John drops his gaze when he hears Daisy approach, and then drops it even further at her pointed greeting, tucking his grin into his scarf. At least the darkness goes a long way towards hiding his blush.

"That's Martin's purview," he replies with all the loftiness he can muster. It isn't until he's made the comment that he actually pauses to think about it, and the realization that there is a non-zero chance that Martin might start (or, Christ, resume) writing poetry about him is both mildly embarrassing and far more intriguing than he'd ever care to admit.

He lifts his chin enough to reveal his smile, then leans over to give Daisy a friendly nudge. "Maybe I'm just enjoying the ability to stand outside without having to worry about getting jumped by a murderer."