They're compliments he's heard before, and they make John flush with pleasure coming from Gladio. Or they're words he's heard before. Sometimes as compliments, sometimes as irritated comments from the Sentinels in his unit who resented a Guide who could match them, but whom they couldn't actually have. The resentment had never carried very far or very long--everyone knew it was better to have that skill than not--but there had been grumbles. Particularly from the more aggressive ones. John had been a captain, though. That lent its own credibility, even beyond his abilities as a Guide.

"Yeah, I, uh... never really expected to be Bound." He'd rather been hoping it. Into the mid-30s and no match? Surely that had to be home free! Surely. Reality has a way of knocking a man down a few pegs when he gets over confident, of course.

The Bond is still new and heavy between them, and John can't help raising his hand to brush along the underside of the Sentinel's jaw. His ears are tuned, listening for Ignis' return so that he can pull away, but for now he'll indulge.

"You're not so bad, as far as unexpected goes. I like your sword." That's not actually a euphemism in this case. "I was guns and short swords over in Afghanistan, but a couple of the blokes in my unit had ones like it." Enjoy that new tidbit of information, new Sentinel.