Lucifer Loki Toast, or the great LLT (like an MLT, get it), as he preferred to be known (or did he), was rather startled to find the hobbit Dwim sidling right up to him. He had meant to keep an eye on his two friends from a distance, and feel out the situation before engaging, but it seemed it was a bit late for that. He had noticed the situation with the bucket, and was even less keen on joining the table now. They had thrown accusations, and now they brought buckets of water? This was not shaping up to be a friendly meeting.
He realized he had only half been paying attention, and refocused on the hobbit speaking to him. He couldn't quite tell, but it seemed Dwim did not yet suspect him. He was asking for his name, after all; a perfectly ordinary thing to ask a strange old man who enters a pub.
"Harrumph!" he exclaimed, wafting a floof of dust into the air. (He had not used the grey cloak in rather a long time). He began coughing loudly- at first a ruse to buy himself time as he had forgotten to think of a name, and then in earnest. That dust was... dusty. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his satchel, and realized a tuft of his multi-colored patchwork toasty cloak was sticking out. Under the guise of the loudest and most ludicrous fit of coughing he could drudge up as a distraction, he smacked it with his staff, hoping that it was more hidden now. Probably. He couldn't see much through his eyes watering from all the dust.
The dust cleared, and his coughing subsided, and he realized Dwim was still staring at him, hand upraised. He took it, keeping his hand quite intensely shaped into a claw (it wouldn't do if the hobbit recognized him from his handshake, after all), and clutched the hobbit's, shaking it up and down, before remembering he still owed a name, which he had forgotten about in all that coughing.
"Ah yes, erm, name, yes my name, that is-" he began, probably quite suspiciously, as he adjusted his bent up spectacles with a claw-like hand. "I yes, well that is, Luci- erm, Lo-, well, now, Toa-, HARRUMPH!" he added loudly on the end, realizing how many times he had almost given himself away. Those names were all known to the other two.
Then, he had an idea, "Ha ha! What do you think this is, young man, free name day?" Where I come from, one does not simply give out a name. You must guess. That is right. Three guesses, you shall receive. And if you get it right, I shan't turn you into a toad!" Toast was laying it on rather thick, but if there was one thing he excelled at, it was committing to the bit. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of orange, and then a bit of a burnt smell. He quickly patted at his hair, hoping dreadfully hard that the fire would not catch fully. pat. pat. pat-pat. pat-pat-pat. patpatpatpatpatpaptpat. He patted his hair quite aggressively, doing a bit of a dance. "Just a bit of superstition to ward off the rain, you know!" he exclaimed, by way of explanation. Hopefully they would buy it. A few curls of smoke seemed to grow suddenly from his chin.
"ACHOOO!" he sneezed loudly, hoping to scare them away. It was effective, and the smoke dissipated. This was quite a lot of work.
He turned his gaze back on the hobbit, as his drink arrived, and he took a large gulp. "WELL THEN?" he thundered, waggling his eyebrows impressively. The louder and more obtrusive he was, Toast figured, the less suspicious they would deem him. Probably.