[In Reno's defense, Thancred isn't exactly looking much like himself as he makes his way through the haunted house; he's foregone his usual high-visibility white coat in favor of a long black robe decorated in gold accessories and his front bangs tied up to better give the impression that his hair is even shoulder-length on either side. At his waist is a holster filled with about five packs of tarot cards, the slippers on his feet have pointed toes, and all things considered he's — well, he's very clearly supposed to be someone, albeit certainly not himself.
But for all that he might be looking like Urianger right now, his sneaking skills are all entirely his own; he's grown accustomed enough to the background atmosphere of the haunted house that he can generally distinguish between what's real movement and what are special effects, and he's moving easily past a room with some sort of odd ritual set up inside when —
Well. It all happens fast from there.
Urianger doesn't have the instincts of a spy, a rogue, or a gunbreaker; Thancred has all three, and while the shock of the jumpscare preoccupies his conscious thoughts for the flash of a moment, his body is already reacting long before his mind has caught up.
There's something on his arm; he shifts his own weight on instinct, following its momentum, letting it carry through and adding to it in a reaction clearly targeted to break his assailant's hold and put distance between them, and possibly throw them into a wall for good measure.
He just threw something into a wall; his legs know what's meant to happen next, and he dashes to press the advantage, forearm up like a crossbar against the enemy's throat while the other looks instinctively to his back for a handle, to his hip for a blade.
His fingers find cards. That's not supposed to happen.
He blinks, the whole of the reaction passing in a half of a moment, and feels annoyance starting to rise at the back of his neck as he squints in the gloom at — whoever he's just unceremoniously pinned.]
no subject
But for all that he might be looking like Urianger right now, his sneaking skills are all entirely his own; he's grown accustomed enough to the background atmosphere of the haunted house that he can generally distinguish between what's real movement and what are special effects, and he's moving easily past a room with some sort of odd ritual set up inside when —
Well. It all happens fast from there.
Urianger doesn't have the instincts of a spy, a rogue, or a gunbreaker; Thancred has all three, and while the shock of the jumpscare preoccupies his conscious thoughts for the flash of a moment, his body is already reacting long before his mind has caught up.
There's something on his arm; he shifts his own weight on instinct, following its momentum, letting it carry through and adding to it in a reaction clearly targeted to break his assailant's hold and put distance between them, and possibly throw them into a wall for good measure.
He just threw something into a wall; his legs know what's meant to happen next, and he dashes to press the advantage, forearm up like a crossbar against the enemy's throat while the other looks instinctively to his back for a handle, to his hip for a blade.
His fingers find cards. That's not supposed to happen.
He blinks, the whole of the reaction passing in a half of a moment, and feels annoyance starting to rise at the back of his neck as he squints in the gloom at — whoever he's just unceremoniously pinned.]