Every word lifted from the paper into his thoughts stamps out his hope for a survivable evening like sand fighting fire. Though he surely had not intended to be personal, Sigma feels the distinct sting of betrayal - as though Luna had looked into his eyes and rejected the name that was all her own, demanding something too intimate for him to deliver. Of course, she would never have done such a thing. There were certain lines most people knew better than to cross. "What would you prefer to be called?" He had not expected to sound curt. Now there was no hiding that the stylist's answer may upset him.

While Kurloz prepares his reply, Sigma continues, tone gradually softening: "Perhaps we shall leave that a mystery for the time being. You are a bright man... I have no doubt that you will deduce my signature before too long." In truth, he has no desire to talk about work - and has remembered the cameras are listening. "As for your question..." He's a touch too angry to rationalize what the stylist has asked. Was his date making a dig at his age, or merely reassuring his nervousness with a sarcastic quip? Sigma misinterprets it either way, generalizing it as a date at a fancy Capitolite restaurant, surrounded by cameras. "The last time would have been a year ago now, I suppose. Even then I was not the young man I once was." He imagines a particular redhead sitting across from him and his heart sinks in his chest like a lump of stone. Some days he found it difficult to convince it to keep beating.