He sits there, dripping wet like a drowned rat, nothing to his name but a sopping wet bow tie, and oh great, a gun pointed at him again. Both of his hands raise, and he looks at her with an almost nervous gaze.

"You're making quite the habit of this pointing a gun at me, aren't you?"

He's aware that doesn't answer her question, but strangely enough guns don't tend to make him chatty.