It appears that literally everything out of Bandit Santa's mouth is at least half nonsense, so Felix just ignores it this time. What he can't ignore is this unexpected maneuver Santa's doing with his--feet? Whatever it is, it's not what Felix prepared for, and it catches him off-guard, sending his sword clattering to the floor.
But this is far from the first time Felix has been disarmed in battle. Normally he carries multiple swords, and normally he can rely on magic; neither is feasible here, but there's a reason he's also studied unarmed combat.
Even as he hears Claude command his butterfly to do something, he's moving forward the second he loses his grip on the blade, ducking low under the inevitable swing of the candy cane to bring one foot down on the hem of the long, heavy robe his opponent wears and--
--well, he was going to come up into an elbow to the throat and trip Bandit Santa with his own clothes. (Who wears long robes like that to a melee? Come on, Santa, really?) But as Felix twists and brings his arms in close to his chest, preparing to strike, he stumbles. Every muscle in his body seizes at once and he falls to his knees with a strangled-sounding curse.
...Stun Spore. That's what Claude was saying.
"What the...fuck, Claude!?" Battle instincts are screaming at him to get away, to retrieve his weapon, but all he can manage is to hunch his shoulders in a pathetic attempt to shield himself. He can't move. He's a sitting duck, and even as he tries to convince his pounding heart that he's probably not in any mortal danger yet, his blood and his bones know that to stop moving means death.
If they're lucky, Bandit Santa will be down for the count too, and Claude can end this. If not...
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But this is far from the first time Felix has been disarmed in battle. Normally he carries multiple swords, and normally he can rely on magic; neither is feasible here, but there's a reason he's also studied unarmed combat.
Even as he hears Claude command his butterfly to do something, he's moving forward the second he loses his grip on the blade, ducking low under the inevitable swing of the candy cane to bring one foot down on the hem of the long, heavy robe his opponent wears and--
--well, he was going to come up into an elbow to the throat and trip Bandit Santa with his own clothes. (Who wears long robes like that to a melee? Come on, Santa, really?) But as Felix twists and brings his arms in close to his chest, preparing to strike, he stumbles. Every muscle in his body seizes at once and he falls to his knees with a strangled-sounding curse.
...Stun Spore. That's what Claude was saying.
"What the...fuck, Claude!?" Battle instincts are screaming at him to get away, to retrieve his weapon, but all he can manage is to hunch his shoulders in a pathetic attempt to shield himself. He can't move. He's a sitting duck, and even as he tries to convince his pounding heart that he's probably not in any mortal danger yet, his blood and his bones know that to stop moving means death.
If they're lucky, Bandit Santa will be down for the count too, and Claude can end this. If not...