[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}
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.]
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.
no subject
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...........]