[ Honestly, he never thought he'd be drinking with Reno, of all people, and feeling relief over their mutual commiseration, but here they are. At least the mention of Sephiroth doesn't earn some high pitched laugh or an admission that somehow Shinra is behind all of this, or like he's glad to be in his company: they both seem miserable enough by it, and that, unfortunately, makes them a littler closer than enemies. He won't go so far as to say comrades.

Sephiroth isn't really what he wants to be thinking of, anyway, but he's glad he told Reno, at least. That's the one thing that won't get him into any trouble: he's not about to mention Aerith, and he wonders if he should consider asking Reno about the other First Class SOLDIER, but decides the answer will likely just confuse him more.

So, then, to the cigarette: which is offered from Reno's lips, not the pack. His own mouth parts in a breath of disgust. ]

Haven't seen any of the marketplace stalls selling them. Doesn't mean they aren't here, though.

[ Now it feels more like a show of his own pride--or whatever--so he clunks his elbow on the table and takes the cigarette from Reno with firm, unrelenting fingers. His eyes dart from it, to Reno, and then back to it, as if he can fashion some way to smoke from it without touching it.

--and then, with another sigh. ]

...What do I do? Suck on it?