[The silence that falls between them is heavy and telling. Guzma stares down at the stranger in both disgust and disbelief, his eyes flicking to the incriminating shoe, before setting back on his mustached features. His disbelief is what keeps him from acting right away, it stuns him like a flashbomb for a few long moments.

But then his temper ignites as he accepts that this guy isn't joking. His expression twists into a feral snarl as he reaches to grab the man by the front of his shirt.]

You think this is funny, asshole?!

[There's a crazed look to Guzma—it doesn't take much to make him mad, but for this man—for this stranger to approach him like he's some friendly sort, and then rattle on in a way that seemed good natured, only for it to turn out anything but. What kind of fucked up psycho is this dude?]

You must be a fuckin' idiot to get up in my grill admittin' to shit like that. You wantin' to know what it feels like to be smashed, too?! Is that why you sought me out?!