There's an amused little quirk of his mouth suggesting he would very much like to spar. He wouldn't even mind doing it one-handed if need be. That might be able to get the edge off his mind.

Guts then pauses to observe the box, but can't really recognize what was inside it. Tobbacco did not exist at his end of the world yet. The closest equivalent would probably be a Church's censer spreading around clouds of incense.

"Smoke? Is that what those little sticks are for?"