[ Irving stumbles quickly to his feet in order to shake the man's hand, trying not to appear too... perplexed by the combined factors of this man and his fact sheet, that Irving has for whatever reason been tasked to network with.

(Networking is how Irving has been preferring to think of it, because thus far very few of these meetings have yet to escalate beyond plain conversation for him anyway, and it definitely helps him to not overthink why he keeps being repeatedly and consistently paired up with other men.)

At any rate, no need to to harp on Victorian-era British prejudices or anything else predictable like that, as Irving has by now reasonably adapted to the fact of Duplicity's unpredictably diverse population -- and, frankly, not to say the life experiences of a sailor even originating from the UK will have been all that strictly homogeneous, either -- so the primary reason for his tension above all else is the clear fact this man is also military, the specific country from which Irving can't confidently recognize. ]

Lieutenant John Irving. Of Her Majesty's Royal Navy.

[ He nods his head, uncertain if he needs to do anything else (bow...?) before it's considered appropriate for him to sit again, so for now he simply remains standing. ]

Um-- please, [ he gestures ] have a seat. Would you like some tea, or... perhaps coffee?