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[bionicstaringmachine]

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[bionicstaringmachine]

[ She doesn't get a response back. He waits, he bides his time as he tries to make her wonder if he's going to show up or not. The Winter Soldier doesn't need the extra training, to listen to another one like him like this but his body doesn't agree with that. It moves almost independently from his mind, the way he moves about the facility they're kept in between missions as he waits for the next time they place him back in his cryosleep.

His boots are heavy but his footfalls are quiet, lacking in sound as he stalks through like he expects to find her lurking around a corner. He knows that isn't the case, that she told him where she'd be and his body reacted. It said he couldn't keep her waiting any longer.

Once outside, he doesn't react to the cold, the chill of the wind or the bite of the snow in the air. The conditions mean nothing to him, he doesn't feel after all. His cold stare locks onto her after a brief beat of searching and once more, something tugs at him - whether it be his mind or his body or both - almost in recognition. ]

Are you ready to lose?

[sinne]

[ For a second, his voice startles her. They barely talk or even acknowledge the other when they pass by. He almost never speaks. But his words send a jolt through her, one that she's unable to comprehend. It's not her body tensing in anticipation of an attack, or the cut of words intended to inflict pain. If anything, the sensation is sharpest in her head, through the noise.

She meets his gaze. It's a mistake, she knows, not watching for his hands or his feet for where and when he might strike, but her body is searching for something. Slowly, she shifts her weight and takes a step to the side.

The start of a dance. ]

Are you?

[bionicstaringmachine]

[ Being who they are, they're trained not to react. To react is to show pain. To show pain is to show weakness. Weaknesses imply they are capable of being broken and that is not of use to Hydra. They are weapons. Weapons do not think, do not feel, do not care. They complete their intended objectives and they report back to their handlers. They exist only when they are told they're allowed to exist and only how they are told to exist.

This...is not something that the handlers, the scientists - Hydra - have approved. They're off mission here, they're doing something of their own accord - be it their thoughts, the actions of their bodies doing something that the mind tells them not to do - it's not approved.

And yet. And yet, when she moves he can't help the way he watches. The slow approach forward and the knowledge that this is the beginning of that dance she spoke of.

He's watching carefully, no longer caring to answer her with words but instead with action. She'd gotten the better of him just the night prior and he's not about to let that happen again.

Quickly and with the only sound being the motion of his metal arm moving through the air, his fist swings to connect, to knock her off balance and begin this dance in his favor with a show of his own brute strength. He doesn't hold one of the knives he usually does - it's tucked away in its holster but it's easily accessible for him - and is strategically trying to get her closer to the edge of the cliff.

Harder to beat him if she falls over. ]

[sinne]

[ Just before he strikes, he'll see her close her eyes. It's yet another mistake in battle, even if it's one that's not supposed to be real and only some form of exercise, and were their handlers watching, they would think that something's wrong with her, that she's broken.

But she doesn't think, only surrenders. She yields to whatever it is that runs through her body — because she can't trust her mind, there's a noise and a haze that permeates her thoughts until she can't think at all. Contrary to what they'd have been conditioned to believe, however, letting go is not defeat, for she smoothly avoids the strike. She steps back as he swings forward. A dance.

When he comes again, she ducks, eyes still closed. His strike is so precise he could probably cut air, but her body feels the vibrations and pivots to avoid them. A moment later she senses an opening, though when she takes it, she doesn't draw a knife or swing her fist at him. Instead she kicks at the ground, at the snow piled by her foot, aiming to send the wet clumps into his face.

All she needs is for him to take one wrong step, so their positions are reversed. She refuses to be the one who falls over. ]