"Ooh, well aren't we just fancy." He emphasized the second syllable of the last word, though whether he was mocking the boy's clothes or his rigid combat stance was unclear. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six. Six." Six was the perfect number really. Long arms got him just under halfway there, and the oversized bat made up the rest, so as soon as he stepped into range Sev swung hard and fast, a left to right one-handed swing that was aimed for the kid's head. He didn't know what the kid might have had in store, didn't know about the chemicals or how they were intended to be delivered (even his writer didn't know that second part), so he just swung his bat before any of that would matter. Quick, simple, and efficient.