[Ah - and he's left to think about his egregious attempts at neutrality, the strain, while Viktor tries (and fails, damn) to cut Abigail off at the door. He manages to give her a grateful smile, at least, before she's turned and left them alone again, and he's quick to lean back into Viktor much the same as before. Maybe a touch less desperate; but close.]

No; you're probably right. I can't see past my own nose, I know.

[He's tried to remain neutral? To not spread gossip (outside of to Viktor, which, come on, of course), to offer advice and aid without pushing. No one has ever learned best by being pressured into picking one person's viewpoint over another, and yet.

Should he have? Pushed. He doesn't know. It wasn't his place.

He makes an aggravated kind of grunt and reaches for a crummy little teacup, currently the most beautiful teacup he's ever seen because it's here, and not on that goddamn boat.]

You could say I'm figuring out with whom I have irreconcilable differences in the coming... however long it takes. [huff!] That's still too neutral, isn't it?