For the briefest of moments it occurs to Sarge that he is enjoying this far more than he should, but he pushes that thought away to be examined and pondered later. His head tilts ever so slightly when she speaks about his crowbar and he hums. It's not quite a laugh but just on the fringe of it, just because she is being ridiculous. He didn't expect anything less.
Of course he could tell her about trailers without power and being locked in closets and how the dark was the last thing he ever worried about, but these are things he never shared with friends and this chick is far from being considered one, so he shrugs. "You're so full of shit I could smell you before I saw you."
In all the years of fighting, both in bars and in the ring, he has learned never to turn his back on an opponent, yet he stands perfectly still when she circles. Because he has also learned that people like to underestimate him and that always turns out to be an advantage. As much as his hand wants to titch, eager to lift the metal that has turned warm in his hand to put that bitch out of her misery, he keeps it still. And that costs him more energy than he would like to spend right now.
"You done with your Joker impression? You're doin' a pretty shitty job."