[ he'll be there, waiting outside the sim room in five minutes, with candy bars and french fries in hand as promised. when he sees bucky approaching, he'll be calling out a question. ]
You're enhanced, right? If I punch you your skull's not gonna cave in, is it?
[ a shoulder lifts and falls, noncommittal, as if he'd just had the whim for it, and the answer he gives is a dismissive tone. but telling. ]
Apparently they don't like me killing people here. [ turning, he jerks his head towards the center of the room, where the mats are set out for people to spar on. ] You're one of the two or three here that'll probably survive me.
[ Andyr has a violent streak a mile wide, and Bucky understands. Generally. It's hard to come out of something he's endured and still have all your rocks together. The madness has to come out some other way. For Bucky, it's meticulously obsessive paranoia and a tendency to shut down hard. For Andyr, it seems, it's this.
He steps towards the center of the room with a shrug; he doesn't much trust himself around people still, but if it helps Andyr get all the backed up rage out of his system, why not? Besides, he's interested to see what kind of a style he has. ]
[ simple, to the point - it's why he likes bucky. they both know there's more going on, but no need to make commentary on it.
he follows him out to the center room, rolling one shoulder, then the other, bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet. not really a necessary warm up, more habit to mitigate the energy building up in him, maybe encourage more. just his limbs moving and ready for quick reaction. while the guards at Hapsburg had been trained, and even some were KN2s, Bucky's likely more enhanced then they were, and more experienced. It'll be a good fight, and something that unfurls in the back of his mind is spoiling for it. ]
Any rules? That a thing people do here? [ or should they just go right into trying to tear each other apart? ]
[ One just doesn't tend to talk much after seventy years of being muzzled -- literally and figuratively. It's just not a thing. But he knows that there's something else churning under the surface with Andyr, and this is how he gets it out.
Andyr is agile, light on his feet, but there's a wildness to him that Bucky reads in that deadly form, a reminder that he has to be the anchor in this fight, the one that brings the other back into the fold when the inevitable happens. He's deceptively still; a hunter like him doesn't need warm-ups to go right for the jugular, and he shrugs briefly. ]
Just remember that this isn't a fight to the death.
[ Andyr pauses at that, blinks a moment, and tries to concentrate - block out that part in the back of his mind that just wants to destroy. Rend, decimate, make someone afraid. That thing he's been nurturing and feeding and letting loose as often as it reared up for the last six and a half years. He swallows, and gives a curt nod. ] Right.
[ Of course. Why would he ever try to fight anyone to the death? Hahaha... haha... fuck, maybe this wasn't a good idea.
Whatever, it's on, and Andyr's eyes are on the center of Bucky's chest, rather than his face - so he's watching the whole of his body in relatively equal span, arms, legs, how his hips shift, which way his shoulders might turn, the glint of that metal arm easy to pick up on. If it were a guard, he's likely watch their eyes, because they telegraph easily that way. Barnes is a professional. Nothing will show on his face, and Andyr's savagery isn't likely to move him in one way or another. He's going through options in his head. How he'd usually open won't work, because those are all more lethal, less sportsman like. Broken kneecaps, crushed windpipes, catching up ankles to twist them.
What he does instead is try to get in close, that's where Andyr tends to be more of a problem for people. The moment Bucky flinches one way or the other, Andyr snaps into it (and he's fast, inhumanly fast), a stride or two to cover distance and he drops with a wide, spinning sweep to his ankles. Something obvious, looking like he's trying to ground him before this fight even starts, but he expects that to be passed, using the momentum of the turn to raise up an elbow as he finishes close to him, attempting to drive it hard (probably harder than a kind spar would be, he's working on it) into Bucky's stomach. ]
[ Andyr's style is savage, cruel, almost -- but Bucky's is stone-cold efficiency, making the kill in the least possible amount of time. He still retains part of the Soldier's psyche, a dangerous thing that he keeps under control, and he learns, understands and calculates how quick he is in that instant, taking the elbow to the stomach soundlessly as the blow knocks the air out of him.
It's hard, but it won't take down someone like him, not with that particular brand of serum running through his veins. Bucky might be an exceptional sniper, but he's even more dangerous hand to hand, and he's just as quick when he parries with equal force, power and finesse as he strikes back, swift as a striking snake. It's punches and the liberal use of kicks, precise and deadly -- but all the while measured -- his eyes betraying nothing.
Andyr needs this, he knows. He needs the fight to work out whatever it is that sits under his skin, and he will do what he can to help. ]
[ he’s glad for it - cold efficiency to work around like a complex puzzle, rather than the face of something stir such rage and hatred in him. It’s easier for him to keep his head this way, as it’s more watching the moving parts, picking where to dodge, which way to go to set up for a counter. Bucky’s intense, and there’s always that arm to worry about, keep a part of his mind to where it is and what it’s doing. The second he forgets it, he’ll get floored by the force of it, regardless of how well he might get back up from the hit that isn’t a stun he can take to win a fight against someone this skilled.
Andyr’s all lightning fast mobility and technique done just so to get the most of the force he can out of it, but about ten minutes into the fight, he starts to lose that consciousness towards functionality and technicality, and his mind focuses in too much on the aspect of causing damage, as if it’s something to do with survival.
The level of brutality in his movements unconsciously starts to build, lips pulling back into a sneer, and he doesn’t need to see any particular face of logo on bucky’s gear to fill in a person, a larger entity, a cause there. It’s like narrowing a spot light down to a pinpoint, and he gets as close a swipe to Bucky’s throat, before catching that metal fist in the side of the head.
Aaaand he’s down - and it’s good that he is. That was the line crossed. For a moment, Andyr lays there on the mat, his ears ringing and skull aching. He’s built to withstand an absurd amount of damage, and perhaps Bucky pulled the punch some, but there’s nothing cracked, and he’ll be able to get up from it in a few minutes, just. Give him a second. ]
[ Andyr damn sure puts him through his paces. The smaller man is an impressive powerhouse of brute force and energy, whip-quick and dangerous, a force of nature that would have mowed down the best of men. But Bucky's not just a man, not quite -- even so, he's hard pressed not to go all out, because anything else would surely have resulted in unpleasant consequences.
And Andyr doesn't need a punching bag, he needs someone to fight back, to draw it out instead of getting his ass handed to him. So Bucky does, going toe to toe with him, focusing on his moves -- they are deadly, dangerous, and it reminds Bucky of just whom he's dealing with, how Andyr is a lethal weapon in his own right.
Finally, the line is crossed, and Bucky pulls his punch at the last second, although not quite enough to avoid clocking him in the side of the head right there. He thinks of the savage look in Andyr's eyes minutes earlier, how it shatters the moment he goes down; he forces his expression into neutrality, and he holds a hand out to him, intending to help him up. He's never actually had a fight quite like this before, and he can feel his adrenaline racing, every muscle poised for another round, and another. But no, he's no longer in that kind of business anymore.
Anyone else, perhaps, would have busted out the apologies. Bucky, however, placidly asks: ]
[ Andyr's head is ringing, but he's glad Bucky doesn't start apologizing or treating him delicately. He's made to withstand this and worse, so it shouldn't be surprising when he hauls himself back up, shaking his head to clear it some (even though that motion really does nothing in actuality). ]
No. [ he answers simply, nothing in it angry, but determination in there. ] I fucked up.
[ he let his mind lapse, his attention go elsewhere, and pulled something that would've killed anyone less skilled than Bucky Barnes killed. Not acceptable - run it again. Either he does this, or he puts himself in a cell 90% of the time to keep the rest of the crew safe from him. Even then, what if they're attacked? What if someone trying to get away steps into the line of fire and andyr can't tell the difference? Back home, it didn't matter - they were either guards or compliant mice, and either made them guilty. Here, they're people, heroes like Steve, kids like Cassie, normal guys like Nick, who's just trying to live. He has to work himself out of the nightmare he'd been trying so hard to embody. ]
We keep doing it 'til I get it right. [ because that's how andyr trains when he's put his mind to it, and that's the kind of tenaciousness that's both kept him sane, and made him so valuable to Hapsburg. Keep going until your body can't move anymore. ]
[ They'll keep going. Bucky shakes off the faint tremor in his arm, recalibrating himself wordlessly, contemplating Andyr. The other man is an incredibly gifted fighter, evidently built to withstand worse, and he nods. He can go toe to toe with Andyr, to get him to work out everything that haunts him, the things that dig in deep and leaves numerous scars.
Bucky sees the determination, too, burning fierce and bright, and he steps back and rolls his shoulders, loosening up for the next round. ] Remember, it's not a fight to the death.
[ Because he knows those fights, and he deliberately tempers himself when he starts the fight off, measured strikes and blows, taking some and giving back in equal measure -- Andyr keeps him sharp and on his toes, honing the skills he already has, but he's keeping a close eye on that temperament, easing off when he knows it's pushing him too far, and closing in moments after. ]
[ remember - that the end goal isn't to kill. what bothers him, somewhere in the back of his head, is that it isn't even about survival. the only time he'd ever killed to stay alive was in those fight rings, drugged out of his mind into wild aggression that felt like euphoria at the time, when he'd been ripping into pliant bodies.
but this? this is about what he did in the hallways, in the labs. andyr'd known since three months in that they'd never kill him. hurt him, yes, torture and lock him away and visit horrors on him, but what acting out he did had invited more of that rather than kept him safe from it. had he complied, yes, his life would've been easier. but this isn't about protecting himself - it's about avenging himself. it's about anger and despair and hopelessness. it's about all of the world being so much more simple when he just turns the rest of his mind off, and lets himself become some force of nature, rather than a broken, bound, and beaten prisoner.
he has to stay present for this. don't think on just the moves and where he can strike next. has to keep the purpose of this, the goal, in mind, rather than just fight. Moving forward again, the next round starts up, and he's doing better - especially with how bucky pulls back here and there. the problem with andyr is that he wants things done now, has such an impatience with himself and his own limitations. when he feels himself starting to drift, he pulls back, steps to the edge of the mat and holds up a hand to pause for a moment, before getting right back into it. after about the third time of it, it's less stepping back, and more a sharp jerk to the side to disengage, before he throws a full throttle punch into a punching bag dangling to the side, ripping the chain out of the fixture that holds it to the ceiling, and splitting the fabric on the exterior, sand leaking out on the training room for.
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no subject
what's your plan?
no subject
my plan? i dont know, punch you a lot? what do you mean?
no subject
you mean sparring?
no subject
unless you actually want me trying to kill you, yeah
no subject
no subject
[ he'll be there, waiting outside the sim room in five minutes, with candy bars and french fries in hand as promised. when he sees bucky approaching, he'll be calling out a question. ]
You're enhanced, right? If I punch you your skull's not gonna cave in, is it?
no subject
[ Bucky responds as he comes into the room, as if that kind of question is something he deals with regularly. ]
Why the sudden need to punch things?
no subject
Apparently they don't like me killing people here. [ turning, he jerks his head towards the center of the room, where the mats are set out for people to spar on. ] You're one of the two or three here that'll probably survive me.
no subject
[ Andyr has a violent streak a mile wide, and Bucky understands. Generally. It's hard to come out of something he's endured and still have all your rocks together. The madness has to come out some other way. For Bucky, it's meticulously obsessive paranoia and a tendency to shut down hard. For Andyr, it seems, it's this.
He steps towards the center of the room with a shrug; he doesn't much trust himself around people still, but if it helps Andyr get all the backed up rage out of his system, why not? Besides, he's interested to see what kind of a style he has. ]
Yeah. C'mon.
no subject
he follows him out to the center room, rolling one shoulder, then the other, bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet. not really a necessary warm up, more habit to mitigate the energy building up in him, maybe encourage more. just his limbs moving and ready for quick reaction. while the guards at Hapsburg had been trained, and even some were KN2s, Bucky's likely more enhanced then they were, and more experienced. It'll be a good fight, and something that unfurls in the back of his mind is spoiling for it. ]
Any rules? That a thing people do here? [ or should they just go right into trying to tear each other apart? ]
no subject
Andyr is agile, light on his feet, but there's a wildness to him that Bucky reads in that deadly form, a reminder that he has to be the anchor in this fight, the one that brings the other back into the fold when the inevitable happens. He's deceptively still; a hunter like him doesn't need warm-ups to go right for the jugular, and he shrugs briefly. ]
Just remember that this isn't a fight to the death.
<small.[ And it's on. ]
no subject
[ Of course. Why would he ever try to fight anyone to the death? Hahaha... haha... fuck, maybe this wasn't a good idea.
Whatever, it's on, and Andyr's eyes are on the center of Bucky's chest, rather than his face - so he's watching the whole of his body in relatively equal span, arms, legs, how his hips shift, which way his shoulders might turn, the glint of that metal arm easy to pick up on. If it were a guard, he's likely watch their eyes, because they telegraph easily that way. Barnes is a professional. Nothing will show on his face, and Andyr's savagery isn't likely to move him in one way or another. He's going through options in his head. How he'd usually open won't work, because those are all more lethal, less sportsman like. Broken kneecaps, crushed windpipes, catching up ankles to twist them.
What he does instead is try to get in close, that's where Andyr tends to be more of a problem for people. The moment Bucky flinches one way or the other, Andyr snaps into it (and he's fast, inhumanly fast), a stride or two to cover distance and he drops with a wide, spinning sweep to his ankles. Something obvious, looking like he's trying to ground him before this fight even starts, but he expects that to be passed, using the momentum of the turn to raise up an elbow as he finishes close to him, attempting to drive it hard (probably harder than a kind spar would be, he's working on it) into Bucky's stomach. ]
no subject
It's hard, but it won't take down someone like him, not with that particular brand of serum running through his veins. Bucky might be an exceptional sniper, but he's even more dangerous hand to hand, and he's just as quick when he parries with equal force, power and finesse as he strikes back, swift as a striking snake. It's punches and the liberal use of kicks, precise and deadly -- but all the while measured -- his eyes betraying nothing.
Andyr needs this, he knows. He needs the fight to work out whatever it is that sits under his skin, and he will do what he can to help. ]
no subject
Andyr’s all lightning fast mobility and technique done just so to get the most of the force he can out of it, but about ten minutes into the fight, he starts to lose that consciousness towards functionality and technicality, and his mind focuses in too much on the aspect of causing damage, as if it’s something to do with survival.
The level of brutality in his movements unconsciously starts to build, lips pulling back into a sneer, and he doesn’t need to see any particular face of logo on bucky’s gear to fill in a person, a larger entity, a cause there. It’s like narrowing a spot light down to a pinpoint, and he gets as close a swipe to Bucky’s throat, before catching that metal fist in the side of the head.
Aaaand he’s down - and it’s good that he is. That was the line crossed. For a moment, Andyr lays there on the mat, his ears ringing and skull aching. He’s built to withstand an absurd amount of damage, and perhaps Bucky pulled the punch some, but there’s nothing cracked, and he’ll be able to get up from it in a few minutes, just. Give him a second. ]
Ow.
no subject
And Andyr doesn't need a punching bag, he needs someone to fight back, to draw it out instead of getting his ass handed to him. So Bucky does, going toe to toe with him, focusing on his moves -- they are deadly, dangerous, and it reminds Bucky of just whom he's dealing with, how Andyr is a lethal weapon in his own right.
Finally, the line is crossed, and Bucky pulls his punch at the last second, although not quite enough to avoid clocking him in the side of the head right there. He thinks of the savage look in Andyr's eyes minutes earlier, how it shatters the moment he goes down; he forces his expression into neutrality, and he holds a hand out to him, intending to help him up. He's never actually had a fight quite like this before, and he can feel his adrenaline racing, every muscle poised for another round, and another. But no, he's no longer in that kind of business anymore.
Anyone else, perhaps, would have busted out the apologies. Bucky, however, placidly asks: ]
You done?
no subject
No. [ he answers simply, nothing in it angry, but determination in there. ] I fucked up.
[ he let his mind lapse, his attention go elsewhere, and pulled something that would've killed anyone less skilled than Bucky Barnes killed. Not acceptable - run it again. Either he does this, or he puts himself in a cell 90% of the time to keep the rest of the crew safe from him. Even then, what if they're attacked? What if someone trying to get away steps into the line of fire and andyr can't tell the difference? Back home, it didn't matter - they were either guards or compliant mice, and either made them guilty. Here, they're people, heroes like Steve, kids like Cassie, normal guys like Nick, who's just trying to live. He has to work himself out of the nightmare he'd been trying so hard to embody. ]
We keep doing it 'til I get it right. [ because that's how andyr trains when he's put his mind to it, and that's the kind of tenaciousness that's both kept him sane, and made him so valuable to Hapsburg. Keep going until your body can't move anymore. ]
no subject
[ They'll keep going. Bucky shakes off the faint tremor in his arm, recalibrating himself wordlessly, contemplating Andyr. The other man is an incredibly gifted fighter, evidently built to withstand worse, and he nods. He can go toe to toe with Andyr, to get him to work out everything that haunts him, the things that dig in deep and leaves numerous scars.
Bucky sees the determination, too, burning fierce and bright, and he steps back and rolls his shoulders, loosening up for the next round. ] Remember, it's not a fight to the death.
[ Because he knows those fights, and he deliberately tempers himself when he starts the fight off, measured strikes and blows, taking some and giving back in equal measure -- Andyr keeps him sharp and on his toes, honing the skills he already has, but he's keeping a close eye on that temperament, easing off when he knows it's pushing him too far, and closing in moments after. ]
no subject
[ remember - that the end goal isn't to kill. what bothers him, somewhere in the back of his head, is that it isn't even about survival. the only time he'd ever killed to stay alive was in those fight rings, drugged out of his mind into wild aggression that felt like euphoria at the time, when he'd been ripping into pliant bodies.
but this? this is about what he did in the hallways, in the labs. andyr'd known since three months in that they'd never kill him. hurt him, yes, torture and lock him away and visit horrors on him, but what acting out he did had invited more of that rather than kept him safe from it. had he complied, yes, his life would've been easier. but this isn't about protecting himself - it's about avenging himself. it's about anger and despair and hopelessness. it's about all of the world being so much more simple when he just turns the rest of his mind off, and lets himself become some force of nature, rather than a broken, bound, and beaten prisoner.
he has to stay present for this. don't think on just the moves and where he can strike next. has to keep the purpose of this, the goal, in mind, rather than just fight. Moving forward again, the next round starts up, and he's doing better - especially with how bucky pulls back here and there. the problem with andyr is that he wants things done now, has such an impatience with himself and his own limitations. when he feels himself starting to drift, he pulls back, steps to the edge of the mat and holds up a hand to pause for a moment, before getting right back into it. after about the third time of it, it's less stepping back, and more a sharp jerk to the side to disengage, before he throws a full throttle punch into a punching bag dangling to the side, ripping the chain out of the fixture that holds it to the ceiling, and splitting the fabric on the exterior, sand leaking out on the training room for.
Maybe it's time to stop. ]