OPEN RP

[suicidemission]


Open RP Post
AU | Pre | Canon
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It'll probably end in tears.

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[jaeger_fly]

[suicidemission]

[ It's a train wreck waiting to happen. Two people, barreling at top speed, are bound to crash and burn and all that anyone looking on can do is shake their heads and wag fingers (accusingly, always accusingly because tsk tsk for SHAME) and say they saw it coming, knew it was going to happen.

Chuck knows it too, he knows, and when he saw her in the bar he approached her anyway, leaning on the counter with all the swagger of a cocky young Jaeger pilot and flashing a dimpled, infectious grin.

He shouldn't approach. He knows exactly who she is - a fly, maybe involved with someone maybe not, that part he doesn't know, but he comes up anyway, offers to buy her a drink. ]

i'm lazy but these pictures are very good

[raleighs]

[suicidemission]

[ chuck's so fucking angry that he's shaking; hands trembling when he wrenches the door open and storms back inside the Shatterdome. people scatter when they see his face; Hansen is someone most people avoid but tonight he's looking particularly volatile and no one wants to get in his way when he's like this.

his voice is a bellow as he rampages through the dome. ]

BECKET!

[gotcocky]

[raleighs]

idk?

[suicidemission]

[ they fight like bagged cats half the time and the other half -- is sort of separated into two other halves of a half. Half of half the time they fuck like they're never going to be able to again and the other half is tender touches, soft kisses, apologies and quiet little embraces that Chuck gives when he thinks no one else is watching.

chuck does nothing in halves though and when he decides that he's going to love raleigh he does it fiercely and with his entire soul, throwing himself into it and dragging raleigh out into the raging hurricane along with him. they drown in each other, in their kisses and bodies and hushed voices late at night. they tangle in one another until they lay spent, sweaty and panting and a little bit broken but just a little bit repaired and chuck wonders just when, exactly, raleigh becket ruined him for anyone else.

they had two weeks until pitfall and chuck knew - he knew it was a suicide mission and that was okay, it was fine it's what he'd been living his whole life to do - die - but when it comes time to push the button he falters and stacker sends him back up, sends him up to the surface where there's light and air and hurt and anger and confusion and pain. striker's blast batters chuck's pod around like a bathtoy, like it's nothing and when chuck wakes up--

it's a month after pitfall, a month after everyone sealed chuck's fate as a vegetable, as non-responsive, as lost to them.

chuck was never a big believer in fate, anyway. good thing, because he gives it the middle finger when he wakes up. ]

[jockeying]

how about...some college/high school au? YOU PICK IDK

[suicidemission]

[ So they don't really get along, Raleigh and Chuck, but then again Chuck doesn't really get along with anyone -- he's on the rugby team, he's well known, he's popular, he's their star player and maybe he lets it go to his head, just a bit but it's no big deal, it's expected, right?

Except then he gets his hands on her number, someone slips it to him in his palm and says Here, it's Becket's number, got it just for you and then he punches whoever it is because if he wants a girls number he'll get it himself and he especially doesn't need hers but then one night he's sort of laying there in bed and toying with his phone as most people his age do and he texts her, trolls her a little then reveals who he is and from there it's just a ton of fucking arguing and nasty messages and then somehow--

it devolves into dirty texting and Chuck's just not sure how he feels about that. ]

[jockeying]

i say "fight me" a lot
for a girl who 5'5" and
has a hard time opening
doors by herself now

[dorothied]

[suicidemission]

A picnic, Tendo had suggested, would be nice.

A fucking picnic.

Chuck hadn’t ever been on a picnic; when he was a kid his mom was doing a lot of the raising, his dad off gallivanting in the RAF and leaving Angela to handle Chuck (he remembers the fights, they’re some of his most vivid from childhood) but he doesn’t ever remember going on any picnics. They went to local fairs, they went to the park, Angela took him to the zoo and bought him ice cream then kissed his knee when he tripped and spilled it all over his shirt and then bought him another one.

But no picnics.

Chuck doesn’t know how to arrange a goddamn picnic and when he asks Herc, he gets this baffled look that gets him nowhere.

So he goes to Raleigh, which he’s loathe to do, and pesters him, and shockingly enough – Raleigh gives good advice.

Wait til it’s warmer, take a big blanket – bigger than you think you’ll need. Utensils, paper plates if you’re bringing food which I’m assuming you are, and bug spray. Line the outer edges of the blanket with it before you get settled, let it dry. Maybe a citronella candle if it’s spring and bugs are out. Bring a garbage bag. Find a big tree, but be careful of ones that drop sap or that seem to be housing a lot of birds. You’ll be fine.

No, Chuck isn’t going to be fine. He’s irritated about this but he tries, okay – he tries. He wants to be friends, wants to be more and he's trying. This is his idea of romantic.

....Taking advice from everyone else, apparently.

He gets everything Raleigh tells him to and makes Mako meet him at the park and he’s awkwardly holding a big ass basket in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, giving her this plaintive look that begs help me I have no idea what I’m doing.

xtra

[dorothied]

[suicidemission]

Of all the places Chuck has traveled to during his stint as one half of Striker Eureka, he’s never been to Japan.

The press tour takes him there, of course, because it is where Mako is from and himself, Herc, Raleigh and Mako are all herded onto a plane and shipped to New Tokyo where they are given posh rooms in a ritzy hotel and Chuck doesn’t know what the fuck to do with ‘ritz’ and splendor. He’s used to cold Shatterdome barracks, metal walls and hard mattresses and the one currently underneath him is too soft and makes his back hurt.

He flings the pillows on the floor, because he’s more comfortable in a balled up t-shirt than he is with a fucking feather pillow.

Eventually he gets up because sleep is determined to elude him and he pads into the kitchen of their suite and makes a pot of coffee.

It’s three AM.

He’s not expecting company, but a soft rustle has him looking up sharply, and meeting the dark eyes of Mako Mori, clad in long blue sleep pants and a matching thermal top.

She looks cute.

He looks back down into his coffee and dumps some sugar in.

“Never put anything in my coffee before,” he mutters. “Being on call all the time, it’s frivolous shit, y’know? Sugar substitutes, milk substitutes cause of rations just tasted like shit…would rather have it black.”

He takes a sip and grimaces, gets up and dumps the cup out and refills it with plain coffee, then hesitantly holds out an empty mug for her, too.

“Think I like it best that way.”

[scissured]

[suicidemission]

The smell of coffee in the morning is what pulled him out of his bed when he was a kid. His mom always made tea, but Herc drank coffee blacker than fucking tar and Chuck wanted to be just like him, so at six years old he sneaks out into the kitchen at five am and brews coffee, figures the machine out and makes it, drinks it too strong and too black and ignores the jitters it gives him until he gets used to it.

It’s how he still drinks it; black, too hot, too strong, darker than pitch.

Not a lot of people get second chances and Chuck’s still not convinced that he’s been given one. The place is a fucking mess; they’re still undersea, they’re stuck, there’s no way of getting back home.

But his family is here. His mother is here and to Chuck, that means more than he lets on.

Gebo isn’t a frivolous place but he’s found a little coffee shop tucked away and that’s where he is, hands wrapped around a hot mug of his preferred version of liquid caffeine, staring at his mum over the table, awkward in the moment. He doesn’t know how to just spend time with people and Chuck’s obviously uncomfortable, but the smile she’s giving him puts him a little more at ease.

It reminds him of home. Of warm summers and the smell of flowers. Her perfume, the way the scent lingered in the bathroom after she’d taken her shower and dressed.

None of those things are present now, but the smell of coffee takes him back what feels like a thousand years.

Hai, I ate ur baby

[luckystriker]

/hides face a little

[dorothied]

[raleighs]

[He thinks the guy across the street is a lawyer but he's honestly not sure. Knows enough about him to know that the man likes his expensive suits and his expensive toys and girls with long legs who probably don't wear underwear. And that's fine, that's never stopped Raleigh before, never really stops anyone from coming to him when they want something specific.

He's not a whore. He's an escort. He doesn't linger on street corners or wear daisy dukes to get his clients. He doesn't go looking for people, people come to him. Women, men, couples, it really just depends on what they want and if they're willing to pay for it.

Raleigh only has one rule. No kissing.

So it's not breaking the rules that he watches the guy across the street from sometimes. It's bending them. Maybe when he goes out of his way one morning, after a night with a client where he deliberately left the curtains open, just to see what his neighbor would do about it, to stand in line for coffee behind said neighbor. That's getting closer.

Or to nudge him "accidentally" and clear his throat.]

I think I owe you an apology.

[suicidemission]

[ Lawyer is a good guess.

Investment banker, actually -- shrewd and cunning, good with knowing when and where to put people's money at the right time. Chuck knows he's shit and even if he's young he's fucking good and people come from all over the city and state to hire him and utilize his services.

So what if he likes Armani and Gucci, fast cars and sexy women? In his shoes, who wouldn't? He's young and rich and on top of the world and he doesn't take shit from anyone.

And he doesn't have the need or patience to pay anyone for sex, thanks. He can get it any time, any where with a snap of his fingers - from gold digging men and women alike.

And he damn sure doesn't have to be a peeping tom to get a good look at someone.

But dammit all, he'd fucking gone and done that anyway, hadn't he?

Last night wasn't the first time he'd seen that man across the street with someone but this is the first time the curtains were wide open and Chuck got an eyeful and ended up jacking himself off grumpily in the shower, scowl on his face.

Might be why he's so grumpy this morning, because he'd ended up awake all night thinking about what he'd seen.

At first, he doesn't know who is touching him and he jerks, whirling around and ready to start throwing curses when he's met with the bluest fucking eyes he's ever seen.

...Is this -- ]

What for?

[ Best be sure. ]

[gipsyheartbreak]

It was getting easier, therapy. It had been frustrating in the beginning, there was no doubt about that. They said it was based on drift technology, made it easier for someone to use their new limb, but they really couldn't call it that—drift technology—because it didn't feel like drifting aside from the brief mental lapse it gave you during the initial hook up. This drift was empty, void of anything good and solid like what was brought to the table with your partner and your jaeger. And it was permanent—until they deactivated it completely—so you could feel everything; even when they tweaked your new arm or leg.

Yancy had been fitted with the first models and, if anything, he could say they were making process with the prosthetics. By now they were up to the sixth generation (it had been quick in the beginning if only because there was so much lacking and thanks to rapid feedback) and he was impressed by how much sensation they could receive now. Granted, it wasn't anything near 50% of what you could naturally feel but these new limbs could tell warm from cold and were a hell of a lot more pressure sensitive.

When they were fitted right.

Today, Yacy was popping in on the hospital for a checkup, not odd with new models of prosthetics, but annoying as hell nonetheless. And he wasn't late for his appointment, so he took the devour though recovery to say hi to some of the nurses how helped him when he first started going here. To his surprise, they weren't around. After a few minutes of waiting, Yancy started to leave, thinking they were all busy with one thing or another. He thought maybe he'd catch them on the way out, only to pause when he heard some shuffling.

[suicidemission]

Chuck woke up in a hospital bed with people all around him, anxious and worried and terrified. His dad's face figured prominently in his vision and he'll never forget the expression on Herc's face: a strange mix of fear and relief and terror and grief. He hadn't known what to make of it because fuck off he's fine, he's alive and how dare anyone think he wouldn't make it back?

(except Chuck hadn't planned on coming back, he'd desperately wanted to but hadn't expected it, especially not when the decision was made to blast the payload - but then stacker shocked the shit out of him by cramming him into that pod and sending him up)

And then someone tells Chuck that they've had to amputate his left leg and he's stunned into a shocked silence, then throws everyone out of the room.

He's not really inclined to talk to anyone about it at all, either - therapists are sent in because he's obviously suffering from PTSD and trauma and shock and God knows what else. Depression, definitely. He just sends them back out with out saying a word and refuses to speak with anyone but his father and even then it's stilted and disjointed as always but after that goodbye Chuck feels like he's been given a second chance with that one and maybe - just maybe - he shouldn't fuck that up.

But he can't stay in that room forever and he can't hide forever, they will need that bed for someone else eventually and Chuck's kicked out and sent to the rehab section where he is going to have to undergo grueling physical therapy and in general - hate his life.

But he's given a cane and a walker and a set of crutches and he hates them all, thinks about setting fire to them out on the green but eventually caves and tries to use the crutches when no one is around, because he's got a state of the art prosthetic and he's Chuck fucking Hansen, he doesn't need a goddamn old man walker or cane.

And then because of his arrogance, he falls and he's too far from the call button and he wouldn't use it anyway, no way, and he's on the floor a long time, shuffling and trying to get up and wiping away angry, frustrated tears.

[rahlee]

[ She jerks awake nearly every morning. Her bedroom still dark in the early dawn, sometimes tears in her eyes, other times just the numbed ache in her chest and Yancy's voice in her ears.

It's been like this for five years.

She slowly pushes herself into sitting, legs hanging over the edge of the bed, feeling like she can't get up. Like she can't keep going. Until she remembers she has a daughter to take care of. A daughter she hadn't planned on but kept, anyway. Grew to love even as she was scared she would screw that up, too.

***

Before Knifehead, Raleigh Becket was kicking all the asses and taking all the names.

She was cocky and thrilled to be a Jaeger pilot. She loved that she was able to kill the fuckers trying to destroy their cities. She was proud she was able to do something. She was also proud she and her older sister, Yancy, were among the very few sister-sister teams. Her life was good despite fighting in a war.

So, when she met the younger Chuck Hansen, not yet a Ranger but nearly there, they were an explosive combination. A weekend that was a blur of flirting, fighting, and fucking in retrospect. By the time she and Yancy were needing to report back to Anchorage, she was planning on keeping in contact with the volatile Australian (even as Yancy said she didn't know why Raleigh was drawn to the guy; "he's a bit of a dick, Rals -- you can do better than that" and Raleigh had just grinned out the car window, watching Chuck's figure grow smaller and smaller in the distance).

Until Knifehead came out of the Breach and took her sister from her. Ripped her right out of the Drift.

After that, Raleigh didn't want anything to do with anyone or anything.

She left as soon as she was cleared by the medical team. She disappeared and refused all form of pension and requests to stay on. Didn't even acknowledge Stacker when he tried to talk to her. It was only a few weeks later that she started getting sick. Then came the news she was pregnant. She had started laughing, almost hysterically. Before dissolving into sobs. Later, she was stupidly embarrassed for breaking down in the goddamn doctor's office. But grief was never kind or convenient.

Raleigh had considered an abortion. Briefly. Until she remembered she had already lost her blood. She didn't need to be responsible for another death. Even as she was scared shitless. She was so not mother material. Contacting Chuck - because who else could the father be? - was immediately tossed out. There was no way. No fucking way she was going to tell him. It was more than fear of rejection. It was embarrassment and shame, too. She had gotten herself knocked up and then destroyed a Jaeger.

People had told her it wasn't her fault, what had happened.

They were wrong. All these years, Yancy had protected her, taken care of her. And she deliberately disobeyed orders and it got her sister killed.

The last thing she needed was to see Chuck sneer at her in disgust for coming near him after all of that. She was an ex-Ranger. Disgraced. A fuck up. She wasn't going to be accused of trying to "trap" someone with a pregnancy.

And, eventually, selfishly, she wanted someone all her own. A connection to someone again. This child would be hers and hers alone. She grew to like that.

***

So, she had the baby on her own. Supported herself with assistance and two jobs. Made sure the kiddo had everything important and tried to raise her as best she could in spite of the stagnant economy and on-going war against the kaiju. She named her "Sarah".

Sarah Becket.

Sarah Hansen, her mind would correct some days.

Had her mother's looks and eyes and her father's hair and smile. She was sweet, small for her age. Happy with her life even with how little her mother could give her sometimes.

She grew up watching coverage of the Jaegers, cheering them on. The cruelest irony being how she loved Striker Eureka "the best". Every time Raleigh saw Chuck on the television, she had to look away, distract herself. Pretend she was okay with Sarah saying she wanted to go to Australia some day. "I like how they talk!" She never told her her mother had once been a pilot. Never told her her father was one of the co-pilots of Striker Eureka.

Life was okay until Stacker came back into it.

She hadn't wanted anything to do with him or getting back into a Jaeger. Not after last time. She had a kid to feed and two jobs to hold down. But then he said the world was ending, that she needed to do it for her daughter if not for herself. Raleigh had wanted to punch him for saying it like that. But he was right. Sarah deserved a future. If Raleigh could give her nothing else, she had to give her daughter that.

The flight to the Shatterdome was filled with Raleigh finally coming clean about being a Jaeger pilot but she was still holding off on bringing the rest of it to light. She was dreading seeing Chuck again. If she was lucky, he wouldn't see any resemblance. Be clueless to her age, not able to make the connection.

If she was lucky.

Too bad it felt like she had run out of that a while back. ]

[suicidemission]

[ They aren't the only two souls that were desperate for some kind of connection in an age of war. Chuck figures half the pilots that weren't already fucking each other were reaching out, because as time moved on and shit got worse, people got desperate for attention - sexual and otherwise.

Except Chuck. Raleigh Becket left a stamp on him then disappeared and he vowed never again, because what was the point in letting everything show - all your flaws and imperfections only for the person to vanish into the ether, never to return again?

There wasn't. So Chuck threw himself into the war effort, made himself all that he could be and more. He wanted to best everyone - Raleigh's records, his fathers, whoever else he could beat - he did it, and did it with a statement.

He's the best - he makes himself the best because it's all he can do, and then Stacker brings Raleigh back and Chuck's pretty sure his whole world is collapsing in on itself again.

Has been. Wash out. Waste of time. Have you even LOOKED at her? She can't get in a jaeger again-- this is MY bomb run, and I don't want her FUCKING IT UP-- I quite like my life--

And Raleigh's not alone. Rumors fly and Chuck knows there's a second Becket coming before she even gets there. He doesn't know details like age or sex or anything and he doesn't ask. Doesn't want to know. Never even once comes to the conclusion that it's his--

Until he gets a good look at her.

Ginger hair. Dimples. Spitting image of Chuck and Raleigh.

No fucking way.

So not only did she disappear she hid his daughter from him and he's fuming with barely controlled rage and avoiding them both until he can get his temper in check.

Course, he's like Raleigh - and his luck only lasts so long. ]

i'm not even sorry

[gipsyheartbreak]

godammit

[suicidemission]

[ Chuck was defiitely not looking up Becket porn on the internet and he also was not following through and reading it when he found it.

And oh, wow. Okay - whoever wrote this apparently knows them better than he does and his face burns in embarrassment as he prints it out and hopes that somewhere, there's porn of him to.

He takse it straight to Yancy - once he's hada good wank and can function - shaking it and howling with laughter. ]

Oi, Becket-boy! Found something you'd appreciate.

[libraritology]

[It wasn't her idea to go to the party and frankly, if things had been up to Evelyn she would have happily stayed in, finished going over the research that Professor Winter wanted done by next Friday, and called it an early evening. The other girls wanted out, however, and her work wasn't needed immediately and there were a slew of other excuses that she waved away before relinquishing to the will of peer pressure. (It would do her good, probably, to socialise outside of grading collegiate papers for the department head and getting to know the other assistants and transfers better, even if liquor-fueled conversation seemed a little less...ideal...than what she was used to.)

The get-together is loud, but the comfortable sort of boisterous atmosphere that calms her the longer she basks in it, a social butterfly on a good day with every intention of making the most of her time, barely-touched drink in hand. A pointed nudge in her ribs from a friend tells Evelyn that someone she knows is in proximity and, upon being waved over to a small cluster of people in the corner, huddled about a round table - there's a King Arthur joke she could make - she suddenly experiences a twinge of mild panic.

Astonishingly it isn't the subject matter that the co-eds are discussing, but the presence of a transfer she should have anticipated, all things considered. There are still some stereotypes that fit the bill. Swallowing a lump in her throat with more liquid courage she is ushered into the small space with the other handful of people and it is only then that she realises there's a bottle in the middle of the table.]

Oh, bloody Hell,

[she mutters around her glass, prematurely mortified by the implications. Surreptitious glances being the extent of her interactions with Charles ("Chuck") Hansen outside of passing acquaintanceship in the workplace and a mutual appreciation for whatever each other's skillsets are - no one works here without earning it - it is increasingly distressing to see him in an environment that suits him so well.

She flashes a smile (polite, brief, slightly nervous) across the table at him and internally curses the friend who brought her here.]

[suicidemission]

[ Chuck hadn't taken nearly as much persuading to go to the party.

There'll be dames, he'd been told. Loads of 'em, from the university! You can't miss this, Hansen--

Of course he can't miss it. While he's not exactly Mister Social when it comes to his family, he's far, far better with people his own age and his own intellect. Chuck is incredibly smart and he just doesn't have time for people who can't keep it. It makes him come off as arrogant (he is) and egocentric (slightly), but he's not an asshole, persay. Not nearly as much as his reputation can precede him.

At any rate, he's here, sitting at the table, elbows resting on the wood as his cheeks flush pink from alcohol, grin wide on his face, dimples deep. ]

Ay, welcome to the party. [ He flashes a smile again, tips his glass, and gives it a spin. ]

Rules are simple, yeah? Whoever it lands on...seven minutes in there-- [ he points to the broom closet, so romantic, ] --and what happens in there stays in there.