pineslog | tell me i'm evil [open]

Entry tags:

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 this ~~cool~~ 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!]

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Carl goes to the edge of town more often that is normal. He has a hard time really fitting into school, like everything is just a dream. (Or worst, a lie.) Hell, he's not sure about the town itself - he has no remember of it, yet people claim to remember him, but what he does remember he's pretty sure it's not in his town.

In fact, he's pretty sure he's seen a lot of cities and towns and they were all abandoned, left to rust. So what does this say about this place?

But that's neither there or here. Carl picks up another rock in his new collection as he lines up empty soda cans on an old fence, with pockets heavy with rocks.

He takes several steps backwards and throws a rock at the beginning soda can. He miss. He threw again. Miss again.

Carl is learning how to take aim again.

Coming around a bend, Rumlow doesn't notice the rock coming towards him until it pegs him right in the side. It stings and he whips his head around to follow the trajectory to the culprit. A kid. Great. He stops, glancing to his other side to check and make sure he wasn't really aiming for him. Sure enough, the fence is lined with cans which Rumlow can only assume is the actual target. He turns back and saunters over to the boy, looking him over.

First thing he really takes note of is the covering over his right eye. Rumlow's brows knit together and his mind goes to the same place he's sure most have -- is it missing? Pretty fucking harsh for a kid, but Rumlow guesses it could've been any number of causes, like an infection or something. Still, it's a kid. Kinda fucked up.

"I'd say you gotta work on your aim, but hitting a person's probably a lot more useful than knockin' a can over," Rumlow says with an amused twitch to his lips.

[ as much as she would like to believe she’s ok and that everything is going to be fine she can’t. she feels helplessly paranoid about the frightening memory she had the other day. she shakes her head and tries to force it out of her head, but she shudders, a chill climbing her spine and making her flinch. dammit. she’s got to keep up appearance though, because she can’t let them know that she knows… but that’s easier said than done. ]

[ she does what she can to fall back into her routine, jogging in the morning, going to school in the afternoon, and then cooking and cleaning in the evening. still, she can’t keep from thinking about it… so when she’s out jogging one more she’s not paying much attention to her surroundings. her eyes are on the ground and her thoughts are miles away and… slam. she knocks into brock before she realizes it, but despite his being built like a ~~brick shithouse~~ truck she keeps her balance. ] I’m so so sorry.[ she frowns, her sudden soreness and afterthought as she tries to make sure he’s alright. ] I hadn’t been paying attention and… [ she cracks a small smile. it’s her punny friend. ] I should have been more dill-igent.

Carl stops as the man approach him. Carl never realizes that he hit the guy, but it wouldn't be surprising if he did. Even so, Carl isn't sure what to say. Mostly because Carl remembers that one of the skills Carl definitely remembers having is being able to shoot a gun. And with this place of idyllic well-being, he doubts he will be given a gun to practice. So throwing rocks at cans is a close substitute.

"Sounds like you speak from experience," he only responds dryly.

[Really it isn't just her that ought to pay attention to where they're going. Running smack into a woman is just as much his fault, too busy getting lost in a few thoughts and memories that Rumlow isn't enjoying. She recovers quickly enough, turning her attention to him rather than herself. Recognition dawns on him shortly after, but there's a moment -- pause. What all does she recall? At this point, memory loss is part of this town's status quo and Rumlow isn't sure how far along she is, or isn't in whatever recovery process they go through.

Playing it cool seems the best option. Besides. She just punned at him.]

Heh, if you had, maybe you wouldn't be in such a pickle. [Rumlow smiles back.] But really, you okay?

[Probably best to play it nice. Easier to shove back the memories when he's got a role to fulfill. Though, regardless of who she is -- Pepper Potts: close personal relationship with one Tony Stark, aka Iron Man. CEO of, or is it former CEO of Stark Industries. Powerful woman. But here? Rumlow's not so sure.]

[And while Brock was watching and judging other peoples techniques of the way they boxed, Skye was watching him. She was grateful for the job, but god, did it get boring sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time. When he passed near the receptionist area, where she worked, Skye perked up.]

So when are we going to box each other?

[She's only half serious.]

I mean, if you're not too scared by the possibility of me beating you.

Edited 2017-05-19 05:49 (UTC)

Not exactly the response Rumlow expects from a kid. The lack of apology doesn't bother him much, but there's something in his tone, like hitting a stranger with a rock is the least of his worries. Hands setting at his hips, Rumlow casts a glance askance. There are cameras around, most likely, but his cover story here is close enough to use in his answer.

"Sometimes it's better to lay down cover fire and hope you hit someone just to keep the enemy's head down," Rumlow explains. "'S why we call it spray and pray."

He bends down, picking up the rock that had hit him and tosses it in the air once, twice. He offers it back to the kid, brows lifted.

"'Course that usually requires full auto rather than this single shot you've got workin' here."

[Casting a glance towards his newest hire, Rumlow tilts his head at her request. His brow lifts, the corner of his mouth rising to match. Cocky. It's cute. Well, a round sure does sound a lot more entertaining than going over paperwork. It'll definitely keep him distracted too, so why the Hell not?

He beckons with a tip of his head.]

All right, kid. You're on. Get some wraps and I'll meet you over there.

[Of course, Rumlow plans on going easy on her. Not because Skye's a girl, but because he doesn't have a gauge of her ability yet. No sense in knocking her flat if she's a beginner. He'll test her first, see what she knows. Then they can ramp it up accordingly.

Fetching his own wraps, Rumlow heads towards the ring and sits on the steps. Pulling his shirt off, he deftly folds it and leaves it beside him before he starts in on the wrapping. He's not gonna take his time with this, it's just cursory protection to go beneath the gloves. Scanning the room after, making sure his students aren't shirking in their workout to try and meander over to watch. Not that he minds an audience, he's just not asking for one.]

Carl doesn't know what's more alarming: that he understood exactly what this man was saying, or the man pin pointed out Car's particular issue. His expression reveals just how much he's not sure how to react to that.

"Is there a gun range around here?"

He hasn't really seen any, but then again, he never asked. It's bad enough he gets stares with his wound, he doesn't want more pitying (and alarming) looks about some broken-looking kid that wants to shoot things.

[ and right now she’s in a similar ( sinking ) ship, but it’s got less to do with who she is and what she’s done and, instead, what she remembered or dreamed or… to be honest, she’s not even sure. but disorientation aside, she’s still not without manners, and she feels awful for having run straight into someone. he’s a good sport about it though, and she can’t help but chuckle at his own pun. ] Glad it’s not a big dill… but, in all seriousness, I’m fine. But how about you?

[ while she can recount a fair amount about her other life, her memories are still so convoluted that she’s not always sure what’s real and what’s not. but hazy details aside she’s thankful for the constants, like tony. rumlow can breathe easy knowing she doesn’t know him, punny exchange aside. ] I just wanted to clear my head with a run and I guess I did too good of a job.

Me? Heh, I've had worse things smash into me.

[Bullets, for one. Fists, feet, shoulders, elbows. Ms. Potts ain't a tiny lady, but she's hardly built like the usual crew he spars with. Suffice to say? He's fine.

At least it doesn't seem like she knows him -- not that she would, unless she reads SHIELD dossiers. It's not like Rumlow's ever quite crossed into her side of things, seeing as he mostly works with Rogers and Romanova. Still, he sort of wonders if he ought to bring up their peripheral relationship. Not here, where he can't be sure how well monitored they are, but sometime, maybe.]

But no harm, no foul. Pretty sure we were on the same page with that one.

[He smiles easily, falling into the role of the friendly neighborhood boxing coach, or whatever it is he's supposed to be. Small talk isn't his favorite, but he can do it well enough. Easier when he's got a personal investment in maintain friendly relations.]

"Not that I know of," Rumlow answers, though he gives the kid a look as he considers why exactly he's interested in one. Boy his age probably likes guns plenty, but given that eye patch? He's not so sure it's innocent.

"Ain't sure the Sheriff would be too keen on a kid with a gun anyway," Rumlow adds, though his tone makes it plain that he sure as shit doesn't give a rat's ass for what the Sheriff thinks. It's more a warning than anything. "Why're you asking?" he inquires, figuring he might as well come out with it. Rocks are sub par, sure but there's an aura about this kid. Like he's seen some shit. (Though, pretty easy deduction if the kid's truly missing a damn eye.)

[Laura will eventually make her way to the gym, as requested. Trading Spanish lessons for boxing, as they agreed. Obviously. Nothing relating to conspiracies or town trouble here, no sir, no way. She arrives with her tattered up green backpack and her snazzy shades -- incognito, I am Mrs. Inglesias, all that jazz. She looks around the place with her usual curiosity and scopes out the Italian Man in question.

... Sorry if she just sort of appears behind you like a spooky ghost. She's weird like that.

Pokerface as hell.]

The Sheriff. The guy in charge, not the mayor, Carl thinks. He remembers him - a boring looking man doing a fatherly attempt, concerned over his loss of eye, recommendation of going to therapy for further coordination control. Carl never followed up.

Carl is silent, struggling to find the words. He knows the rules: no talking about the past. Carl doesn't have a past. Anywhere, what he can tell. But he remembers. He's gotten the call and he remembers a town just like this, a man being beaten in the middle of the street; a man bloody, yelling, brandishing a gun. A massive group of corpses, walking in that same area, at night.

What Carl remembers, what Carl knows is this - it's all a lie. It's not safe.

"I don't think this place is safe."

He stares back at the man, daring him to tell him otherwise.

[It's pretty important to have situational awareness in all aspects of life, least of all in a gym where people are lifting heavy weights and throwing punches. That being said, Rumlow still manages to get slightly startled by the sudden presence of a very small person behind him. He turns, lips twitching up in amusement at being caught (slightly!!) off guard.]

Hey kid. [He says, since he still doesn't know her name.] Welcome back.

[Since she's been here before, right? He gestures with a nod towards his office, across the pad. Rumlow starts walking around it, though he's barefoot, she isn't. No need to get footprints on it. He opens the door to the office, leaves it that way as he goes to sit his desk. Takes him a moment to clear the paperwork off of it, tucking the folders back into his drawer.]

Name's Brock. What's yours?

"Well, what with freak floods and a serious police presence, I can't say you're wrong."

Rumlow isn't sure whether the kid is aware of the cameras. The fact that they're nigh constantly monitored is what keeps him from confirming those suspicions outright. He doesn't really know this kid, and while his intuition is clearly on the right track, Rumlow ain't risking his neck for him. He gives him a long look instead, letting the silence stretch for a few moments. Rumlow licks his lips and readjusts the hands at his hips.

"Might wanna practice your aim some more. Always good to be prepared."

[ Tensions are high between everyone. While normally that would leave Damon in the middle, he's the source of the tension, having picked hard enough at the scab that was Katherine's sisterly love. Couple that with Stefan's discovery of the written word, he's decided to do his own investigation of the wall. He hasn't cut his own tracker out yet, Stefan having stepped up to keep his own close and see what he can do with it.

Instead, he gives the cameras and his wife a convincing lie. He's going running this morning.

His own little reconnaissance mission.

He's never been a runner. He's never needed to be. He's an eternal stud. He chooses more whimsical selections from his Pines' self's wardrobe. There are some things he likes about his PInes self, just on principle. He can respect a man who sports two silly owls.

Damon also kept his portable CD player at home, but, he wouldn't be caught dead with a disadvantage like that. He has working ears. He'd like to use him.

He's not expecting another person to be there when he drops down to a light jog. Running in place, he watches a man he doesn't recognize box the air from the back. Well, it's a good thing he looks like this, isn't it. Picking his run up again, he jogs closer, vague memories clearing up, mostly ones involving 'I've seen this guy,' but nothing that establishes something fake. He prefers that. As personable as Damon can be, he can't see a reason to stop the stranger, so he runs past him at a slightly faster speed, that Rumlow could easily catch up if he needed. He just thinks the boxer should know he isn't alone.

[Skye rolled her eyes when his back was to her. Would he ever stop calling her 'kid'. Just because he was old as hell... He actually agreed to go up against her though, which was a bit surprising.]

Wait. You're serious?

[Not that she was going to back down or anything. Pulling her hair back quickly into a pony tail, Skye went to grab some wraps for herself and it did take her a bit longer to put them on in comparison to him. Getting the gloves on was a bit easier though and she came over to the ring just in time for take off his shirt. ~~Oh, sure, make it harder for her to grab onto it in order to cheat.~~]

So how are we doing this? Whoever gets knocked out first is the loser?

[Really it would probably be her.]

I’m glad, [ but it’s not even a moment later that she realizes her faux pas. ] I mean I’m not glad, but… relieved that you’re alright. [ not that she really thought she was capable of hurting anybody ( let alone him ) running at a brisk pace. ]

[ and she’s read dozens of shield dossiers, because tony likes to be in the know… and he has no self-control. but she doesn’t remember most of what she read, so shield and all that encompasses means little to her. one of the only thing she remembers is she was ( or still is ) the ceo of stark industries, a tech conglomerate… but that didn’t answer a whole lot and, instead, left her with even more questions. ]

I hope you’re having an easier time of it. [ or maybe he had been until she collided with him. ] It’s nice around here though… [ she motioned down the street with her head. ] Do you mind a little company? [ it might help, since she’d rather not be left alone with her thoughts anymore. ]

It's late when Kenzi gets home. Well after dinner. She's silent as she opens the front door, closing it softly behind her. There's blood on her hands. Some of it's dried, some of it's fresh. Some of it is streaked against her leg and the hem of her mini dress, but she's got no visible wounds. She does look shocked. White as a sheet, eyes wide and red rimmed. She just wants a shower and to crawl into her own bed without seeing anyone.

Especially someone that she's so close to but is second guessing. It's been on her mind since she talked to Bucky. At first, when Steve had told her, she wasn't buying it. But coming from Bucky? His word means even more to her, and why would both of them say that shit if it wasn't true.

You can't trust anyone here. She literally doesn't know what to believe anymore. It's like reality is ripping at the seams, breaking apart and leaving her in this void of confusion and despair. The people here, the cameras, the trackers, the-- the memories? Visions? She doesn't know what actually happened and what they fabricated anymore. The trackers are real. That much can be confirmed. There's one in her leg right now.

Everything else? Who the fuck knows? She has doubts about everything. Doubts about Rumlow. Hell, she even has doubts about herself. She needs answers. She wants to piece everything back together, but right now? She just wants to sleep.

Kicking off her shoes, Kenzi moves through the house, jumping at shadows and trying to be quiet in the hopes that she won't draw the attention of her husband or her housemate.

Laura.

[Such a conversationalist. She takes off her backpack and offers him a slightly rumpled pad of paper from it, tilted so that the cameras have a hard time picking it up at all.

THE SHERIFF CAME AFTER THE CALL.
HE TOOK THE TRACKER PIECES. WAS CONFUSED WHEN WE SAID WE REMOVED OURS.
MY DAD TOLD HIM TO FUCK OFF.]

Aquí tienes. Spanish lesson.

[A pause. Pokerfaced.]

I wrote it at school.

[Another huff of laughter. How charming. Rumlow would even bet it's genuine. He might know Ms. Potts to be shrewd, but he doubts she's being deceptive. Businesswoman yes, spy, probably not. He's just a little extra paranoid after Rogers' warning.

For all intents and purposes though, it almost seems like she's been drinking the Kool-Aid the way she says that. Sure, objectively, it's nice. Pretty little town in the woods, might even be idyllic if it weren't for the mass surveillance. That kind of puts a damper on things. Even so, he'll take the company and see if there's a chance he can learn anything from her. If not, it's an opportunity to foster an alliance. Win-win.]

Don't mind at all. [Rumlow smiles, glancing down the way he'd been heading.] I was gonna arch around back to the treeline, 'cause I like the view. That good?

[It's rare Rumlow thinks of fighting as something not serious. It's fun for him too, of course, but when your life revolves around combat, it becomes something more important. At any rate, he's getting on his gloves and stepping into the ring, doing a few quick stretches. He turns to Skye and snorts in laughter.]

Nah, I need you the rest of the day. We'll go to points.

[Of course, he'll be reffing, so she'll just have to trust he's being fair. Not that Rumlow has any reason not to be. If a student surpasses him, that just means he's done a good job teaching them. (Not that Rumlow expects that result.) Skye might be capable, but he doubts her chin is tough enough to take more than a few blows from him. They're just far too outmatched in weight. So, while he won't say it, he's gonna go easy on her.

He pulls his fists up and puts himself into a semi-crouch.]

Ready when you are, kid.

[Rumlow doesn't need small talk, but he's glad to know her name. Now he's got something to call her. Anyway. He looks at the paper, reads it quickly. His brows furrow and his finger traces along, like he's trying to read in a foreign language.]

So it looks like we have accents in the same place.

[Rumlow says, giving Laura a significant look. Accents being code for trackers, of course. He reaches for a pen in the little can on his desk and begins to write down below what she's written.

Is it back? They replace the cameras, they might replace these too.]

Yeah?

[One of the many things Rumlow really doesn't miss about the 90s is the fashion. That said, as he's passed by a fellow runner, he doesn't stop himself from staring at his ass. Those shorts are stupidly short. Practically Marine silkies, except blue. It's more of an indulgence than any real interest. Besides, what's more tempting is competition. Rumlow doesn't have to show off or anything, but this feels like an invitation.

Stepping up his speed, Rumlow weaves around him, alongside long enough to give him a look. He pushes past, giving them about a body's length in space. Rumlow isn't gonna be so much of a dick that he's directly in front, still hanging off to the side, giving him room to pass if he's gonna play along. If he does, it'll probably turn into a sprint, but Hell, it's good exercise all the same. Better to work on stamina really.

It kind of defeats the point of passive reconnaissance, but frankly, he hasn't spotted much new in the past few days. He can afford to skip one. Rumlow could use a distraction anyway.]

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tell me i'm evil [open]

edge of town

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edge of town.

oh my god i am so sorry about that typo-laden tag

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soooometime after http://pinesnet.dreamwidth.org/6088.html

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somehow it's really bizarre that technically these characters are from the same comic multiverse

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edge of town .. i didn't know what i'd find when i went looking for a reason

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THIS SHIT IS GONNA GET MESSY May 21st; Evening

SOMEHOW

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