019. - Voice.

[brokenweapon]

I've been paired up again. Thanks for taking the hint, Admiral.

[Private to Slade.]
Hey, looks like I'm your new warden. Jason Bourne. Good to meet you.

Comments

[Private] lulz that tag

[terminates]

I think we've talked before.

Are we still on for that spar, or does this change things too much?

[Private] Get to ze choppah!

[brokenweapon]

I wouldn't mind it. Would you?

[Private] I'll be back!

[terminates]

Not in the least.

[Private] Are you Sarah Connor?

[brokenweapon]

How about the gym in ten minutes?

[Private] I am the TERMINATOR. So no.

[terminates]

See you there.

[Spam] - Come with me if you want to live.

[brokenweapon]

[Bourne was down at the gym in six, scoping out a good mat to spar on. There, those in the corner would do. He'd skimmed Slade's file before sending that message, and was a little surprised at the similarities he'd noticed in their backgrounds even with that quick scan.

Oh yes, this was going to be interesting.]

[Spam] - Hasta la vista, baby.

[terminates]

[He was there in nine minutes, oblivious to any similarities other than the fact that his warden (apparently) knew how to spar. How good he was remained to be seen, and of course, there was the matter of Tim's deal to think of. First thing's first, though.

He stopped short of the man he assumed was his warden, giving him an appraising look. He could only assume Jason read his file so he either knew what he was doing or thought he did.

Interesting.]

Waiting long?

[Spam] - I think I've run out of Schwarzenegger references.

[brokenweapon]

[And there was Slade. His new inmate. He'd had a basic idea of what to expect from what little he'd read of the inmate's file in the short time he'd had it, but he was of the opinion that someone was more than just their file.

He certainly was.]

"Not really. A few minutes. Gave me some time to set up." [For a given value of setting up.]

[Spam] - There's always Google!

[terminates]

['Set up'. Right.

He gave it a moment of silent skepticism before answering:]

After you.

[Short and to the point. He could be talkative when he wanted, but given their stations and the newness of the pairing, he wasn't inclined to say much. Besides, actions very often spoke louder than words.]

[Spam] - That's cheating. :x

[brokenweapon]

[Bourne kicked his shoes and socks off and went to go stand on the mat. From what he could tell so far, Slade was a pretty quiet guy, but that didn't mean there wasn't a whole lot going on under the surface. Quite the contrary.

Yep, two quiet guys who killed for a living introducing themselves by way of a friendly spar-fest. What could possibly go wrong?]

[Spam] - >_> Maaaaybe.

[terminates]

[There was a lot going on under the surface, but after decades of keeping his emotions at bay, masking how he felt wasn't exactly difficult. If he was ruffled by the prospect of fighting his own warden, he didn't show it. Control was the issue, and as he assumed his own position on the mat, body language casual, it was clear from the analytical bent of his gaze that he was anything but. He was a professional, through and through, and he'd act as such.

He'd wait for a moment to see if Bourne wanted to make the first move, but if not, he'd throw the first punch, fast but not as fast as he could be. He wanted to test the man before actually giving it his all.]

[Spam] - Cheater cheater pumpkin eater...sitting on a telephone wire! ...Wait.

[brokenweapon]

[Ah. Classic standoff. Well, that was about perfect. Neither of them seemed really willing to make the first move. And in a controlled environment like this, why should they? It wasn't life or death here; but now it could mean an undermining of authority. Bourne couldn't let his new inmate think he could simply wipe the floor with him whenever Slade so chose.

So he waited, carefully watching Slade, and warning himself not to let the inmate's age trick him into complacency. Assassins didn't live that long unless they were damned good.

And there it was, the inaugural punch. Quite fast, like the ones Desh had thrown. He managed to block it - dodging was better than blocking but he wanted to test the force of Slade's punch - and sent one back at about equal velocity, aimed towards the inmate's head.

This is only a test. If it had been a real fight, the blows would have already been faster, and more brutal.]

[Spam] - Like a biiiiiird on a wiiiiiire.

[terminates]

[It was a test, not just for Bourne but for him, so when the other man returned a blow, he blocked and pressed back with a series of jabs -- not aimed for any vital regions, because that would be pointless and unproductive, but they were close enough to where anyone with enough experience could identify what he was doing. Each hit was deliberately planned, precise in its execution, and even though, he no longer had the abilities that kept him from feeling the effects of his age, he'd made a point of keeping himself in top physical condition.

Varying the force of each blow to keep his warden on his toes, he mixed it up near the end with a few sharp punches and a kick, harder than any of the previous blows. Again, nothing vital being aiming for, but he could have if he wanted.]

[Spam] - Shu bop shu bop.

[brokenweapon]

[Okay, not entirely unexpected. Bourne blocked each initial jab, part of his brain noting where the inmate had aimed his blows. Age had done little to dull Slade's reflexes or instinct. He was holding back, too; there wasn't that desperate fire about his movements, the latent knowledge that a punch that was just a fraction of a second off, a kick that missed its landing by scant centimeters, could well be the last move the combatant ever made.

He didn't block all of Slade's other attacks. But he blocked enough.

No use in showing off. Bourne kept to an economy of movement, conserving his energy as he struck back. Old age and experience often trumped youth and vigor, that was a common enough truth.

And as always, he kept an eye out for trickery.]

[Spam] - Du wop du waah.

[terminates]

[Trickery certainly was an option on the table, but at this stage in the game, it was too early to try anything truly drastic. He'd signed on for a spar in the beginning, and just because Bourne was his new warden didn't mean he'd back down on what he'd promised. True, some of his blows were a tad more coordinated -- violent -- than they might have been otherwise, but it wasn't so much with the intention to injure as to learn. He'd studied and mastered various techniques all over the world, but every person had a certain bent to their fighting style. Knowing his warden's skill level was one thing; understanding what said skills had been used for was another

[Spam]

[brokenweapon]

[Fighting just to fight - sparring - wasn't something Bourne had done much of, that he could remember. He'd had to have done it for training, but since waking up on the fishing boat, the only times he'd fought had been when his life was on the line. The lack of mortal peril this time actually made the exercise...enjoyable.

Slade looked like he was feeling the exertion, and Bourne was beginning to tire as well. Less tiring than running half the length of Tangiers, but getting in a fight with a fellow professional just to keep in shape wasn't exactly a Sunday stroll.

When they finally paused (or more likely stopped), he noticed the inmate's look. Wary - well, that was to be expected, even if it was just practice. Bourne's own stance was still guarded, despite the silent truce. And there was also a little bit of...something like respect? That was new in an inmate of his. So he'd proven himself - and he respected the hell out of Slade. Bourne wasn't cocky, but he knew he was good - and Slade, at his own age, had probably been better if