She took his hand and shook. "Hawke." Rather his opposite number, she only ever gave her surname. It just was her, in a way her first name had stopped being, somewhere along the way, somewhere between Ferelden and Kirkwall (and now, she supposed, Storybrooke).
When the handshake was done, she stepped back; she'd rather not be singeing off anyone's eyebrows. Burning hair tended to smell terrible. She extended her hand, palm up, in front of her; she didn't even really have to focus very hard to bring the small, bright flame into existence. It danced for a moment in her hand, giving off more light than heat, seemingly burning from nothing at all. "This usually suffices to convince people I'm a mage. But they're also people who already think mages exist."