"Something you can do?" Noctis echoes, as if his mind is trying to parse exactly what the question meant. He looks at the new host, briefly, and decides that he's overthinking it. A simple question, a straightforward thing. It sounds like something he'd ask, lost in the crowd mourning someone he didn't even know.

"Run out of things to gawk and ogle at?" There's nothing patronizing about that, nothing sharp. He's too worn to entertain sarcasm, and such intonations never did align with his personality. Noctis fiddles with the sleeve of his robes absent-mindedly. They're all black, the other might note, which seems rather fitting for the occasion, if unintentional.