A smirk quirked across his sloppy-yet-attractive features at hearing her name. He had a strange contrast of an obvious five o'clock shadow and hair that was messy in that way one could only accomplish by spending twenty minutes arranging it with product.
He exhaled a luxuriously deep drag skywards, deliberately making certain it wafted towards the no smoking sign. This concept offended him more than the pumpkin spice lattes did. Still, he preferred silent protest to making a fuss over it.
"Wicked...? Perhaps we shall one day have the del'aght of knowin' how it is you have come by such an interestin' nom de guerre..." It certainly wasn't unreasonable that she couldn't quite peg his accent. A mixed upbringing, half on the streets with the thickest of Cajun dialects and half in a wealthy and proper household with a high class Southern drawl made for a unique pairing.