Dreary? Haeftin raised a red eyebrow. His life was anything but dreary. But naturally the prisoner was grasping for something to feel a victory in. The adjutant almost responded, but he had before been admonished for chatting up the prisoners too much, so he gave a smile  intended to say "I almost feel more pity for you than scorn". His attention was suddenly taken by an eruption of noise from the idyllic little house. This could indicate wider rupture of the plan. The lieutenant prepared himself to jump into action.<br/><br/>And so when the blade sprang from the forest, Miss Mezmoriia was not undefended. Haeftin's pink skin let off a few small sparks before a snap of his fingers brought forth a blast of electricity. With so little time to plan the strike it was unlikely that it would be a fatal or particularly damaging blow, but it would give the attacker some idea of what Haeftin could produce, and might make them more likely to concede.  The lovely giant uncontrolled campfire, or forest fire as some would call it, was a nice bonus. As the smoke cleared and flames began to brighten the night, Haeftin formed a sphere of plasma in front of himself that quickly grew from a spark to a crackling ball larger than his head. It was one of his favorite techniques. Make some plasma, then throw it anywhere for a nice big boom, a massive fire, or both; in any case he could continue to control it and do all sorts of fun things.<br/><br/>Haeftin walked toward where the warrior would be, smiling and speaking brightly, "I'm sorry to respond so violently, but I can't let you attack myself, my superiors, or my allies, now can I?" The plasma ball grew. "I'm sure we can come to some peaceful agreement if you'll be reasonable and come talk to me without your blades." Blatant lies; Mezmoriia had been attacked and the man who tried that would die. With a lot of flames and pain.