[He's being ganged up on by teenagers. Teenagers with no sense of their own preservation. Tch. Yuan catches Kratos' blow on his weapon, one hand flat to brace it, and ducks his head at the faint whistle of air sliced by the Chosen's projectile. Lloyd's hit -- lighter than Kratos', automatically judged the lesser threat -- he blunts with the easy green shell of a force field, and his armor under that.]
[An annoyance. Enough to annoy him. Perhaps touching, even, that they're all so very fond of Kratos.]
[Yuan spins his blade, whirling it low around him, planning to force distance. It is, he will admit, nice to see Kratos hasn't changed all that much.]
Still too slow. Am I fighting your children now?
[Says the tone of his voice: That could be arranged.]
no subject
[An annoyance. Enough to annoy him. Perhaps touching, even, that they're all so very fond of Kratos.]
[Yuan spins his blade, whirling it low around him, planning to force distance. It is, he will admit, nice to see Kratos hasn't changed all that much.]
Still too slow. Am I fighting your children now?
[Says the tone of his voice: That could be arranged.]