Wrench can't quite conceal his surprise that the half-baked idea has proven effective. He knows the man could've just as easily been blind from birth or simply not known the alphabet he was referring to, but here they are actually communicating with one another. It's enough of a breakthrough to make him come from his knees into a cross-legged position on the floor at the other man's feet. It seems as though he's already decided that if they are to remain trapped down here for the foreseeable future, there's no better way for him to pass the time than with his new, nameless companion. After all, this isn't a hell of a lot more difficult for Wrench than the time he might have trying to communicate with anyone else in this place.

He's not sure which the man would prefer, but Wrench gives him the established double-tap on his knee to show he's seen, and withdraws a little reporter's style notebook and a pocket pen he's taken to carrying around. It's not much bigger than the size of Wrench's palm, in all reality, but it gives the other man some options if he's keener to scribe on a page than directly on weathered flesh. Wrench taps the pen audibly against the page and offers both into the man's hand, then his own palm-up against the man's knee. Clearly now they have a wealth of options.