"Mike. Call me Mike."

Mikael snapped his fingers at the end of the cig, and a spark came from what appeared to be thin air to light the cig. He took a deep drag, letting the smoke float through his lungs and then back out of his nose. The feeling was different for some reason. Then he realized what was wrong; he had forgotten about the filter. Mikael was used to rolling his own. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and ripped of the filter. He placed the cig back into his mouth and pulled the sickly sweet fumes deep into his lungs. A small cough escaped his lips, barely noticeable. 

Now a little more relaxed, he glanced around the room. The sight should have shocked him, but it didn't. His nerves seemed to be made of steel since he found out he could shoot sparks from his fingers. The people here sure were weird, but he was much more interested in the man who seemed to know something about this place. 

He just watched as the confrontation between the decorated man and one of the ladies who had been here. His face twisted into a scowl.

"What the hell is all going on here? I'm not going to approach a man of such high rank, like some of, what I suppose are my companions, but I do want answers. You ask us what we are doing here, but with those marks, I know you know more than anyone else here. I say this with all due respect, [i]Sir[/i]."

The last statement couldn't have dripped more with malice and contempt, except, of course, the last word of that sentence.