[He finds the concept of losing a name as easily as one would, say, lose a favored quill or a key amusing, the first hints of a smile tugging at the corners of his scarred mouth. He feels far less exposed in the lobby of the building and tries not to imagine the weight of it now resting atop their heads.]

Serah Crowly, a pleasure. [The emphasis is Se-RAH, his dip of chin merely the suggestion of a bow.]

I could do with a drink. I'll do that. I can't say I'm any more enamored of the idea of mingling with the locals.

[Perhaps one. He has no intention of getting impaired in a place like this. It's rare enough he indulges at home. He looks around for any sign of the stairs or the open sorts of lifts he has seen in his life.]