Raleigh Becket | R-RBEC_122.21-B (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unbreachable) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
checkin2015-05-21 09:13 pm
unbreachable) wrote in checkin2015-05-21 09:13 pm
Entry tags:
004 - hypnos
(( warning for brief mention of drug use and sex. ))
The ocean floor is a cold, lonely and unforgiving place. Joints in the jaeger creak as they take each step carefully, calculating their next move.
Two pilots move in tandem, one male, one female, hard black suits. They are silent as the grave, yet somehow still communicating, still mirroring one another perfectly. One step. Two steps. Hands up, battle ready.
A flash of blue wisps in front of them, soft over their gaze like a whisper before a metallic shriek rocks through the conn-pod and sharp teeth tear the right arm from the robot they pilot. Two sets of screams pierce the air, white noise blasting over their intercom, panic and pain on the young woman's features--
"You can always find me in the drift."
* * *
Two pilots in tandem, two males, white armor. They laugh and joke, pushing buttons to tease home base.
"You're gonna get your ass kicked, man."
"Marshall Pentecost on deck!"
They're cocky. They're arrogant. They banter and joke, they go against orders. They save the ship but the cost is great, so very great. Right hemisphere is torn from the pod, leaving one man to scream himself hoarse as he brings the jaeger to shore, one word leaving his mouth the entire time;
"Yancy?
Yancy...
YANCY!"
* * *
He's in a hospital bed, the younger one, the famous one who's on the hospital TV, his picture side by side by an equally handsome young man. Blond. Same eyes. Brothers, judging by the name. He can't look at it, and turns his face. The remote is out of reach, on the little rolling stand that has three days worth of food.
"He wont eat," the nurses whisper. "Did you hear? I think they're going to dishonorably discharge him...what a shame."
They think he can't hear.
He can hear everything.
* * *
The wall is high enough in certain places that it feels like being in a jaeger. He takes these positions and steps out on the ledge, tempting fate, holding a booted foot out over nothingness before pulling back at the last minute.
Something always stops him.
* * *
The girl in blue doesn't like him. It's obvious in her mannerisms, in the way she chides him.
"You are unpredictable. You have a habit of deviating from standard combat techniques. You take risks and injure yourself and your crew. I don't think you're the right man for this mission."
Neither does he, he almost says. Neither does he.
* * *
"Monkey in the middle! Monkey in the middle!"
"You're too little, Jazzy."
"But Maman said I could play!"
"Yance..."
"C'mon Rals. Let her play."
* * *
It's cold at the funeral, cold enough to see breath escape from blue tinged lips. 'Jazzy' is sixteen, sullen, arms around her chest.
"Knock it off, Raleigh," she snaps graveside, snarling when her brother hums one of their mothers favorite tunes.
Later, she pulls them aside.
"Dad's gone. I'm leaving too. Nothing left for me here."
"But Jaz, you're only sixteen."
"What do you care, you abandoned me to play hero. You're no better than him. Fuck off."
* * *
Five years, four months. Endless days and nights of simply existing, of lines of coke and questionable sex along the wall. Five years four months and it all comes down to the mission, to falling - he's good at falling, it's easy, so easy. It's a suicide mission and they all knew that but he sends her up anyway, to detonate alone.
The last thing you see is the blast, an unanswered question did it work?!
And then he wakes up.
The ocean floor is a cold, lonely and unforgiving place. Joints in the jaeger creak as they take each step carefully, calculating their next move.
Two pilots move in tandem, one male, one female, hard black suits. They are silent as the grave, yet somehow still communicating, still mirroring one another perfectly. One step. Two steps. Hands up, battle ready.
A flash of blue wisps in front of them, soft over their gaze like a whisper before a metallic shriek rocks through the conn-pod and sharp teeth tear the right arm from the robot they pilot. Two sets of screams pierce the air, white noise blasting over their intercom, panic and pain on the young woman's features--
"You can always find me in the drift."
Two pilots in tandem, two males, white armor. They laugh and joke, pushing buttons to tease home base.
"You're gonna get your ass kicked, man."
"Marshall Pentecost on deck!"
They're cocky. They're arrogant. They banter and joke, they go against orders. They save the ship but the cost is great, so very great. Right hemisphere is torn from the pod, leaving one man to scream himself hoarse as he brings the jaeger to shore, one word leaving his mouth the entire time;
"Yancy?
Yancy...
YANCY!"
He's in a hospital bed, the younger one, the famous one who's on the hospital TV, his picture side by side by an equally handsome young man. Blond. Same eyes. Brothers, judging by the name. He can't look at it, and turns his face. The remote is out of reach, on the little rolling stand that has three days worth of food.
"He wont eat," the nurses whisper. "Did you hear? I think they're going to dishonorably discharge him...what a shame."
They think he can't hear.
He can hear everything.
The wall is high enough in certain places that it feels like being in a jaeger. He takes these positions and steps out on the ledge, tempting fate, holding a booted foot out over nothingness before pulling back at the last minute.
Something always stops him.
The girl in blue doesn't like him. It's obvious in her mannerisms, in the way she chides him.
"You are unpredictable. You have a habit of deviating from standard combat techniques. You take risks and injure yourself and your crew. I don't think you're the right man for this mission."
Neither does he, he almost says. Neither does he.
"Monkey in the middle! Monkey in the middle!"
"You're too little, Jazzy."
"But Maman said I could play!"
"Yance..."
"C'mon Rals. Let her play."
It's cold at the funeral, cold enough to see breath escape from blue tinged lips. 'Jazzy' is sixteen, sullen, arms around her chest.
"Knock it off, Raleigh," she snaps graveside, snarling when her brother hums one of their mothers favorite tunes.
Later, she pulls them aside.
"Dad's gone. I'm leaving too. Nothing left for me here."
"But Jaz, you're only sixteen."
"What do you care, you abandoned me to play hero. You're no better than him. Fuck off."
Five years, four months. Endless days and nights of simply existing, of lines of coke and questionable sex along the wall. Five years four months and it all comes down to the mission, to falling - he's good at falling, it's easy, so easy. It's a suicide mission and they all knew that but he sends her up anyway, to detonate alone.
The last thing you see is the blast, an unanswered question did it work?!
And then he wakes up.
text: private
text: private
I...yeah. Sure.[ N O P E ]
text: private
This place is so fucked up.
Re: text: private
[ fuck this -- it's why he doesn't sleep. Why he spends most nights awake, staring at the ceiling. ]
God. Yeah. It does.
text: private
text: private
yeah. pretty much.text: private
No offense.
text: private
it is. was. Still is? I don't know. But when you're in a jaeger it's..different. You feel like you're invincible.[ and it's so easy to get arrogant and cocky. ]
text: private
[ invincible is easy to get addicted to. arrogant and cocky are just part of the package, and she's been both of those for a long time. ]
I miss feeling like that.
text: private
Yeah...me too. It's been a while.text: private
Re: text: private
I don't know. I kind of hope so.Re: text: private
[ she's not sure how to describe it. ]
stuck. [ close enough. ]
text: private
...yeah. stuck is a good word.[ that's exactly how he feels, and it makes him a little claustrophobic. ]
no subject
Would you like to spar?
[ she's horrible at sympathy, but she's not half bad at giving him a chance to vent. physically, not verbally. lexa has always found that you rarely leave a match with the same pent-up frustrations that you came with. ]
no subject
[ it's the perfect answer to it for him. ]
please.no subject
[ the usual place. even if 'usual' was really only that once. ]
no subject
no subject
when he arrives, there's no beating around the bush. she simply lifts her chin in a momentary greeting before closing the distance between them with purposeful steps and an immediate blow aimed for his chest with the heel of her open palm. this is sparring, so she won't aim for lasting damage, but in order for him to put what he broadcast out of mind, the relatively relaxed pace of their previous spar won't quite suffice. ]
no subject
[ Perfect. This is exactly what he needs to let out his anger and grief and pain. Fast and hard and more brutal than last time. Allow the blow to hit, take pleasure in the pain, return with an elbow to the ribs. ]
no subject
she catches his arm above the elbow before it can quite retract, because bent like it is, it doesn't take much to twist his hand around behind his back. lexa doesn't hold the position long, releasing him with a slight goading shove. ]