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The Baxter Building is usually quiet after the hour of 5pm for the most part. The more respectable sorts are already on their way home, those being the office workers, the managers, the support staff. People who are free to enjoy a 9-5 type day with an occasional visit to the in-office bar for a smoke and a drink. It's only the workaholics that stick around afterwards, the ones that either don't have somewhere to go, or who are trying to get ahead. But there's another type of dweller in the depths of that tall building. Especially when one goes under the street level to the several sub basements that have been assigned to the ACT-F crew and their field operatives.
For a person like Clint Barton, a 9-5 job would be akin to a mortal diagnosis from his doctor. Sure he doesn't have much to go home to beyond a messed up apartment and an occasionally annoying sidekick. But tonight he's there at the usual time in the gymnasium area, facing the usual opponent in the form of his Russkie counterpart. Usually they match against each other, train, and share little tidbits of scuttlebutt back and forth. Though today the tone in Mr. Barton's voice is a touch more… negative.
"I swear Petrovna, this was the third nursemaid assignment in as many months." He scowls and *grunts* even as he does his best to maintain his grip on her from behind, one arm around her neck but not quite clenched in as they're both struggling for position. The fabric of the mats creak faintly as their bare feet shift under the pressure, the white uniforms already a touch soaked through from the hour and some of exertion. "I catch another I don't know what I'm gonna do."
*
"Thirt nursemait…? Sount like serious proplem, maybe you need professional help?" Laynia offers, struggling to sneak one leg in between Clint's meaning to apply pressure to the back of his knees and interrupt his balance. "You seem stronger today, vorkink out more?"
*
"Flattery gets you nowhere-ooof!" The archer says as she's able to slip back and break his balance, causing him to be drawn to the side over hip and towards the mats. He lands shoulder first, then uncurls in a smooth roll back to his feet if she's not fast enough to press her advantage. "I'm just sayin' though. Didn't join ACT-F to look after capes from magical froo-froo lands."
*
Laynia meant to drop right on top of him to brace lock his neck, but he proves too slippery and quick, and by the time she sinks to her knees he rolled on to safety. "Nice," she remarks, "good reflexes are important think." She gets back to her feet and reassumes fighting stance. "I don't know. Some froo-froo coult look nice in my closet, yes?" She offers a playful chuckle, and tries to advance at Clint with a series of kicks unless he takes initiative first.
*
A shift to each side, left, right, left, as her kicks are brought in. She can feel the impact of them jolt up her leg as he makes the needed blocks, hunching back with his arms close to his body. One strikes firmly into his side causing a faint grunt, but he's able to shift the other two off to the side. At first it seems like he's rocking onto the backs of his feet as she presses, but then he steps abruptly to take the hit.
It'll leave a bruise in the morning, but it's a price he's willing to pay to snake an arm around her thigh and press a shoulder into her chest to try and take her down to the mats. Should they hit he'll try and cross the lapel of her gi over her neck and roll his knuckles inwards aiming for a carotid choke if she's too slow. But even as they keep their actions serious and steady, he converses in that calm slight drawl of his, "Somehow I never pictured you in froo-froo frills and cutesy lace. Not you, Petrovna." But then his lip curls into a faint smirk for some reason.
*
Laynia coninues with her steady barrage of kicks, showing impressive stamina, going through blocks without showing any signs of being hampered down by pain. Though once Clint suddenly takes a hit to step in, catching her leg, she goes with the force of his movement, letting him drop her to the mat with his shoulder. Only her free leg is quick to follow up with a strike straight for his chin, even as she falls, unless he elects to give up on the carotid choke. "How do you know, Barton? Broke into my room already?" She manages a coy smile as well, though it's far more likely Clint has a good read on her personality type. She likely wouldn't stoop to froo-froo wear unless giving a direct command by a superior. Even then she wouldn't take it lightly.
*
Her knee hits hard and snaps his head to the side, causing him to wince and for his weight to go to his off leg. That grip on her collar goes light, her strike giving her an opening to get clear cleanly, or an approach angle at his side and back. Even as he reels a bit, wiping a forearm along the curve of his jaw and smearing a few more beadlets of sweat into the heavy cloth sleeve of the uniform, he's able to smirk a bit and respond. "Nah. I trust my powers of deduction."
*
Laynia doesn't take a chance after nearly finding herself having to submit, so she pushes on her surprise advantage by chopping hard at the hand still grasping her collar, meaning to break free and roll to safety before getting back on her feet. "Have they failet you before?" Laynia asks in a deceptive tone, somewhere between taunting and genuine.
*
Rising to his feet as well, though perhaps a single step behind her, he whirls to face her, hunched over a touch and with his hands held out ahead of him and open, ready for whatever is next. Blue eyes meet her own and his lip quirks slightly as he steps forwards. "Once or twice, but you tell anyone I said that and I'll deny it to my dyin' day."
And with that last word murmured he /leaps/ forwards into a smoothly spinning sidekick aimed at her side as he steps in. It's a blur of movement, an uncurling backfist after that then a slightly more ragged punch thrown straight on with a sharp /HEI!/ shout to add an echo to the gym they're in.
*
"American man who speak truth? I am shocket," Laynia laughs at Clint's mannerism, admitting and not admitting at the same time.
The laughter has distracted her a bit, as she shifts in a flurry to block the sidekick, turning slightly to use her waist in support of a powerful blocking motion for the uncurling backfist, but it's the last one that catch her by surprise, as she gets knocked directly in the chest and stumbles down on her rear. "Not bat," she groans, upset with herself for her carelessness.
*
"Yeah well," Clint straightens up, perhaps a little cockily as he rests his hands on his hips. "I've trained with the best and all that," His own smile is amused, a bit curved with a tinge of the sardonic. But he's not a bad sport. He steps forwards a few more steps, then offers her his hand to help her up to her feet.
"I figure yer just takin' it easy on me because you have a school girl crush or something." His smirk turns wry and should she accept his hand he'll /pull/ upwards to draw her up. It's been a bit of time, perhaps she'll want to call it an early night.
*
"You got lucky," Laynia dismisses the claim playfully as she takes the offered hand, but instead of taking the offer of help getting up, she uses both her hands to try and pull him down with her. "It is against rules for Soviet Officer to have crush on someone."
*
Once more the mats complain with a rush of compressed air as he hits them, her pulling him down face to face as he brings his free arm up to try and press her shoulder down, one knee between her legs as he tries to establish some leverage over her, and drawing the arm she holds back away from her grip. The sleeve of his uniform tightens as his bicep clenches, trying to resist strength against strength. For a moment they're at an impasse as each tries to get the upper hand.
A grimacing grunt slips from him as he strains, face a foot from her own as he murmurs, "And we both know ya never break from orders Laynia." And sure, he uses her first name, rarely in truth but usually when he's making a point.
*
Laynia wasn't expecting Clint to react as fast as he did, the clever positioning of his knee between her legs really limits her options. She was going to get on top of him, and he made that impossible. So while he reaches to press her shoulder down, she tries to wrap an arm around his neck, hoping to twist her upper body for pressure, as the two manage to cancel each other out. Still, she has to appreciate he didn't try to go brute force, because from this position she wasn't likely to match him physically at all. Though she does have one ace in the hole she'll never use in these sparring sessions. "Can we call it tie?" She offers once she realizes she won't get an upper hand on him from her current position. "True. I am loyal soldier."
*
There's the whisper of fabric upon the mats as he tries to shift to the side, going perpendicular to her as he tries to hook an arm behind her knee with his free hand. "C'mon now, a tie? What would the folks in the Kremlin say?" It means he surrenders the control of that arm to her, but he's able to shift enough to keep pressure on her downwards to try and maintain control overall.
For a few moments he grimaces as they both continue to struggle. She can sense his breathing as it seemingly matches the rhythm of her own, can feel the times he tightens his grip. But that seeming connection might also give her the opening to know when he's weakest and least in control. A scissored turn of legs, or perhaps a shift to an arm bar and she could very well seize victory should she desire it more than him.
*
A leg scissoring would certainly be a preferred move, except the positioning of his knee is preventing her from doing so. He's been quite clever, so for the time being she plays disruption, not offering free holds of her arms or neck, and trying to position her knee to disrupt his comfort. "If it vas for Kremlin, I vould win." Laynia sounds quite sure of herself, even when at best she seems to be able to reach for a tie at this point. Unless Clint would be foolish enough to shift his knee from between her legs while trying to get his winning hold over her.
*
There's a grimace that knits his brows together as he focuses his efforts and his strength to trying to hold her in place, a typical judo pin that seeks to force the opponent to exhaust themselves or to simply surrender. But her own movements defy those efforts as he scowls faintly. Not out of anger or the like, but purely out of focus and effort as his feet shuffle upon the fabric.
"Fer such a wee lil gal, yer a big talker." His comment is still a bit wry, but that's when he tries to make his move. He tries a quick twist to the side, surrendering his grip on her leg and adjusting his posture to try and get an arm looped around her shoulder, but doing so he gives up the power of his position, his leg slipping from between hers and crushing the mats under his weight as he tries to maintain that control.
*
"I vas just tellink you fact," Laynia asserts, her own breath is labored while she struggles not to get overpowered, or flipped out of her position.
Then she gets a bit of a break, the knee that was locking her is moved, and she quickly tries to whirl her leg up and across Clint's neck, twisting her whole body to try and flip him to the mat. If she catches him off guard, it could work, if not, he could just wind up pinning her for the win in this sparring session. It's a gamble, but she likes her odds based on her experience.
*
For a moment there's a crucial point in time where it could break either way. If he was a little faster he could have locked the hold in, pressed firmly, gotten out of the way of her twisting shift. Or if she weren't quite so quick and flexible, he might have gotten out of the range of her motion. But neither was the case.
It's when he sits up partially to try and make that bodily turn that she catches him, her leg snaking across his throat and then tensing as she twists to flip him over and slam him hard onto the mat with an authoritative thumping impact. His one arm still held partially in her grasp, she definitely has the initiative.
And for once, Clint is speechless.
*
Her maneuver complete, Laynia rolls on top of Clint, and presses her knees down hard on his shoulders, as she looks down at him with a pretty pleased smile, "so…? Not bat for a wee li'l gal?" She asks, her attempt to mimic his accent from before is quite atrocious, but what could you expect? "You're very goot, Mr. Barton. I notice your hart vork."
*
She'll see him scrunch up one eye as he grimaces slightly, trying to shift his chest to the side to break her balance and shift her off of him, but she's too much in control of the situation and too well-trained for it to be anything more than the idle grumbling struggles of a fallen foe. He does, however, slide one foot along the mats as he raises his knee, perhaps gaining some leverage with his hips buy not trying to toss her to the side.
"Is that supposed ta be some sorta consolation prize? Cuz I'm tellin' you kiddo, it ain't cuttin' it." As he says those last words he smirks up at her, at least there are no hard feelings.
*
"Move your lek bit further," Laynia eggs Clint on, the way she's shifting her arms, he might read she's hoping he'll try to flip her off him, so she can grab his legs and bend them downwards to really lock him in place. "I vas beink sincere…I sparr with many, most underestimate me, you did not. I coult have lost three times in this one…" that doesn't mean Clint's count may not be different.
*
"Hah." His lip curls wry as that laugh just slips from him. "You know part of me thinks you just like lordin' it over me." Clint's blue eyes meet hers but then they slide away as he shakes his head, reaching up with one arm to try and grab the corner of her gi's lapel, but not moving quickly nor trying too hard. It's almost like there's a momentary truce between them, or just an agreement to move at half speed for the nonce.
"But then another part of me thinks you just get a lil tickle at sparrin' with someone yer supposed ta hate." His eyes meet hers and his smile is a touch close to being genuine as he adds, "But realizin' ya think they're the cat's pajamas." And /that/ is when he makes his move, a little quickly as he twists his hips sharply to try and _slam_ her down with him over her, to reverse positions. But then again, she could counter. And painfully so.
*
Laynia keeps settled in her superior position, just waiting to be given the chance to bring this sparring session to a close, which she's fairly confident she'll do. "I know you give chance too, you dit not use strength advantage, you coult have." Laynia points out she's no full, she noticed when Clint stayed his hand when he had better options. "I don't hate anyone without reason," she casually remarks, and truth be told, she has been very pleasant with members of the ACT-F. The only thing that really made her unpleasant was the whole fiasco with the Bugle spreading lies about her home country.
When he tries to pull a sudden twist of his hips, Laynia pushes all her weight down on the knees pressing Clint's shoulders down, adding a twist of her own, while reaching wildly for a leg, trying to test Clint's own flexibility by hooking his knee all the way to his opposite shoulder, if she manages a grab. If not, she'll just offer again, "draw?"
*
Apparently he's not as flexible as her, for when she's able to exert a hint of pressure further he uses that hand upon her shoulder to tap three times in short succession to signal the surrender of the point to her. Hopefully she'll accept that and let him settle back into a more relaxed posture with her still astride him but with him lifting his head back, eyes closing for a moment. "Fine, a draw." Though really…
He takes a deep breath, his chest lifting under her as he murmurs, "Girl, you make me tired."
*
Laynia looks genuinely pleased with her achievement as she rises off Clint and lets him get up, "sparrink me shoult be tiring, only means I give as goot as I get, that is the phrase, carrect?"
*
Gaining his feet slowly, Clint rolls his shoulders, then tilts his head one way… and then the other until there's a faint crackle from the joint. "Mentally as well as physically." He gives her a smirk and then a nod, "Good match as always, Petrovna."
*