"I don't know..., my nose gets broken an awful lot. Not that I don't appreciate the idea of giving it a rest," Rus touches his nose gingerly, "but are you sure yours is up to it?" He nods and scowls. "And since Slughorn didn't devote as many hours as you, being far too busy with his candied pineapple and toadying, he couldn't hold a candle to you."
"And the occasional emerald. For Slytherin, you know."
"It wouldn't be a restful sleep, I know that," Rus tells him. "Is it incubi or succubi that visit men?"
"The bureaucracy would keep on going," Rus tells him. "That's why it's there." He considers. "Well, some of them would need two ripped off. Do fingers and toes count as limbs?"
Rus is very pleased by Severus' dart-throwing, applauding loudly after each toss. He's wavering quite a lot and his spectators look alarmed. A large drunken man armed with sharp pointy things is nervous-making. T1 swallows audibly. Rus tosses his darts, forgetting to roll the dice first, but it hardly matters as all three darts stick in the wall. To a respectable depth. "Drat!" Rus says to everyone. "Maybe I should try again with my eyes closed."
Imitation is the sincerest of flattery? He can be smug then, because he does it better than anyone.