[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.]
no subject
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.]