There would always be a part of Ignis that couldn't help but feeling that retaining his lease on the MHA apartment was a waste of money and resources, though that part of him was swiftly quieted by the irrefutable evidence of just how convenient and useful still having it and having access to it had been. Not only as a conveniently closer location for quick bursts of romantic rendezvous, but also as an excellent place to work on things or to keep things that might run the risk of early exposure, thus ruining some surprise, were it to occur or be held at the mansion. Which did seem to make it quite the glorified storage unit, really, but a useful one at that.

Well, not just a glorified storage unit, but even if it was just that, regular maintenance on it was especially crucial because it was not being used. Letting something sit and forgetting about all the finer details was an excellent way to ensure its slow decay. But those romantic rendezvous were fairly regular...but what of the time in between them? Dust still collected, a staleness settled in the air, a dormant, vacant space was just an invitation to all sorts of settling uncleanliness and other things.

So Ignis had made it a habit, usually after his visit to the Consortium, of swinging by the apartment to clean. To check appliances and fixtures, let in some fresh air, change the linens, keep tabs on general wear-and-tear through the march of time...All those little things that kept a place habitable that flew under most people's radars.

Perhaps it was just old habits, too. He found a certain comfort and familiarity in being the steady, silent, unseen force that made the lives of those he cared about seamlessly better in ways they'd never even realize. Liliana might spend, at best, an hour or two a week in the MHA apartment, but that was no reason why it shouldn't be perfect and immaculate every time she did.

So, needless to day, when he came by that Monday to tidy up and discover it to be anything but the usual quiet stillness he was accustomed to, he was a little thrown. Even more so by the fact that he was greeted not only with an inordinate amount of activity coming from the kitchen (leading one to, for a brief moment, dread a potential raccoon- or gremlin-related break-in), but also the scent of cooking (or at least the attempts at it) and the occasional worrisome thump or clatter followed by rather unique and colorful cursing. Concern creased his brow for a moment (in part just because his mind was already thinking of the additional cleaning time required this week now), but then his head tilted with the curiosity that was overriding it as he ventured that way.

"....Liliana?"

[[ and for the unexpected kitchen invader, obvi~ and doubly NFB, se vois plait ]]

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... ]]