An letter opener under his shirt and a pair of scissors in a pocket feel like an incredibly flimsy defense, so he hopes whatever this is isn't something a sweep kick can't handle.

For now, though-- he tries not to stare at that tail too obviously.

"Sorry, can't do that," he grimaces. It's probably supposed to to be a smile. His best, most pained customer service smile. "Also, no offense, but how the fuck did you even get in here?"

He tried holding it in, all right.