it is unexpected as it is a pleasant surprise. his fingers brush feather-light against the door handle, and for a moment, he considers:

this is a person who he knows is an assassin, who he knows is deadly as one can be, who has also just invited him to spar. not that maddox is uncomfortable with sparring nor has he ever been, considering the countless days spent training under a sun that does not give the slightest damn about his complaints. perhaps he holds a certain fondness for such fights. he does, however, spare some thought for the partner in question. it has not been too long since the incident in the wilderness, and he can still recall with uncomfortable detail the state in which the scarlet-haired witch had been found.

he pushes the door open before he dwells on it any more. he does, though, wondering where on earth the concern for the other had even come from ( while maddox does not make a habit of apathy, he is neither charitable soul nor bleeding heart ). ‘let him dig his own grave,’ moosely suggests in the tone of someone putting forth a suggestion they think is truly amazing, but is not. maddox has no answer for that.

instead, he inclines his head in a nod at the greeting, a lazy smile slow to appear. “no problem at all,” he says, and before he can stop himself, continues. “how’s the, uh, everything?”

at the back of his head, moosely comments, ‘you, my friend, are an idiot.’

try as he might, maddox cannot read the assassin. he gives up while he’s ahead, lest it turn into blatantly suspicious staring. still, he thinks that it is somewhat impossible to crawl back from the brink of death so easily and so quickly. chances are that sirius is not fully healed, but then again, in their lines of work rest and recovery are rare commodities.

“the rules of engagement,” he repeats, more so to himself than anything, the phrase so oddly formal and yet not unexpected. spars have always been impulsive and spontaneous acts for him, proper guidelines discarded in the moment ( and often at the expense of whichever unfortunate soul made their way past the training room on the ship and got roped in ). “i suppose, then, magic? use whatever, i guess.”

his familiar clatters into existence behind him, not half as graceful as kirjava, nor making any attempt to be. moosely snorts, a noise that lies somewhere between a greeting and a declaration of anticipation.

“you’re okay with that, right?” maddox tilts his head to a side, awaiting confirmation. he has little idea what affinity his partner possesses, but he has always been prone to jumping headfirst into situations with too little information and too much enthusiasm.

an agreement is reached -- magic is to be the medium of the battle, and for that, he finds himself somewhat relieved. it is odd, perhaps, that a blacksmith and axe-wielder should be hesitant to use weapons as they are, and he blames it on the glaring mistake of nerding out in libraries in lieu of actual weapons training. his skill at such is adequate, probably, but mere adequacy would hardly be a challenge for sirius.

the start of the spar is signalled without much fanfare, but the change in the atmosphere is almost jarring. might have been intimidating, had he not already made a habit of the thrill. it takes a split second to realise that his opponent is waiting, and he figures that waiting for sirius to make the first move won’t do him much good anyway. so he strikes.

a flick of the wrist and a tempest breaks loose, the winds shrieking as they careen towards sirius. moosely cares less for maintaining a distance -- the familiar bellows a challenge and charges, antlers lowered, dark eyes intent on the smaller feline familiar.

techniques used: fierce gale

a witch never works alone; that is why they have familiars - they work best when unleashed. and maddox, who has made fighting and brawling another simple bad habit; whose training predominantly involves magic-less fist fights and relies on brute force and sheer instinct; who fights loud and reckless and whose teamwork with moosely is a flimsy nebulous thing, has never quite seen anything like the prowess that sirius and kirjava display.

( it's a level that he's never quite considered achieving, but the thing about sparring with sirius -- it makes him want to keep up. )

sirius moves fast, and maddox is a split second too slow. he becomes aware of crimson flames bearing down upon him, their heat painfully intense even at such a distance. it is too late to think of breaking his flow. fire has always been too unpredictable anyway, and is often more trouble than it is worth. the alternative, then: he reaches out and, grey eyes turned bronze in the approaching firestorm, dissevers the mana from its present time and sends it spilling back into ash and dust.

moosely, on the other hand, has to contend with a living flame armed with fangs and claws. he skids in a turn too sharp, unable to find adequate purchase on a smooth floor. compensates with a wall of wind as he rears up, hooves flashing as the winds coalesce into a near invisible barrier.