"Idle hands are prone to mischief." Slick and easy, one by one from the jawbone, covering visual assessment and a flicker of honest surprise for the returned ping, maybe even pleasure.

It's weirdly comforting, that at least one of them can hear.

"Nihlus," he tries it on. "I'll keep that in mind." The mechanical aptitude is filed away--though a cramped, overhot, and probably very loud engine room is manifestly not on Clu's list of favorite places.

For one thing, heat's bad for the circuits. He can feel it already, just a little, just in this room.

...There are talons in Nihlus' feet, too; that alters projections slightly as Clu raises his guard, both hands loose, close to his face.

"Depends." Casually, shifting on his feet, which looks a little like bouncing in place, to the unfamiliar. "Not like this. Weapons training, mostly."

It's a simple forward jab, crisp and almost conversational.