"Mm, it'd save me writing letters all the time! And I can't imagine how much use that sort of thing would be to you, right? ...Maybe we'll have to look into how it works, see if we can't make one when we go home."
It'd stop his intense homesickness, that's for sure. Getting to catch up with everyone back home over one network seems such a pretty notion. ...Either that or annoying--

What a strange question, and how strange that it should be asked of him. Gordin yawns, shifts his feet about in the slightly oversized boots that Jeorge had lent him, and mulls over any information he might have garnered on his little trip. "Akaneian Empire? Um...I'm afraid I haven't really had time to pay mind to news not about home, sire. That, and I think Mister Jeorge would think it a distraction. Why, what have I missed?"

Oh sweet summer child. There's no way he can fathom that Jeorge's recent frowns had anything to do with the rumours that plague Marth even now; a betrayal by Hardin, by someone they all trusted as a valuable ally from the War of Shadows, would possibly shatter some strange little innocence in Gordin.
Allies don't backstab. Allies don't, not to Altea. How could they not trust and believe in his lord as he does?

Not that he even considers that possibility at the moment, when Akaneia is, if he's honest, the last of their problems.
"Mmaaaaybe. If he's here, surely he'll come thundering along any second now, ready to tan my hide!"
Marth's laughter (no matter how subdued) proves infectious, and Gordin tips his head back in mirth. It's totally inappropriate given how dire things could be, but...Laughter is the best medicine. Laughter and one-armed, comradely hugs, or so he hopes.

"Er, that's if it's alright with you. I hope I'm not overstepping my boundaries, but I suppose that, um...It's my silly way of trying to make you feel better too."