"Lancer...?" It's not a name he'd readily associate with a terror of the night, and now that he's calming down Warsman finally finds himself wondering if he'd really be speaking to him at all if he were going to tear his throat out in the next fifteen seconds.

He's still ready to throw a punch if need be, of course, and he's more than willing to crush him if he has to... but something calmer and more reasonable than anything he's felt so far tells him that he won't have to. "... I'm sorry. I don't know the name." A beat. "Warsman. I'm Warsman, that is."