[He, in turn, studies the terrain. He doesn't do a lot of rooftop fighting - most of his urban warfare is done on the ground - but there are things here that could be to his advantage. Or against, he supposes, and there's nowhere to use his shield.
But then, he wouldn't use it with her anyway. He unslings it, flips it over in his hands and then sets it down by a wall as he mulls over what to say. Finally,]
The way I fight for my life and the way I spar with my friends are two different things. The former-- isn't anything I'd ever wish on anyone I care about.
[Steve's combat is hard and brutal, he's forgotten how to fight without anger. Every blow he lands in a real fight is meant to disable or kill outright.]
[A thrill of hope goes through her, but it's tempered by the fact that she could hold a mirror up and see the same things in herself that she's seeing in Steve right now. It seems best to say that out loud, so she frowns to herself and tries to find the right words for it.]
When I fight, it's with... half, maybe. Maybe less. If I don't hold back? Will kill opponent without trying. I can turn it off. You can, too. Just have to practice.
[He's honestly not sure he wants to let loose on anyone, but he nods at her and shifts his stance into something combat-oriented. He doesn't give her a heads up that he's about to attack, he just does it, trusting her.
Used to be, Steve would have never hit a woman. It almost got him killed once, and Natasha drilled with him for days afterwards until he was sore and bruised and she'd made her point.
Now? He knows better. The gentleman in him still shies away from it, he prefers to fight defensively against women, but he closes his eyes and lets all of that go, for Cass. He's quick and graceful, fearlessness sings in him like a war song, and when he strikes out at her it's direct and powerful, aiming for her solar plexus. There's a little of you can't hurt me either in his body language, and trailing in the shadow of that revelation is, I heal.]
Edited (phrasing tweak AND AGAIN I shouldn't tag when I'm tired I'm sorry omg) 4/11/14 10:53 (UTC)
[The moment his body resolves itself to this sparring match, it tells a story. She learns his training, his opinions on violence in general, not just towards women. She learns his power on a more intimate scale, not just seeing it like she had before but feeling it, experiencing it for herself and feeling a thrill at the discovery of a new, competent partner, but something about it makes her sad as well.
How long has he felt isolated, alone? It's all through him as his fist comes closer, as she takes his wrist and guides his punch past her so that it doesn't connect. Her grip on him is oddly gentle, more of a suggestion to move than forcing it, guiding the momentum instead of pulling him where she wants him.
Her other hand strikes out, the force of it pulled but not the speed, and she aims it directly at his jaw. If it connects, it will daze him but he'll stay on his feet. Nothing will break, but she'll get a sense of exactly what his body can take. If he blocks, which she thinks he may be able to despite how large he is, she'll see how much power he can put into it, how much strength comes from the very core of him.
Either way, she's happy. Her eyes are attentive to his body and the movements he makes, the things he tells her wordlessly, but she's smiling softly as she strikes at him. This is her world, this is her language. Of course she'll smile when all she has to think about is movement.]
[He thinks of tai chi, the movements and motions like water, and when she guides his strike he doesn't resist. There's no point, even if he could overpower her it's just an unnecessary energy expenditure for both of them. It's been a long time since a fight has forced him to be flexible rather than rely on crushing force, but he always has liked a challenge.
When she strikes out at him, he mimics her, his deflection isn't a powerful blow but a redirection. His initial strike had been with his left, the deflection with his right, and time seems to be too-slow around them. An adrenaline rush.
He steps in close, not under her guard but sort of through it, and tries to shoulder-check her to the ground. He's hyper-aware of each move she makes, nowhere near her level of sophisticated understanding but certainly with all the hallmarks of a man ready and willing to learn.]
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(no subject)
4/11/14 09:11 (UTC)But then, he wouldn't use it with her anyway. He unslings it, flips it over in his hands and then sets it down by a wall as he mulls over what to say. Finally,]
The way I fight for my life and the way I spar with my friends are two different things. The former-- isn't anything I'd ever wish on anyone I care about.
[Steve's combat is hard and brutal, he's forgotten how to fight without anger. Every blow he lands in a real fight is meant to disable or kill outright.]
I'm not sure I can turn that off.
(no subject)
4/11/14 09:44 (UTC)When I fight, it's with... half, maybe. Maybe less. If I don't hold back? Will kill opponent without trying. I can turn it off. You can, too. Just have to practice.
(no subject)
4/11/14 09:56 (UTC)No time like the present, right?
[He's honestly not sure he wants to let loose on anyone, but he nods at her and shifts his stance into something combat-oriented. He doesn't give her a heads up that he's about to attack, he just does it, trusting her.
Used to be, Steve would have never hit a woman. It almost got him killed once, and Natasha drilled with him for days afterwards until he was sore and bruised and she'd made her point.
Now? He knows better. The gentleman in him still shies away from it, he prefers to fight defensively against women, but he closes his eyes and lets all of that go, for Cass. He's quick and graceful, fearlessness sings in him like a war song, and when he strikes out at her it's direct and powerful, aiming for her solar plexus. There's a little of you can't hurt me either in his body language, and trailing in the shadow of that revelation is, I heal.]
(no subject)
7/11/14 22:52 (UTC)How long has he felt isolated, alone? It's all through him as his fist comes closer, as she takes his wrist and guides his punch past her so that it doesn't connect. Her grip on him is oddly gentle, more of a suggestion to move than forcing it, guiding the momentum instead of pulling him where she wants him.
Her other hand strikes out, the force of it pulled but not the speed, and she aims it directly at his jaw. If it connects, it will daze him but he'll stay on his feet. Nothing will break, but she'll get a sense of exactly what his body can take. If he blocks, which she thinks he may be able to despite how large he is, she'll see how much power he can put into it, how much strength comes from the very core of him.
Either way, she's happy. Her eyes are attentive to his body and the movements he makes, the things he tells her wordlessly, but she's smiling softly as she strikes at him. This is her world, this is her language. Of course she'll smile when all she has to think about is movement.]
(no subject)
8/11/14 20:17 (UTC)When she strikes out at him, he mimics her, his deflection isn't a powerful blow but a redirection. His initial strike had been with his left, the deflection with his right, and time seems to be too-slow around them. An adrenaline rush.
He steps in close, not under her guard but sort of through it, and tries to shoulder-check her to the ground. He's hyper-aware of each move she makes, nowhere near her level of sophisticated understanding but certainly with all the hallmarks of a man ready and willing to learn.]