All Anna notices through this whole process is how fuckin' weird Gus is being about his smokes, but, like. That's fine. Some people take it particular. For one reason or another, he doesn't wanna be looked at while he smokes, or at least that's the vibe Anna's getting—so she doesn't. Her eye stays focused on either the wall in front of them or the parts of his body that are still covered when it does deign to wander.

"Relax, dude, I can control it. It'll only ignite if I want it to, and I only use fire for smoking these days anyway." She looks down at a puddle that she's edging a foot into and pulls her sneaker out of it. "I use lightning when I wanna fuck something up, and I left my sword at home."

But okay. She can't let it sit for too much longer, because if Gus is doing a bit he sure isn't letting it up anytime soon, and she's... well, Anna is no stranger to being rude to new people. (It's how she bonds.) "Seriously, though, are you worried I'm gonna, like, judge you for smoking wrong? You're handling that thing about as well as I did when I was 18."