[He glances the man's way, studying him for a moment. Appraising him.]

My name is Red Wine, and you assume a great deal to think I'd accept sparring with you.

[Though he doesn't sound insulted by the implication. Amused, perhaps. When he chuckles there's a clear flash of elongated, sharp canines. He adjusts the placement of his sword, letting his hand rest atop the sabre's pommel.]

But I will, if you're as capable in battle as you were with that exorcism.