.06 | get your knives in order

Seemed he had a knack for being the one to start interactions, despite his apparent distaste for people. Cole Dallas had been cleaning the bayonet on his rifle, cross-legged on the couch, when a passing page caught his attention. Shit. He couldn't even remember what Matvias used for a strife weapon.

"Hey Mat," He called, snickering internally when his friend turned fast enough to whack himself in the eye with his own obnoxiously long hair. "First off. Haircut. Second. When's the last time you had strife practice?"

Matvias looked like he was about to deliver a very potent 'fuck no' at the haircut suggestion, but halted with his mouth open, went pale. "Um.. I, uh... I dunno. A while." A while? So, code for 'several years ago'. Okay. Cole groaned and stood up, twirling his rifle in his hands. "Okay. Let's get to it then. Fly me to an empty field or something."

"What! No, I don't have time for-"
"It's your day off and you've run out of laundry and dishes to preoccupy yourself with. There's only two of us here."

Ugh. Fuck him for being right. Matvias whined and slumped his shoulders. This was disastrous. "Do we have to? It's not like I'm going to be fighting anyone off in the next-"
"Uh huh. What if Skaianet comes for you or something? You just gonna ask 'em to leave politely?"
Touché.

"Alright. Fine. Let's go."

-------------------------

Matvias wobbled in the air a bit as he touched down in a desolate clearing outside the city, and prayed he wouldn't end up landing in a cow pie. God forbid. Cole's weight clinging to his shoulders didn't help, but he managed to keep his footing as he landed, stumbling only slightly until his friend detached from him and held up his own weight. Thank fuck.

Cole didn't wait for any kind of formal start. His rifle materialized in his hands from his strife deck and he swiped the barrel of the gun at Mat's feet, earning a stark shout of surprise from him- and nearly an instinctive slash from a dagger. He had one in each hand. Okay, wow.

In an instant, Matvias was back on his feet- at least somewhat, crouched low in a defensive position, poised to move. He held his daggers backhand, one raised in front of his face with its curved tip gleaming in the harsh Texas sun. He didn't... want to cut Cole open. Especially not considering how he died, and the pale scar that ran across the front of his throat was a reminder that neither of them enjoyed seeing every day. But he'd already been attacked once, and if Cole's furrowed brows were anything to go by, he'd be attacked again if he hesitated.
So he didn't.

The page lunged forward with a shout, a decisive swing of his left hand bringing the dagger right up to Cole's face- the latter dodged what would have been a nasty slash to the cheek by only centimeters. Mat was quick. As another swing came his way, he twirled his rifle in his hands to catch it, wincing at the sound of metal digging into wood. It wasn't pleasant, and neither was the vibration that reverberated through his weapon. Jarred his hands. Hurt a little. Offense time.

Cole raised a heavy boot and kicked out at Mat's stomach, earning himself a pained yelp as the smaller boy tumbled backward. The moment of hesitation he spent on the ground was nearly his downfall- Cole descended quickly, bayonet aimed at his cheek. A split second roll to the left saved Matvias a nasty cut, and he pressed his palms to the dirt. Time to see how much strength he retained from dance lessons and running for his life in Sweden. It took an effort, and his muscles howled in protest, but Matvias managed to push himself up, swinging his legs around as he did so. He caught Cole's rifle with his foot- fuck yeah!- and knocked it from his hold.

Not that it mattered much. His balance was quickly lost and he dropped to the ground again with a yelp, but wasted no time in getting back up again as Cole darted aside to retrieve his weapon. Now they were at another standoff. Cole takes the initiative once again, twisting himself and twirling his gun to strike out at Mat's ribs with the butt of it. The page himself bends to catch it in his elbow- a fatal mistake, were it not for his agility, because the thief uses it as leverage to pull him closer and deliver a harsh kick to his ribs. Matvias cries out and hits the ground again, but uses the momentum to roll over his shoulders and back onto his feet.

'Okay, think,' He urged himself, idly twirling his daggers in his hands as he stalked slow circles around his target. 'He can't catch my knives with his hands, he needs that rifle to block. I have to get it away from him somehow.'

Oh shit. Time's up. Cole darted toward him with alarming speed, and Matvias barely managed to block what surely would have been a bad enough blow to the head to knock him out, with the rifle being swung as a makeshift club that way. Instead, he caught it on his arms, crossed in a defensive 'X' in front of his face, which, OW. That would leave a nasty bruise later. He growled out through clenched teeth, leaning back just enough to heave forward and throw Cole away from him- unfortunately not much- and brace himself again. While Cole stumbled with his footing, Matvias saw a window of opportunity and leapt for it, swinging a high kick as high as he could manage at his chest. Cole saw it coming, of course, and caught him by the ankle- which is exactly what Matvias wanted. A grin split across his face and he kicked off with his other foot, using Cole's hold on him as leverage to get higher and drive his heel into his jaw.

Success! Cole hit the ground with a hard thud, his rifle dropping from his hands and clattering to the ground below. Matvias caught himself on all fours, one leg stretched out to the side and his fists pressed into the dirt, still clenched tightly around his daggers. But it wasn't over yet. So he stood and whirled around in one fluid motion, standing over Cole triumphantly with one dagger held close to his jaw.
"Haha! I got you! I told you there was no need for-"

The page was cut off with a sharp yelp of pain- he hadn't pinned Cole safely, and his friend took clear advantage of that, elbows against the dirt for leverage as he kicked his feet up directly into Matvias' chest. He was knocked clean off him, clutching at his front, coughing and gasping, and the next thing he knew, he was pushed down again. Cole stood above him with a boot on his chest, the barrel of his rifle aimed right between Mat's eyes.

Until he snorted, and pulled away, twirling it in his hands. There was a small cut along the right side of his jaw, likely from when he'd kicked Matvias off at close range, but other than that and the dirt on his clothes, he seemed entirely unruffled. "Not bad for a first strife in a dog's age," He admitted, twirling his rifle and dropping the butt of it against the ground beside him. "But you hesitate too much. We need to keep practicing."

Ugh. Not what he wanted to hear. Matvias hung his head in defeat and stood stiffly with a sharp wince. There was no doubt in his mind they'd be doing the exact same thing tomorrow.