They suuuuuure do come in handy, ya got that right, Mistah. [In contrast, Angel's accent is a nearly-comical thick New York one -- all old timey mobsters and tommyguns and "I'm walkin' here". He'd be much more of a caricature if it weren't for the...spider thing.

Speaking of -- one arm reaches out for the cigarettes, another pulling a couple free and tucking one into his chest fluff for later. And then, seamlessly, two more appear from either side of Angel's torso, sliding free to make him properly eight-limbed: six arms, two legs. One of the new hands grabs the other cigarette, holding it out and lighting it carefully, then placing it in his mouth, all while the topmost pair stay propping his chin up.

Grinning and inhaling, Angel lets the third pair slowly retract back into his body. It's a little unnerving, but if this tall hunk of golden southern drawl is already calling him pet names, he's probably not gonna freak out about Angel's disappearing limbs. For good measure, he adds:] That ain't all that retracts, just so's you know.

[Inhaling deeply, exhaling the smoke into a skilled ring:] Angel Dust. I'm guessin' you haven't heard'a me, huh? [A woeful sigh.] Not havin' my talent recognized is such a fuckin' drag.