[ He forgets himself sometimes, or rather, he's so sure of his ability to help everyone here and stop the war, mend the disharmony — that's what he does, he helps, he has to, he must — that he tramples over explaining himself better, leaping from one thought to the next and all the while in between, committing himself to the persistence of hope. Everything will be okay, his silent mantra. ]

Not if I can help it.

[ Tin cans for tin soldiers hits the mark exactly, unfortunately, but he does a slight skip around the words and how he confirms them precisely. Briefly, what she says reminds him of Daleks and another war, long gone to most in memory, but not to him. He won't speak of war to her, even though they've been all but conscripted by their summoning. Those in power won't say it in so many words and they do grant them freedom, but he's ever cautious. ]

I'm a traveller, I should say. Familiar with odd places, strange and impossible things. [ Helping where he can when people call out for help, that is, when they call out in need. The method of their summoning here is altogether different, but this is a broken world and he's here for a purpose beyond what they've been told. To see everyone safe. ] What brought us here, what took you from Simon, I'll work it out. This is temporary.