[The coin is tossed to him, and Guzma catches it easily and unflinchingly - listen, a trainer isn't a trainer if they can't toss and catch a pokeball. A good arm and a better eye just comes with the title. Once he's got it, Guzma opens his fist to inspect the trinket, turning it over in his fingers. Gold...haha.

It's always gold.

The one thing he covets, but not made like this. Not coins, but the color itself. Trophies, medals...ribbons. Gold is indeed prized, and it's something he has never, not once, gotten his hands on. The color has become a favorite to him for that reason, an obsession, due to the value it was given by him in his youth. A golden chain and pendant, hiding in his own pocket, seems rather heavy all of a sudden.]

Believe me, darlin', I know the value of gold. Had it beaten into me way back. [Literally, actually, but the crooked, almost deranged smile creeping onto his face threatens that she not ask questions about that topic. Not that he would answer.] And I can't promise you nothing when someone gets in my face like that, when they spit words like embers at the feet of me n' everyone else here, thinking they spitting gold... I don't back down from a fight easily, Muffy, sense like that never been in me.

But I ain't here to die so long as I got my pokemon to look after. If'n them other misfits can play nice with your boy Guzma, then I got no issue with 'em, yeah? I know my limits, Muffy, for the most part, it's them other folk what you gotta look out for.

[Because they inevitably tip the scales of Guzma's patience, after all. He only has so much to give before he snaps.]