masterzmei

[masterzmei]

Jon Moxley at Windy City Riot 2024 📸: IssitaMarie

[masterzmei]

[masterzmei]

"I would have offered, but I'm not no one and you didn't ask." He rolls his eyes, speaking quietly to himself and letting her continue on talking over him as he listens. As her eyebrows jump up, his furrow, the raise doubtfully, bemused. "You could do. It'd do more damage if you could just drop it, though, from a balcony or stairs or something. Books' weight are strange and unbalanced, they're too big and flappy to throw well without straining your arm and wrist..." Zmei pauses, his own words trailing off as he watches her drift slightly. He cocked his head slightly and watched how she came back to herself, taking her hand for a hearty shake.

"Zmei Lazarevich, ochen priyatno." Of course, he's not lying, but finally someone might get the 'joke' of how fake his name sounds. Dragon Wolf's-son is a codename if he's ever heard one, or the name some hyper-masc forest creature from the old stories would come up with while pretending to be a human before creeping away to eat naughty children. He'd have called himself Zmei Zmeyevich if he could have gotten away with it, in full skazki style. As the kids say, it's gender. or somthing. He grinned. "Don't mind if I do-" before grabing one of her six shots and throwing it back before she could stop him.

His accent arrests her instantly. Its there, if you listen, in the R's and the O's and its the first taste of home she has had in so long.

A grin splits her face in two at once, and Yelena finds comfort in the rough timbre of his voice. She almost closes her eyes, but refrains. Because that would be odd and he's new and strange to her and reminds her of home. She does not want him to leave just yet.

Yelena had the 6 shots slid in front of her but she turns to face this large man instead, regarding him carefully. "No one would buy it." she replied with a scoff "-unless it was to prop open a door, or use as a weapon." Yelena's eyebrows popped for emphasis as she grinned "-you could do a lot of damage if you threw that thing hard enough." Yelena logged that thought for later, and there was a pause, in which she seemed to drift slightly. Then she was back, grinning at him again.

Yelena offered him her hand, elbow of her other arm resting on the bartop. "-Yelena. Pleasure to meet you priyatel'" Her eyes remain fixed on him, but she inclined her head slightly over her shoulder

"-Stolichnaya?" she asks.

[masterzmei]

"I'm about to do something that nobody in the history of pro wrestling has ever done..." JON MOXLEY - THE GLOBAL GRAND SLAM CHAMPION 1x wwe world champion - 3x aew world champion - 1x iwgp heavyweight champion

[masterzmei]

Windy City Riot Public Press Conference

[masterzmei]

[masterzmei]

[masterzmei]

ayo its TMI Tuesday again

ASK ANSEL | ASK SEFA | ASK ZMEI

[masterzmei]

Zmei does hate to be a caricature, what with the broad shoulders of a sambo champ, snake-headed medical grade cane, and enough of a lingering accent to make him sound like a Bond villain when he waves down a bartender for a third black russian. Just enough to loosen up a little, get his knee to stop locking up again, all that. At least it usually keeps strangers away from himlong enough to get his couple drinks, take a breath and go. But his ears perk up at the sound of his native tongue, and looking over he sees the copy of War and Peace, before looking up to see her face. "No I... I really would believe. I had to read it once, at least you can try to sell it off and tap out."

Who: Yelena & Zmei (@masterzmei) Where: Haymann’s Distillery When: After the Event

She's taking up space in a booth, her day spread out all over the table. Her handbag, a pint glass and a gin glass that were both half empty, a shinny pink, unzipped and over spilling makeup bag from Claire's and an open pocket mirror.

Yelena sat among the chaos, head resting in her hands and a look of utter defeat on her face. In front of her, War and peace sat opened to page 42. After a bottle of wine a few nights ago, she had promised herself she would start reading more, and it was very unlike Yelena to ever start with something easy.

Nope. Straight for the classics. Straight for the 1500 word book that was so boring she was almost in tears.

And she had bought and was reading it in Russian. Because she liked pain, obviously.

With a groan, Yelena sat back in the chair and slid down in the booth. "proshu proshcheniya-" She half cursed, her head full of Tolstoy "-sorry, excuse me-" she waved toward the bartender and was awkwardly sliding out of her booth to come and stand by a muscular man at the bar "-Can I trade you the worst book in the world for 6 shots of Stolichnaya?" She glanced toward the man at her elbow, the huge patron and smirked "-It's so bad you wouldn't believe."

[masterzmei]

"Dream away, luchik. I've never stopped your delusions before." Zmei rolls his eyes, squaring his feet and shifting a little to stand before pausing, and looking up at Edgar again, neutral enough but... surprised. Agreeing to work with Kaan had been about a 50/50 shot in Zmei's estimations, but? The genuine turn to his rivals words had him narrowing his eyes despite the way 'anything or you' was going to haunt his memory. It had to be some sort of trick. Edgar only played at genuine when he wanted something.

the other shoe dropped very quickly. Zmei felt claustrophobic enough before Edgar leaned in, and at the whisper firmly planted the base of his cane on Edgar's foot and let it take most of his weight as he pushed his way up to stand. His knee was not so damn pleased about the sudden move be being face to face, squared off against rival felt familiar and comfortable in its own way. He shifted his cane away with a pointedly half hearted apology, and just watched Edgar for a moment. "... I'll think about it. I hope you've taken some of your spare retirement time to clean."

At the sound of the Russian epitaph, Edgar couldn't help the grin that twisted his lips. Russian wasn't one of the languages he spoke, but he could almost guarantee that the reciprocal pet name was hardly romantic in nature. "There's no reason to confess your undying love for me, little snake. I already know."

Finally letting the teasing tone fall away from his voice, Edgar agreed. "Fine, I'll do it. Anything for you." It was perhaps the first earnest thing he'd said throughout the duration of their conversation, but Edgar meant it. Assisting Zmei with the training of his student was the least he could do for the man. "Set it up and send me a message. I'll be there. And now that that's handled..." Edgar leaned in, voice dropping to a little more than a whisper, "have dinner with me. My place. Tomorrow night."

[masterzmei]

ayo its TMI Tuesday again

ASK ANSEL | ASK SEFA | ASK ZMEI

[masterzmei]

[masterzmei]

[masterzmei]

ayo its TMI Tuesday again

ASK ANSEL | ASK SEFA | ASK ZMEI

[masterzmei]

Zmei squirms a little under Edgar's gaze, cracking his neck and mentally kicking himself. He's gotten too used to having the upper hand in conversation that it stings even more than expected when Edgar can still easily find his soft, weak spots where he can't let go, can't move on from something that was never really there to begin with, and just press. He rolls out his shoulders, turning it into a shrug. "Maybe. At least it'd be interesting news. There's only so many times I can do the football highlights before I finally snap."

Darling. Zmei's been called many names but darling makes him grit his teeth. "Certainly. I could have a better time talking to anyone else, Ебаный Блядь..." Zmei sighs, adujsting his grip on his can e and starting to contemplate leaving if he's only going to be made to feel older and weaker than he already is for Edgar's entertainment. "Mm. It would also be good for his strikes to land properly. He respects me too much, and a sandbag is different from skin and bone."

"And yet, you keep track. Hoping that something will change, maybe? That one day you'll find yourself shocked to see that I've made my unprecedented return," Edgar quipped, one eyebrow cocked. As he spoke, he catalogued the slight changes in Zmei's body language, his smirk intensifying. This was why they made good rivals -- Edgar didn't allow very many people to get under his skin, but Zmei was one of them, and he enjoyed knowing that he was still capable of doing the same for the other man.

"Come now, darling." Edgar was surprised by how easily the endearment rolled off his tongue. He'd never been one for pet names, generic or otherwise, and had certainly never used them with Zmei, but this was just one more way to ramp up the tension between them. "I'm almost certain that you and I can think of more interesting ways to spend our time." Another grin in the fighter's direction, this one slightly wolfish. "If you'd like me to knock your child around for a bit, I'd hardly say no. It may do him some good to actually learn from someone skilled for once."

[masterzmei]

"A natural, he says. Look again. The Kremlin trained her for years to try and kill me," Zmei rolled his eyes, half laughing and half wincing as the impact and the stiffness set in. He gripped Ender's wrist, starting to pull himself up and right into Bridget's nose before his smile was fully back. He managed to get a quick scratch in behind her ears, not that he should be encouraging this behavior but Bridget's just so good, before she obediently backed off and ran to catch up.

He lets Ender pull him up, snagging his cane on the way up and doing his best to shift and his support his weight again before gritting his teeth against the pain, ready to turn back to ender appreciatively- Only to have to stop and fix him with a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed look at the offer. "... Skip arms this week, commander? There are easier, more practical feats of strength."

At first, Ender thinks the dogs are just chasing the ball--which, at the moment, is in Mishka's mouth as she gallops back toward her owner. But when they don't even start to slow down, he orders, "Bridget! Gel!," and she peels off from the pack to come back to him just before they crash into Zmei.

Well, Ender thinks, at least that's one less dog trampling him.

Bridget lopes by his side as he jogs across the field, wagging her tail as they approach Zmei. "Mishka's a natural," Ender tells him, reaching down to grip his hand. "I had to train Bridget to take people down." Right now, though, it looks like his dog is just curious about what Zmei's doing on the ground. Shoving her cold nose into Zmei's face, she gives him a thorough inspection. "Tamam, tamam," Ender tells her, "go get 'em."

As she streaks off to rejoin the pack, Ender hauls Zmei to his feet. "You wanna sit down?" he asks. "I could bring a bench over."

[masterzmei]