suicidemission | (no subject)

He’d told her nine and abruptly left, fleeing the situation like it was a hive of bees chasing after him. He’d promptly gone back to his room where he’d taken a cold shower, drank a gallon of water to free himself of the warm, lingering buzz that he’d obtained from either the alcohol or her presence (he couldn’t be sure what was truly the cause), then sat on his bed and vented at Max for several hours – Max, who very patiently sat there and listened to all of it.

He didn’t have a lot of input, though.

When Chuck had at least some of his sense back, he takes a proper shower and puts on clean clothes and finds an ancient bottle of cologne stuffed in the bottom drawer of his dresser that, on further inspection, expired about three years ago but still smells okay, and shoves what he’d had on and his previous, soaking wet set into the laundry chute.

He kills more time by walking Max through the ‘Dome and ignores most people that talk to him, allowing only Miss Mori to pet his dogs head before he swings by his old mans room, pawns the animal off on him with barely a word (save for insistent pestering as to her name - Rhoda, it suited her), then doubles back to her room where he raps on the metal twice and waits, hands behind his back, face affixed with the usual, surly look he was so often seen with.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yes. Yes, she is.

"Mm? Yeah. Stole some from the kitchens." Because he's not Raleigh, he can't smile and bat his eyes and get whatever he wants.

Smug ass motherfuck.

"Lessee...ham and cheese or...ham and cheese?" He's holding one in each hand and giving her a very serious look. "A difficult choice."

He's not Raleigh, no, but his surliness means more for her and less for others, so she's not exactly sad that he's not as universally loved as the other pilots are.

Her answering look is just as serious and she takes a while to consider, like this is a really important decision.

"I think…ham and cheese."

"Good choice." He passes it over, then settles down on the blanket, patting it to indicate she join him.

"If you'd made the wrong one, I would've had to just kick you out. Striker 'n I can't have bad decisions up here, yeah?"

She lowers herself surprisingly gracefully down onto the blanket, settling her sandwich down on her knees.

"Well, goodness, if that was the consequence for picking the wrong option, I'm glad I chose what I did." She leans her shoulder against his, hiding her smile as she picks the wrapper off her sandwich. "I'd hate to lose you and Striker."

"Package deal, doll."

He's grinning, but he's kind of serious. He's a jaeger pilot - and everything that that entails. He kind of does need to know that...well.

He's not getting his chain jerked around, too. He's falling for her - fast. He doesn't want her to ditch the second he's gotta jet off to kill a kaiji - or be killed trying.

Rhoda's worked in Shatterdomes for long enough now to know about the futility of keeping Jaeger pilots away from their Jagers, away from the fight. She knows better than to expect Chuck not to go out and battle Kaiju because of her.

It's not going to happen.

Still, that doesn't mean she can't enjoy what she has now.

"So, I've been told that Jaegers are mildly sentient, or at least, that it feels that way in the Drift." She picks a piece of her sandwich off and pops it in her mouth. "Introduce me to Striker, then."

"Wonder who told you that." He smirks a little and tears off a piece of his bread before setting it down in favor of getting up so he can smooth his hand over his harness.

"He can hear us now." Not that Striker was indicating that. "Striker, this is my girlfriend Rhoda. Rhoda, this is Striker Eureka, the only Mark V jaeger in existence."

"It might have been a certain pilot…"

She hides her smile behind another chunk of her sandwich, listening to Chuck talk to his Jaeger. She doesn't make any kind of comment on him calling her his girlfriend — jumping the gun a little, are we? — because that's where she wants this to go anyway, so if he's already there, then she's happy.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Striker Eureka," she replies, surprisingly serious for someone who's talking to a giant robot while inside said robot's head.

Well she's not correcting him so he's going to just keep assuming.

"You can assume he likes you if the lights stay strong and don't dim. He gets a bit testy when there's people he doesn't know about, but he hasn't made a peep since you walked in."

"Maybe he knows you like me," she teases, jostling his shoulder with hers.

Honestly, she's not sure if he's talking out his ass about this, it wouldn't surprise her. But whatever, she doesn't mind. This is still mind-blowingly cool.

"He absolutely does," Chuck verifies, patting the harness fondly. "Sees everything, doesn't he? Remember, two way street. Pilot to pilow, pilot to Jaeger." He smirks a little, then settles back down.

"Sounds daft, yeah? Hard to explain to someone who's never Drifted."

"I've seen some pretty weird shit, Chuck. Jaegers knowing what their pilots are feeling?" She shrugs and shakes her head.

"It's not daft at all."

"Glad you agree."

Makes it easier, at any rate.

He's picking up his dinner and going at it again, content to eat a bit in silence.

"Thanks for humoring me, by the way."