"Oh," Martin says, marginally taken aback by how bluntly they offer their pronouns, only to wonder if it was rude of him not to offer his, if he should start doing that as a rule, and perhaps even if this is somehow a passive aggressive method of chiding him for not doing so. He is aware he is being ridiculous, and he gives himself an impatient mental shake for it as he hastens to add, awkward and unpracticed, "I'm, er, he/him."
Abbie doesn't give him any further time to dwell, anyway, immediately laying out further data — and it is unquestionably data, the way they put it — that leaves Martin just patiently waiting for them to draw a conclusion. Which they don't, quite, but they're well on their way. A very logical thinker, this one.
Which he appreciates, but it also aches a bit, knowing how little logic applies here. He nods sympathetically, hesitating a bit over that last addendum before saying, "Er... none... taken?" Truly he wouldn't have considered taking offense until they mentioned it.
But that's not important. "Well... I know it might not mean much coming from a possible hallucination, but you're not hallucinating." He tries to offer a faint smile, but it's more a grimace; it really isn't very funny. "This is real. And you're alive." Presumably, he doesn't add. Too much for right now. "You've been... displaced. It happens a lot, here. It happened to me. And someone had to give me this whole introduction that I'm about to give you."
He draws a breath, trying to remember salient details of his own arrival without pitching himself too far into memories of the Buried. It's all so distant now. Greta had been wonderful, and he doesn't think he can match her ability to project calm reassurance, but he's got to try. "It's... it's a lot," he says. "Do you want to find somewhere to sit? Or... or I can take you to the train station. There'll be some... things for you there."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2024-03-23 11:18 pm (UTC)Abbie doesn't give him any further time to dwell, anyway, immediately laying out further data — and it is unquestionably data, the way they put it — that leaves Martin just patiently waiting for them to draw a conclusion. Which they don't, quite, but they're well on their way. A very logical thinker, this one.
Which he appreciates, but it also aches a bit, knowing how little logic applies here. He nods sympathetically, hesitating a bit over that last addendum before saying, "Er... none... taken?" Truly he wouldn't have considered taking offense until they mentioned it.
But that's not important. "Well... I know it might not mean much coming from a possible hallucination, but you're not hallucinating." He tries to offer a faint smile, but it's more a grimace; it really isn't very funny. "This is real. And you're alive." Presumably, he doesn't add. Too much for right now. "You've been... displaced. It happens a lot, here. It happened to me. And someone had to give me this whole introduction that I'm about to give you."
He draws a breath, trying to remember salient details of his own arrival without pitching himself too far into memories of the Buried. It's all so distant now. Greta had been wonderful, and he doesn't think he can match her ability to project calm reassurance, but he's got to try. "It's... it's a lot," he says. "Do you want to find somewhere to sit? Or... or I can take you to the train station. There'll be some... things for you there."