Beatdown
"Senior Sister, please! You shouldn't have to do this," the Shay-Hade appealed anxiously. Marie noticed that his accent was a bit similar to that of the man from the Jehakan Confederacy that fleeced her out of those silver coins for a measly doll. Though his appearance did not match the turban-garbed man. Shay-Hade was tall for a seventeen-year-old, he was towering over Mage Maddi by at least two heads. He had a bulky build, his ebony skin accentuating the bulging musculature as the sunlight reflected off of it at the correct angles. His ankle-length hair, which was showing silver shades at its roots, was tied into dreadlocks that formed a tight bun on his head before cascading to his upper back.
"This spar happens to be called in my name," Mage Maddi pointed out. "Why must others represent my interests when I am capable of doing it myself."
"That's not it!" Shay-Hade quickly waved his hands in denial. "This is just beneath you."