When Ivan saw the flames erupt once more, wreathed around the young woman's arms like burning sleeves, he instinctively began to move backward.  It was basic training that whenever something spouting approached a mercenary, be it Scout or Sniper, Spy or Heavy, he had better start backpedaling.  Thinking about exactly why he was putting distance between himself and Terra brought Ivan to a radical new conclusion; coupled with the color of her clothes, there could be no mistake.

At that moment, the one who had fallen from the sky a moment earlier -and yet was not, as one might expect, a red stain on the earth- rushed up and starting talking to her.  “No no no, is useless,” he said to Delsin, dropping the Tomislav on the ground and pushing him aside so that he alone was standing in front of Terra.  His eyes narrowed

“Oooooh, I see now!  Little Pyro has come out of suit at last!”  He didn't seem to be taking Terra's threats seriously—but why should he?  Teammates couldn't hurt one another, no matter how hard they tried.  In his line of his work, he had been bathed in harmless flames every hour of every day by Pyros checking for spies.  Ivan rested his chest in a huge hand, adopting an air of sophistication that clashed with his hat and scarf and, overall, suited him very little.  “Pyro is more pretty than I was thinking.”