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The members of the Spec-Ops branch were meant to be the vanguard of the Negaverse. As such, sparring matches and other forms of training were not only expected but practically required. It was no surprise, then, that two members of the branch would meet to engage in such an exercise.

The setting, however, was more unconventional. In the Rift, there were certain obstacles to overcome but also privacy that Destiny City did not offer; Destiny City, however, was easier to get to and for many the sort of "real life" battle ground that they wished to train to master. Today they met at... neither of these locations. Instead, the call had come from an area just outside of Destiny City. Filled with woodlands, weeds, and one, rust-coated set of train tracks, there was nothing much to see here. Privacy was almost certain... but why go to such lengths?

As Serpentine neared the train tracks, he did not yet pull his whip from where it lay coiled in his sash. His opponent was a fellow officer, but not one he had met previously. With Buddingtonite sparring matches had become easy; the ginger partner would state what he felt needed to be worked on or comment about whatever Serpentine chose. Today was a meeting on less equal ground. Neither knew the other's particular skills to be built upon not their weaknesses to be trampled beneath sweat and toil.

Uncertain exactly for whom he was looking, the normally quiet officer called out, "I am here." Now, there was nothing to do but wait.

Compliments were always a good way to start a conversation with the vain captain--all the more so because he truly believed he deserved them for existing. A practiced toss of his head made his rainbow hair fluff just right, all the while without moving the hat that perched on top. "Yes. Your uniform is functional... your weapon, unusual." He had never seen anything quite like the metal pieces the other had and could only guess to their use. His observations might only serve as back-handed compliments, but there was no malice in his cold voice.

Serpentine listened to the other chew his jaw and watched him as he walked closer down the track. He shook his head in the negative this time and moved back to avoid the needless sprinkle of rust and dust. This arena suited him just as well as any other, and he had grown used to chatty partners with Buddingtonite. He nodded at the other's reasoning. At the mention of spectators, his gaze narrowed. "It works. Someone spying?" Then, almost as an afterthought, he said his name in way of introduction. "Serpentine. Ready to begin, when you are."

"Rubberneckers? Vultures," Serpentine agreed with a snort. He remembered only too well the gawking onlookers as he had tried to repair his flower shop from the attack of the Tiger Senshi. Looking without any offer of help, looking without any need other than simple voyeuristic desire. If that was all Realgar wanted to avoid, he could certainly understand. Perhaps they could have garnered a few admiring glances or the chance to drain energy from a few easy victims, but all of that would have interrupted their match. His fellow officer seemed worthy of his full attention.

As far as the sparring went, Serpentine followed his colleague's lead. If he did not pull his weapon, then the green-and-gold clad captain would leave his coiled at his hip. He was intrigued by the sound of these caltrops. They had the potential to be used at close range and at a distance. From the sounds of it, they could also be effective for ambush tactics. How well would their enemies be able to anticipate being led to a minefield of these nasty metal pieces? But, tactics were not what they were focusing on today.

Realgar went for a boxing stance, but the soccer-player in Serpentine more relied on the feet. With no further warning than a nod of his head, he dashed forward to kick at the other Captain's hamstring.

Serpentine's face hardened at the relative ease with which his attack hit. There was no real judgment in his face--merely concentration. He was not complaining at taking the first hit, by any means, but not resting on his laurels either. He remained on the balls of his feet and held back slightly to see what his sparring partner would do. The prone Captain had the potential to throw those caltrops and trip him up--or, perhaps not by the sound of the force with which he hit the grass. Clearly, this session would be good for his fellow officer.

He jumped back to avoid the boot aimed at him, aware that it would give Realgar the chance to regain his footing or launch an attack. But if he could avoid a hit, especially hits that would leave him vulnerable to larger hits for more sensitive areas... he would certainly try to do so. He carefully replanted his feet and waited to see what the other captain would do next. He curled his hands into fists and brought them up in a defensive position. He would wait for an opening to strike... or defend himself as needed. It all depended on what Realgar did next.

A smile twitched across Serpentine's lips. Realgar reminded him of Buddingtonite in certain ways, but particularly in his good humor. Self-deprecation was an art that the proud Captain did not engage in himself, but that did not mean he could not appreciate it when someone else did. Particularly in this case, when it seemed his new sparring partner realized that he did need to get better. It spared Serpentine the trouble of having to try and lecture with either his tongue or with his fists.

His defensive stance led him to block the jabs that swiftly came hs way, but the stomp managed to connect. Serpentine hissed and dropped his arms to try and shove his opponent back.

The soccer player in Serpentine came out once more. He was accustomed to not using his hands - doing so could cost the team the game. His arms fell under Realgar's touch, but when the shoulder drove forward it met opposition from the other Captain's own shoulder driving forward to meet it. The barrier might keep them both from falling, or it might send both of them off balance.

Either way, his mind began to race for a way to get some distance. Close quarters was going well enough, but the increasing confidence in Realgar might lead to something terrible. A black eye or a scratch on his face? Not if he could avoid it! His fingers twitched towards the hilt of his whip.

He had been putting all of his weight into that shoulder. The sudden loss of an equal force to hold him up did send Serpentine learning forward. He compensated with a hiss, tucking into himself in hopes of avoiding a strike until he could regain his height advantage. At the very least, a blow should at least be cushioned enough to limit how far back he would go if it hit him.

The elbows hit a defensive position, but that did not mean that they did not hurt. Serpentine grunted as he fell, hitting the ground a little harder than he had intended. His left shoulder caught the weight of his fall, so when he finally rolled back onto his feet it ached in a very distinctive way. He resisted the urge to cover the wound with his free hand.

The fight was beginning to detiorate in favor of Realgar, and the proud Captain was not too pleased at this turn of events. He was not wholly displeased - it showed that the fight was being taken seriously and both of them had much to learn. But he needed to regain control, to reclaim his position as the victor. He drew the whip from his sash and snapped it towards his sparring partner. It was meant to crack and catch his attention, not actually hit him.