Horst is in the midst of trying to decide whether 'we do have sunlight here in the daytime' is meant to imply that it is daytime outside presently, or is not -- a conundrum of semantics with unfortunately significant consequences if he misinterprets, but such is the nature of communication.
He's looking at the bracelet on his wrist with the little glass screen, which he assumes is the wristwatch Mr. Holmes was referring to that has something on it for him to read. Horst would've preferred a pocketwatch, honestly -- wristlets being a modern fad in women's fashion to his most recent knowledge, and pocketwatches being generally more attractive than this mystical glowing monstrosity -- but he supposes it has to do with the fact that the thing is, to all practical purposes, fused to his person. Either way, the little marvel of magic and mechanics with its changing sigils is certainly interesting.
(Ah, there's the clock -- and so it's night after all, then. Horst supposes if he's still on Earth at all, and not some timeless pocket dimension, that puts him somewhere in the Americas, most likely Canada or the United States. If he's not still on Earth, the reliance on 24-hour time, if it is 24-hour time, is curious. Horst begins to wish he was more a man of science.)
Something flashes, and then a portrait of a man's face appears on his wristwatch of a sudden, startling Horst anew. To his relative pleasure, however, the voice that accompanies this new face speaks in very easy, very conversational German. There's something incredibly comforting about fluency to someone who's been far from home for a long time. Horst smiles readily even though the opening salvo to the conversation already has him at a loss.
Whether in English or German, the word 'file' would have proven baffling in one way or another (though "good evening" is very helpful and very clear, bless Horst's new conversant). Another individual from the future using futuristic words, he supposes.
What a file quite is, and how he was supposed to have known there was one he needed to read, he doesn't know. He's put in mind of a recurring dream he used to have, back in his university days, going to his examinations and discovering he'd enrolled in a class without knowing it and now had to give a lecture on economic theory for which he was completely unprepared. He hopes the introductory file had nothing to do with The Wealth of Nations, and that not having read it won't result in hot irons being pressed to the soles of his feet, or something equally dire.
"Introductory file?" he repeats back with the wide, blank smile of someone who is hopelessly from the past.
[holo]
He's looking at the bracelet on his wrist with the little glass screen, which he assumes is the wristwatch Mr. Holmes was referring to that has something on it for him to read. Horst would've preferred a pocketwatch, honestly -- wristlets being a modern fad in women's fashion to his most recent knowledge, and pocketwatches being generally more attractive than this mystical glowing monstrosity -- but he supposes it has to do with the fact that the thing is, to all practical purposes, fused to his person. Either way, the little marvel of magic and mechanics with its changing sigils is certainly interesting.
(Ah, there's the clock -- and so it's night after all, then. Horst supposes if he's still on Earth at all, and not some timeless pocket dimension, that puts him somewhere in the Americas, most likely Canada or the United States. If he's not still on Earth, the reliance on 24-hour time, if it is 24-hour time, is curious. Horst begins to wish he was more a man of science.)
Something flashes, and then a portrait of a man's face appears on his wristwatch of a sudden, startling Horst anew. To his relative pleasure, however, the voice that accompanies this new face speaks in very easy, very conversational German. There's something incredibly comforting about fluency to someone who's been far from home for a long time. Horst smiles readily even though the opening salvo to the conversation already has him at a loss.
Whether in English or German, the word 'file' would have proven baffling in one way or another (though "good evening" is very helpful and very clear, bless Horst's new conversant). Another individual from the future using futuristic words, he supposes.
What a file quite is, and how he was supposed to have known there was one he needed to read, he doesn't know. He's put in mind of a recurring dream he used to have, back in his university days, going to his examinations and discovering he'd enrolled in a class without knowing it and now had to give a lecture on economic theory for which he was completely unprepared. He hopes the introductory file had nothing to do with The Wealth of Nations, and that not having read it won't result in hot irons being pressed to the soles of his feet, or something equally dire.
"Introductory file?" he repeats back with the wide, blank smile of someone who is hopelessly from the past.