[He listens to all of this with a long-suffering, irritable expression.]

It's not my mutation. How the hell would I know? But if you tackle me, you'll be ashes before we hit the ground, so don't even try it. [Empty threat - he's got no lighter. That fact makes his hand flex with renewed frustration.] I - assume it's all about my perception. It's a kind of telepathic suggestion, what he does.