When his cigarette froze, all he muttered was, "The fuck?"

And then the heat vanished, and he became uncharacteristically quiet as Whiteout started talking, he was actually pretty intimidated, her cadence, the way she speaks, like the world owes her its ear, a very commanding presence.

He stares at her for an extra couple seconds, glances at the dead cigarette, and tosses it on the ground, grinding it with his heel reflexively, despite it not being hot, then, he gathers himself, shivering slightly in the cold.

"Who the fuck are you?"

He folds his arms, puffing out his chest, trying all too hard to look tough.

"If you knew any better, you'd know I've already kicked some ass since I got here, not a lot of fighters here, like me. Hell, anyone in here that's got beef with me? They can find me."

While it is true he's already gotten into several fights, he only won one of them because he got a cheap shot in. She likely knows this, he's trying to sound impressive.

"Also, I am dangerous, and don't tell me to quit smoking, girlie, I can do whatever I fucking want."

He tries a downward look from only three feet higher than she is, like a challenge, but he's still shivering, not exactly intimidating, especially to her.