@Greenie (OOC I'd appreciate some reminders of her appearance in your post xD Hard time remembering.) Mat is 5'10" with a slim body type, built for agility rather than power. The day was not unlike many others spent in the brown and gray prison cells. Iron bars splitting up the rooms, reaching from the concrete floor to the matching ceiling, sunlight was never seen, instead the area was permanently lit by a lantern that almost never went out, making it near impossible to tell night from day. Instead, the only hint that the sun was setting was the shout from the guards changing shifts. The awful stench of unbathed humans filled the room, the only thing stopping Mat from vomiting was the lack of sustenance that might find its way crawling up his throat. It was disgusting and the partnered feeling of dirty rags worn on the prisoners body made it no better. Mats glasses had not been changed since he had arrived as a prisoner of war. They did not care that he shared their nationality, he was labeled a traitor, and rightfully so. He had left Missea and fought against them. As horribly as he was treated, Mat agreed that he belonged here right now, but that did not change how much he detested the treatment. It was one thing to treat prisoners of war worse than dirt, but to pit them against one another in a fight to the death? That was for more than cruel, it was downright evil. Fighting one another to amuse the people of Missea, it made Mat feel even more sick than the stench of the cells. Looking through his glasses, the eye piece on the right eye was cracked, but he had no choice other than using these broken spectacles. With a slightly distorted image Mat could see a familiar face, though he'd never talked to her before. She was well known on the battle arena, her name was Meg, wielding Earth. Though their emblems were taken away when they weren't fighting, he did remember seeing her in combat a few times. He'd never had the pleasure of talking to her before, let alone fighting. Mat himself had earned a fair reputation in the battle arena, not as a ruthless murderer, but rather the complete opposite. Mat had never killed a foe, which made some fights particularly difficult when is foes wanted to kill him in hopes they will be rewarded. There was no reward for killing, everyone was treated the same. Leaning against the concrete wall, Mat looked at Meg through the bars that separated them. "Hey," he spoke simply, friends in an arena might make it easier to survive. "I'm Mat, short for Mateus." For now there was no reason for Mat to reveal his last name, it might get him in trouble as his mother, Herleva Steadman, was a general for Missea, it might get messy if he's found to be the son of the enemy. "I've heard you know how to fight better than most, do you find this to be true?" He'd have to assess her confidence, for now he would consider her a potential enemy instead of a potential friend.