[Noctis isn't going to question how it is Prompto always ferrets out all of these great hookups no matter where they are. He won't complain either, because however he'd managed it this time THE DECREED HOUR IS COME and here they are, poised for a good and thorough toasting just like the doctor ordered.
...Or just as the two of them ordered, whatever. Details, right? Who needs 'em.]
Never should have doubted you, [Noct offers upon Prompto's return. Scoreeee...]
[Life was so much easier in Insomnia where getting the good stuff was as easy as just knowing the right former high school classmate, or even by 3 degrees of separation in the social network and 20 minutes of hunting could get you anything from the soft stuff to the type of shit that terrified Prompto to even think about. Now that they were out in the sticks, it was harder, but not impossible. Prompto was pretty easy going and made friends with strangers easily due to his constantly excitable state, and he had tallied a few among those people he knew as at least good for some weed.
His favorite supply often came from the Chocobo Wiz- who dealt in greens far harsher than the standard gysahl, which came as an utter surprise to him to learn that he liked to partake. Grow his own even. No one ever suspected a chocobo keeper to be down in the dirty trade, which afforded a good relationship for fellow bird and toking enthusiasts. Prompto admittedly loved sneaking out to get high with the dude and just wawtching chocobos be chocobos way into the wee hours of the night when the other guys were sleeping. It was his ultimate guilty pleasure.
When he returns from his visit, he's all smiles, a bright yellow feather tucked behind his ear for good luck as he holds up the dime (gil?) bag, shaking it mischievously as he tosses it over to his bestie.]
[So that's where Prompto sneaks off to sometimes... And to think all this time Noctis has been operating under the assumption that he'd just been leaving the tent to jack it in private like the rest of them.
Guy's sneakier than anyone gives him credit for, that's for sure... A quality that's definitely working in both their favors tonight. It's not that Noctis doesn't want Gladio or Ignis along for the ride, but if he's being honest a group of four very different personalities can be a little overwhelming sometimes, especially after being stuck in close quarters for hours on end. And if he's being really honest, this is kind of their thing, just his and Prompto's- a throwback to simpler times when they really could just kick back and forget about the world for a while, nights spent passing the time like... well, like normal people. Crazy, right?]
Good times, [he agrees, swiping the baggie out of the air easily and clashing a small, pleased grin of his own.
Don't mind him, he's just gonna check give the merchandise a once-over, lifting the bag to his nose for a curious sniff.]
Niiiice, [he says, tossing it back with an appreciative nod. Surely Prompto's used to his friend's spoiled asshole tendencies by now; there's no way Noct's prepping it himself.
But he's got the stuff ready at least: laid out on the folding table usually reserved for preparations of another sort, Prompto will find a variety of papers, a lighter, a soot-stained glass Cactuar... and whatever else Noct had managed to dig out of the black hole that is his bag. Ashes, ashes everywhere. TAKE YOUR PICK, DUDE.
There are snacks around somewhere too, which Noct is busying himself with locating. Let it never be said that the prince doesn't understand how division of labor works.] Man, how long's it been? Gotta be a month at least...
[Some of the best times that Prompto had in high school were sitting out on Noctis' apartment balcony, passing a bowl between the two and letting the night air reek havoc on both of their sensibilities. Of course there was a certain danger in getting caught- he doesn't know what would happen if his father ever found out that this was what they were getting down to up there late at night, and far be it from Prompto to ever tell Ignis that half of the empty bags of food around it were more or less from their serial case of the munchies.
He catches the bag back in his hands, fumbling for a few moments since, despite the fact that his trigger aim was getting phenomenally better, his catch was still a little something to be desired. Noctis never had to roll his own- and he wasn't about to start breaking tradition yet.]
This stuff smells like heaven, Noct. It's so good. Leave it to like, a farmer to grow some dank ass weed.
[Moving to the table, he separates out the bud as it needs to be set, carefully picking and teasing to firmly pack the glass tubing. He loved that cactuar glass. It had the markings of all their finest, most Grown Up memories. Looking behind to make sure that Ignis and Gladio were firmly out of nose's reach of the stuff, he picks it up, grabs the lighter, and plops himself down in the coleman chair next to the prince.
And as custom, he always lets Noct take the honors of having the first hit.]
Yeah. I think it's been about a month? I dunno. I remember waking up next to you in the morning and praying our clothes didn't smell.
[A small smile displays against his face, holding out the lighter.]
You go first, your highness.
[Really, this was pretty much the only time he ever likened the title to him. But it was only because of the pun, and only because it was absolutely fucking perfect. Every single time.]
[Honestly, who else would it be from? ...Still, the mental image of some howdy-slinging, straw-hat wearing farm dude making illicit exchanges behind the barn is enough to make Noct's lips twitch. You just never know with some people.. Anyway, two found bags of Lestallum-brand Funyuns later and he turns his attention to the 'workstation', slouching with cheek rested in hand to watch Prompto get to it. He's just as thorough with these preparations as he would be setting up a nice pic- all narrowed-eyed concentration and enthusiastic prodding- and the sight alone is comforting in and of itself.
What a privilege, to watch a master at work. Brings a tear to the eye.]
Sounds about right. Can't believe we keep getting away with it... [He shakes his head, and then continues breezily:] Almost makes you feel bad.
[...Almost. Close but no popoto- they need this every once in a while, time to kick back and relax. Who knows when they'll get another chance.
He full-on snorts at Prompto's horrible pun--] Stop, [though he sure does take the lighter and pipe without further complaint. Dammit, it is perfect every single time. He can't even be mad.
Knowing their time is likely short Noct wastes precisely none of it... And his impatience is rewarded with a too-big hit that fills his lungs and makes his eyes water with the strain of not coughing loudly enough to wake the others.
So embarrassing.... He does his best, though, flapping a hand dramatically and gesturing for Prompto to take it from him. Man...]
[Honestly... Prompto lived to hear that sort of groan come out of Noctis' mouth. There was nothing more self satisfying than bringing the other to a premature grey with all the host of wonderful puns out there. That is... if he made it to grey. There's about a 50-50 chance that he'll end up pulling his hair out, and the fact that Prompto is completely okay with that speaks volumes about their friendship.
When the lighter gets handed over, he slouches in his chair properly, making a habit not to watch the other take the inhale. This seemed like a religious rite in a sense, and everything was in order- up to and including the way that Prompto looked up at the sky, like he was inviting their cosmic hosts to come down and speak to them, whisper in their ear all the stupid fucking things of the universe- and the only thing that distracts him is the harshness of exhale that Noctis blows right back out.
A side glance at the other tells him all he needs to know. He was getting ambitious in his old age. And then the little cough. Prompto has to hold back a belly laugh; remind himself that there are actual adults sleeping somewhere nearby. He takes back the bowl and the lighter.]
Aww, how cute. It was like our first bag of weed all over again. If only I had my camera.
[Nope, he's not going to let Noct shoot him a glare, because he's too busy lighting up, pressing his thumb against the intake hole and taking into his lungs the burn and the rancid aftertaste that he knew tasted like shit but provided him fond memories of his past. Kind of like an ex, but... better in the way that this was at least something he could look forward to meeting again.
He exhales, covers his mouth with his arm, feeling the scratch at the back of his throat and resists the urge to cough. Leaning over, he passes the pipe back and retires to his professional slouch. It'll be a few minutes before affecting him, but fuck, the in between state was one of the best parts.]
Dude. I wish we had some music. Oh man, this is a music high. I can feel it. It's like, this perfect little bag of weed is saying "Prompto. You need some chill sounds that don't sound like crickets trying to murder you."
Ugh, shut up, [he huffs as soon as he catches his breath, feeling blessed that Prompto doesn't have his camera for precisely that reason. The last thing he needs is documentation of his level one toking abilities; he already has to live with the shame of knowing that, for at least the first few smoke sessions, he'd needed Prompto to thumb the damn choke for him. Those were dark times, dark times indeed.
Anyway, at least they can agree on one thing: music would be incredible right now. Noctis takes his next hit- much more smoothly this time- and holds it in through his reply:]
I know, right?
[Seriously, what he wouldn't give for a tune to just eeeease him right into chillsville. There's always their phones, but... He eyes the tent. What a drag. He'll figure something out, just... Just give him a minute.
He passes the pipe back before settling himself back into a comfortable position, sinking into his chair and letting his head drop back against the headrest as he finally gives in to the burn in his chest and exhales. Watching the smoke curl toward the sky, he can't help but appreciate what a good night they'd picked for this- it's crystal clear, and while that is true more often than not it feels different now that he's really getting the chance to enjoy it. Even the murderous crickets are kind of nice.
He folds his hands over his stomach and lets his eyes slip closed, already feeling about 200% more relaxed even if he hasn't reached Peak High yet. Won't be long now.]
[The brusque sound of Noctis' speech as he blows out and speaks at the same time, a few pitches lower than his normal mopey voice- now that is something that instinctively brings back a familiar feeling to all of this, and makes Prompto happy to hear. Or maybe it's just the high slowly rolling its way in, it's hard to tell at the moment. And when the bowl is passed back, he starts to feel the inkling of his face enter tingle-heaven, and it takes him a moment to edge the bottom of the lighter and move the ash around so that his next inhale isn't all pure fire.
Ceremoniously, he takes the next hit, enjoying it more now that the actual taste has been re-acclimated, and it's a bit too harsh. He blows out, watching the dim fog dissipate into the night air, and coughs- which leads to a spurt of laughter, and he's not sure which one is worse, because the more air he takes in the more he feels completely brain numb.
Now that it's pretty much shit tier ash, he leans forward and places it on the table in front of them. He could easily fit another bowl if they needed it, but he's not quick on the uptake to start cleaning it out. Actually, nothing really feels quick right now, and that feeling... fuck how nice it was just to have his brain slow down a bit and let the slight pang of anxiety run out of his body.]
Hey, Noct?
[He slouches more, finding himself comfortable enough to pivot and let his legs drape over the side of the armchair.]
[The coughing fit is enough to make Noct lose his cool, subtly at first with a hand pressed over his mouth, then a bit more obviously as the silent laughter shakes his shoulders, finally reaching critical mass in the form of a series of low, uncontrollable chuckles.
If he wasn't sure where he was at before, he sure as hell is now, between quiet snickers bubbling to the surface despite his best efforts and a distinct twitch in his thighs that undeniably signals his entry into the promised land. Truth be told it probably means he went too hard too fast, but he can't be fucked to care. No, instead he lets his head loll back against the chair and just sort of spaces out for a bit, wondering how fish even happened, anyway-- until Prompto's voice penetrates his haze, that is.
And usually, Prompto's more ridiculous queries just make him laugh, but this time... This time the gravity of the question hits him like a truck and he slooooowly turns to face his friend where he's draped over his chair.]
...Dude. [...Do they know they're chocobos? What does that even mean, do they "know"? Noct slides down into his own chair, a look of deep contemplation on his face. Of course they know, they have to know. Right...?
After a moment, he frowns, clearly distressed:] What if they don't?
[Prompto's always been easily affected by the effects of a finely packed pipe, so when he's starting to get there mentally, it's like a welcoming home of sorts. Noctis turning to look at him with the movement of a glacier slowly tipping into the ocean amuses him a little too much, too easily. That's a good sign. Soon he'll be a philosopher king, just like he was.
He reaches, carefully, trying to reach the bag of funyuns. Not necessarily that he's hungry right now, but he knows how languid and heavy his body will feel in just a matter of minutes, when the thought of actually getting up seems like the worst fucking possible idea ever. Fingertips brushing the cool plastic of the bag, he inches it over, a little at a time, until he's got it, and it's laying safely on his stomach like a sleeping babe.
Knowing that there's an internal dialogue he's missing out on inside Noctis' head, he smiles and waits for the words that follow dude, half expecting this beautiful litany of absolute crap, and when he doesn't, Prompto's amused, higher pitched laugh rattles his small frame.]
So... like. We know we're human because we think... oh hey, we're human. And it like, totaaaally makes sense right? Cause we like to categorize things to understand 'em better. And if chocobos don't have a way to think, or like, even a language to talk to them in their head, do they look at each other and know, 'oh, you're a chocobo' or is it like... 'this thing is like me' so it follows all those survival instincts. And like, when they're looking at us, they don't think 'oh whoa that's a dude,' right? Like they're just seeing us as we are, without even thinking we're humans. So they probably don't... uhhhh... know that they're chocobos. And. If that's the case, how do we know that we're humans, right?
[He looks over to see if Noct is following him, not even realizing that he's been ranting for a solid few minutes about chocobian existential crises. But it all makes sense in his head at the time. This is the side of Prompto with no filter.]
[While usually more than capable of following Prompto's ranting, this time around Noct gets pretty hung up on one possibility in particular. He's quiet for a bit longer than is strictly natural- for a normal conversation, anyway- and then, squinting:]
Orrrrr maybe they do think we're chocobos too. Just, you know. Not fluffy and soft. [Because they're so, so feather-fluffy and soft. The soft and fluffiest. Chocobos are so good. They don't deserve chocobos, frankly.] Like, maybe they think we're just really, really lame naked chocobos that super suck at running and can't get our shit together. 'Cause they take care of us, right? Like we're chicks or broken or something--
[That's how cats are, right? ...Man, he could really use a cat on his lap right now, his fingers are just itching for some softness and his thighs feel suddenly bare without something cute to pet resting on top of them... He'd take a chocochick too, all downy-poof fluffiness. Or maybe he'll just settle for the other bag of snacks; as soon as the crinkle of Prompto's bag penetrates the haze surrounding his brain, he's suddenly in desperate need of food... Enough that he's distracted enough to just drop his train of thought entirely as he turns the bag over a few times and picks at the plastic.
[Sniping a fried onion chip from the bag, he eyeballs it like it's a prized possession. The type of abusive relationship that he's going to eat what he loves alive, he eyeballs Noctis through its open loop, smiling dumbly before sinking his teeth into the first bite. Being high is all about textures, at least, for Prompto... and the texture of the crispy goodness in his mouth is enough to make him slink even lower, if that's even possible, and moan out lowly. So. Fucking. Good.]
We are really, really lame.
[He's lost in thought for a second as he devours the second third of the morsel, not realizing that there was a pause in what he was saying and what he wanted to say next, but the stop is palpable, noticeable, and as he rubs his hand on his pants messily, he adds-]
Chocobos. We're lame chocobos without... wings. Wow, that's really sad. We can't fly. You ever think about how we can't fly? Why is that? Why'd we have to be born to stay on the ground when there are so many cool things to look at from above?
[There he goes, the mayor of Chocoboville, waxing philosophically over why they don't have the finer feathered qualities of the majestic creatures. And then the last part of Noctis' rebuttal hits him, delayed, and he grows wide eyed, dropping the rest of the snack onto the ground.]
You're a chick, [he corrects, snickering as Prompto's chip takes a tumble into oblivion. Noctis, meanwhile, isn't so much savoring his snacks as he is jamming them into his mouth. The texture is nice and all, but the motion of lift-eat-repeat is what's really doing it for him this time around. Mechanical and mindless, and rewarding in the way that only chain-snacking while blitzed can be. Life is good.
Except, you know. They can't fly. And what kind of crap is that? Totally not fair, not even a little bit. He's the prince, he should be able to fly if he wants to- really fly, not just warp. Tipping his head back he stares up at the sky as he munches away, frowning into the darkness as if it's personally to blame for his lack of flight ability. Flying would be so cool...
Don't mind him, he's just gonna close his eyes and think really, really hard about it. Like, what if the slight breeze was all over and not just across his face? He rolls his head to the side, letting the slightly dizzy quality of his high take control, the numb pulsing in his face close enough to what he imagines his cheeks would feel like if he were soaring above their campsite instead of parked in an admittedly cozy folding chair. It's close enough, right?
Anyway, he bets the symbols cut into the ground would look cool from an aerial POV, and Ignis's hair would look extra spiny, probably. Would his hair look okay from the sky? Meh, who cares, he'd be flying. Then again, he wouldn't see his own hair, right? Not unless he went floating over some lake or something.
...A lake. A lake.]
Dude.
[He looks toward Prompto again, belatedly realizing that his best friend can't actually read his mind and that's why he's not getting any feedback on his best idea ever, and then gives the explanation no one was asking for:]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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...Or just as the two of them ordered, whatever. Details, right? Who needs 'em.]
Never should have doubted you, [Noct offers upon Prompto's return. Scoreeee...]
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His favorite supply often came from the Chocobo Wiz- who dealt in greens far harsher than the standard gysahl, which came as an utter surprise to him to learn that he liked to partake. Grow his own even. No one ever suspected a chocobo keeper to be down in the dirty trade, which afforded a good relationship for fellow bird and toking enthusiasts. Prompto admittedly loved sneaking out to get high with the dude and just wawtching chocobos be chocobos way into the wee hours of the night when the other guys were sleeping. It was his ultimate guilty pleasure.
When he returns from his visit, he's all smiles, a bright yellow feather tucked behind his ear for good luck as he holds up the dime (gil?) bag, shaking it mischievously as he tosses it over to his bestie.]
Just like back in high school!
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Guy's sneakier than anyone gives him credit for, that's for sure... A quality that's definitely working in both their favors tonight. It's not that Noctis doesn't want Gladio or Ignis along for the ride, but if he's being honest a group of four very different personalities can be a little overwhelming sometimes, especially after being stuck in close quarters for hours on end. And if he's being really honest, this is kind of their thing, just his and Prompto's- a throwback to simpler times when they really could just kick back and forget about the world for a while, nights spent passing the time like... well, like normal people. Crazy, right?]
Good times, [he agrees, swiping the baggie out of the air easily and clashing a small, pleased grin of his own.
Don't mind him, he's just gonna check give the merchandise a once-over, lifting the bag to his nose for a curious sniff.]
Niiiice, [he says, tossing it back with an appreciative nod. Surely Prompto's used to his friend's spoiled asshole tendencies by now; there's no way Noct's prepping it himself.
But he's got the stuff ready at least: laid out on the folding table usually reserved for preparations of another sort, Prompto will find a variety of papers, a lighter, a soot-stained glass Cactuar... and whatever else Noct had managed to dig out of the black hole that is his bag. Ashes, ashes everywhere. TAKE YOUR PICK, DUDE.
There are snacks around somewhere too, which Noct is busying himself with locating. Let it never be said that the prince doesn't understand how division of labor works.] Man, how long's it been? Gotta be a month at least...
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He catches the bag back in his hands, fumbling for a few moments since, despite the fact that his trigger aim was getting phenomenally better, his catch was still a little something to be desired. Noctis never had to roll his own- and he wasn't about to start breaking tradition yet.]
This stuff smells like heaven, Noct. It's so good. Leave it to like, a farmer to grow some dank ass weed.
[Moving to the table, he separates out the bud as it needs to be set, carefully picking and teasing to firmly pack the glass tubing. He loved that cactuar glass. It had the markings of all their finest, most Grown Up memories. Looking behind to make sure that Ignis and Gladio were firmly out of nose's reach of the stuff, he picks it up, grabs the lighter, and plops himself down in the coleman chair next to the prince.
And as custom, he always lets Noct take the honors of having the first hit.]
Yeah. I think it's been about a month? I dunno. I remember waking up next to you in the morning and praying our clothes didn't smell.
[A small smile displays against his face, holding out the lighter.]
You go first, your highness.
[Really, this was pretty much the only time he ever likened the title to him. But it was only because of the pun, and only because it was absolutely fucking perfect. Every single time.]
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[Honestly, who else would it be from? ...Still, the mental image of some howdy-slinging, straw-hat wearing farm dude making illicit exchanges behind the barn is enough to make Noct's lips twitch. You just never know with some people.. Anyway, two found bags of Lestallum-brand Funyuns later and he turns his attention to the 'workstation', slouching with cheek rested in hand to watch Prompto get to it. He's just as thorough with these preparations as he would be setting up a nice pic- all narrowed-eyed concentration and enthusiastic prodding- and the sight alone is comforting in and of itself.
What a privilege, to watch a master at work. Brings a tear to the eye.]
Sounds about right. Can't believe we keep getting away with it... [He shakes his head, and then continues breezily:] Almost makes you feel bad.
[...Almost. Close but no popoto- they need this every once in a while, time to kick back and relax. Who knows when they'll get another chance.
He full-on snorts at Prompto's horrible pun--] Stop, [though he sure does take the lighter and pipe without further complaint. Dammit, it is perfect every single time. He can't even be mad.
Knowing their time is likely short Noct wastes precisely none of it... And his impatience is rewarded with a too-big hit that fills his lungs and makes his eyes water with the strain of not coughing loudly enough to wake the others.
So embarrassing.... He does his best, though, flapping a hand dramatically and gesturing for Prompto to take it from him. Man...]
D-damn-- [The daintiest cough.] Strong...
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When the lighter gets handed over, he slouches in his chair properly, making a habit not to watch the other take the inhale. This seemed like a religious rite in a sense, and everything was in order- up to and including the way that Prompto looked up at the sky, like he was inviting their cosmic hosts to come down and speak to them, whisper in their ear all the stupid fucking things of the universe- and the only thing that distracts him is the harshness of exhale that Noctis blows right back out.
A side glance at the other tells him all he needs to know. He was getting ambitious in his old age. And then the little cough. Prompto has to hold back a belly laugh; remind himself that there are actual adults sleeping somewhere nearby. He takes back the bowl and the lighter.]
Aww, how cute. It was like our first bag of weed all over again. If only I had my camera.
[Nope, he's not going to let Noct shoot him a glare, because he's too busy lighting up, pressing his thumb against the intake hole and taking into his lungs the burn and the rancid aftertaste that he knew tasted like shit but provided him fond memories of his past. Kind of like an ex, but... better in the way that this was at least something he could look forward to meeting again.
He exhales, covers his mouth with his arm, feeling the scratch at the back of his throat and resists the urge to cough. Leaning over, he passes the pipe back and retires to his professional slouch. It'll be a few minutes before affecting him, but fuck, the in between state was one of the best parts.]
Dude. I wish we had some music. Oh man, this is a music high. I can feel it. It's like, this perfect little bag of weed is saying "Prompto. You need some chill sounds that don't sound like crickets trying to murder you."
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Anyway, at least they can agree on one thing: music would be incredible right now. Noctis takes his next hit- much more smoothly this time- and holds it in through his reply:]
I know, right?
[Seriously, what he wouldn't give for a tune to just eeeease him right into chillsville. There's always their phones, but... He eyes the tent. What a drag. He'll figure something out, just... Just give him a minute.
He passes the pipe back before settling himself back into a comfortable position, sinking into his chair and letting his head drop back against the headrest as he finally gives in to the burn in his chest and exhales. Watching the smoke curl toward the sky, he can't help but appreciate what a good night they'd picked for this- it's crystal clear, and while that is true more often than not it feels different now that he's really getting the chance to enjoy it. Even the murderous crickets are kind of nice.
He folds his hands over his stomach and lets his eyes slip closed, already feeling about 200% more relaxed even if he hasn't reached Peak High yet. Won't be long now.]
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Ceremoniously, he takes the next hit, enjoying it more now that the actual taste has been re-acclimated, and it's a bit too harsh. He blows out, watching the dim fog dissipate into the night air, and coughs- which leads to a spurt of laughter, and he's not sure which one is worse, because the more air he takes in the more he feels completely brain numb.
Now that it's pretty much shit tier ash, he leans forward and places it on the table in front of them. He could easily fit another bowl if they needed it, but he's not quick on the uptake to start cleaning it out. Actually, nothing really feels quick right now, and that feeling... fuck how nice it was just to have his brain slow down a bit and let the slight pang of anxiety run out of his body.]
Hey, Noct?
[He slouches more, finding himself comfortable enough to pivot and let his legs drape over the side of the armchair.]
You think chocobos know that they're chocobos?
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If he wasn't sure where he was at before, he sure as hell is now, between quiet snickers bubbling to the surface despite his best efforts and a distinct twitch in his thighs that undeniably signals his entry into the promised land. Truth be told it probably means he went too hard too fast, but he can't be fucked to care. No, instead he lets his head loll back against the chair and just sort of spaces out for a bit, wondering how fish even happened, anyway-- until Prompto's voice penetrates his haze, that is.
And usually, Prompto's more ridiculous queries just make him laugh, but this time... This time the gravity of the question hits him like a truck and he slooooowly turns to face his friend where he's draped over his chair.]
...Dude. [...Do they know they're chocobos? What does that even mean, do they "know"? Noct slides down into his own chair, a look of deep contemplation on his face. Of course they know, they have to know. Right...?
After a moment, he frowns, clearly distressed:] What if they don't?
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He reaches, carefully, trying to reach the bag of funyuns. Not necessarily that he's hungry right now, but he knows how languid and heavy his body will feel in just a matter of minutes, when the thought of actually getting up seems like the worst fucking possible idea ever. Fingertips brushing the cool plastic of the bag, he inches it over, a little at a time, until he's got it, and it's laying safely on his stomach like a sleeping babe.
Knowing that there's an internal dialogue he's missing out on inside Noctis' head, he smiles and waits for the words that follow dude, half expecting this beautiful litany of absolute crap, and when he doesn't, Prompto's amused, higher pitched laugh rattles his small frame.]
So... like. We know we're human because we think... oh hey, we're human. And it like, totaaaally makes sense right? Cause we like to categorize things to understand 'em better. And if chocobos don't have a way to think, or like, even a language to talk to them in their head, do they look at each other and know, 'oh, you're a chocobo' or is it like... 'this thing is like me' so it follows all those survival instincts. And like, when they're looking at us, they don't think 'oh whoa that's a dude,' right? Like they're just seeing us as we are, without even thinking we're humans. So they probably don't... uhhhh... know that they're chocobos. And. If that's the case, how do we know that we're humans, right?
[He looks over to see if Noct is following him, not even realizing that he's been ranting for a solid few minutes about chocobian existential crises. But it all makes sense in his head at the time. This is the side of Prompto with no filter.]
are we human or are we dancer!?!?!
Orrrrr maybe they do think we're chocobos too. Just, you know. Not fluffy and soft. [Because they're so, so feather-fluffy and soft. The soft and fluffiest. Chocobos are so good. They don't deserve chocobos, frankly.] Like, maybe they think we're just really, really lame naked chocobos that super suck at running and can't get our shit together. 'Cause they take care of us, right? Like we're chicks or broken or something--
[That's how cats are, right? ...Man, he could really use a cat on his lap right now, his fingers are just itching for some softness and his thighs feel suddenly bare without something cute to pet resting on top of them... He'd take a chocochick too, all downy-poof fluffiness. Or maybe he'll just settle for the other bag of snacks; as soon as the crinkle of Prompto's bag penetrates the haze surrounding his brain, he's suddenly in desperate need of food... Enough that he's distracted enough to just drop his train of thought entirely as he turns the bag over a few times and picks at the plastic.
Come to him, crunchy salty goodness.]
killers'ed it!
We are really, really lame.
[He's lost in thought for a second as he devours the second third of the morsel, not realizing that there was a pause in what he was saying and what he wanted to say next, but the stop is palpable, noticeable, and as he rubs his hand on his pants messily, he adds-]
Chocobos. We're lame chocobos without... wings. Wow, that's really sad. We can't fly. You ever think about how we can't fly? Why is that? Why'd we have to be born to stay on the ground when there are so many cool things to look at from above?
[There he goes, the mayor of Chocoboville, waxing philosophically over why they don't have the finer feathered qualities of the majestic creatures. And then the last part of Noctis' rebuttal hits him, delayed, and he grows wide eyed, dropping the rest of the snack onto the ground.]
We're chicks. Dude, we're chicks. We're totally chicks.
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Except, you know. They can't fly. And what kind of crap is that? Totally not fair, not even a little bit. He's the prince, he should be able to fly if he wants to- really fly, not just warp. Tipping his head back he stares up at the sky as he munches away, frowning into the darkness as if it's personally to blame for his lack of flight ability. Flying would be so cool...
Don't mind him, he's just gonna close his eyes and think really, really hard about it. Like, what if the slight breeze was all over and not just across his face? He rolls his head to the side, letting the slightly dizzy quality of his high take control, the numb pulsing in his face close enough to what he imagines his cheeks would feel like if he were soaring above their campsite instead of parked in an admittedly cozy folding chair. It's close enough, right?
Anyway, he bets the symbols cut into the ground would look cool from an aerial POV, and Ignis's hair would look extra spiny, probably. Would his hair look okay from the sky? Meh, who cares, he'd be flying. Then again, he wouldn't see his own hair, right? Not unless he went floating over some lake or something.
...A lake. A lake.]
Dude.
[He looks toward Prompto again, belatedly realizing that his best friend can't actually read his mind and that's why he's not getting any feedback on his best idea ever, and then gives the explanation no one was asking for:]
...We could go fly fishing.
["FLY" FISHING, PROMPTO...........]