Now that the smoke was starting to clear he could see Sasuke's eyes darting here and there but refusing to settle, like a nervy butterfly. It's enough to start to make Warsman feel bad already: he must have struck an imposing figure, striding out of the smoke and staring down at him with what could easily be imagined to be expressionless chagrin. One of the many downsides of wearing a mask was the almost total lack of control he had over how he appeared to other people, and he felt it more strongly now than ever. He wasn't angry by any stretch- perplexed, maybe, and a little exasperated, but...

If you break up with me over- wait, what?!

Warsman stared, catching his breath- and then immediately doubling up with a violent cough as he sucked in a lungful of smoke, waving a hand frantically in front of his face in the hope that it might clear the air a little more so he could speak more easily.

Leaning on the back of the sofa for support, eyes watering a little, he finally managed to choke out, "I'm not breaking up with you, I swear-" before breathing in and out deeply and trying again. "W-what on earth happened here? What is that?" His hand, lowered from his mouth, gestured a vaguely in the direction of the sad little huddle of blackened fur on the floor.