Sawyer had picked up on the flicker of remorse and sorrow that shine in JT's eyes for just a split second, knowing something to be wrong, as well as JT's cold, uninviting tone. He walked to the cowboy and let his cigar drop, crushing it under the sole of his combat boot and went to an adjacent combat doll. He unsheathed his sword, the sounds of metal sliding against metal shrill in the air, soon the potatoskin dummy without a leg, wool filling pouring from its missing appendage. Sawyer continued to slash at the dummy, talking between hits. "What's the matter, friend? Seems like you can use a run of the mouth." Sawyer attempted to console the lieutenant, sounding as sincere and understanding as possible, though he was. Speech didn't come easy to him, though. Words spilling out of his mouth like vomit or without anything to say, a mute.