[ It's really a good thing that Liem doesn't bring up anything about his smoking, because that long-gone challenge regarding his vice is the furthest thing from the forefront of his thoughts at the moment. Gen's clearly distracted and jittery, his nerves rubbed raw badly enough that even the return to his usual crutch isn't quite enough to soothe them. Despite the familiar way he withdraws his lighter, his hands feel stiff enough that it takes him two, three tries to get the damn thing to light, and his shoulders are stiff when he cups the flame against a breeze to light his cigarette. ]

I wasn't going to introduce myself, dumbass. Only if they ask.

[ Even his shitty retort is lacking in some of his usual bite, and Gen scowls as he puts his lighter away, his gaze directed back out towards that blue door. ]

And I know that. Keep things simple. Let them assume whatever they want, if possible. ... I know that.

[ Too bad his protest ends up petering off to something more half-hearted near the end, there. Because despite his claims otherwise, Gen really is in unfamiliar territory here. After all, it's only once before that he's had to masquerade in this fashion, and that incident isn't exactly a pleasant memory for him. Gen's posture is terribly stiff with tension even as he takes a long drag of his cigarette. And maybe it's a testament to how much he underestimates Liem that he lets slip a low mutter under his breath, ]

-- but this feels fucked.