Reginald was not happy with his gear.
For starters, he had no ranged weapons. None, not even a handgun, or some sort of bow, or a rock. Instead, he had two sets of incredibly close-range weapons - the nail guards on his fingers, while quite fancy looking, were not practical in any way. Yes, there was the second form, but lord chucklefuck had a problem.
As he walked out into the arena, he was somewhat preoccupied, poking at the the fingertips on his left hand, seemingly trying to do it in some sort of order, yet each time he seemed to fuck something up.
So, it's 531, 531... Then another 531? I think, yeah, and then... No wait, I fucked it up. Wait, maybe I had it right - wait, was 5 the thumb or the pinkie..?
While he did all this, he seemed to forget another important thing - he wasn't wearing his fancy shoes anymore. He was wearing a pair of steel-toed boots with blades on the back. Said blades having one likely target - his dumbass cape.
Reggie fell flat on his face, barely avoiding stabbing himself in the face with a bunch of pointy claws, uttering a swear as the crowd proceeded to laugh at him. He grumbled, trying to get back up on his feet, when he saw his opponent. Said opponent pushing his ass out for some reason. This was not going to go well for Reginald, was it?