Arthur's relationship with the physical vessel that he inhabits is strictly professional: in that he feels no emotions or particularly even cares about it, in the long term. But inhabit it he must, and so when the lanky bastard's hand brushes his - he's surprised, more than anything, by touch he should have seen coming, and his hand recoils sharply with its prize - the engraved lighter.

Then the man points his... thing, at Arthur, and the comment makes him frown sharply - defensively, if Tom's paying attention.

"I-- I-I'm sorry, what?"