Well, no. Guns don't exist where I'm from, so it would be an odd way to receive a dinner invitation. Besides, for that straightforward tack, I don't think the pleasantries are necessary.

[ He finishes up folding up his necktie and shoves it into one of his voluminous pockets. While his expression remains cool and collected, his body language studiously neutral, he's stopped walking towards the girl; even Claude hesitates when someone has, out of the blue, decided to threaten to kill him.

Not that he's a stranger to threats on his life, but usually he at least knows the reason why -- and in this case, he doubts that she's just a violent racist. (Though she could be, he supposes. He's experienced it from stranger places. An unpleasant thought.) ]

I'm sorry, have we met before? I don't recall doing anything that warrants my bloody death.