Brock Rumlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
comesfrompain) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
pineslog2017-05-17 02:54 pm
comesfrompain) wrote in pineslog2017-05-17 02:54 pm
tell me i'm evil [open]
Who: Brock Rumlow & you!
Where: Around town, Crossbones Boxing
When: 05.15-05.31
What: Just hanging out with thiscool old dude. Or whatever!
Warnings: Language. More will be added as needed.
gym.
With doors wide open in invitation, a handful of people can be seen inside the gym. Some getting their own workout in, lifting weights, hitting bags, one seated and wrapping their hands. Near the back stands Rumlow, watching someone hitting one of the heavy bags. His expression serious, calculating, observing as each hit lands. Every so often, he'll give praise, or a correction to his student. A few minutes later, he glances up at the clock on the wall, claps his student on the back and tells them to cool off.
He meanders after, looking between the other patrons and giving them a few choice tips here and there before he heads into his office. The door remains open, and he seems to be going over some paperwork. His expression is disengaged, preoccupied with other thoughts. Either that or reading on paper is incredibly tedious, being used to the glare of a backlit computer. He'll shift between one paper and the next after a while. It doesn't seem like he would mind a visitor.
Probably because he's bored and checking over the contracts and making sure everyone is up to date on their bills is supremely dull. He is really considering hiring someone to do this for him, because while it's within his means, it's shit he really would rather pay someone else to do. Especially so he can focus on coaching. Or spending inordinate amounts of time working out to prevent his mind from wandering to the multitude of thoughts that plague him.
Coaching steals his focus better. It's impersonal and physical enough to keep his troubling memories at bay.
edge of town.
Some days of the week, Rumlow can be found running along the edge of the woods and through the less trafficked roads in town. Jogging along, he'll keep to himself, going around or cutting away from any others that might be in his path. Primarily he keeps to the outskirts, pace slow and built more for endurance than speed. Every so often, he'll slow his pace and do a little shadow boxing, as if to shove away the mundanity of cardio.
Rumlow wishes he had music to listen to, but jogging plus CD players equals skipping and that shit is even more annoying than silence. Plus, apparently earbuds haven't been invented yet here or whatever, and like Hell he's gonna wear over-ear headphones when he's running. Fashion fucking disaster. If you're quick enough or manage to get his attention, he's like to stop.
wildcard.
[ooc: your choice! feel free to plurk me if you have ideas!]
Where: Around town, Crossbones Boxing
When: 05.15-05.31
What: Just hanging out with this
Warnings: Language. More will be added as needed.
gym.
With doors wide open in invitation, a handful of people can be seen inside the gym. Some getting their own workout in, lifting weights, hitting bags, one seated and wrapping their hands. Near the back stands Rumlow, watching someone hitting one of the heavy bags. His expression serious, calculating, observing as each hit lands. Every so often, he'll give praise, or a correction to his student. A few minutes later, he glances up at the clock on the wall, claps his student on the back and tells them to cool off.
He meanders after, looking between the other patrons and giving them a few choice tips here and there before he heads into his office. The door remains open, and he seems to be going over some paperwork. His expression is disengaged, preoccupied with other thoughts. Either that or reading on paper is incredibly tedious, being used to the glare of a backlit computer. He'll shift between one paper and the next after a while. It doesn't seem like he would mind a visitor.
Probably because he's bored and checking over the contracts and making sure everyone is up to date on their bills is supremely dull. He is really considering hiring someone to do this for him, because while it's within his means, it's shit he really would rather pay someone else to do. Especially so he can focus on coaching. Or spending inordinate amounts of time working out to prevent his mind from wandering to the multitude of thoughts that plague him.
Coaching steals his focus better. It's impersonal and physical enough to keep his troubling memories at bay.
edge of town.
Some days of the week, Rumlow can be found running along the edge of the woods and through the less trafficked roads in town. Jogging along, he'll keep to himself, going around or cutting away from any others that might be in his path. Primarily he keeps to the outskirts, pace slow and built more for endurance than speed. Every so often, he'll slow his pace and do a little shadow boxing, as if to shove away the mundanity of cardio.
Rumlow wishes he had music to listen to, but jogging plus CD players equals skipping and that shit is even more annoying than silence. Plus, apparently earbuds haven't been invented yet here or whatever, and like Hell he's gonna wear over-ear headphones when he's running. Fashion fucking disaster. If you're quick enough or manage to get his attention, he's like to stop.
wildcard.
[ooc: your choice! feel free to plurk me if you have ideas!]
no subject
"I'm not a fucking Nazi," he says. He could explain how there's no nationalism, which defeats half the point of it, but he figures it's a moot point. Well beyond anything Kenzi wants to hear. "And I'm not passing the blame. I didn't even know they did that shit. The training they did gave a choice, granted a piss poor one. Unless you consider death a fun alternative. Anyway, way I hear it, Barnes never had that. 'S pretty far from what I'd been told. They compartmentalize in intelligence. Don't tell everyone all the secrets so if anyone gets caught, no one compromises the entire organization. I wasn't exactly ecstatic, the first time I saw him."
He stares at her in her fury. Rumlow gets it. Wouldn't be the first time he's been faced with someone who's pointed fingers at him, breaking him down from an individual person to a concept responsible for everything related to him. Usually he ends up putting a bullet in their brain to stop them from whining, but he's got no gun, no need and more importantly, no desire to kill Kenzi. All his anger is focused elsewhere. In her, he's just disappointed.
"Not real sure what else I gotta do, sweetheart. Been doing the best I can, the best I know how. I got things I could tell you, information I've learned. But how can I trust you when I know you're gonna go to the very people that threw me under the bus? Why should I trust them when they're ready to discard me without even a second thought? I ain't gonna save them if they ain't gonna save me."
Rumlow stares at the ring. He's not sentimental, but he can feel the ache in the pit of his stomach to see her pull it off. It feels like hope being ripped away. The chance at having something nice, something good, abandoned. As if he hasn't felt enough of that in his life.
no subject
He can't trust her, she can't trust him. They're at an impasse. He's trying to sway her with information and she just... doesn't care. There's no getting through to him.
"I'm gonna go. You can keep the house. You can keep this." Her voice does break that time, as she sets the ring on the bedspread. Their bed. His... bed. She can barely see through her tears and the running mascara welling up in her eyes as she turns to go.
She stops at the doorway, not quite looking back but speaking over her shoulder, "Sometimes it's not about what other people can do for you. People shouldn't only matter to you if they're useful. Maybe sometime you could ask yourself what you could do for them without thinking about what you'll get out of it. If you ever give that a shot, call me."
no subject
Rumlow doesn't say anything else. He doesn't need to. He seethes instead, his jaw tight while his fists close tighter. His mind is made. Why be good when all anyone sees you as is bad? Call someone a villain enough and they become one.
The loss is a blow. One Rumlow has no interest in forgiving or forgetting. Kenzi can make her choices, but her allies will bear the brunt of their mistakes. He knows what he's going to do. Now, it's just a matter of when.