Sir Jacob Frye (brassknuckles) wrote in valloic, @ 2020-04-02 19:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, assassin's creed: jacob frye, the umbrella academy: diego hargreeves |
Really, he was just aching for a proper knuckle-bruising brawl.
They’d been encouraged to keep boxing gloves on site, but all Jacob had was tape on his hands for this particular match. His opponent was bigger than he was by at least a foot and had fists the size of hams. Thankfully, the size of his brain was closer to that of a walnut. Jacob ran circles around him with just his standard Assassin training and a cocky swagger.
He wasn’t unscathed by any means. Blood dripped from a cut next to his eye and his knuckles were bleeding through the tape. Par for the course, really. He grinned as the other fighter dropped to the canvas, panting and bloodied.
“That’s alright, mate. Take a little rest.” He patted the man on the head as he passed by and headed for a corner of the ring. Picking up a water bottle, he squeezed some into his mouth just as he spotted Diego approaching.
“Oi, if it isn’t my rooftop challenger,” Jacob grinned, crossing his arms over the top of the ropes.
Diego had never felt comfortable in those modern gyms with bright lights and juice bars and classes with names like “HiIT-PiYo-Barre” whatever that was. He did not want to feel the burn with other people while they rode bikes in place in a candlelit room. He didn’t want to wait while some idiot hogged the weights while posing in front of a mirror (he did, however, want to lift more than said idiot, because, duh). He preferred the simplicity of Al’s gym--a few lightbulbs precariously dangling from wires, a boxing ring in the middle of an open room, and a handful of odds and ends equipment scattered around for warming up. Diego had lived in the boiler room in exchange for working there. His living quarters had also been bare bones, but it was something that was his and couldn’t be withheld because he failed some test with ever changing rules set by his father.
So the state of the Underground didn’t make Diego hesitate for a minute when he descended the staircase into the space. It was what he was used to, in fact, and what he expected, and he assumed that the people who would be participating would feel the same way. This was for hitting each other until someone won. Anything much fancier served as a distraction.
“What is that, oi? That’s not even a word,” Diego scoffed, walking up and giving Jacob the typical Diego Hargreeves greeting of a tilt of his chin. “Barely understand you as it is, then you’re throwing nonsense words around.” The second part of the typical Diego Hargreeves greeting: some sort of insult. He glanced around, eyes narrowed in evaluation. Or judgement. Probably both. Diego’s default was skepticism and distrust, although whatever he was looking for in the room seemed to pass his muster. “Not looking too bad, huh?”
Jacob snickered down at him and swiped a taped wrist across his sweaty forehead. “I think you understand me just fine. But if you really need a translation...” he smirked and took on a bad American accent to finish the sentence. “...it’s about the same as saying hey.”
He put on a good act; most people would think Jacob Frye didn’t give a single fig what anyone thought of him. And sometimes that was true. If he believed in what he was doing, he could shut out the voice in his head that cried out for positive reinforcement. If, however, he was flying by the seat of his pants, he had a harder time pretending like he didn’t care. Watching Diego take in the club fell more into the latter and Jacob had to roll his eyes away to avoid giving himself up.
“Not too bad, he says. High praise coming from you.” Jacob ducked between the ropes and hopped down to the ground. “Good enough to fight in?”
“Get up to decent and that’s about as high as it gets,” Diego replied. Which was true. He was sharp, exacting, and rarely doled out compliments, another side effect from his screwed up childhood, thanks Reginald Hargreeves for that. Number Two, why look for praise for doing what you’re expected to, or some other bullshit. This was at least colored with good humor. “Nah, I like it. It does exactly what it’s meant to, nothing more, nothing less. And if anyone asks for anything else, kick them out, who gives a shit.”
Clearly business acumen was not Diego’s strong suit.
“God, that better be an invitation to fight, because I gladly will take that to the bank,” Diego continued, already pulling off his (black, always, his wardrobe was nothing but shades of black) shirt. Usually he had on the knife harness, because sorry, he liked to be prepared for everything and apparently there had been giant cacti running around so yeah, knives. Instead, he was simply carrying them in pockets. And maybe attached to his wrists. Those came off in favor of the same athletic tape Jacob sported. “I gotta tell you, you better wipe that blood, ‘cause I’m not taking any excuses later on.” He thought for a split second about trying to copy Jacob’s accent in mockery and then thought better of it, because the odds of sounding like a mix between the Crocodile Hunter and a pirate, with a falsetto, were very high. “You should keep your American accent, it’s really good. Sounds authentic. Very intimidating.”
“It likely won’t get much posher than this,” Jacob confirmed. He picked up a towel, draped over the corner of the ring, and rubbed at his face and neck. It wouldn’t stop the slow trickle of blood from reforming next to his eye, but for the moment, he looked less like he’d just gone toe to toe with someone a foot taller and two stone heavier.
When he tossed the towel aside, he stole a glance at Diego to size him up. They were nearly the same build. His own assortment of blades were in a duffle under a nearby bench because he hadn’t been ready to leave them as far away as the half-finished dressing room. He’d seen Diego move across rooftops and his strength and training were obvious. Jacob smiled, mischievous and sharp.
“Haven’t gotten a proper challenge yet.” He paced a half-circle around Diego then stalked back towards the ring. “I doubt a colonial will be the one to give it to me, but…!” He held up the lowest rope and swept his arm out in a sarcastic bow. “...It’d be impolite not to give you a go.”
Diego’s cheek muscle twitched the way it was wont to do when fighting the long and arduous battle of pulling his mouth up. He settled on a wry smirk instead. “Enjoy the fact that your overlords are an old woman and a kid, huh?” After wrapping his hands, he bit off the end of the roll and flexed his fingers until the knuckles cracked. “And those guys in the giant-ass hats, whatever they are.” That extended Diego’s knowledge of England, certainly Jacob’s version of it, at least. He didn’t even know if the reference to the Queen would land well, considering it wouldn’t be the same monarchy, but now Diego was committed and he was sticking to it. He picked something, he went with it. Ask “”””Dan””” how that was going.
“Maybe they went easy on you thinking you’re a kid,” he continued, bending under the rope to go into the ring. Some people needed time to get in the right headspace before a fight, Diego knew many a boxer who subscribed to a routine complete with music and a meal and a pep talk from a coach. He thought that was all weak, believing that at any given moment you should be ready to go, music and everything else be damned. A crack of his head to one side, and then the next, and he was set, tapping wrapped knuckles with Jacob and adding in a light slap to his head. “You don’t want some tea before you get started? Maybe a biscuit?”
There, that was officially everything Diego knew about England and its culture.
“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re on about,” Jacob laughed, following Diego into the ring with a surprisingly nimble move under the ropes. He had the benefit of already being loose and warmed up, but that also meant he was tired while Diego was fresh. There was very little that could run Jacob away from a challenge though, especially a snarky one with sharp edges. And certainly not in his own damn club.
He cracked his knuckles and then gestured with both hands. His smirk grew dangerous. “Come on then. Let’s see what all those muscles do and then we can talk about lunch.”
“Your old-timey bullshit really takes the wind out of my comments, you know,” Diego retorted. Although really, it had probably done him some good over the past few weeks that there were people who took all of his sarcasm and snarling with a grain of salt. Diego still employed those weapons about as much as his knives, that would never change. But in his time here, in the eight days before when the Hargreeves siblings were dealing with the upcoming apocalypse, something was starting to happen to Diego. Something that he did very much not want to acknowledge, recognize, name, or give voice to, thanks. Pass.
Diego’s fighting style was like the fighter himself: tough, brutal, relentless. He didn’t pause to size up Jacob or evaluate his stance, anticipate his reach and adjust accordingly. Instead, he went on the offensive immediately, going hard in on a right uppercut and then a left hook without even a millisecond of hesitation. The inaugural class of the Umbrella Academy (what bullshit, of fucking course Reginald Hargreeves called them the first class, as if there were going to be others, that was probably its own mindgame) had been trained extensively in hand to hand combat, but Diego had truly taken to it. Maybe because of his multitude of anger issues needing to find a way to get out, or more likely because it was a way to beat Luther who was always physically stronger than Diego. And while on the streets, sometimes it just felt really good to punch some asshole in the face who thought he could rob a family in their own home.
“I could eat,” he agreed, grunting. “Kicking ass and taking names always makes me hungry.”
“Oh I’m sorry. Should I make it easier for you to give me shite?” Jacob teased. The words were barely out of his mouth when the attack came and his distraction paid off for Diego’s sake. The first strike landed, ringing his bell. Thankfully, his instincts kicked in and he dodged the hook that followed. He rubbed his jaw and grinned as he danced away for a second.
“First to bow out pays?” Jacob didn’t wait for confirmation. He darted forward and aimed a short, hard jab for Diego’s gut and a follow up hook to his face. He’d leave the eye-gouging and elbow strikes out of this, but if he started to lose too badly, he couldn’t promise to keep it clean.
“Here for it--motherfucker!” Diego said, out of reaction rather than actual spite when he was hit. He rubbed his tongue over his lip, testing for blood but finding only tender skin. For now, at least, but that definitely was not going to be the case for much longer. He spit anyway and snorted a chuckle. Thank God it was going to be a decent bout.
“I’m ordering literally everything on the menu,” he informed Jacob, just matter of fact. “Maybe two of everything. Maybe something for everyone in the joint. You’ll be feeling really generous.” Diego feinted left and went in with two quick strikes with the right to Jacob’s side. His head down he bore forward, aiming to drive Jacob back to the ropes with another punch from the left.
Jacob’s laugh was more sincere, even as he moved with Diego’s attack and tightened up his core against the side punches. He lifted an arm and looped it around Diego’s bent head, bending him over a bit and taking the next blow in stride as he drove his own fist into Diego’s ribs repeatedly.
“You sound like an expensive date,” he punctuated with a jab. “But keep getting ahead of yourself, mate. I’m sure that won’t bite you on the arse at all. “ He shoved Diego away with a sharkish grin.
The fight went on like this for a while. Blows traded and dodged. Snark delivered and returned. Eventually, Jacob swiped at the return of blood dripping into his eye and panted, circling the ring. “Don’t suppose you’re looking for a job?”
Diego was not one to quit. He’d be the first one to throw a punch to start a fight and the absolute last one to leave it. His opponent tapping out first? Fine. But Diego Hargreeves needed to be unconscious before he quit. Needless to say, an opportunity to breathe for a minute was welcomed, even as he made a show of pacing around like he was going to strike at any second. Which he totally could, for the record.
He jiggled the cartilage and bone of his nose to test if it was out of place. It wasn’t, but would be swollen for a few days and his bottom lip had split about ten punches ago. The act of fighting had been good for him, time to get out of his head and away from things like his relationships with his siblings, this weird world they were in, the apocalypse they failed to solve, the people here. Honestly? Sometimes just going toe to toe with someone else did the body and spirit good. “Could be. Is it kicking your ass all day? Because I’d do it for free.”
Jacob snorted. “No, but you’d probably get your fair share of opportunities.”
He kind of wished Evie was here. She was better at negotiations and making sure they were fair. Jacob was the one people came to when negotiations failed and it was time to just steal or destroy whatever you bloody wanted. Continuing to pace a circle path on light feet, he alternated punched his own palms lights, just to keep his blood pumping.
“You’ve clearly got training. And you’re obviously—“ He verbally stumbled, his eyes ricocheting away for a slightly hurried search of their surroundings. He gestured at a worker who’d paused in building the bar to spectate. “Oi, he’s good for a watch, yeah? You’d enjoy getting a lesson?” She seemed to misunderstand him, based on the snarl, and he lifted his hands palms out. “A boxing lesson.”
The woman glanced at Diego and lifted her eyebrows in a thoughtful way before nodding and giving a guilty shrug.
“See? That’s what I thought.” He turned back to Diego with a taunting grin. “What do you say?”
“Hot?” Diego supplied the word with a shrug. If anyone suspected that Diego’s childhood had robbed him of confidence, well, joke’s on you, he had it in spades. It was either confidence or sheer dumbassery that caused him to do things like headbutting a machine gun toting assassin. Okay, maybe a little bit of both. “Really hot, super hot, incredibly hot, whatever one is highest in that scale, that’s the word you’re looking for. Am I being objectified right now? Is it being objectified when it’s true? Huh.”
He grabbed for a towel on the outskirts of the ring to wipe off his face and test for any other bruised areas, and then spun it up in a rope to whip the back of Jacob’s knees. Smirking, because Diego’s mouth sometimes seemed like it forgot it could pull up into anything stronger than that (plus the split lip and all), he nodded. “Yeah, alright, I’m in. You can pay for lunch as a part of my sign on bonus. And the whole kicking your ass thing.”
“It’s a good thing you are fit, because your charm could use a lot of work,” Jacob tossed back, determined to ignore the fact that he was ultimately agreeing with Diego’s appraisal of himself. He was too distracted to dodge the towel though and too pleased to have pulled off recruiting a person who wasn’t just skilled, but actually entertaining company.
Plus he was pretty sure Evie didn’t like Diego’s ego and that was bound to be hilarious.
“Oh I’ll pay for lunch.,” Jacob smiled crookedly and spoke over his shoulder as he headed for the ropes. “I’ll pay as a sign of my faith that you’ll owe me the next three.”
WHAT a violent job interview
WHEN April 2nd
WHERE The Underground
RATINGt they spar but it’s mostly vague
STATUS complete