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Who: Nyx Ulric and Brock Rumlow
Where: Rumlow's boxing gym
When: Ehhhhhhh 31st/1st ish? Whenever people aren't sick anymore.
What: Nyx is haunted by returning memories and needs a distraction.
Warnings: None at the moment.
[Closed to Rumlow]

[It's almost a novelty to be able to use his arm again. When he woke up he thought he'd always be working around dead nerves and a tingling rush that sometimes burned through whatever was still alive, but somehow after being healed by Jack...he can feel it again. Didn't do much for the scars, unfortunately, but those he can live with. The memories he got back at the same time? Not so much.

He's trying not to think about it right now, but the details he does have keep running circles in his mind.

It's pretty clear he has too much free time, so he makes his way to a gym he remembers having seen a few times on his trips through the town. It's a win-win situation. Give himself a physical distraction to focus on, and relearn how to use a limb that's been near useless for the last month.

The building he walks into looks very little like the training room he remembers from home, and he falters for a moment, fighting with a lingering familiarity that he's coming to associate with this town and the knowledge that it's all wrong.]

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[It took some convincing to get Rumlow to go back to that hospital, but getting cured makes it worth it. He's still got some lingering soreness, but that's nothing that's ever stopped him before. So he's back at the gym as soon as he can, doing a work out of his own since the population is pretty scarce after the outbreak.

Wincing as he swings the kettle bell, his attention splits when someone walks in. Guy looks like he belongs in some kinda punk band with that hair, but he looks fit enough. Rumlow finishes up his set (three more), and goes to put the weight back on the rack as he saunters over to greet him. Putting on a smile as he wipes sweat from his brow, Rumlow gives the stranger a nod.]

Welcome. If you're lookin' for a place to work out, you've come to the right spot.

[Not that this town has much of an alternative. Running seems to be the only other option around here, and that ain't always fun when there's snow.]

[He wanders a little while Rumlow finishes his set. Not like the one he's used to, but it sure seems exactly like what he needs.

Nyx turns as the other man approaches, lifting his chin to nod back.]

Yeah? Not gonna lie, I could definitely use it. Been a bit lax this month. I'm getting rusty.

[Quirking his lip in amusement, Rumlow gives him another brief look. He certainly doesn't appear to be that rusty, but he's not gonna turn away a customer. He gestures back with a hand.]

Lemme give you a tour then. [He starts walking towards the back, where the ring is.] As you can see, we're primarily a boxing gym, but of course, we got all the weights you need for strength training. Locker rooms, both women and men.

[He points to each in turn.]

Even got a little sauna in there for either. Won't fit more than four if they wanna get cozy, but it's an option. Got plenty of bags, so you don't gotta wait turns for too long.

[He remembers obstacle courses. Crumbling stone with long gaps that span across drop stories high. High enough that if you fell and couldn't recover...you weren't getting back up. This place seemed a lot safer by comparison, but looking at Rumlow it clearly does the job it's intended to do.

Nyx follows along studying everything they come across.]

What kind of style is boxing?

[At first Rumlow thinks the guy is asking what kind of boxing style he teaches. Traditional versus something mixed in with some other martial arts, maybe. But then he has to wonder, the way he phrased it -- does this guy somehow not know what boxing is? His brows twitch and he approaches one of the speed bags, hanging from above. He's got no tape on, but a few hits aren't going to tear up his knuckles.]

Like this.

[Rumlow gives it a few quick jabs, showing off a little. The bag flaps and he continues to beat it before he steps back and gestures towards it.]

Punching. There's gloves, two guys to a ring. Points for hits or a win for a knock out. But if you just wanna come here to work out, that's okay too. Don't gotta fight.

So like organized brawling?

[He's had a few wild bar nights a time or two, and every so often would tussle with the other glaives. He vaguely recalls once when he was younger getting into a fight with Libertus. He'd lost, but had given his friend a nice shiner that lasted a week.

Their parents hadn't been happy.

But that was about the extent of his fist fighting knowledge. He could hold his own when necessary but there wasn't anything organized about it.]

I was trained in blade combat, admittedly. Not much use for your fists when your enemies are more durable than you.

Basically. [Rumlow wonders if the amnesia is contagious or if it's part of this great big conspiracy he doesn't talk about. He just can't reconcile this guy not knowing about organized fighting.] Blade combat, hunh? What like swords and shit?

[What kind of place does he come from? Maybe one of those closed off tribes or something? He seems pretty white though.]

Makes me wonder what kinda things you're fighting.

Kukri, actually. [Probably doesn't help the tribal assumption any.] Swords didn't fit our style much. That was always more of the royal family's thing.

[Harder to throw, for one. Which was all well and good for the King and his Shield, who could both use the royal armiger in combat, but the Glaives never had such a thing. Kukri and other small daggers were the easiest thing to whip across the field of battle.

He experimentally hits at the speed bag, testing it's weight. Clearly however he learned to throw a punch it was likely in a street rather than from a teacher.]

Monsters, mostly.

[It's a simple matter-of-fact statement, and while some might assume he means it as a metaphor the truth is he's being quite literal. You can't take down a metal magitek soldier with a punch, nor creatures far bigger than him that wield claws and teeth and poison.

Considering the enemy's tendency to use guns, even fighting them with daggers seems crazy.]

[The name sounds familiar, but Rumlow's not sure he's ever seen one. Still, the fact that the guy affirms 'not swords, still blades' makes him picture some kind of dagger. Then he starts talking about royals and Rumlow really has to wonder what's up with this guy. Is he from one of those little micro-countries in Europe?

He watches him hit the bag, nods to appreciate the strength behind it, even if he can tell the form is lacking. Not by much though, there's potential. He's about to say as much, except now the guy is throwing him for an even bigger loop with that little, casual mention. He's gotta be getting symbolic here, Rumlow imagines. He knows there are some monstrous people out there, organizations bent on subjugating mankind.]

Hunh. Well, takes all kinds, I guess.

[He could make mention of his own past, his role within SHIELD, the world's babysitter. Except the stark reminder of all those posters around town keeps him quiet for now. He's definitely curious to learn more about this guy though. Maybe he'll figure out how the town keeps tabs on its populace to try and enforce that rule, and once exploited, then they can chat. Until then --]

Name's Brock, by the way. In case you haven't guessed, I'm the coach and owner here. Y'know, I think you got potential with that. [Rumlow gestures towards the still gently swaying bag.] You thinkin' about signing up here?

Nyx. Well met.

[He considers Rumlow for a moment, but it wasn't a bad suggestion. Signing up would give him a regular schedule again, rather than leaving him to just show up...whenever. He could use a good training regimen. And hell, without his kukri learning a new fighting style would give him something solid rather than relying on...shovels.]

My arm's been near useless for almost a month. It only just recently healed.

[It was magic that did it, but it hadn't done much for the month of inactivity and even now the limb felt weaker to him than the other. It'll take him a while to get it back up to speed.

He gestures to the ring with that same hand. There are thin scars across his skin similar to the lightning pattern up his face.]

Will this help?

[Tilting his head as he looks down at the ring, Rumlow's eyes track the path of the scars, wondering if they're actual Lichtenburg figures or something else. His gaze flicks back up to meet Nyx's face.]

The ring or the boxing? 'Cause yeah, getting a routine in to build up the strength'll definitely help.

[He's still trying to regain a little after that sickness knocked him flat. He's nearly back to normal now. At least he doesn't have that awful tingling in his limbs anymore. He can't imagine how whatever left those marks on Nyx must have felt. Especially if it was an electric strike. Rumlow knows he's felt plenty of pain before, but that would have been insane.]

All right. Consider me interested.

[He brings his arm close to rub his wrist, clenching his fist thoughtfully.]

Got time for a demonstration?

[The prospect of being able to fight again, being able to keep himself sharp, was starting to ease an itch he hadn't been consciously aware of.]

Yeah? Great!

[Interest isn't commitment, but he's a step forward and that's encouraging. It's been a slow start, building up this place, but for as much as it is a small town, there does seem to be a pretty consistent influx of new people. He's hoping it'll build his clientele.

At the suggestion for a demo, Rumlow lifts his chin and laughs. Oh how awful, a chance to show off. Well, he thinks, he'd better sell it. Stepping towards one of the heavy bags, he stretches his neck and goes into a ready position. He can't be hitting it for long, unless he wants split knuckles, but he'll throw a few.

His fists impact with the bag in an alternate of quick and heavy, making it jolt on the chain above. He breathes as he hits, letting out little bursts of sound. Doesn't take long for Rumlow to get into it, briefly losing himself in the rhythm. When he feels a scrape against the taped up bag sting a little more than it ought to, he stops, panting lightly and absently smearing the little trickle of blood against his shorts.]

A lot more to it then that, but I'd be runnin' around here all day.

[Which is what he does normally anyway, but he doesn't expect Nyx to shadow him.]

So. You in?

[It's exactly what he wanted when he walked in here. He watches Rumlow's face as much as he watches his form, and he can see the moment the man zones. He can see when nothing else exists beyond the bad and it clicks that that is what brought him to the gym whether he knew it at the time or not. The peace of mind.

He needs to get out of his head for a little while. Needs to get away from the suffocating press of his past. He was decided long before Rumlow finishes.]

Where do I sign?

[The words echo like he's said them before, but Nyx already learned that chasing the familiarity is an exercise in madness right now. He approaches the bad and gives it an experimental push. It's heavy, built to take a continuous beating without splitting. Attempting to mimic Rumlow's stance, he throws a punch. The impact is satisfying and reverberates up along his arm.]

[Laughing, Rumlow nods his head towards his office. Seems he's sold it pretty well. Nyx is probably the type to enjoy the focus, if he's already used to fighting. There's peace in it, oddly enough. He steps away as Nyx moves toward the bag, letting him hit it as he wants.]

Good shot. You got potential, just gotta hone it. But yeah, we can sign you up in the office. Just a little bit of paperwork, waivers, that sorta thing.

[He'll come and wipe off the bag while Nyx fills it out. He leads him towards a door to a sectioned off portion of the gym in the corner, opening it and heading around his desk to pull open a drawer. He sets the papers and a pen atop the desk in front of the chair opposite.]

Go ahead and fill that out, I'm gonna do some tidying real quick. Gimme a shout if you got any questions.

[Snatching up a bottle at the edge of the desk and a paper towel, Rumlow heads back out of the office to the bag, spraying the towel to wipe off any blood that might have been left over on the bag.]

[Nyx sits down with the form and has to smile a little. It's entirely different, but it reminds him of filling out his enlistment forms, another trickle of memory that wasn't so much lost as probably left aside until this moment.

He's sure signing up for a gym membership isn't anywhere close to joining a militia, but considering all the ex-military in this town? Who knows?

Actually filling out the form is another matter. He gets about halfway through before coming across a problem. Rather than shouting, he gets up and waits in the doorway for him.]

They never gave me a job. I don't have anything for the fee.

[They never gave him a job. Hm. Rumlow turns to look at Nyx. A certain level of awareness there, he notes. They as if someone else is in control of his life rather than him being a regular resident. Interesting.]

You want a job? [Rumlow asks, lips twitching into a smile.] You're gonna be lifting weights anyway, why not get paid to put 'em back when slobs leave 'em on the floor?

[See? He's generous. An employee and a client. All in one. Come on Nyx, it's a good deal.]

I can train you on your off hours.

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