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[kittycaterer]

[ This isn't his first rodeo with social media, or he supposes... Something as close to it. Would this be considered social media if it's within a closed network? Noctis supposes it doesn't matter. This is his first shot, this is his means of feeling this place out. ]

I need a wheelchair.

Not for me... It's for a friend. I know there's a clinic, but I'd rather reach out and make sure I'm not signing myself up for the third degree when I try and claim one.

If someone could point me in the right direction of who I need to talk to or whether or not I just take it, let me know.

Ah.

Thanks. To whoever's reading.

Comments

action;

[kittycaterer]

[ Once, when he was a young boy, he was taught the ways of a diplomat. One of the many duties as king is to understand that cultures are different all across Eos. While his kingdom would be his responsibility and obligation, being friendly with other countries and civilizations is part of the job. He'd been taught to be enthusiastic in the face of learning the culture and ways of others. ]

[ This feels so ridiculously close to that. For whatever reason. He has no way of knowing what is so special about this hot dog, but apparently it's a big deal between Frisk and their skeleton friend named Sans. ]

[ So first, he lets Frisk in to his apartment. When the hot dog is presented to him in a neat little container, he accepts it. Noctis takes a look through the plastic, tilting it this way and that and... It sure... Looks like a normal hot dog. ]

Uh-huh.

[ He flips the container upside-down, then back up. ]

So what... Kind of hot dog is this exactly?

It looks normal.

[ Okay, so maybe he never did very well in said training. ]

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[save_theworld]

[Considering how important Frisk seems to think this hot dog is, they don't seem all that bothered by him shaking it around. His questions are... they get it. Really. It took them a while before they figured out that food in the Underground didn't immediately need to be stuffed in their mouth.]

It's monster food. Sans made it.

[Which is hardly a proper explanation.]

Um. It's made of magic. It heals you. And it never spoils.