[Eiffel, install contrast, floats with the comfort of experience: this is absolutely his home turf, and he's only very gently drifting in a circle, which he corrects with a lazy, instinctual brush of his hand against a pipe on the wall to brace himself. And then smacks his own forehead gently with his other hand.]

Right, duh, obviously you don't have your space legs yet. Here--

[He springboards off the wall back to Roman - it looks less like swimming and more like flying, if they had to pick a motion verb, or maybe just gliding. But he catches himself on an overhead pipe-handle-thing and catches Roman by the forearm, his right on Roman's right so he can grip back.]

Sorry, buckaroo, but that artificial gravity thing only works in cartoons. You're gonna float and you're gonna like it. Or, y'know. [He tilts his head in a light shrug.] Vomit constantly for the first week from motion sickness. It's what I did.