[His smile comes back, though it's thin, strained, and obviously put on to be patronizing.]

You offering yourself up as a target?

[don't make him shoot you

He scoffs, though, not expecting an answer. Rufus lifts the shotgun up at an angle, giving its stock a single spin like it was an oversized, very deadly baton.]

What kind of guy did you expect me to be? You should see the one I have at home.