[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.

Come to him, crunchy salty goodness.]