The safest and most honest thing to do is rest a hand on Rus's arm in silence, so that's what Severus does.
"I don't think so, just locks and red ropes." His eyebrows tug up. "Any good in what direction??"
He snorts. "Eat your heart attack," he suggests, nodding to Rus's cake.
"If you weren't teaching at the time it's an entirely different game," he insists, faux-sulkily. "What to do about fearing you?" he suggests, with a mischievous look.
Severus coughs. "I don't believe that was actually the point."
There is dessert for a minute or two, and then the miserable waiter comes back to report, "The chef says your friend can have more tart if he wants it, but he wonders if you'd mind writing down your request," with the look of the reluctant kamikaze, he produces a piece of parchment and a box of markers, "um, sir, and possibly illustrate it, er, if sir has any artistic inclinations, because he has a policy about framing well executed death threats for his workshop and," he gulps, looking sick, "um...." The next words are so rushed they run together. "He says to say that yours wasn't the most original he's ever heard but it's the only one he's had this year and he likes someone who likes his chocolate I'm only a messenger!!!" he finishes in desperation, holding his tray up defensively.
(sporfles at Rus's yearning to faceplate) Essentially, before coming to Margate, he was a demigod of the Hunt. Which is why he's been spending time on Rincewind; prey is also part of it. n,n