With Noctis utterly possessed of his bearings and seemingly excited about where they are, or rather what they're in, Barnabas can only watch him with an impassive stare. Especially as he steers away from where he had attempted to lead him in order to examine the room, what little there is within it. Barnabas must make a lonely visual, standing there in a room so hollow, looking nearly as hollow as it when Noctis' attention is back on him. His lifeless stare meeting Noctis' excited one, but he doesn't stir much at all, only his brow furrowing slightly more than before.

"One can scarce claim to be a sailor without knowing how to fish." He answers plainly, though he lacks any such enthusiasm in his voice for the activity that Noctis seems to carry. In truth, perhaps long ago it was something he might have pursued with better interest than he holds for it now, but like so much else that interest eroded away, and with it any joy it brought him.

"Indeed, you are aboard the Einherjar, my royal galleon. I had not expected you to be a fisherman, nor less a sailor in your own right." For all the lack of enthusiasm in his voice, he's still talking about this subject. Maybe it has a kernel of something in him, a speck of interest that persists. As he talks, he stays put where Noctis has left him, making no move to collect his fellow king. Not yet, anyway.

"What did you name her—your boat?"