maksimkurylenko

[maksimkurylenko]

-- end.

"In English, you prick."

It was an ol' British stand-off, but the only thing British about them was the ground they stood on. The space in which they breathed. They were here because of them, but they weren't really them — were they? And yet, there they were: opposite each other with every reason to want to tare each other apart. Some things would always remain the same. "Your insults are as unoriginal as you are, though i didn't think much of you...I thought more than that..." a sigh left parted lips. "disappointing."

He cared none for a language he didn't understand, and the bored expression that he offered Óscar in return was that of pursed lips and another prolonged sip of the amber hued liquid in his glass. Some whiskey from the top shelf that he'd requested simply because he could. Lara Rutherford had paid for this after all. "And I'm sure your advice would be...what? Meant to be Impressive? I think not, because one does not offer good advice to someone they wish to take day." Fox and feathers and blood. That was what was being presented to him when he eyed him.

"If we got into the ring, I wouldn't be fighting with just my fists, you get me-- I'd fucking bite out your throat if I got given the chance. I don't play for entertainment, I play to end it." he gave him a flick of a gaze before a bored sigh left him. "You can go, you're no longer required in this section."

A second ticked past.

"Now."

[maksimkurylenko]

Joel Kinnaman in Altered Carbon (2018) – S01.04

[maksimkurylenko]

"In English, you prick."

It was an ol' British stand-off, but the only thing British about them was the ground they stood on. The space in which they breathed. They were here because of them, but they weren't really them — were they? And yet, there they were: opposite each other with every reason to want to tare each other apart. Some things would always remain the same. "Your insults are as unoriginal as you are, though i didn't think much of you...I thought more than that..." a sigh left parted lips. "disappointing."

He cared none for a language he didn't understand, and the bored expression that he offered Óscar in return was that of pursed lips and another prolonged sip of the amber hued liquid in his glass. Some whiskey from the top shelf that he'd requested simply because he could. Lara Rutherford had paid for this after all. "And I'm sure your advice would be...what? Meant to be Impressive? I think not, because one does not offer good advice to someone they wish to take down." Fox and feathers and blood. That was what was being presented to him when he eyed him.

"If we got into the ring, I wouldn't be fighting with just my fists, you get me-- I'd fucking bite out your throat if I got given the chance. I don't play for entertainment, I play to end it." he gave him a flick of a gaze before a bored sigh left him. "You can go, you're no longer required in this section."

A second ticked past.

"Now."

Óscar didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Hell, in another setting, he might’ve laughed.

Instead, there was just the faintest pull of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. Tugging. Threatening to break the tension, but never quite letting it. He let Maksim finish—let him run through the laugh, the sip, the whole little performance.

And when the silence returned, Óscar stepped into it like slipping into old gloves.

"No estoy loco, tirano chico."

Hazel eyes swept him, slow. Measured. Like a wolf sizing up prey and finding it too small to bother with—even when starving.

"After all, you were the one spinning riddles about paintings on boots and asking for tips," he added, finally matching the grin, sharp as glass, "Too bad we’re not matched tonight. Could’ve given you free advice—first-hand."

[maksimkurylenko]

"You...have the audacity to speak to me like that all of a sudden? I'm sorry, I mean, I can appreciate the ball size growth: al-fucking-mighty. But you must've lost your fuckin' mind, friend." Maks hand found his jaw, hands scratching at the stubble forming there. They weren't friends, but the attempt to ease a rising tension was getting harder. Maksim didn't parade around often using his last name to gain him favour, but he didn't hide it either. He was the son of Arkady Kurylenko, and some would do best to remember it.

But those who talked about their power very rarely wielded it.

Instead, in true Maksim fashion, he flashed a wide, unsettling grin. "What're we doing? Talkin' in fucking riddles, now? Hang your boots where ever the fuck you like. Just, y'know, far enough away from me. Thanks." Maksim takes a long sip of his whiskey before snorting a laugh. "Now fuck off back from whence you came."

Óscar didn’t move. Rolled his jaw once, slow, like he was working something out between his molars.

"You bleeding on me’d be the most useful thing you’ve done in months," he murmured, voice calm—too calm. Like a wolf circling, not quite baring teeth yet, but letting you hear the growl.

Then, that faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—humorless and cold, "Could hang the boots next to the mess after your loss. Real art piece. Call it: Ego in Freefall."

His eyes finally slid to Maksim, slow as a knife being unsheathed. Steady. Measured.

"You’re not on my list," he added, eyes narrowing but a hair, "Yet."

And just like that, he turned back to the ring—like Maksim wasn’t worth more than a warning shot.

[maksimkurylenko]

"Once again, should get that head checked...mixing my name up now-- ain't looking good for that noggin' of yours" Laurent should've been hit harder... though he didn't voice that particular insult. What were Maksim's reasons? Whatever they were, he wasn't giving out free fodder to the French whack-a-mole. Between him and Lara and the near-death experiences, he was sure there was a telenovela in there somewhere, just waiting to make bank?

"You done measuring dicks or should I leave you alone with a ruler?" he paused, Maksim tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. Oh, this was never bloody ending, wasn't it? Every insult felt like it was an attempt to have a fight over basically...nothing. Tit for bloody tat. It was boring Maks, and he made a show, looking down at his shoes with a heavy sigh. “Laurent, fucking hell dude, you sound like a Reddit thread had a baby with a coke habit."

"See, that's not the burn you think it is, Igor. At least I have an excuse for my head being fucked. What's yours? Wait--don't tell me. Your parents were related, am I right? Don't bother answering, I know I'm right."

"Look, PornHub and a bottle of lotion don't qualify as a good night, man. I hate to inform you. Though, on the upside, you'll get to see yourself on the home page after tonight with what I assume will be a spectacular fucking railing from Pecatti."

[maksimkurylenko]

"You always know what to say -- you know for a pocket rocket..." It was one of the first times the corner of his lips tilted into a full smile. Maksim had trust in his skills, sure. More so when his own personal cheerleader was in his corner. However, his head tilted. "Does that make me Bowser?" it was said in jest, of course.

Talk about a man going weak at the knees, the feeling of nails against his scalp had him zapping her a look that stood somewhere between: carry on, and you're making me look like a fucking simp.

He wasn't a complete and utter imbecile -- but how long had it been since he'd used his brute force outside the basement or streets? A ring was different, a kind of calculation that he was keenly aware of. And he'd pissed Giorgio off enough over the past few months (outside of being Russian, that was), that those punches were going to have cement blocks behind them. His body jerked when the mental image began to play like he might be able to dodge the imaginary blows.

"Not betting? Hmmm..." his side eye said he wasn't totally believing her, even as Maks chucked his arm around her shoulder. "I think I should walk around the room and show ya off a bit...just to piss that ex of yours off."

"Because you're not going to be embarrassed." It's sharp, unrelenting and disguises the look of incredulity that crosses her features as she looks at him directly, "You're a fucking Kurylenko, and he's.. what? This years over-rated male gigolo? Mario's sidekick on a good day. Stop moping," fingertips in his hair loosen until the sharp edge of her nails can gently scour his scalp, "Don't give him the win before you've even stepped foot in the ring." A scoff, her hand drops and instead reaches for the drink he held, "I'm not betting this year," though, she had given Ayaz enough cash for him to bet for her. She wasn't made of money. "Ben might die tonight, but at least he's been let off the leash for his fight."

[maksimkurylenko]

Maksim forcibly dragged his gaze from the conversation at hand, finding that wealth of dark hair and gorgeous skin: as always, the first thought that came to mind ( as always ) did. What a shame. Giorgio hadn't been the desired fight, but Maksim would take a chance. Though, he had to admit that the matching hadn't been...what he wanted. "I didn't know you could see the future. I'll change your name to Gianna the sightful, or some shit." eyebrow rising. "Glad you know exactly what a married man wears at all times...his wife must wonder about that."

Of the few Italians fighting tonight, only she and Giorgio had drawn Russians. Unfortunate, really, as she would have massively enjoyed seeing Giordana commit a hate crime. It had been her intention to avoid the hammer and sickle squad until after her own bout, but when she overheard Maksim Kurylenko of all people verbalising his last will and testament, she couldn't help herself.

Amusement obvious, negroni in hand.

"Oh, you're definitely going to die. And look like a peasant as you do it. I bet he fights in a suit. In fact, I'm almost certain he fights in a suit."

[maksimkurylenko]

"Why not just save me the embarrassment and get it over and done with?" the nonchalance was said with a shrug -- the care, or need pretty much gone the second he'd seen his pairing. He'd kept the curses from his lips, sighing as he settled back into his chair -- he'd enjoy the comforts while he could. "You bet for, or against me?" before his own brows furrowed. "How you feelin' about yours?" Maksim, as moody as he was, found his features shifting into something a lot softer.

"If you're about to perish this mortal coil and land me with a damn babysitter..." the petite blonde trailed off, gently leaning her hip into his side, fingertips reaching to tug at the hair at the nape of his neck. Even sitting, he towered over her, "I'll have to kill you before you ever make it to the ring."

[maksimkurylenko]

"She tryin' to clear house with these matchups" and he meant it, especially as his eyes slid to Konstantin. "I'm still tryin' to get my head around the fact that Lara must hate Kerem more than Kosta..." a smirk tilting the corner of his lips. Kerem wasn't his favourite person, in fact, he didn't care for him at all. But...by chance, he was now a part of them: which made this all the more fucking awkward. "I'll try-- don't want to leave you to deal with this shit alone." but some part of him....wasn't so sure. "How you feelin' about things?"

"I highly doubt Vika wants to inherit fourteen rubles and a shoddy warehouse in Haringey." Good natured prodding was closely equivalent to a pep talk between them. "Don't die."

[maksimkurylenko]

Fuckin' hell. Italians were like a disease, and there were so many of them. Why? "Never was a fan of liver, someone made me eat it in a pie... British people." he could've shuddered, especially as he brushed off her comment as if it was water off a duck's back. "You're truly morbid." the irony coming from a Russian's mouth: especially his. "You should probably check yourself in, that kinda' violence usually means..." his fingers gesturing to his brain, as he whistled.

"I hope Gio force feeds you your own liver." Olivia didn't even bother looking up from her drink. "Though I'd also settle for him ripping out your spine or intestines."

[maksimkurylenko]

"A fuckin' bat? Alright Negan, calm down, won't don't you." though, he probably should've been more cautious when it came to the brunette before him. There was a history, a small glimpse into the barrel of a gun spinning before she'd pointed it at Aviv's head. He still remembered, tried to forget the sheer panic: for both of them. "You never call me Maksim..." his face scrunching into a grimace. Nah, that didn't sit right with him. His full name always made him uncomfortable.

Was he sure? Who knew. But the way the words left Adriana's mouth had him eyeing her a second longer than he should've. Hesitating, before he took a step closer and tilted his head. "You're a surprise every time I see you -- just make sure those surprises are for everyone else, and not to harm yourself..."

Adriana had surprised him more times than he cared to count.

"Family wealth..." a part of Maksim was never quite sure with his father how that'd go. Vika was more favourable than him, or at least, the brother in him thought so. "I'm sure my sister would spend it well."

"I mean I'm only reaching your face if I use a bat or something, I'm pretty sure you're safe there, Maksym." She smiled innocently, especially as she used his full name. "Are you sure though?" Adriana kept the innosence to her voice as she batted her eyelashes at him. "What if all that happened to me before was just the tip? I'm starting to think there's way more within me. You know how I love suprising people, right?"

"What about family wealth and all that? Ah, so self centred, hmm?" She joked, taking a sip of her drink. "Me? Worried? I'm way past that. Now I just worry who to bet on."

[maksimkurylenko]

Full crazy was enough to have his brow rising to meet his"If you kill me, can you at least make sure you leave my face alone?" a hand running across the stubble of his jaw. "You wouldn't be able to stomach me if I was uglier than yesterday..." though, the corner of his lips threatened into a playful lilt. "I think you've been causing havoc whereever you go, for a long fuckin' time, Adri. But that's nothing new."

It'd been too long, but then again, it always was. Regardless of circumstance: being around Adriana always relaxed him. "Just my club..." though, the two hadn't discussed his new business ventures much in recent months. "I'm having two: don't worry."

"You never know. I might just have finally gone full crazy like everyone expected. Where do you think I've been all this time?" She smirked. Adriana had been busy, of course. But she managed to find time to do some fun stuff, like to see Henry in Porto or travel to some beaches to get a tan and so on. Though not a lot of people knew exactly what she had been doing.

"The ones who have something to leave have a will. I guess you don't then." She clinked her glass against his. "Should you really be drinking?"

[maksimkurylenko]

“It’s five nickels, actually — don't worry, must be the brain damage." He didn't wait for the next quip he knew would find its way out of his shit-eating cunt mouth. "And the STD comes with a handwritten apology, fruit basket, and a reminder I’ve had better nights than you ever will, you walking beige flag.”

"Everything? Surely not. Three whole nickels and an STD?"

[maksimkurylenko]

The person he'd been originally speaking to had seemingly vanished when a voice he didn't expect seemed to cut through the mind fog that his brain had been on a tangent about. “I’m too pretty to die," he grumbled, eyeing Óscar for a moment. "And if I do bleed on you, I’ll make sure it's real fuckin' artistic. Really Jackson Pollock the shit out of your boots.” just for good measure.

He had no right to speak his sister’s name — his tongue didn’t deserve the honour.

He didn’t expect an answer. Didn’t know if he wanted one.

"Can I fuckin' help you?"

Bud? Óscar could have scoffed. He didn't mean to end up next to Maksim, but these events always had a funny sense of humor. Setting people up before they even realized. He didn’t even look over. Merely cracked his neck and took another slow sip from his water bottle.

"If you die," a ghost of a sly smile crossed his lips, "I’ll tell Vika, personally, that you tripped on your own ego."

Then finally glanced Maksim’s way, deadpan.

"Tip? Don’t bleed on me."

[maksimkurylenko]

"Death by you? I'll take it." Cleaner than the rest. It's said in jest, lips upturning into a wayward smirk. "A will?" he counters, brows shooting up as he turns his head to look Adriana straight in the eye. "You met the people we know? You think they care about a fuckin' will?" a snort of laughter breaks loose, as he tips his drink towards her. "Think we need a few more of these..."

"That's how you die." Adri just rolled her eyes at the man. "Leave a will already? There's no point on betting then."

[maksimkurylenko]

FOR: @mobscene-starters EVENT: Fight Club 2025 WHERE: The Underground. Pre-fights.

"If I die," which...was possible. "Make sure Vika gets everything, keep an eye on Isla and for the love of god -- someone check on Aviv every now and then." he said with a dramatic sigh, ankle hooking over his knee. "Any tips, bud?"

[maksimkurylenko]

THE MATCHUPS: 04/04/25

Part One:

Giordana Rossi (IT) vs. Nevra Erdoğan (GB)

Isla Hunt (GB) vs. Jordana Velásquez (GB)

Emine Yalaz (TR) vs. Sofie Dekker (FR)

Elaina Halévy (FR) vs. Svetlana Vorshevsky (RU)

Gianna Palazzolo (IT) vs. Nadezhda Yuryeva (RU)

[intermission]

Part Two:

Roman Baranovsky (RU) vs. Yves de Metz (FR)

Benjamin Vox (GB) vs. Étienne Canet (FR)

Ayaz Ateş (GB) vs. David Pavoncello (IT)

Anatoly Veselov (RU) vs. Jean Palfroix (FR)

Óscar Romero (GB) vs. Vincenzo Vespucci (IT)

Olivier Fontaine (FR) vs. Varden Lefebvre (FR)

Giorgio Pecatti (IT) vs. Maksim Kurylenko (RU)

Aviv Kasyanenko (RU) vs. Oliver Parra (FR)

Kerem Doğulu (TR) vs. Konstantin Vorshevsky (RU)