Cool. [ John says this with great conviction, and means it. ] I'm a male human, more or less. Thirtysomething, probably.

[ That one's a flagrant lie, but he doesn't know the actual number, so they're going to pretend. ]

I'm kind of a nonstandard model, that's why people get weird about the eyes. [ He gives a vague little hand-wave in the direction of his black sclera. And then, hazarding politeness, delighting in the sheer whimsical bullshit of it all: ] Yours are nice. Do you have four?

[ He drifts closer to have a proper conversation from close up. As one does, obviously, with big blue deer-aliens. ]

Listen, if you remember anything about pocket universes, I'd love to hear it. We don't have any local experts.