Thatcher - 1

The combination of words being thrown around didn't bode well for young Thatcher.

The subject of age in particular hit Thatcher where it hurt, for reasons that had yet to be disclosed. He masked his frustrations quite well, and might have been able to do so for some time if not for the hushed words of Sinbad.

His head slowly swivels around as the sunburned youth glances towards him. Moments after, he arrives to his feet.

"Fair."

He leans his staff on his shoulder, glancing up at the sky without turning to face the young man.

"Get up."
(Thatcher)
Sinbad did as Thatcher suggested. It was evident that his request confused him. Though, the more he processed his tone and demeanor, he understood what the swabbie meant. He descended the steps.

"We can't do it in front of the Café, but lead the way." He suggested.
(Sinbad)
Thatcher leads the gang to a more breathable area. Eventually, he comes to a halt and distances himself from Sinbad. The young man says nothing and instead allows the earth around him to crawl up his skin and solidify into a sepia armor.

Sand flows out from beneath his sunglasses and circulates around his form.

He lowers himself to the ground, popping a squat before pushing a palm into the ground. The surrounding area was transformed into sand.

And with that--there was no more place for words. Only actions.
(Thatcher)
Like Thatcher, Sinbad remained silent amidst their saunter toward a more suitable battleground. Something surely ticked him off, enough for him to act on action rather than words. Around the young mage, a shroud of rejuvenating waters swallowed him. His legs spread, a fist clenched, whilst one reached back to grip the hilt of his staff.
(Sinbad)
Despite the blows they traded, Sinbad remained silent. For once in his life, his countenance spoke of how serious he was.
(Sinbad)
There was never any desire for Sinbad to fight, even for someone that he considered his friend. Even if there was a lack of trust, it was something Thatcher knew he had to earn. Whatever made him as upset to want to battle with him would be something that Sinbad would inquire upon later on.

The fight was long, intense, and very close. It was clear Thatcher knew his way with mana far more than he did, but Sinbad had not been prancing around without a goal. He always strived to grow stronger so that he wouldn't be left behind.

A massive coffin of sand surrounded Sinbad, causing his body to ache in pain, he felt suffocated. Yet, he mustered enough mana to turn his body to mist, allowing him to slip from its hold and place him right before Thatcher. A massive wave of water swept down onto his foe, stunning him just long enough for Sinbad to draw close. It wasn't magic that he used for his next blow, but his raw fists. A fierce uppercut landed, sending saliva and teeth flying into the air.

"Are you okay?!" His eyes widened, noticing the severity of his final attack.
(Sinbad)
Even after transmuting the battlefield into sand, it seemed that the wrath of the ocean triumphed.

The young swabbie entered the battle filled with frustration.

Prior encounters had left him agitated, and it showed through the ferocity of his magic. The earth around him split with every swing of the staff, and once opened up, it expelled sand that allowed him to overwhelm his opponent.

However--it was not enough.

Two tsunami clashed: one gold, one blue. The struggle was tangible for some time, though ultimately, Sinbad's might proved to be more potent than the young pirate apprentice might have anticipated.

Before he knew it, his jaw went limp. The punch that hit him left a lasting mark, but not because of the teeth that left his mouth. That much could be remedied.

The cracked sunglasses that fell from his face couldn't.

Seipa eyes tightened into something akin to rage, and even after losing, it seemedthat he was intent on continuing. The cracked shell of his earthen armor began to slowly repair himself as Thatcher wobbled back to the ground.
(Thatcher)
Sinbad crouched and grasped the sunglasses that fell. His eyes fell onto each individual crack in the surface of glass, then back to Thatcher - who appeared to be prepared to fight again.

"Someone once said to me - when you evenly trade blows with another man, it is only then that you might come to respect and understand them."

He handed the glasses back to him.
(Sinbad)
Thatcher stopped for a moment to absorb the words of his opponent.

He glanced down towards his hands, and then back towards Sinbad. Their eyes met and it almost seemed as though the swabbie was willing to entertain the idea of stopping. Yet, the mentality that had been carefully carved into him was not one that was easily broken.

Living side-by-side with cutthroats had left him a certain way.

And it was only recently that he had begun to question his place beside them. His fight with Sinbad seemed to echo the side that yelled in protest, screaming at him to jump ship.

But the other side told him he needed to prove his worth. And for now, that half remained in the seat of power within young Thatcher's soul. The sunglasses are smacked out of Sinbad's hand as the sand begins to encircle the blonde once more.
(Thatcher)
It appeared that Thatcher, in this moment, was beyond reason. His back turned to the blonde. He was the one who challenged him previously, yet he lost, and the mentality of a sore loser presented itself. They were friends, and he cared about him, so he walked away with a hand in his pocket.

If Thatcher truly wanted to fight him, once more, he would have to do it by force. However, Sinbad spoke once more - "Enough... those pirates damaged you, Thatcher. They turned you into a violent oaf that acts with brawn before reason. When did you fall so low?"
(Sinbad)
Thatcher furrows his brows the moment Sinbad turns his back to the young man. He slides across the softened ground, slams his staff into the earth and forces a slab of rock to erupt in front of Sinbad to prevent him from leaving.
(Thatcher)

Sinbad says, "If I win, you leave those scumbags."
Thatcher's eyes widened.

Reluctantly..

He nods.
(Thatcher)
Again? Thatcher persisted... again? For once, Sinbad's expression was fierce. Not serious or stoic, but to match the rage of Thatcher. A warrior's cry left him as the shroud of water surrounding him transformed into a torrent of gushing, oceanic fury. The waters were rejuvenating for Sinbad yet deadly for Thatcher. After his signature wave crashed down, leaving his opponent open, he rushed in with his water whip.

CRACK!

A gash appeared across the chest of Thatcher, likely dripping blood and water alike. Sinbad huffed, nearly falling to his knees, due to the intensity of their bout.
(Sinbad)
Thatcher exhaled sharply through his nose as the fight continued.

Sand was soaked once more, and the primordial force of the great oceans reigned supreme. The shore had never been equipped to contain the force of the sea.

Try as it may, there was not enough sand in the world to match the deep.

It was a lesson that Sinbad had taught him well, and with every blow exchanged, he felt something click. The anchor that had weighed him to the vessel he had come to call home.

Though home, it seemed, had always been standing right in front of him. He was simply too ignorant to see it.

After sustaining the whip, he's sent hurling into the mountainside as a yell of anguish leaves him. His armor had been broken, but his spirit.. his spirit had been healed.

Thatcher tosses his staff to the side and saunters towards Sinbad. Two hands are extended, and for a moment, it seems as though he had every intention to continue with another bout.

Instead--he grips him by the collar and raises him to the ground. Both hands press down on his shoulders as a firm nod is offered to the lad.
(Thatcher)