The Mist exploded overhead, causing him to flatten to avoid the shrapnel from that, hissing through the air. He managed not to be perforated with hot metal, but it was a close thing. Along the way, other pockets erupted. Even so, while prone, he got his rifle into position, both eyes open, irons on the two, but he held fire even before the talking started. Others were moving into their positions, even as they tried to reason through the situation.

He knew the calculus; one girl, throwing power around. Setzer, held hostage.

As the others started to talk and otherwise address the girl, he took the time to get on one knee and assume a firing position, the stock of his rifle nestled into his shoulder as he regulated his breathing. This was no sniper rifle and Setzer was so damn big that this girl practically was hidden behind him anyway. He didn't have a particularly good shot, not that he was in a rush to take it. It was not the optimal situation to be taking shots, even if he was damned good with a rifle.

Unlike most Wardens, he didn't need optics for easy firing. He compensated subtly, using minuscule amounts of the Mist to modify the visual effect that replicated the effect of magnification and backlighting and even target designation. It was minor trickery, but it assisted in a well-trained rifleman's sense of aiming the weapon, particularly welcome when under an actual threat with actual adrenaline.

All the same, he'd spent more time in Vangar courses than Zimmy or at least retained it; his training reflected the interests he had. He wanted to do recon and light infantry work, and he'd deliberately adopted the courseload that would put him into that line of work. He was extremely fluent with the language, which the Citadel taught with a junker-class accent, like a proper von type, educated, collegiate. Useful for debriefing Vangar officers if the need were ever to arise.

"We are Wardens on leave, you are on Rassvet soil and this is a search and rescue operation. That is, of course, unless you decide to actually harm our friend, in which case you cease to be the subject of a rescue operation and then become an enemy combatant. Your choice, fraulein. We are not the enemy unless you decide to make it that way."

His Vangar was cold and aristocratic, and he was casual in flicking the safety selector switch on his rifle down to 'fire', which had a very distinctive 'click' sound, as if to say, [i]think carefully about the next move, since you're speaking so glibly of moves.[/i]

"I just told the bitch that this is a search and rescue and that if she does anything to Setzer, we're slotting her," he added, to the others in Rass as he covered his sector. She couldn't watch seven at once. So he locked eyes with her. His were hard, especially behind the sights of a rifle.