[There's nothing unusual about those words, initially — but that flare of light as the end of the cigar catches Sunday's attention, eyes fixed, a sort of unease inspired by its demonstration. Well, it wouldn't be the first time he's encountered an individual with unique abilities, but outside of Penacony such a casual display is hard to look past. Just a party trick, or is this man capable of more?

Then there's also his own disguise to consider. Yet nothing so far has betrayed any awareness to it, so Sunday proceeds cautiously.]

I don't mind. And thank you, I appreciate your consideration. Smoke has a way of clinging to fabric, regardless of whether you are the one who indulged. [Stop being fussy for five seconds, Sunday.] My name is... Wonweek. How should I address you?

[He sits back against the couch stiffly, one leg crossed over the other, carefully turning his gaze away from the lit cigar.]