Pfft. What do you think I'm made of? Rhetorical question, I don't know what I'm made of, either, but it sure as hell isn't just steel.

[At worst, he'll get dirty, and he's finicky enough to find that distasteful, but it's not like a little stone dust will hurt him.]

Think of it more like, [he offers, without really thinking about it, across their mental connection, followed by the impression of a friend bolstering Yu up under his shoulder, something Chatterclock could do if he were human but can't.]

It's up to you. But don't sweat it on my account.