Martin fixes them each some tea, a process which has always helped him feel a bit more in control of a situation, largely - he knows - by placebo effect. But the situation here is considerably less 'John is quietly going insane with paranoia' or 'John is missing, again,' or 'John has eight new scars and won't say what any of them are' or... well, point made. A bit of extra money, ill-gotten and unwieldy or not, is a problem much more worth having, and the quiet comfort a nice cuppa is a little more appropriate when all he really needs to do is calm down.

He hands John his cup and leans back on the edge of the desk he's temporarily using as a tea station, letting his cool a bit before he takes a sip.

"Well," he says, feeling much better, "an Archive doesn't exactly run on its own terms, does it? I mean, anything we try to sell would make it more of a... a shop of some kind. And I don't know about you, but I'd really rather not muck around with something like that. I figure we should try to stick to what we've always done, y'know... just keeping records. And I got to thinking, well, who's likely to have records, maybe in desperate need of organization?"

He sips his tea for... dramatic effect, perhaps? "This city has a constantly shifting population. And I don't know if you've tried to talk to any of them about it, but the only impression I can reliably get is that they hate it. If we can make a good pitch for it, I just thought... they might be grateful if someone took it off their hands."

Normally he thinks he'd feel a bit self-conscious, saying so much at once, spelling out a... well, a scheme, perhaps. But he actually feels very certain about this. It's a good idea, and it's his, and he thinks it'll work. So he just smiles.