Ask what he will; he might not get a straight answer, but Asra would certainly be amused. It's something between thrill and safety, being an unknown. Maybe he oughtn't have given his name, but--they're hardly meeting in a place either of them seem to frequent. He's just better at hiding that he doesn't belong--it helps that he inverts it, impresses his power on the space until it's less that he's always been here, and more that he's somehow conquered its obstacles.

Wherever he goes, he seems to do as he pleases. With enough magic, with a bright enough smile--most people make allowances.

"My apologies; first name Very, last name Charmed. I'll remember that." Monty might work, but not yet. Somewhere with fewer people, dimmer lighting. He's quite fetching under the yellowed light of the lanterns, with alcohol and winter air pinking his cheeks, brightening the gold in his hair. Asra isn't sure what school days refers to; there was no age at which he had gone to school. School was for people with coin to spend on books and parents to see them sent off. "I don't think anyone learns much of anything, cooped up in one place. I doubt they told you about places like this, either."

His eyes rake downward, taking in Monty's clothing. More like something Nadia would wear, and not much like their hosts. He doesn't like tight clothing on himself, but he likes the look of Monty's legs in those odd trousers.