Reach and Flexibility

 

Blonde was not his color.

That morning, he'd spent an entire forty minutes in the bathroom, lamenting how much his pride meant to him as he glared at the bright gold hair that was starting to peek through at the base of his scalp, sincerely debating re-dying it anyway, damn the consequences. But he was yet to go back on his word on any bet his made – as the piercing on his eyebrow and the tattoos on his back and shoulder were a testament of – and dammit he wasn't starting now. Even if this was one of the worst possible bets to lose, just above a nipple piercing and a Prince Albert. Just about that anyway.

'Now what have we learned about rising to the bait Ven lays out?' he asked himself bitterly. It repeated in his head like a mantra every time he looked in a mirror, reminding himself to stop letting his ego get in the way when someone decided today was a good day to question how good Madeleine was at his job. Only after he'd gotten out of the bathroom and got dressed did the overwhelming sense of irritation finally start to ebb away. It felt odd to forgo his usual dress shirts and pants with an average t-shirt and jeans in its place, but he preferred the comfort if he knew he was going into a situation that required combat...even if it was only training. Even if real life typically didn't grant him the choice to change clothes before he started to kick someone's ass.

He did, however, toss a nicer set of clothes and shoes in a duffel bag to take with him, along with the typical firearm placed at the bottom of it to carry in with him for when he was done, before calling a ride and heading to where he'd told Ana to meet him today. He supposed this was inevitable – eventually, the girl needed to learn to defend herself up close, and self-defense classes were, quite frankly, a joke. Maybe they were good against an average attacker but against the Italians who were after her...absolutely laughable. He managed to forget about the fact his hair was slowly starting to resemble fruit punch after he'd arrived, having a quick word with the owner of the place, before making his way back to the closed off rooms in the back. He disliked using a public place for practice, but he doubted his friends would be too pleased if he dragged a civilian to the building where they did their sparring. He sucked it up and started to peek in the large rooms for the brunette, which took him two tries before he found the right one, which he promptly stepped in and locked the door behind him.

“No surveillance in here, by the way – so we don't have to speak in contrived code or anything. There's also no worry about anyone coming in, I made sure.” That probably sounded more ominous than it was meant...this was simply just one of many businesses his organization had their fingers in, which meant if he made a request the owner typically complied – so long as you assured them there would be no cleanup or police involved afterward. He tossed the bag he carried in a corner as he spoke, rolling his shoulders in an exaggerated fashion before he turned to look at her, expression neutral as he seemed to size her up. He suspected his own style of hand to hand would compliment her well enough, when it came down to it – he was a lightweight fighter that used his opponents weight and momentum against them. That was probably her best bet.

First thing was first, though. He had to size up any abilities she already had, and make sure she knew whatever he taught her wasn't for the weak of heart. It would, however, make the difference between the visit to the hospital and a visit to the morgue.

“Alright, I'm going to tell you now, what I teach you isn't going to be fair fighting, because lets face it, the people after you sure as hell won't fight fair. So, simple question to start-” he paused and spread his arms slightly, palms out in a gesture of attempting to show off his entire front profile – for once, it was for legitimate reasons. “Weak points. If I was the one attacking you, what's an obvious way to debilitate me, besides the typical crotch kick because every male that knows how to fight in close quarters sees that coming.” He knew every one of his weak points and was careful to watch for movements to them. There were the obvious body parts, naturally, but there was more to it than weak points on physiology – so his goal was to make sure she sized up her opponents properly.

TAG: Ana   NOTES: Damn Lukas straight to business.

 

'Fair enough, at least she has basics. Though most women do, especially living where she does.' “At least two you missed.” he said, and lifted a hand, placing a finger so that the tip rested on the metal edge of the bolt that was through his eyebrow. “Piercings. We're talking about mob members – they're very common. Defending yourself isn't a time to be squeamish – yank 'em out.” He moved the same hand to his right ear and tugged to prove his point, where two earrings were. “Good for throwing off any gender, though.” he added, which he doubted any females would be after her – female enforcers were rare, they were normally higher on the food chain, being conniving and make others do their smackdown, but you had to be prepared for anything.

“Jugular works for both, as well, but better for males.” he pointed to his throat, tapping the Adam's apple that bobbed slightly as he swallowed. “You don't even have to hit it hard and someone will typically be on the floor with tears in their eyes, which gives you plenty of time to take off.” He decided not to mention the fact enforcers worked in packs of three or more, typically – it took at least that many to form a fully functional brain most times. He should probably feel bad for that stereotype, but it was mostly true – he sparred with a lot of their enforcers, even if they were higher on the chain enforcers...he knew how true it could be.

“Then there's the one that take more finesse to see, and a huge attention to detail, which takes time to hone, but it does hurt to work on it. Scars, old wounds – if you see them, exploit them. If they're bad enough to leave a limp or a hint of a scar somewhere, they're likely still tender.” he added, paused for a moment, debating best how to demonstrate it – because it was something that was hard to notice. He could catch them – faltering movements, a slower hand-eye coordination, leaning prominently on one leg even if they didn't have a limp – exploitation points. But explaining it was...hard. Visual version, first he supposed. Simpler to start with.

Without even really stopping to think about it he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head lazily, leaving him completely bare-chested and uncaring (he slept naked for Christ's sake – modesty wasn't a strong point), keeping the shirt held in his left hand and gestured at his shoulder with his right, which still bore a slight mark from an old bullet wound. “Here's hoping the guys after you are the muscleheads who like to wear small shirts, it makes this sorta crap easier to see.” he added, a hint of his sarcasm showing through for a moment. Though his smirk still had yet to make an appearance. This whole blonde bullshit was going to get him a bit.

“Here, and-” he moved his hand to point to the long scar across his abdomen “here would hurt like a bitch. I have to watch the areas when I get into a fight.” 'Yeah, brilliant, tell her your weak points.' He wasn't worried, though – if she was smart, she wouldn't debilitate her bodyguard. That and his hairline trigger retaliation would likely leave her knocked out...which he preferred to not have to go through. Oh that'd be fun to explain to her parents.

TAG: Ana   NOTES: I KNOW YOU WANT ME.

 

On any other day, he would have jumped on the chance to tease her for her distraction – and made a joke about how obviously he was why she hadn't heard. Today, though, well, his mood was a few notches below his usual humor. Instead, he completely looked over the moment, too busy trying to play good teacher. He also was debating how much force he could actually use on her when teaching her – he'd kicked a few asses of enforcers before to help teach them a little more balance and a little less brute force before, but his methods were impatient and rough at best. 'Just don't send her home with any lasting marks and we'll be fine...' sadly that was the issue. He wasn't that good at knowing the right amount of force and was paranoid he'd end up hurting her.

Despite this, when she posed her question of attack after his little demonstration, he paused, tilting his head and seeming to think about it. “Tell you what.” he said, and the smirk started to appear, egotistical and obviously confident. “Try to.” This would actually be a good way of making a point what he was going to and implement with her – as well as answer her question about how one hit could take her down from before. Lukas was a lightweight fighter to say the least, but he'd taken down men twice his weight without breaking a sweat. Naturally it depended how intelligent or fast the other party was – which, enforcers rarely were – but despite being of a smaller frame and only hitting around five foot ten, Lukas was not to be underestimated. “Put all your body weight into it. Throw yourself at me.” Funnily, for once, it wasn't innuendo from him.

He had yet to find his usual playful tone underneath all the irritation, though to be fair the more somber attitude would probably work better for the situation – he was teaching the girl to defend herself from a horrible bloody death, after all. Which, while he lived every day with the threat of being offed, he'd lived with it for over a decade – she'd been dealing with it for what, half a year at most? Empathy may not always be his strong point, but his brain could comprehend that could be a weighty subject for other people.

'And yet you're telling her to throw herself at you with her best shot and you're just gonna sidestep like she did nothing and demoralize her' he bit sarcastically at himself, now wondering if he was doing this to show off or if he was doing it to legitimately show her something. Honestly, with his less than fantastic mood...he'd be willing to admit it was a bit of both. So he wanted to give himself a little ego stroking after having it so sorely bruised, losing a bet about a job of all things, the only thing he praised himself at being good at. The hair was just the icing on top of the insult cake.

NOTES: And here we find the real reason he's bitchin |D

 

His expression changed very little even as she fell, and he gave her a matter-of-fact stare for a split second, making no move to help her up but it mattered little, as she rose back herself. Glad to see she wasn't discouraged by the move (even if her comment didn't sound too thrilled), so moved as she did, back and away from her reach, ever careful. His explanation for his example came as she rose to her feet, making sure she knew it wasn't because 'he wanted to see her fall on her ass' – okay, so it was a tiny ego trip for him but it did have a point.

“You're small – lightweight – like me. So we're in luck in that sense – your most effective defense will be using the other force against the attacker and fast reactions, which is exactly what I excel in.” Bam, there was the ego, and the smirk continued to creep into existence. “Bodyguard and CQC teacher – I should be getting paid.” 'Technically I am but that's under the table money from the boss for doing him a favor.' Not that she needed to know. Yes, there was 'under the table' payments even in the mob – in fact Lukas sometimes wondered if Kravec had more book-keeping than some businessmen, with how he kept track of everything.

As he spoke, he moved – slow, deliberate, loose-postured so he looked off-guard. He started the movement as if he was going to circle around behind her and was glad to see she matched his movement, not allowing it. He kept sidestepping like this, slowly letting his gaze drag up and down her body as he debated an opening. It was a bit hard to adjust from the thought process of a trained killer to that of someone just meant to rough someone up, things that could hurt or seem lethal but weren't – that was his initial training when he was a kid, so it was in him, but hell that was from years ago. His instincts were going to work against him a little here, but he'd manage.

“Distraction is also a good tactic.” he started, which funnily enough was what he was employing, speaking so she would ficus on that. “Being female means you have more than me, but you don't strike me as the type who would use them.” With the subtlety of a rhino in an antique shop, his cerulean eyes slowly moved from her face to ample chest to make his point. To be fair, he had been to prove what me meant...it was also a distraction because he doubted she would take kindly to it. Didn't mean he couldn't smirk with a knowing look seconds before he moved forward in one fluid, fast movement to make a grab for her left arm with his right hand, throwing his weight back so that he moved quick to the right at the same time, attempting to twist her arm back to pin against her back.

 

 

It was good to see that she fought back with no restraints. It was bad to see that his first example of her ability to defend herself was on far with the terribly-written scenes of women fighting in movie. Hair pulling, in theory, hurt – it certainly gave him a jarring sting that ripped across his scalp – but here was the problem. Compare that to a burn, a stab, or bullet wound that the people after her were doubtless to have had at least one of those in a lifetime...well. You started to steel yourself against pain after a while, lets leave it at that. Regardless, he released the arm he held behind her back and grabbed the other that had a hold on his scalp, and twisted until she released, at which point he bounced back several feet, poised on the balls of his feet as he resumed his spot of circling, expression carefully trained, before finally giving a teasing response her her comment about shaking her 'distractions'.

“Feel free to boob-shake if you want, but I guarantee nothing of your success rate at distraction. It's give me a giggle, though.” he commented, seemingly unaffected by the move, though his scalp stung a bit. Hell he'd been shot before and had still maintained a cool, sardonic demeanor to throw off anyone who was facing him – didn't stop it from hurting, but the sort of people he went head to head with could sense your every weakness...the smart ones learned to mask it pretty fast. That was another advantage Ana had, he supposed – they'd be lax around her, this little civilian woman, she had no training why should they be scared. “If you're good at reading people, watch them, body language, eyes, gestures – they can tell you a lot, from their habits and preferences, favored sides, guarded areas, blah blah same concept from before but watch for any mood changes also – the more pissed off someone is, the sloppier they get, etc.” What she didn't realize was his talking was also a distraction tactic – one he decided she'd have to fit out on her own. He did it a lot in the past, and it had served him well.

There was about a seven second pause between his last statement and his next move, at which he faked right before quickly moving back into his circle routine, expression still set in the impassive small smirk that hid his thoughts, though his enjoyment in toying with her was growing. It was a good way to relieve stress, there was no denying that. Not that he'd admit to her that was was currently his form of...therapy? Something like that. He made another fake right, and stepped back for half a second, pretending he was doing the same move as last time, before striking back towards her, one leg making an aim to take out her legs and his left hand arcing out to aim for her shoulder, intending to throw her off balance and hold her down if he could.

 

 

He'd been mentally prepared for retaliation but not quite the full weight that was suddenly dragging him down with her. He managed to keep his hold firm, however, and attempted to maintain control of the graceless fall the both of them took to the ground. He only slightly succeeded, though, and let out a muffled grunt as his shoulder hit the mat, followed by the heavy weight that was attached to his waist, at which point he immediately pushing Ana closer to him and rolled, trying to get back in an adventurous position. One hand moved to hook under one leg, preparing to pry it off him as he managed to throw his weight over her, too distracted by that to anticipate the woman maintaining the momentum he'd used to roll on top of her, reversing their roles in a swift movement.

He was stuck between being annoyed and being mildly proud as he stared up at her, eyebrows drawn together in an expression trapped between consideration and vexation. There was a few seconds as he regained himself, before his expression finally fell into a full-blown smirk as the realization of the situation hit him like a brick in the face. He was fully used to running sparring sessions shirtless, so the effect of it didn't really occur to him – someone who wasn't used to it, and who he was able to endlessly tease with his clothes still on. Oh. Oh. Suddenly, his mood lightened a little, and he simply couldn't resist.

“So you're the type to be on top, huh?” he asked, his old spark showing through brightly, tone drawling and suggestive. To make matters worse, the hand that still rested against the outside of her knee where he'd been planning to remove her from him hooked under and squeezed her leg. Using the distraction he then used the same hand that held her leg to push her up and the weight off him, rolling them both again but did not remain pinning her down this time, knowing it would end up likely being a repeat of the last time. Instead, he left her to rotate onto her back alone, propelling himself away and back up, standing over her in half a second, hands on his hips. He pointed his hand with his thumb pointing at the ceiling and his forefinger at her face, miming a gun. “Bam. Dead. Be careful pulling people to the ground – if you're not sure you can hold them down and they're faster than you, you're screwed.” he said, attempting to maintain a serious tone in his voice, but the tinge of amusement was still there.

“Though, I guess you're not gonna have to deal with people as fast as me most times, but...just in case. Be careful with it. Or smash their face in before they can do much. Just don't do it with me – my face is too pretty.” Nope not egotistical at all.