s enough utensils and napkins available for customers to grab when they’re ready.
“What a wonderful establishment,” comes a voice to Prompto’s left. “Might I have . . . actually, what would you recommend?”
“The fish and chips are really, really good for a quick bite—,” Prompto stops as he turns to face the customer and basically gawks.
Lunafreya smiles.
She has dimples and Prompto is not fucking ready for this.
“Fish and chips, then, for me,” she says in a determined voice before she turns to the taller woman beside her. “Gentiana, do you wish for anything on the menu?”
“I am well, my lady,” Gentiana replies, and her stare is digging holes through Prompto’s skull as he hurriedly jots down the order.
“Um. That’ll be. Um.” Prompto’s brain cannot connect to his mouth. Error 1201. Please reboot within a timely manner and hope for the best.
Lunafreya hands over the gil with another smile. “If there is any change, please keep it.”
“Right,” says Prompto, and then he makes his way to the delivery window where he slides the ticket through and says, slightly shaky and disbelieving, “One order of fish and chips for, uh, Luna . . . freya.”
“What,” says Noctis. “What.”
“Please don’t shoot the messenger,” Prompto responds, albeit far more hysterically than he would’ve liked.
“I—okay, fish and chips?” Noctis takes a deep breath and steadies himself. “Okay. Tell her it’ll be ready in five.”
“You got it, boss.”
Lunafreya observes their food truck with a delighted smile on her lips. She doesn’t look like the Oracle, really, not like what Prompto imagined her to be in his mind when she sent him that letter with Pryna all those years ago. Dressed in three-quarter pants, a flowery blouse and cardigan, hair pulled into a loose bun at her neck and hidden by a baseball cap, she looks like every other tourist; every other normal girl that passes through Longwythe.
Her eyes are twinkling when she says, “Please, Prompto, call me Luna—after all, we are, in fact, neighbors.”
“Yeah, of course—wait, wait.” Prompto’s brain screeches and then rewinds. “What do you mean neighbors?”
Her dimples still sweet, Luna then points to a food truck parked at the end of the street. Labeled Confection Connection, it is clearly a dessert food truck by décor and name. “That is my food truck,” Luna says primly, as if she’s just stating that she has a tea brunch within the hour. “I mostly sell common pastries and other delights in Tenebrae—oh, speaking of,”—Luna reaches into her bag and pulls out a small Tupperware container, handing it to Prompto with an even brighter smile— “Please, enjoy this with Noctis—it is his favorite pudding.”
“Okay,” says Prompto, numbly. Gentiana looks as if she’s barely resisting a laugh at his expense which, fair.
Noctis exits the truck with a hop in his step. “Luna!”
Luna brightens. “Hello, Noctis. I believe you were correct in that Longwythe is a hot spot for food trucks.”
“You have a truck?” Noctis questions as he hands Luna her fish and chips; he sounds as if he already knew that, the ass. Luna probably told him through that funky notebook Umbra passes around like a holy game of fetch. “How’s that going for you?”
“It’s a wonderful endeavor,” Luna responds.
Prompto can’t believe this. He wants to sit down.
Royalty Gone Wild, Prompto thinks, distantly, as Noctis and Luna compare experience and adjustments into their new lifestyle. Food Truck Edition.