"The sea creatures do?" Rus asks, confused. "Right," he nods. "Then they're brushed off, given a bowler, told to grow a mustache and go off and be proper good citizens and a credit to the empire. And this one just stood there for what must have been the longest five seconds of his life. Then he turns to the woman who screeched and said in this voice that just begged for a kick: "I do beg your pardon madam, if my hair frightened you.'" Rus bursts into laughter remembering. "Then," he gasps, 'he took his wig, put it back on his head, and proceeded to read his paper!"
"Only if I have too much to drink," Rus agrees.
"I don't relax well when threatened," Rus reminds him. "Even by idiots like these." He waves a hand rather wildly at the pub. "Oh they will," he says with the utter conviction of someone who's done the same thing. "We can't beat them to pulps?" he asks, the henchman in him thoroughly disappointed.