Oh gods, there'd been a shapeshifter of undetermined age in the army back home; rather unnerving fellow, had a tendency to shift into pretty girls and spook anyone he could come across with a love confession.
Gordin's all the better for not being able to compare Annie here to Xane. That would be a bit of a mess.

And he might ask if Annie's a dragon. Even more of a mess.

"Well, thinking it's true is better than knowing it's a lie, right?" he offers, trying to sound cheerful for both their sakes. "It's definitely not the worst situation I've been in, so I can't really complain. A bed, a small wage...Way better than the march from Altea to Talys--"
Okay, enough prattling on; clearly, Altea and Talys don't mean much at all here, and he doesn't want to overwhelm the poor girl when she's helping him out. With a quiet, self-deprecating snort, Gordin gets to his feet, gathers his gear up, and bows.

That's what you do with ladies, right? Riiiiight. "Sorry 'bout that. I'm Gordin, Miss. I really like your outfit!"