He prefers himbo. What a fucking joke. But he has to admit, it sounds like someone that knows Hawke well.

He growls, but he can see he's at a disadvantage. He's met speedsters before - real speedsters, not tech junkies with an adrenaline addiction like there were back home - and he knows he can't compete. More than that, his time in Hell is really starting to skew his thinking, and he can't help the stray thought that the lack of air feels good.

"Fine." He waves his hands, and the flames disappear. He raises them, as if to show he's disarmed, even though he clearly isn't. "Then at least tell him to keep his fucking mouth shut around me. I'm not responsible for people pissing me off on purpose."

Then... what the fuck were you doing, Dodger.