There's certainly a danger of getting lost in the weeds, and Jack's assessment draws a chuckle out of him. "Yes, well I was always shit at poetry, perhaps it can't be helped." Eliot gives him a brief smirk. He doesn't want to give the impression of being entirely flippant, though. "You know," he says, considering, "it's getting to be winter so they're not doing it now, but I think in spring you can like, rent boats to see the coastline, probably the lake in the park, too. It wouldn't be the same, of course." Eliot shrugs. "But we could give it a try, if you're interested. Might be fun."

And now Eliot really is lost in the weeds, unsure of what he even means to accomplish with such an offer. Commiseration, he decides. Nothing else really to look forward to, assuming they remain stuck in the city long enough to see the spring. He might as well make low-investment plans.

"Anyway," he clears his throat, trying to get his focus back. "That should do you for now, shall we find you some trousers? Since you come from a time with tailoring you...probably know your measurements? Sizing will be easy in that case." Jack's wardrobe is all drape and layers, and Eliot can't tell what his actual build is. Not that he's curious beyond wanting to be helpful, he tells himself.