He looks at the digital notepad. A couple of memories flicker through his mind: re-listening to museum tours he'd gone on; a clip, now existing in this world, of an alien song.
"So-- it's not that I don't want to say: I would love to share stuff with you, to preserve as much as I can of the information that this world can only get through me. And I don't think you're over-eager: I can hardly even imagine what it must be like for you, to encounter the first otherworlder your world has ever seen...
...but also, uh, right now it has been an extremely long day, and I don't know what kind of, uh, 'story-logic' you're expecting but I'm expecting to be here for the rest of Xakda's life--barring brain damage, anyway†--it's not like I'll have vanished come morning unless something really terrible happens to Xakda in his sleep.
Maybe we could split the difference and talk about this over food? Or, hmm, the background noise of that might interfere with--
--I'm saying this in the wrong order, aren't I, um...I suggest, uh-- whenever we do talk about this I suggest an audio recorder."
†He quietly doesn't mention his suspicions regarding differential poisoning responses: it's not that he expects Sinber to poison him, but "expecting someone not to poison you" and "telling [someone who probably has a lot of excellent opportunities to slip stuff into your food (and whose first reaction upon meeting you was to view you as (1) not a real person and also (2) a possible threat to their ~spouse)] how to poison you and get away with it" are different levels of trust, and that latter one rather has to be earned ↩