[ There's an odd and fleeting tickle of memory that nudges at the forefront of his thoughts at the words, as if he might've heard a distant mumble of such a monologue, just shy of being outright hidden by the minor shock of being asleep for weeks (well, there goes his record of being asleep just shy of a whole twenty-four hours), the transgression of having missed a-- ]
Seriously?
[ Okay, look. He's not the one of their merry band of four to wear the title of gullible, just easily mislead and eager to slack off, but he'd just crash landed on a planet in a pod. Space robots seems plausible when laid out in comparison to that, a possibility that'll fill him with no small amount of salt if it actually turns out to be true. Or false, as it turns out, because salt or not, there's at least some potential to living vicariously through Prompto's anecdotes, coasting on the contagious energy of his friend, the familiar echoes of his voice.
But it's only with a sideways glance, a rustle of movement that has Noct angling his attention toward his friend that he clues into the signs: the arm splayed over the eyes, the hitch to his words. And when Noct breathes in, it's not that much calmer than how Prompto might be feeling, maybe a little quieter, but no less persuasive, leaving him determined anew. ]
You think they'll let me have a second chance at 'em?
[ Keep the conversation light but their body language? Not so much, not with how Noct is wiggling in close to maybe just-- bump them back together. If Prompto's squeeze of a hug had been in assurance that this is real, then this is one to promise that both he and this, this small sliver of normalcy of being shoulder-to-shoulder again, is here to stay. ]
no subject
Seriously?
[ Okay, look. He's not the one of their merry band of four to wear the title of gullible, just easily mislead and eager to slack off, but he'd just crash landed on a planet in a pod. Space robots seems plausible when laid out in comparison to that, a possibility that'll fill him with no small amount of salt if it actually turns out to be true. Or false, as it turns out, because salt or not, there's at least some potential to living vicariously through Prompto's anecdotes, coasting on the contagious energy of his friend, the familiar echoes of his voice.
But it's only with a sideways glance, a rustle of movement that has Noct angling his attention toward his friend that he clues into the signs: the arm splayed over the eyes, the hitch to his words. And when Noct breathes in, it's not that much calmer than how Prompto might be feeling, maybe a little quieter, but no less persuasive, leaving him determined anew. ]
You think they'll let me have a second chance at 'em?
[ Keep the conversation light but their body language? Not so much, not with how Noct is wiggling in close to maybe just-- bump them back together. If Prompto's squeeze of a hug had been in assurance that this is real, then this is one to promise that both he and this, this small sliver of normalcy of being shoulder-to-shoulder again, is here to stay. ]