Work Text:
Mediocris Fabula
Ignis’ eyes glide over the scattered pages that lay across the table before him. His own brand of overly organised chaos in the form of supply lists, available Glaive, and established outposts.
He adjusts his glasses as he makes another note in the margin of a blank column, pausing only to give the ink time to dry before he shifts the page to the precariously balanced complete pile.
Its as he’s reaching for a map of the Leide area—a severely outdated map that does little to outline the current dangers of the once sun scorched region—that he hears the low murmur of voices in the corridor outside.
He barely has enough time to lay down his pen before a sharp series of knocks, followed by his door slamming open has him scrambling to grasp the tumbling tower of paperwork. He fails, miserably he might add. It was a lost cause the moment his haste driven grab for his suddenly airborne files caused his elbow to connect with the stack of rolled maps perched haphazardly on the edge of his desk.
Amidst his self-made avalanche of paperwork, he manages to glare at the rather sheepish looking figure standing frozen in the door frame.
“Errrrr, my bad.”
It hardly does justice to the travesty of cascading documents and scrolls that flow across his once clear floor, but then Prompto always was one for understating things.
Suppressing a long-suffering sigh Ignis abandons his seat. As he stands, he stretches his arms above his head, rolls on the balls of his feet, and gently works out the kink that has begun to form at the base of his spine. It seems he’s been sitting there for longer than he thought.
Satisfied when he feels his spine pop, he turns to see Prompto still lurking at his threshold, a pensive look painting his features as he worries his bottom lip. Some habits never die.
At his glance the blonde makes a dive for the nearest fallen page.
“Seriously Iggy, I should have thought—"
“It’s quite alright Prompto,” Ignis soothes as he scoops up a trailing roll of parchment, “was there something that you needed?”
Prompto looks up from his cobbled together stack of documents, his eyes trailing nervously back to the door. “Well…”
At the sound of the hesitantly spoken word a small child pokes his head around the door jamb. Curious bright green eyes stare at him from behind a mop of familiar platinum blond hair. Nervousness washes off the boy in waves, to the harsh tattoo of the idle drumming of his fingers against the hard wood door frame.
“Eques?” The quiet enquiry causes the boy to look away, as though he has been caught doing something he knows he shouldn’t.
Abandoning the gathered papers; Ignis takes a knee and tries to capture the boys wondering gaze. When he succeeds, he smiles softly and opens his arms in a gesture that has become routine.
A fact made evident when Eques returns the smile and runs into his fathers’ arms.
With practised ease Ignis catches the young boy and lifts him into the air, before hooking his arm under his sons’ knees. Eques in turn wraps his arms around his fathers’ neck.
The moment is shattered by a bright flash that leaves father and son blinking to clear the spots from their vision.
Prompto swiftly hides his phone from view as a duel pair of heated emerald gazes glare at the offending camera.
Prompto wisely decides to divert their attention.
“Ahem, so anyway. Errr, so…ugh how do I say this!” Eloquent as always.
Unwilling to let his friend continue to flounder, Ignis retakes his seat, giving Prompto a reprieve from Eques’ scowl as the boy shifts into a more comfortable position.
Eques knows exactly what he’s doing and makes his displeasure known with a well-placed elbow to Ignis’ lower ribs. “Eques” Ignis grunts by way of reprimand but his son merely tilts his head, donning a perfect mask of innocence.
“Yes Papa?” Eques’ emphasis on his vowels draws out the words, almost making the term sound foreign with the way it rolls from his tongue. Especially when compared to the almost stuttered colloquial version that floods the streets of Lestallum. Ignis never tires of hearing it.
He’s trying very hard to keep the stern frown on his face, but a simple smile from his son has the expression crumbling.
He scoffs as he leans back in his chair, “you really are your mothers’ son.”
A look of slight confusion creases Eques small brow. “Mama said I take more after you.”
“Did she now?” Ignis chuckles, “well who am I to contradict her wisdom.”
“You’re my Papa.” Eques answers with another tilt of his head.
“Indeed, so please refrain from any future attacks on my lower ribs.”
The boy pouts, but that look soon vanishes when a spark of an idea flashes across his eyes. "If I were to agree what would you give me?
Ignis can't stop his brows from hiking up towards his hairline. In his defence it’s been a while since Eques has tried anything like this.
Prompto is far more expressive in his disbelief of the young child's audacity. Though, to his credit he is trying to be discreet. With shaking shoulders and a hand poised ready to muffle his growing mirth he asks "Eques, are you really trying to blackmail your dad?"
"I'm doing no such thing." The affronted tone that creeps into his voice could almost be mistaken for a whine. However, Ignis learned the hard way a few years ago never to accuse his son of that. "I'm merely opening negotiations."
"Negotiations?" Ignis enquires, keeping his voice level so as to not give anything away. "If I were to agree what would the terms be?"
All business now, Eques straightens his back and locks gazes with his father, "an hour extension on my normal bedtime."
"Out of the question."
"You teach me a new dagger technique."
"You still haven't mastered the last one I showed you and your lance forms still need work."
Eques pauses, considering.
Prompto takes the opportunity to remind them both he's there. “Where did he learn all those big words? I thought you stopped reading him the Lucian dictionary as a bedtime story after the last time Aranea caught you."
“For the last time Prompto, it was not a dictionary. It was the Tempestas by Quatit Hastam.”
“Whatever it was it really didn’t seem suitable for a five-year-old.”
“Eques isn’t most five-year-olds.”
“Exactly.” Eques adds, “can you continue reading me that story as part of our deal?” he asks pleadingly.
“Unfortunately, that’s something you will have to discuss with your mother.”
His son slumps against him, out of ideas but unwilling to admit defeat. Crossing his arms and bowing his head, his eyes close in concentration as Eques thinks. Ignis can’t help but run a hand through his hair, trying to get a better look at his sons face through the curtain of platinum locks. He gets an annoyed grunt and a well-aimed jab from Eques for his efforts.
“Stop that.”
A deep chuckle bubbles at the back of his throat at his sons’ action.
“Stop what?” Another hand sweeps briefly across his sons’ brow, causing the boys fringe to stick up at odd angles.
“That!” Eques glares with all his might as he tries to smooth down his fringe.
“Haaate to interrupt but we’re getting a little off track.” Prompto steps forward placing a messy heap of crinkled papers on the edge of Ignis’ desk.
“Quite, apologies Prompto. What did you need?” He leans forward slightly, lowering his voice to a stage whisper for Eques’ sake, “we’ll continue our negotiations later, shan’t we.”
“If you forget I’ll set Mama on you.” Eques warns, his voice deadly serious.
The twitch of a smirk is barely repressed. “Mercenary child.”
“Igggyy.” Unlike Eques Prompto has no qualms about being accused of whining, “we have a real problem here.”
“I seriously doubt that.” Ignis sighs, but he knows that he will not be allowed to return to his work until Prompto has aired his quandary. So, shifting himself into a more comfortable position—one where Eques will, hopefully have less of an opportunity to abuse his ribs—he resigns himself to listening to another of Prompto’s round about tales. Conciseness has never come easily to his friend.
“Uncle Prompto, I really don’t see what the big deal is.” Eques huffs as he leans forward, trying to reach for a feathered quill teetering on the edge of Ignis’ desk. Seeing the move Ignis pre-empts the attempt, snatching the quill as it dips once more below its axis, forestalling its inevitable fall. He contemplates the speckle pattern laced throughout the griffons’ plume for a moment, balancing it on his forefinger as he would a dagger to check its balance.
Satisfied, he hands it to his son; who immediately sets about trying to imitate his fathers’ act of poise and control.
“I’m not a little kid anymore.”
He very much is, but arguing that point will get them nowhere. “Perhaps if I were to know what this was actually about?” Ignis coaxes, directing the question to Prompto, much to Eques annoyance if his sons’ sudden decision to shield his eyes with his bangs is anything to go by.
“Right, err…what was I saying?” Prompto runs a hand nervously across the back of his neck, a nervous tick that the blonde has never been able to shrug off.
“Apparently there was a serious problem that needed my immediate attention.”
“It is serious! I swear this isn’t like the last time.”
“You mean the last five times and I sincerely hope not.” Ignis corrects.
“A-haaah…you’ve been keeping count?” Prompto is suddenly having a lot of trouble holding Ignis’ gaze.
“Obviously.”
“No, well this time is different. I needed to get some stuff from the library for Cor and Clarus, you know how they’re practically obsessed with the origins of the Scourge and the Founder King and the—”
“Prompto.” Ignis gently interrupts before Prompto can get lost down the winding path of that tangent of conversation.
“Right, so like I was in the library and that’s where I found Eques going through some science books.”
Nothing out of the ordinary there. Since he had learnt to read for himself Eques has been steadily making his way through the lamentably understocked and neglected shelves of the small library tucked within the corridors of the Leville.
More than once he and Aranea have had to wonder the dusty labyrinth of book cases searching for their wayward son. A task made more difficult these days by the fact that his mother has recently introduced Eques to her death-defying aerial lance work and subsequently, their son has discovered his love of heights. Astral’s help him.
Prompto goes on, “I had some time to kill so I went over, and we started talking and one thing lead to another…” the words begin to rush into each other as Prompto’s anxiety rises “…and he told me he doesn’t believe in Noct or the Sun!”
“I beg your pardon?” Whatever Ignis had been expecting, this had not been it.
“I don’t know why you’re taking this so badly Uncle Prompto, I’m too old to believe in fairy tales.” The young boy rolls his eyes as he watches the last vestiges of joy drain from Prompto’s face.
For his part, Ignis is still trying to wrap his mind around what has just been said. “Forgive me Eques, but are you suggesting that all the stories I’ve told you about Noct and the time before the years of darkness are…fictional?”
“Of course they are” Eques scoffs. “They’re the same as the tales you always tell me and some of the other kids about Carbuncle appearing at the Moogle Chocobo Carnival.”
“You don’t believe in Carbuncle either!” Prompto bursts out, Ignis can’t help but compare his friends distressed reaction to that of a kicked chocochic. Never a good sign.
Twisting slightly, Ignis places a hand beneath Eques’ chin and gently tilts it upwards, encouraging his son to look at him. A stubborn green stare meets his own from behind the curtain of his son’s long fringe. Ignis can’t stop himself from brushing the offending hair aside, even knowing that Eques likes to hide behind it when he’s feeling defensive.
“Eques, what gave you the impression that these stories are fantasies imagined by adults to tell children?”
"There's no evidence." Eques states resolutely, certain that he's right.
Ignis thinks for a moment, contemplating how he can approach this without upsetting his son.
"You've been reading the science books in the library, yes?" A nod. "Then you must have read about the sun."
"I did, but those books were published over fifty years ago. Just because it existed then doesn't mean it exists now, or that it will come back because a Chosen King kicks that jumped up Jesters ass off his throne."
"Eques." Ignis chides.
The boy winces even before the reprimand leaves his fathers' lips, "sorry. I meant to say arse."
"That's no better." Judging by the smirk painting the boys’ lips, he already knows this and he’s completely unrepentant.
Any further opportunity to reprimand Eques for his language is curtailed by a sudden bark of laughter. Prompto is bent practically double, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest as he gasps for air between shuddering breaths.
“Hah! My stomach, Bwahah! Awwwww man, where did he even hear that sort of language.”
“This isn’t funny Prompto.” Ignis snaps.
“It so is, haaaaah I think that’s the closest we’ll ever get to you properly swearing.”
Correct as that point may be, Ignis has little time to dwell on it. He’ll have to deal with it later, probably before he has a word with the custodian of the Leville Library. Apocalypse or no, there is no excuse for an understocked, out of date library.
Leaving Prompto to recover in his own time—it’s been a while since he heard his friend laugh so freely—He returns once more to the matter at hand. “Eques, you’ve grown up around the Glaives magic and I know Talcott has regaled you more than once with stories from the cosmogony—”
“That’s different” Eques interrupts, twisting his head so sharply that he disturbs the feather he has only just managed to balance. He allows it to fall, but the way his eyes stay trained upon its twisting descent to the floor almost screams his frustration. “I know the Astral’s are real, as you say the Glaives magic is proof of that.”
“Then it should also be proof of Noct and the part his return will play in cleansing the Scourge and the rise of a new dawn.” Ignis reasons.
Another pause, usually this would be the point where the discussion ends. Eques would take in his fathers’ words of wisdom, analyse them, draw his own conclusions based on all the facts he’d learned, and nod in acceptance.
This is not one of those times.
“It doesn’t make sense!” Eques pleads, all but begging for a straight answer.
"Even if Noct is real, he's still human. I've seen what the power granted by the crystal does to people.” As he says this his eyes lock onto the scars that mar his fathers’ brow.
Ignis doesn’t flinch and he doesn’t try to hide either, but he does hold Eques closer.
“It was a price I had to pay.” Ignis says softly.
Eques shakes his head. “That’s my point, there’s always a price. So what sort of price did Noctis have to pay to receive the blessing of the Crystal?”
He’s dead
Those are the words that hang unspoken in the air.
They hit Ignis like a blow.
It’s wrong.
It is so wrong.
How has it come to this?
No.
That doesn’t matter.
Not at this moment.
What matters is how he will fix this.
Gathering Eques in his arms he stands. His son doesn’t struggle, nor does he try to escape. Instead he bites down on his bottom lip as his shoulders begin to tremble, the only sign that he’s holding back tears.
“Prompto.” Ignis gets his friends attention as he rubs small circles on Eques’ back.
“Yeah?” Prompto turns from where he had been trying to quietly exit the room, a look of guilt etched into his features.
Ignis merely smiles. “In my room, the writing desk, first draw on the left, you’ll recognize the book, can you bring it to the roof?”
“Sure, no problem Iggy.”
“Thank you.” He presses his room key into Prompto’s hand as he passes, heading for the stairs.
Light, heat, and noise rise from the streets of Lestallum, causing long shadows and stretched out echoes to wash across the darkened roof of the Leville.
Ignis ignores the sights and sounds from below; the hustle and bustle of worn thin Glaives, the hiss of steam, the tense screech of rusted machinery, and over bright lights that strain against the encroaching darkness.
His focus lies instead on the darkened stretch of land beyond the reach of Lestallum’s artificial lights.
From this height he can clearly see the scattered glowing shards of the great Meteorite that litter the disk of Cauthess. The sight brings little comfort, not when compared with the image held within his memory, but for Eques…
His son has never known the wonder of an endless blue sky.
For a few years after Noct’s departure there had been some light, enough to tell the difference between night and day if nothing else, but that light had waned.
By the time Eques was old enough to recognise the light for what it was, it was gone. Obscured behind a perpetual layer of Scourge laden haze.
His son has grown-up knowing nothing but darkness. The blue shards of meteoric crystal that mark the dark canvas of black stone is the closest thing Eques has seen to real stars.
He needs to rectify that.
As if summoned by that thought Prompto appears behind them, the requested book in hand.
“Thank you Prompto.”
“No worries.” Before Ignis can turn back to Eques his friend catches his eye. With subtle movements and no sound, he signs: Aranea’s waiting down stairs.
Ignis nods as a slight smile graces his lips. Ever since Nyx’s…audience with the Kings of Yore and the subsequent toll, Prompto had thrown himself into learning sign language with a new vigour. He had tried to keep up with Ignis and Noct when they had turned to studying it, but more often than not he had found himself distracted and was consequently left behind.
Now he is fluent. Although, having Nyx to practise with…well suffice it to say, Prompto has picked up more than a few unflattering terms. Not that he’s aware of this fact, Nyx just has a wicked sense of humour. Ignis is still weeding those less than cordial terms out of Prompto’s silent vocabulary, but both Nyx and Gladio’s continued intervention—blatant sabotage—is slowing the process.
Thank you, Ignis signs in return.
Prompto smiles that hundred watt grin of his—that by all rights should send Daemons running for the nearest shadow with how bright it is—salutes and departs.
While all this has been going on Eques has composed himself, the only sign left that he had been near in tears is the slight redness that rims his eyes. A strange mix of pride and self-admonishment strikes Ignis at the sight, but he only allows the pride to show.
Walking to the edge of the roof he takes a seat, adjusting his hold on Eques so his son is resting comfortably in his lap, he then offers the book.
It’s a hefty thing, especially in the small hands of a five-year-old.
New, especially when compared to the rest of the books Ignis has in his own small collection. The smooth leather almost shines in the limited light as Eques turns it over in his hands, searching for a title that isn’t there.
“Open it.” Ignis prompts as Eques finally pauses in his inspection.
He pries the cover free, gently flicking through the first few empty pages that act as a barrier between the books’ contents and the outside world.
The first page that actually has anything of meaning on it is five sheets in and would be easy to miss, if it weren’t for the hand drawn Chocobo, wearing spectacles of all things, in the lower corner.
Eques twitches as his eyes lock onto the caricature. “Is that supposed to be you?” He sounds offended on his fathers’ behalf and Ignis can’t help but find it endearing.
“I believe so, but you’ll have to ask Prompto. He’s the one who drew it.” He chuckles when Eques’ face scrunches up in distaste.
He’s about to flick to the next page when Ignis points out the passage above the bespectacled chocobo.
“Look here.”
In elegant handwriting—that most decidedly does not belong to Prompto—familiar words rendered in gold stand against the crisp white of the parchment.
“O'er rotted Soil, under blighted sky, A dread Plague the Wicked hath wrought. In the Light of the Gods, Sword-Sworn at his Side 'Gainst the Dark the King's Battle is fought. From the Heavens high, to the Blessed below, Shines the Beam of a Peace long besought. "Long live thy Line, and this Stone divine, For the Night when All comes to Naught.”
Eques reads with practised ease.
“This is from the Cosmogony.”
It doesn’t surprise Ignis that Eques recognises the quote, it’s one of Talcott’s favourite topics to discuss.
“Yes,” he confirms, “Prompto asked Lady Lunafreya to write this particular extract in all of the books he gifted to each of us.”
“Why?” Eques asks, childlike innocence lacing his tone. Assuring Ignis that he has his sons’ full attention.
“I believe he thought it gave the words more meaning. Their own power if you will.”
He fully believes that Eques is going to roll his eyes at that comment, so he’s very surprised when instead the boy merely shrugs and says, “makes sense.”
“But Noct returning and bringing back the sun doesn’t?” Ignis enquires.
“I see Lady Luna every day.”
“So, its proof that you require?”
Ignis’ question is not unkind; it’s said in jest with a tone that he knows Eques will recognise. Still, Eques hunches his shoulders.
“That is not something you need to be ashamed of.”
He rests a hand firmly on his son’s small shoulders, “it’s my fault for not sharing this with you sooner.”
He turn’s the page revealing four familiar faces looking back at them and does his best to ignore the lance of pain that seizes his heart. It’s not easy.
Inexorably his gaze is drawn to the young man sitting at the bottom left of the picture, his arm thrown casually over his knee as he leans back against the newly repaired Regalia. There isn’t an ounce of Royal composure held within his relaxed posture, his styled—dishevelled—black hair, or the fatigues he wears and Ignis can’t help but smile at that.
“Is this?”
“Yes,” Ignis confirms, “that’s Noctis; this was taken just after we left Insomnia.”
Eques reviews the photo in silence, his eyes flitting over the four young men that are the focus of the scene. Most likely analysing all the changes that time has wrought between then and now. Ignis does notice that Eques’ gaze does tend to linger the longest on both Noctis and himself.
Happy to leave Eques for the moment he returns his own gaze to the picture.
A huff of air that may be an aborted laugh escapes him as he remembers the circumstances that led up to this photo. The sun beating down on them unrelentingly from above, the smell of heated leather and sweat, and the strained banter that flows between the four of them like water:
“Just gonna have to push her all the way”
“I’ve already pushed myself, to the brink of death.”
“Un-be-live-able.”
“Not exactly a fairy tale beginning, huh Prince Noctis.”
“Gladio, do me a favour.”
“What?”
“Push this thing by yourself.”
“All by myself?”
“You won’t even notice if we just let go.”
“Prompto, don’t even think about it.”
“Save some breath for pushing.”
“Is that a spotlight?” Eques’ question pulls him from the memory.
“Pardon?”
Eques looks up at him, a frown of deep confusion marring his brow. “The light, is it a spotlight or a floodlight?”
“Its neither.” Ignis answers, almost cooing when Eques tilts his head to the side in an adorable fashion, but he restrains himself.
“The photo was taken at Hammerhead the morning the Regalia was repaired. If I recall correctly Prompto was delighted over the lighting in this particular shot.”
Eques turns his attention back to the photo, studying it with a ravenous gaze that Ignis often sees’ when he’s reading a book he finds exceptionally fascinating.
“So, this was taken six years ago?” His voice sounds slightly awed.
“Yes, the first of many.”
He flicks to the next picture, this one showing him watching Noct like a daggerquill as his charge stirs a simmering pot on the camp stove.
“That’s you on the left, isn’t it?” Eques enquires.
“Indeed.”
“What’s with your hair?”
“It was a style choice.” Before his son can start grilling him about his past choice of hairstyles; in a fashion that Ignis is sure will remind him all too well of conversations he and Aranea have shared, he turns the page. Much to Eques’ amusement.
They go on like this, perusing the snapshots of the journey he and the others had taken all those years ago.
They linger over scenes of brilliant sunsets and star strewn skies. Discuss the still images of scarred battle grounds with figures frozen mid strike, in several of these the electric blue of Noct’s after image and warp trails stand out in sharp relief. In so many of them they are smiling, genuinely, even with the shadow of past trials shading their eyes.
Eques asks endless questions, with a childlike innocence that Ignis only now realises has been missing from their recent conversations. He answers every one of them, going into great detail and indulging his son whenever Eques flips back to a particularly favoured picture. To his great embarrassment one of those turns out to be the elicit shot Prompto managed to take at he and Aranea’s unconventional wedding. The caption of ‘Mawwiage’ beneath said photo is not helping him convince Eques that it was actually a serious affair.
As they continue Ignis hears an almost breathless whisper escape Eques. “It’s all true.”
They finish the book in this manner, coming to the last page after what seems like moments, but in truth it’s been well over an hour.
Once more they find words written in the fine hand of Lady Lunafreya:
“When the night has come,
And the land is dark,
And the moon is the only light we'll see.
If the sky that we look upon,
Should tumble and fall.
Or the mountains should crumble to the sea.
I won’t cry.
No, I won’t be afraid.
Just as long as you stand, stand by me.”
The small furrow of confusion returns to Eques’ brow, “I don’t recognise this. Is it a quote?”
“Hardly surprising.” Ignis consoles.
“It originates from a set of poems composed by a reclusive artisan in Tenebrae. None of the original works have been retrieved.” That was a lie, but he had learned from experience that telling others that Ravus had been the author had dire consequences.
“Luckily Lady Lunafreya remembered it, as she felt it was fitting.”
Eques runs his hand lightly over the words as his eyes trail slowly along each line, committing them to memory. Done, he closes the book almost reverently as he offer’s it back, a small frown painting his lips and his back slumping as he does. Clear signs of his reluctance.
Ignis shakes his head once as he rests his hand on the cover, gently pushing it down. “I want you to hold on to this for me.”
Eques’ eyes widen in surprise, “but Uncle Prompto made this for you.”
“Yes, he did.” There’s a slight tremor in his voice that he prays Eques won’t notice. “However, it’s not doing much good tucked away in that draw.”
Unsure, but hopeful Eques takes the book back. Drawing it to his chest and holding onto it as though he’s afraid it will disappear the second he slackens his grip.
“You’re sure.”
“I’m sure, I know you’ll take good care of it for me.” Ignis assures, “do remember that this is only a lone. I will be expecting it back.”
Meeting his fathers gaze Eques gives a solemn nod, as a bright smile breaks out across his face; one that Ignis cannot help but return.
“Thank you, Papa.”
Instead of saying anything in return, he draws Eques into a one-armed hug, resting his chin in his sons’ soft hair as he does so. Eques wraps a lone arm around Ignis’ neck in return, the other still tightly holding the book close to his chest.
“Well, I suppose we’ve kept your mother waiting long enough.” Ignis says after a time, picking his son up just as he had before, “besides, I believe it’s well past your bedtime.”
He can feel Eques’ tensing in his arms at the mention of bedtime.
“Ten more minutes, please Papa, just ten.”
“Which will turn into twenty, then thirty and so on. I think not.”
“Please, I just want to go apologise to Uncle Prompto, he was so upset.”
He looks down, clearly seeing the spark of mischief Eques is trying to hide behind the shadows of his fringe. “Nice try. However, I believe that issue will keep until morning.
He makes his way down the stairs, Eques still pleading his case as they go.
Aranea’s waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, curled up on the last step like a cat, with her legs resting against the wall.
“All sorted?” she asks.
“I believe so.” Ignis looks to Eques for confirmation.
“I have evidence, I’m good.” The conviction in his voice has Ignis breathing a sigh of relief.
“Good.” Aranea confirms. “Oh, by the way; Shortcake sold you out, it’s still a no on that Lucian cryptography, dictionary or whatever that crap was you were brainwashing our son with.”