Ianto takes a breath to respond. Doesn't. He slows and slackens a little, a watch unwinding, and stares at Cecil. For just a moment, he almost looks concerned - no, worried - and then he looks at his glass instead, wrapping his hands around it as he silently adjusts a few things internally.

He's read pamphlets and all, adjusting to alien beliefs (not that Cecil is an alien (he thinks)). It's just been a while. It's sort of refreshing, actually. His kind of normal, for once. He finishes his drink and dabs at his lip, winding himself back up. "That's a bit discriminatory, isn't it?" he says at length, spinning his glass in a slow circle on a point. "We travel through time just as often as we travel through space. I should hope. Excepting bubbles existing outside of time, of course." He sets the glass down flat. "And rude to her, besides," he adds, on behalf of time and space ships everywhere. "I hope you didn't try telling her that."