"Nah," he says, after a too-long moment. Hard to stop paying attention to that thing she's drawing with. Not ink, not a quill, not a paintbrush. Painted wood with something else inside it. Easy to understand but nothing he's ever seen before and there's so many details here, dumb, relentless, ruthless little details that remind him that nothing here's what it's supposed to be. Her hair, the material in some of these chairs, the too-white, too-perfect paper and too much of the stuff inside those cupboards, it's all--

Focus.

This thing he's wearing's not going to work that great as an eyepatch. It's too light. That whole area's not that sensitive anyway and without the pressure and texture and weight of his real one, it's like it's going to fly away. That's going to be a problem.

Focus. Helps having a kid here, even with that weight of worrying about freaking her out. Helps to have someone here to talk to, who's probably not going to be a threat.

He spends another moment trying to make sure this thing over his face is as secure as it's going to get, dragging his gaze from the thing she's drawing with to the drawings themselves. Takes another second to get himself back on track. What he likes. Right. Answer like everything's normal, like he normally would.

"Takes a lot to find something I don't like," he says slowly, focusing. "Stuff I wore back home was more like that, though." He lifts a finger to point to the swirly symbols, doing it carefully so as not to move his hand or himself any closer to her space. "You know, kind of stuff the armourers and leatherworkers put in to fill up the space, because they want it to look nice. Those flowers are good too, you've got lots of different types in there. Not sure my painting's good enough to recreate most of em, though. You got a favourite?"