Gaius' brows lift and rise, barely due to the light glinting off the pearlescent third eye in his brow. But he sits up -- still wearing bandages across his ravished slowly healing left arm of his, strapping across his chest, and likely his smalls beneath the blankets. With so little on, he smells like medicinal herbs, gun oil and sweat.

Maxima failed to teach the man anything. Likely was bewildered. Eorzean didn't know how to approach anything, did he.

"So you come back to me for... what, practical instruction?" he asks, still bemused. By the Emperor (may he know peace, far from Zenos) he does not understand this particularly feral Eorzean.