Martin doesn't actually presume to open the door as he pipes out his reply, and John frowns at the blank wood, his expression a largely sincere blend of consternation and deep thought. That really is the question, isn't it? And it's not one he has an answer to just yet. He needs a little more time to consider his approach — ideally uninterrupted — but he can't very well just snap at Martin to leave him alone. Even if such a dismissal would be in character, it wouldn't feel particularly fair. Making him wait, as part of the game, is one thing; leaving him genuinely directionless and uncertain is another.
John buys himself a few extra moments by getting to his feet and crossing to the door. Drawing himself up to his full height, he jerks the door open and glares down at Martin like an affronted cat.
"I might say you'd done enough, provided you actually had accomplished anything of note," he says, a sharp volley of clipped syllables. He considers, for a brief moment, the idea of flinging the underlying question back at him — perhaps asking him what he thinks he could accomplish without embarrassing himself — but that feels tantamount to admitting he's out of ideas as opposed to just needing a minute. Instead, he jerks his chin towards the front of the room. "Perhaps you can tidy the lobby without making a botch of it."
The lobby doesn't really need tidying any more than he needed the Jones file. But it's a job that will take a few minutes to convincingly fake, buying John the time he needs. Better still, the work will put Martin near the windows, subject to a different sort of scrutiny. Maybe some random citizen will even be presumptuous enough to knock. The odds of that are slim, John thinks, but not so negligible that the possibility won't put Martin's back up, and he has to bite back a smirk at the thought.
no subject
John buys himself a few extra moments by getting to his feet and crossing to the door. Drawing himself up to his full height, he jerks the door open and glares down at Martin like an affronted cat.
"I might say you'd done enough, provided you actually had accomplished anything of note," he says, a sharp volley of clipped syllables. He considers, for a brief moment, the idea of flinging the underlying question back at him — perhaps asking him what he thinks he could accomplish without embarrassing himself — but that feels tantamount to admitting he's out of ideas as opposed to just needing a minute. Instead, he jerks his chin towards the front of the room. "Perhaps you can tidy the lobby without making a botch of it."
The lobby doesn't really need tidying any more than he needed the Jones file. But it's a job that will take a few minutes to convincingly fake, buying John the time he needs. Better still, the work will put Martin near the windows, subject to a different sort of scrutiny. Maybe some random citizen will even be presumptuous enough to knock. The odds of that are slim, John thinks, but not so negligible that the possibility won't put Martin's back up, and he has to bite back a smirk at the thought.