Sawyer was still for JT's answer, still focused on his own fight. The sword slashed the chest of his dummy, limbs all but one leg separated from the rest of their frame, as Sawyer drew his magnum revolver and sank one bullet into the head of his opponent, a hole in its forehead that rose with smoke. A shell hit the floor with a clang as the barrel shifted to the left, and the gun was singled back into its fine leather holster. Sawyer then waited for another to simulate, turning to JT. "That's rough man." Internally, Sawyer had scolded himself; his attempts to sound more understanding had ultimately failed. The words he spoke were coarse, abrasive, not meaning to sound in such a way. He put his palm to the back of his neck in embarrassment and turned to watch as the next dummy appeared.