Sniper knew better than to cave to Pyro's taunting. He was a total professional, one who was fully aware he was better off in a tree with a gun than on the ground armed only with his fists. He'd spent years in the bush contemplating the best way to utilize his natural talents, perfecting his craft while figuring out how he could carve out a living in the Outback when he couldn't even grow a proper mustache.

But he wasn't in the Outback any more, nor was he armed with a gun, but he was contemplating the best way to go about his situation. Pyro was grinding his gears, much as Scout did on a daily basis. Unfortunately, this wasn't Scout, the scrawny lad who was built purely for running -- as much as it wounded his pride, Sniper knew he'd rather turn tail than be flattened in a fist fight with the brawnier Pyro.

His teeth ground together behind his lips, his glare getting icier by the second. "I didn't come here lookin' for a fight, ya bloody wanker," he growled.