"Do not ask him about the nine guns," Lucius warns very strenuously. He makes eye contact, points to his eyes, then her's, then shakes his head. "He does not care for it and will let you know all about how much he doesn't care for it with a knife to the skull."

That's exaggeration, classic hyperbole, but he really cannot stress that enough.

"One gun, one knife, just like everyone else," he repeats because he has heard it. Everyone on ship had. It's something they all knew not to comment on.

"Head's not made of smoke, eyes don't actually glow, but everything else is pretty spot on."

"Oh! A four!" Lucius declares smugly as he flips the card onto his others.