Run for the hills cause they're comin' for kills [Reed]

He had been in England for three months now, but he still woke up every morning angry. It wasn’t her fault, and he wasn’t mad at her, but he was mad at himself. He was mad at the situation. He couldn’t understand why things had to be the way they were. Why did the tabloids report every time someone took a piss? Why were fans so eager to match him with models, playing the weirdest type of “shipping” game. He wanted a life. He wanted his own life, back in Moscow, with Mihaela. That was over now. He’d lost that, and here he was in the United Kingdom, miles away from home, demoted to second string again and forced to work his way back up. Well, he would. He would do what it took because he wasn’t dead yet, no matter how much he felt that way on the inside.

He was at the gym now, on a day off from the pitch work. He had run on the treadmill for an hour already, but he really just needed to hit something. He had taken up boxing when he first got to England, as a way of letting off some steam, but he liked it. He liked feeling his fists connect. It was a little safer to box in a ring than knock someone’s teeth out in a street fight. Lev was used to scrapping and street fighting, but he had a reputation to keep up now, and he wasn’t about to lose his job over a drunken bar brawl.

He saw a man over near the ring, someone he’d seen practicing before with someone a little more his own size, but Lev was nothing if not ambitious, and wanted a real challenge. He wanted to go as hard as he could, and he didn’t care if the other guy blacked his eye. In fact, that subtle ache might make him feel like he was back at Durmstrang. He was tired of getting blackout drunk every night to quell the rage. He wanted to release his tension the old-fashioned way.

Fighting, like fucking, was a release for Lev. It always had been, and that was why he was so vocal and combative in his day-to-day life. He liked asking for a fight. If there was no girl to warm his bed, a man to warm his knuckles sounded like the perfect thing.

“Yo.” He said, moving up to the clearly older man. If Lev had any self-preservation left, he would have stopped when he noticed all the tattoos. He nodded at him in greeting. “I’ve seen you in the ring.” He started. “Fight me.” He said, English heavily accented and the word selection not his best. Spar, he meant. Or did he?

@Reed Stricklander

Up before the sun and getting two workouts in before the rest of the world rolled their lazy asses out of bed, Reed had been just about to head for the showers when some young buck decided to pick a fight. A lesser man might have told him he was on the way out the door or to piss off in general, but Reed wasn’t a lesser man. He smirked as he turned around to face him. “It's your funeral, kid,” He said with a chuckle and checked the tape on his hands.

“Let’s go then,” Reed motioned toward the ring that was currently occupied and breezed past the boy with a death wish. “Out,” He told the men who were presently mucking about on the mats, a menacing look on his face, and made a motion with his head. They obliged quickly, and Reed ducked into the ring and felt the adrenaline rising again. He didn’t know why this wizard had picked him or why he was looking for a fight, and he didn’t care either.

Some people worked things out with words, and some with fists, and while Reed wasn’t itching to be a helping hand for this stranger, he wouldn’t deny him either. It was a simple request, and Reed had some pent-up energy he needed to displace. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” He said in Russian, having pegged the wizard as Eastern European the second he opened his mouth.

Russian, huh? Maybe Lev had picked the right man after all. The more he looked at him, the more eager he felt. He felt eager to get into a fight, even if he lost. He wanted to learn to get better, to act and react, but mostly just to hit something—or someone.  This was ideal. There was no small talk. No thinking, no questions. The other man just promptly went right into the ring for him. It was his funeral, hm? Kid, hm? Well, the two of them would certainly see. 
 
Lev checked his own tape, making sure his hands could take the blows he was about to deliver. His body was more than ready for the blows he would receive. No gloves, no helmets? This was his kind of guy. He stood there for a moment, sizing him up and looking for weaknesses. He was top-heavy, bulky everywhere but especially in his broad shoudlers and muscular chest. A chest shot was out of the question, and he was pretty sure there were thick abs under that shirt. A gut shot wouldn’t do him many favors either. 
 
He hunched over a bit, in fighting position. “Let’s see.” He replied, his Russian much better than his English, but his voice carrying the same daring lilt. He went in, covering himself, and attacked the legs first. 

Hearing the younger man's Russian words, Reed gave him a nod. Learning other languages and communicating with assets in their native tongue was a considerable part of Reed's job. It afforded him credibility in unstable situations, and it was an excellent way to manipulate someone into thinking they could trust you. Everyone loves the sound of their home language.

Hands up, Reed waited for the wizard to advance before he made any movements. He was light and nimble on his feet, years of training had honed his skills, but the younger man was undoubtedly far more eager. Lev moved quickly, coming after his legs, and Reed reacted just as quickly. He moved away, then back toward him, countering with a right jab and a left hook. He might have been as enthusiastic as the Russian man, but Reed had years and pounds on him and confidence for days.

The sparring continued, each landing some blows, but Reed was far from discouraged. Every time his hand connected with the other man's body, he felt that surge of adrenaline. The darkness he kept at bay begging to be set free. And every time Lev managed to get a shot in, the darkness grew louder. He could feel the swelling in his knuckles growing with every hit, and it fueled him further. Despite the blood pooling by his lip, Reed was smiling, "Not bad," He taunted before landing a mighty uppercut. The older wizard grinned as he watched, the younger man stumble back, dazed from the hit, and fell to the ground.

"But not good enough." Reed expected him to stay down, so he moved toward the ropes and was surprised to hear movement behind him.

Lev could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins as the two sparred, the older man not seeming to hold much back. Sure, Lev got a few blows here and there, but he was losing this fight. He didn’t know when to give up, though, and that had always been true for Lev. He wasn’t bigger than his brothers, but he certainly was more persistent than them, had better endurance than them. He could take a lot.

After being chucked to the ground, Lev got back up. He moved towards Reed. “Where are you going?” He asked in Russian. “I can do this all day.” He teased, waiting for Reed to turn around before getting right back into fighting. Again, a large hit. Again, he fell. He got right back up, though, again. He wasn’t joking. He wanted to do this until he was KO or until he felt too tired to go on anymore. Getting hurt wasn’t part of it. He might end up with a black eye, but he didn’t mind. He missed his black eye, almost. It felt like a part of him was missing.

He was getting tired and wanted some water, but he needed to prove something to this older man. Prove he could fight with the big boys.

Well, the kid wasn't weak, and that was something. Reed was impressed by the way he'd gotten back up, more than once even, and it was like he didn't know the word quit. He had a decent right, which Reed found out about after the younger wizard got a good shot in on his ribs. That'd bruise later if he didn't get some paste on it, but Reed wasn't worried about a few scrapes or bruises. He could feel the energy around this young man as if it were electricity in the air. He could sense how badly the stranger had been looking for a fight, and damn if Reed didn't recognize the chaos behind those icy eyes. He'd been there before, and he's most likely be there again before he met his maker, so there was a sense of comradery forming.

"You are stronger than you look," he mentioned, avoiding another blow but feeling the next one doubly for his trouble. Lev was fast too, lean muscle rather than bulk, and Reed was impressed by his enthusiasm. Over time more and more men began to gather around the ring, cheering and shouting, and the attention spurred him on. He'd never planned to hurt the kid, not more than he'd asked for anyway, but after Lev landed a hit right across his face, and Reed felt that familiar sensation of blood dripping from his lip, it was like something else took over.

All the energy he had left, and quite a bit of adrenaline, spurred him forward as he began to attack that other wizard with a violent flurry of punches. His knuckles bled as he continued, staining the tape on them, and Reed didn't know where his blood ended, and Lev's began. He was on the brink of the darkness that slept inside of him, waiting. It was always waiting. The violent frenzy crept upon him, but Reed stopped himself even though he wanted to give in. He backed away abruptly, spat a bit of blood out, and let out a breath that felt like fire. "You had enough yet, kid?"

“I could do this all day.” He offered, panting a bit and aching, but feeling so good for it. His anger had yet to dissipate, but he wasn’t worried about hurting the other. Reed was a strong looking man. He could take it, and he could dish it all back to him. Even the pain felt food in this moment. The cracked lip and bruised eye he was sorting now felt just like it had at Durmstrang. He could feel the comradery as it formed, too. He knew they were getting somewhere special with each other. Not many people saw this side of Lev… and he was certain no one saw the serpent hiding behind Reed Stricklander’s eyes enough to tell the tale of it. Lev was getting a first look directly into the white-hot sun, and it was blinding. Still, he housed his own dragon in his soul and it ached for release. 
 
Lev was confident. He wasn’t cocky or arrogant, not really. He just knew what he could do, plain and simple. He knew he couldn’t best Reed at his best, and that was part of why he wanted to spar with him. Reed could make him improve. It was better this way. “You’ll have to make me stop, if you can.” He challenged, knowing the other could do just that, and Lev was unsure if he wanted the other to prove it, really hurt him, or just let him go. He was crazy, a little. He was angry. He was hurting, and it felt better to hurt like this than to hurt inside. He thought of Mihaela, then blinked it away. A distraction. 

Reed imagined the pain Lev must have been running from if he was insane enough to keep running toward his fists. No one went out looking for this sort of punishment if they weren’t trying to drown out something else, and Reed could relate. He had no idea what the young wizard was trying to escape, but he’d outrun quite a few demons in his day, and he could see the hunger in Lev’s eyes. He saw the way that blackness mixed with pain and fury and a need to forget. The violence was a crutch, but Reed supposed he could help hold this boy up a little longer. It was practically a public service.

“Alright, just remember you asked for it, boy,” he said, spitting a bit more blood on the ground beside him and rolling his shoulders back. Reed’s muscles ached from the workout he’d done before Lev showed up, but he ignored the fiery feeling and pushed forward. Reed landed a few more hits, each more powerful than the last, until he was sure the boy's mum would barely recognize him and paused once more.

“What is her name, then?” He asked; Reed was done patiently stoking the fire; he was pouring gasoline on it now. Fueling the chaos until it burned so bright it’d consume everything and turn to ash.