He pushes himself up into a sitting position as Viktor, still unknown to either of them, considers his answer. One leg bent at the knee, elbow propped on it and head propped in his palm, he glances down at the motion around the belt, then to the pale fingers brightly contrasting against the moss. No immediate lunge toward or away, ergo a positive sign that he holds no ill will from their initial meeting, right?

Flickering a cursory glance around the room, he asks, "Where's your friend?"

You know. The tall, mechanical, glowing and helmeted fellow.