"I--" Shit. He goes to actually swear aloud before he catches himself. The sweetness of freedom sours almost instantly. Matthias was just turning to gloat right as he realizes what he's done, right as he sees he look on Nub Arm's face.

Shit.

Preservation kicks in. "Do what?" He lifts his chin, stubbornly. "Tell you to piss off? You'd better man up, mate. You'll hear rougher language than that, hanging around the Inquisition."

The templars here are different. Assholes, but different assholes, ones that must follow the Inquisition's rules. Even in the camp, attacking your fellow mages certainly wasn't tolerated, but at least everyone there knew the reality of the situation. That it happened, sometimes, which is completely what went on just now. But will the Inquisition know that? And the fact that this happened in the Gallows, which is stained with the blood of how many mages--and Matthias isn't superstitious, precisely, but he folds his arms over his chest in a way that he hopes invokes an air of superiority. Instead of just to ward off evil, and protect him from the little chill he's just felt.

"Look, I don't know what you're talking about. Only you better get to sweeping. Maybe your withered baby arm can help with the worst of it. Otherwise put it away. Makes me sick, looking at it."