The way Martel interacts with the space around him is more familiar than he has any right to be, really; he's been working at the library since shortly after his arrival (since the beginning of the cohort itself, one of their lot who've been here the longest), but that's still slightly less than a year and it's got more to do with the nature of the man himself.

('Conqueror' is hard to put on a resume.)

“You'll find most of what you're looking for here,” he says, briefly, tapping the side of one of the shelves. “Skip Trembleth's work unless you enjoy analyzing what drives the agenda of nostalgically rewritten history masquerading as a study.”

He considers Mycroft a moment longer (he doesn't know the man's name, it occurs to him, but only in passing; he is presently as interesting as his interests, and most of the people passing through the library will never speak to Martel outside of it), before settling on, “If there's anything else I can help you with?”

For all of his--himself-ness, the question lacks any kind of sardonic edge. This is his job, and some of the time, it's even a pleasure to do it. He teaches, elsewhere, and he wouldn't be any good at it if he were unable to tolerate the parts of his professions that involve other people.