HE WATCHES WITH A CAREFUL EYE. It’s been years since he’s seen her, and if he hadn’t been so sure that the file matched up with the woman before him, he wouldn’t have recognized her. That’s the thing about the Red Room and freedom –– it changes who you are, but it also makes you into something more, something that fills your veins and you seek out whatever you can to fill that need inside of you. Is it the need for violence? To prove yourself when no one else will take you seriously? To be able to hold your head up high when the world is so close to breaking you? Bucky’ll never what goes through the minds of the Widows, but as he sees her land another hard punch to her opponent, he knows that this is releasing something inside of her. He’s the same way –– he feeds the Soldier when he can because it feels good, takes away that itch that threatens to drag him down under the current.
When he slinks to the locker rooms, it’s easy to make his way into the shadows until she comes in. It’s funny how much money can talk in Madripoor, how much violence talks. The bets have all been on out there –– he’s watched he rake in the money for two nights now, surefire in her moves and those who have been to the ring before know. They know who to bet on and the woman before him is a victory in all shapes and sizes. She undermines what most would probably think, and yet there’s blood on her lip and it coats her teeth. If only they knew who she was, what she was. Perhaps they wouldn’t be so keen to bet against her.
“You’re still an excellent fighter, I’m not going to deprive you of that.” And that much is true –– she was skilled in the Room and she’s skilled outside of its confines. He takes a careful step forward, leans his shoulder up against the damaged lockers, the metal bending underneath the weight. He isn’t here to start a fight, isn’t here to drag her back to the Red Room. No, this is some sort of personal mission –– he swears, he might as well just buy an apartment and house former Widows in it. It’s some form of redemption for himself, he thinks –– he helped to train them, to make them the lethal killers they were today. The least he can do is check in on them when they get out, when they’re all sharp edges and backed into a corner. Maybe he can offer them refuge.
If anything, it at least brings a good fight to him if it goes south.
“It’s been a long time, Alina. I didn’t expect to see you making a living in Madripoor.” It makes sense –– there’s no extradition and for the most part, it’s a lawless land. Fists and money settle most arguments.
« Someone taught me well. » The tiniest smile shaded by blood was what he got out of the compliment, the expression still wary as she stared and pondered whether she could lower her guard in front of her former trainer. The Winter Soldier she had known better than to trust, yet she’d never forgotten that he’d been a prisoner just like every single one of them. The chains binding them to the Room were made of different materials, but still made to take away their freedom in effective ways. She’d heard that he’d managed to cut his own strings, though, but she hadn’t believed those voices up until now. His eyes were very much different from how she remembered, just like hers. Irises not clouded and how exactly she was curious to know even when she wasn’t going to ask. Not yet, at least.
Speaking came only a bit painful with her bruised lip, but it was going to get better after a couple of drinks at the bar mixed with a lot of ice. All the fighters drank free there, much on the owner’s advantage — more alcohol in their system meant less holding back on the ring, it could be described as some kind of investment. She knew better than to drink before a match and she most definitely needed no encouragement to kick some ass, but after was a whole different deal. Vodka on the rocks was the best painkiller after all.
« It’s not a bad place to live, lots of nightclubs and the fights pay well. » Although not quite like that night, she had to admit. Plus, it was always easy to find some side less than legal jobs to raise some extra money. Of the man in front of her Alina knew very little, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t going to judge. That did raise another question, however: why was he there? Hand reaching for the towel she had damped in water just before his showing up, she looked at her reflection in the mirror and roughly cleaned her war wounds before letting it fall on the ground. It seemed like no more stitches were going to get added to the ones she had right above her navel, or right behind her shoulder. Then she was grabbing her backpack, shoving the money inside, and heading out in the club expecting the man to follow. « Wanna tell me how you found me while I get us a drink? » Of course she had to ask that, cause if he’d managed to find her others could too.
jacobvanloon
annaxmalina
turnnoffyourmind
vaporwave
kianamaiart
areudirty
yousharknotpass
baratheonpilled
kaledo-art
