The hair on the back of Fakir's neck stood up as he instinctively performed a grand jeté, leaping like a gazelle as the claws swooshed, feeling the end of his ponytail getting swiped as an inch of it was sheared off. As he lands, the young man pivots to see what it was that attack him, his heart pounding in his ears.

Does... does nobody see it? He asked silently, seeing all the eyes are on him, and not the clawed beast he barely dodged. He delicately took a step back, and then another, wishing he had brought his sword. He'll have to improvise - and get this monster away from people. Then with a spin, he leaps forward into a back street, in an attempt to both lure it away and find an improvised weapon.