I'm not terribly surprised by this. I've terrible luck with avoiding bullets.

[It'd be quicker, perhaps, than bleeding out- and that's a morbid turn of thought she has no time for today. She pastes on a resigned half smile and shrugs, picking her way along the path.]

I'd best do what I can to not end up on the wrong end of your rifle. I suppose assisting with this dinner will grant me some kindness, yes?