And now there's a talking raccoon with guns.

York gives himself a second- okay, maybe three- before just. Rolling with it. Cowboys, train, badguys. Not thinking about what happened before he snapped into awareness here. Feeling more than a little pleased at a difficult shot York allows himself a half smirk and a second of twirling the stun gun like a six shooter before cracking off another one. "That's four. How many are you at?"