[ Venom waits for her question to hit, and when it does— well. He almost laughs, in that characteristic way that men how who have forgotten how to make that sound do; shoulders turning inwards, throat constricting to breathe an exhale that borders on buoyant instead of weighted.

Of course she's asking him about firearms. Of course. ]

You think I'd know.

[ A flat statement, desert-dry but tempered by that ever-pervasive patience. The sentiment being projected here isn't annoyance, as much as it is a degree of amusement at his own expense. Is he really that obviously not a civilian???

(Clearly.)

When he tips his head and gives Anderson another once-over, the expression is slightly more casual. ]

—You're not wrong. [ There's literally zero point in hiding it, so: ] Might have a spare one you can use, even.

How big are we talking about, here? [ Handgun? Assault rifle? Grenade launcher? You name it, he's got something to carry it. ]