Rex spends a long while on his back, staring upwards, arms crossed and legs straight- or mostly straight. Kind of propped up on the desk.

"I'm fine," he replies utterly deadpan, just before the knife comes down from the ceiling and lands between his legs with a clang and a long-running wobbling noise. "And thank you."

Rex doesn't seem mad as such, but he is taking a moment to centre himself.

"This might be a good time to let Indrik rest his throat, don't you think?"