![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
open post
you know the drill.
you know the drill.
They rebuild fast.
[ that's the first thing out of her mouth when they step through the caution-tape entry queue and into the carnival. it's taking up a majority of the main drag, dozens of hastily erected food booths along the sidewalk and temporary paint splashed along the middle of the road to lead to the rides. there's a lit up ferris wheel and a merry-go-round that's blasting tinny, lyrical music that can be heard blocks away. children are running everywhere with sparklers and wax paper wrapped treats clutched in their hands, and men and women are running right along with them, delighted and reduced to the childhoods they were robbed of by the twelve year war.
and it'd been a long war. many felt the strain of it, but none quite so completely as the jaeger pilots, the ones who actually fought in it. everyone else survived, which was admirable in and of itself, but it was different.
they're war heroes, and to venture out in public and hope to experience the slightest bit of anonymity, they must go in civilian attire and wear dark sunglasses. chuck's even gone so far to shove most of her hair into a hood, and pulled a bulky scarf out of her old man's stuff, which is helpful because it's still late winter, and it's kind of still fucking freezing. but the celebration feels warm, feels fun, and for as subdued and stressed as everyone's been for so long, it's hard not to get a little giddy now that the threat of death and destruction has been lifted. it shouldn't be a surprise that hong kong had been rebuilt so quickly; people had learned to rebuild quickly, but now they wouldn't have to anymore.
chuck leads — as she almost always does — and they wind up at a shooting booth, firing darts at tiny tin targets that screech and flash a red light when struck. the gun doesn't shoot right, and chuck's entire body isn't nearly as functional as it once was, but she manages to hit a wide-eyed monkey enough times to be handed a small stuffed pig, which she squeezes experimentally, and then hands over to raleigh. ]
Here. For you. [ but, no, it's not a present. she's not that nice. ] ...to hold. I didn't bring a bag. Or we can give it to Mori when we find her again, she brought a bag, yeah?
[ that's the first thing out of her mouth when they step through the caution-tape entry queue and into the carnival. it's taking up a majority of the main drag, dozens of hastily erected food booths along the sidewalk and temporary paint splashed along the middle of the road to lead to the rides. there's a lit up ferris wheel and a merry-go-round that's blasting tinny, lyrical music that can be heard blocks away. children are running everywhere with sparklers and wax paper wrapped treats clutched in their hands, and men and women are running right along with them, delighted and reduced to the childhoods they were robbed of by the twelve year war.
and it'd been a long war. many felt the strain of it, but none quite so completely as the jaeger pilots, the ones who actually fought in it. everyone else survived, which was admirable in and of itself, but it was different.
they're war heroes, and to venture out in public and hope to experience the slightest bit of anonymity, they must go in civilian attire and wear dark sunglasses. chuck's even gone so far to shove most of her hair into a hood, and pulled a bulky scarf out of her old man's stuff, which is helpful because it's still late winter, and it's kind of still fucking freezing. but the celebration feels warm, feels fun, and for as subdued and stressed as everyone's been for so long, it's hard not to get a little giddy now that the threat of death and destruction has been lifted. it shouldn't be a surprise that hong kong had been rebuilt so quickly; people had learned to rebuild quickly, but now they wouldn't have to anymore.
chuck leads — as she almost always does — and they wind up at a shooting booth, firing darts at tiny tin targets that screech and flash a red light when struck. the gun doesn't shoot right, and chuck's entire body isn't nearly as functional as it once was, but she manages to hit a wide-eyed monkey enough times to be handed a small stuffed pig, which she squeezes experimentally, and then hands over to raleigh. ]
Here. For you. [ but, no, it's not a present. she's not that nice. ] ...to hold. I didn't bring a bag. Or we can give it to Mori when we find her again, she brought a bag, yeah?
[ pain transmits differently up mechanical nerves. so does everything else but chuck spends a lot more time pinching the fake skin and digits than she does gently caressing her forearm. she's test driving, and you're not supposed to be gentle with a test drive; she's also bitter about the fake limb, and you don't treat things that insult you by their very existence kindly. what few techs they still have in the shatterdome keep fiddling with it, keep peeling back the plastic skin like newton geiszler peels back his shirt cuffs, and taking micro screwdrivers to the joints and — it's one of the most disturbing things she's ever witnessed, seeing her almost passable skin being removed. but the arm never felt right, so it wasn't that much of a shock every time it happened.
it hurt. her shoulder ached constantly, and sometimes she imaged pains in her elbows and fingers as well. the doctors say maybe she should rest and go back to the sling, but chuck's stubborn and refuses once they begrudgingly admit that her arm's not going to fall off if she keeps assalting punching bags. the hansens were never a weepy sort; they may have grown misty eyed and shed a few tears when they were saying goodbye (and hello), but other than that chuck's not cried since they first anchored the supportive plate in her bone, and refuses to cry or bitch and complain about residual aches. she refuses to even talk about them, and starts heavily favoring her left arm subconsciously. she suddenly understands raleigh becket's love for long sleeved sweaters, because every time she looks down and the tattoo of striker's logo isn't on her forearm, she feels a little sick.
she actually understands a lot more about raleigh becket. now. after. likes him a lot more, but it's different; it's not hero worship, and not just respect. there's a lot of respect, sure, because hey, thanks for (helping in) saving the world, becket. chuck's never been very good with emotions. no matter how much she was encouraged to use your words, charlotte as a child, that only went so far if your vocabulary was limited, so she doesn't know what to say to him a lot of the time, and doesn't know what to tell herself either. so when they talk, they talk about stupider things. like how much faster striker is (was) than gipsy right now, squished together on their sides in the bunk in her (and her old man's, but they've separate rooms and is never around anymore) quarters. they have their clothes on,and the lights on too, but they're talking quietly, hushedly; breathing in each other's faces. and she's laying on her right arm, otherwise she'd use that one to gently stroke the side of his face. but it's the fake arm she raises, and fake fingers that she pets his cheek with.
just as her faux nerves transmit pain differently, they transmit tickling differently too. but that doesn't mean she doesn't know he's got more facial hair than usual. for one, she can see it, and wrinkles her nose in distaste. ]
I know she's slower. I've seen ya fight, I watched your entire brawl with Leatherback from the top of Striker. Mako may have made some improvement, but she can't fix old fashion mechanics. And you should shave, mate.
it hurt. her shoulder ached constantly, and sometimes she imaged pains in her elbows and fingers as well. the doctors say maybe she should rest and go back to the sling, but chuck's stubborn and refuses once they begrudgingly admit that her arm's not going to fall off if she keeps assalting punching bags. the hansens were never a weepy sort; they may have grown misty eyed and shed a few tears when they were saying goodbye (and hello), but other than that chuck's not cried since they first anchored the supportive plate in her bone, and refuses to cry or bitch and complain about residual aches. she refuses to even talk about them, and starts heavily favoring her left arm subconsciously. she suddenly understands raleigh becket's love for long sleeved sweaters, because every time she looks down and the tattoo of striker's logo isn't on her forearm, she feels a little sick.
she actually understands a lot more about raleigh becket. now. after. likes him a lot more, but it's different; it's not hero worship, and not just respect. there's a lot of respect, sure, because hey, thanks for (helping in) saving the world, becket. chuck's never been very good with emotions. no matter how much she was encouraged to use your words, charlotte as a child, that only went so far if your vocabulary was limited, so she doesn't know what to say to him a lot of the time, and doesn't know what to tell herself either. so when they talk, they talk about stupider things. like how much faster striker is (was) than gipsy right now, squished together on their sides in the bunk in her (and her old man's, but they've separate rooms and is never around anymore) quarters. they have their clothes on,and the lights on too, but they're talking quietly, hushedly; breathing in each other's faces. and she's laying on her right arm, otherwise she'd use that one to gently stroke the side of his face. but it's the fake arm she raises, and fake fingers that she pets his cheek with.
just as her faux nerves transmit pain differently, they transmit tickling differently too. but that doesn't mean she doesn't know he's got more facial hair than usual. for one, she can see it, and wrinkles her nose in distaste. ]
I know she's slower. I've seen ya fight, I watched your entire brawl with Leatherback from the top of Striker. Mako may have made some improvement, but she can't fix old fashion mechanics. And you should shave, mate.
[Really though, they're not to the point of giving each other tiny stuffed pigs anyway. So it's better to add that qualifier, though actually why on earth would he have to hold her shit for her if it wasn't a gift and maybe he's just going to stop thinking about this now.]
I think so, yeah.
[She's over by the ferris wheel right now, his Mako senses are tingling to tell him that. The way that pilots are just aware of each other and where they're at and what they're feeling, that's no different with him and Mako. He stands there with the pig for a moment before he nods in that direction.]
Come on, I'm not holding your shit all night long.
I think so, yeah.
[She's over by the ferris wheel right now, his Mako senses are tingling to tell him that. The way that pilots are just aware of each other and where they're at and what they're feeling, that's no different with him and Mako. He stands there with the pig for a moment before he nods in that direction.]
Come on, I'm not holding your shit all night long.
Faster doesn't mean better.
[Striker Eureka was one impression Jaeger, don't get him wrong. He can admit that. He can even admit a little part of him wants to know what it was like to pilot her, to feel her speed and her force. But he's never going to really love another one more than he loves Gipsy. Gipsy is his girl. Gipsy is the one who was there with his brother and now Mako and those are the two most important people in his world.
Don't ask him where Chuck is on the hierarchy because he just doesn't know. Has no idea if it's tied for first with the others or sitting somewhere below that. Or even above it god forbid.]
You don't like my beard? I think it's manly.
[Striker Eureka was one impression Jaeger, don't get him wrong. He can admit that. He can even admit a little part of him wants to know what it was like to pilot her, to feel her speed and her force. But he's never going to really love another one more than he loves Gipsy. Gipsy is his girl. Gipsy is the one who was there with his brother and now Mako and those are the two most important people in his world.
Don't ask him where Chuck is on the hierarchy because he just doesn't know. Has no idea if it's tied for first with the others or sitting somewhere below that. Or even above it god forbid.]
You don't like my beard? I think it's manly.
[ faster always means better, and she has a higher kill notched in her battered, commemorated in a museum drive suit than he does. raleigh can have the closed the breach thing under his belt, there were no television crews around to catch that, which means she and mako (and pentecost) are the only ones who got to see the event upclose and personal, and after striker destructed chuck hadn't seen much of anything except redredred and pain and the inside of her skull. but from what she heard, mako passed out too, so she doesn't feel so bad. mako didn't even get a cool — "cool" — robotic limb replacement, and that means chuck still racked up more badassery points.
this facial hair is earning him none, however. ]
Nah, it's scratchy. You look like a filthy biker.
this facial hair is earning him none, however. ]
Nah, it's scratchy. You look like a filthy biker.
[ she doesn't go from being an only child to being a stepsister very well, and makes a point to be more of an awkward cousin than the new baby.
half the year, chuck stays in australia with her uncle (more aptly her grandparents, but she spends as much time around scott as she can because she knows it pisses off her dad), but when her old man's not on one tour or another, and when he's actually in alaska playing house, she's dragged along for the bumpy, unpleasant ride. not that the beckets are horrible people, but they're already their own family, with their own sad story and their own complex relationships to traverse. dominique is sick, and chuck's started a few unsavory long distance phone calls with so is your wife dead yet? over the past couple of years.
the only part of the becket family home that chuck likes is the living room. it's sort of an ugly green color, with old fashion furniture that looks like it was collected over the span of several years and inherited from tasteless nuns, but it was always warm. warm, and the first time they'd flown over together, when chuck was eleven and a pipe had burst and flooded the basement bedroom that was supposed to be hers, they'd made her a bed on the lumpy forest green sofa and everyone'd actually given her space and treated it like a bedroom — a bedroom with a big television in it, yeah — which was nice. the next seven years are plenty of time to get the plumbing fixed, and they also paint her room green, and by the time she's eighteen, it's covered in posters and she actually keeps clothes in the drawers as opposed to living out of her suitcase for several months at a time.
but the living room remains her favorite room. it's where she's hanging out, sprawled across the carpet and thumbing through one of the many comic books scattered around the house (with her thermodynamics textbook underneath it) when the doorbell rings. she half expects it to be raleigh or jazmine, who had lost their keys again or something, and she hasn't even completely pulled the earbuds out of her ears when they try to address her.
turns out, she should have left them in her ears. and cranked up the music.
again, the living room is where she is when raleigh gets home. her headphones are still playing soft, warbling songs about loss that seem oddly fitting, but her phone is on the cushion next to her and chuck's not even paying attention anymore. she's picking at her nail beds, and looking over her shoulder when she hears him trudging through the entryway. ]
Hey, Ray. Where's your mom?
half the year, chuck stays in australia with her uncle (more aptly her grandparents, but she spends as much time around scott as she can because she knows it pisses off her dad), but when her old man's not on one tour or another, and when he's actually in alaska playing house, she's dragged along for the bumpy, unpleasant ride. not that the beckets are horrible people, but they're already their own family, with their own sad story and their own complex relationships to traverse. dominique is sick, and chuck's started a few unsavory long distance phone calls with so is your wife dead yet? over the past couple of years.
the only part of the becket family home that chuck likes is the living room. it's sort of an ugly green color, with old fashion furniture that looks like it was collected over the span of several years and inherited from tasteless nuns, but it was always warm. warm, and the first time they'd flown over together, when chuck was eleven and a pipe had burst and flooded the basement bedroom that was supposed to be hers, they'd made her a bed on the lumpy forest green sofa and everyone'd actually given her space and treated it like a bedroom — a bedroom with a big television in it, yeah — which was nice. the next seven years are plenty of time to get the plumbing fixed, and they also paint her room green, and by the time she's eighteen, it's covered in posters and she actually keeps clothes in the drawers as opposed to living out of her suitcase for several months at a time.
but the living room remains her favorite room. it's where she's hanging out, sprawled across the carpet and thumbing through one of the many comic books scattered around the house (with her thermodynamics textbook underneath it) when the doorbell rings. she half expects it to be raleigh or jazmine, who had lost their keys again or something, and she hasn't even completely pulled the earbuds out of her ears when they try to address her.
turns out, she should have left them in her ears. and cranked up the music.
again, the living room is where she is when raleigh gets home. her headphones are still playing soft, warbling songs about loss that seem oddly fitting, but her phone is on the cushion next to her and chuck's not even paying attention anymore. she's picking at her nail beds, and looking over her shoulder when she hears him trudging through the entryway. ]
Hey, Ray. Where's your mom?
[ she's still not sure if she's sick of his and mori's super special bond, or jealous of it (because there was a time they were best friends and shared...maybe not everything, but mostly-maybe half of things), but she's something despite having a similar thing with her old man. she's something but doesn't talk about it, doesn't even have to acknowledge it, and (she likes to think) her dad doesn't know. he doesn't nitpick, at the very least, but when has he ever. ]
Fair. [ she'll even lead to the ferris wheel, but by the time they're cued up in the line and peering through tinted shades, she can't spot mako. ]
Is she already on?
Fair. [ she'll even lead to the ferris wheel, but by the time they're cued up in the line and peering through tinted shades, she can't spot mako. ]
Is she already on?
[Saving the world earned Raleigh enough points in the badass department to last him for literally his entire life and his children's lives. It's like a trump card he's got up his sleeve all the time and one that he'd never think to use.]
So-- manly.
[This is Raleigh moving so rub his scratch cheek against hers, just to be a shit head.]
I'm not shaving right now.
So-- manly.
[This is Raleigh moving so rub his scratch cheek against hers, just to be a shit head.]
I'm not shaving right now.
[ saving the world isn't gonna save him from getting a palm to the face and being shoved away from her because ow, she doesn't grow facial hair, don't subject her to your whisker burn christ. ]
Ow, Becket — I'll shave you in your sleep, and I'll nick you just for shits.
Ow, Becket — I'll shave you in your sleep, and I'll nick you just for shits.
[She is and a little part of Raleigh thinks that she did it on purpose. Mako, that is. Mako got on the Ferris wheel because she knew they were coming over and his co-pilot has been dropping hints and then not subtle remarks.]
Think so, yeah.
[He doesn't look for Mako, he just looks at Chuck.] We could wait or--
Think so, yeah.
[He doesn't look for Mako, he just looks at Chuck.] We could wait or--
I'm not milling around and waiting for her, no — [ chuck cuts across smoothly, shaking her head and tsking with her tongue. she slots right up in line, possibly cutting a few drunk civilians who don't even seem to care, and fully expects him to follow. ]
Come on, Be —... Just come on, unless you're suddenly scared of heights.
Come on, Be —... Just come on, unless you're suddenly scared of heights.
[Of course she fucking asks that when he's got his mouth full of apple and he has to take a dozen seconds to finish chewing before he can answer. And he's Raleigh Becket so he's not the most observant of people, he doesn't realize that she's being distant, off, close to crying maybe because he's irritated with her.
She plans shit like that. Ask questions when people are chewing. He swears she does it on purpose.]
Uh-- [Okay, final swallow. He's apple free, leaning against the back of the couch behind her.]
The doctor? I think-- I don't know she and Jaz went somewhere. What's up?
She plans shit like that. Ask questions when people are chewing. He swears she does it on purpose.]
Uh-- [Okay, final swallow. He's apple free, leaning against the back of the couch behind her.]
The doctor? I think-- I don't know she and Jaz went somewhere. What's up?
Someone came by to see her.
[ if he sees her face, he might be able to tell she's upset, and if she sees even the faintest glimmer of sympathy, she's going to lose it. so the second chuck has his attention, she drops her gaze down at her hands in her lap and she starts picking at her nailbed. ]
Told them I'd tell 'er they stopped over.
[ if he sees her face, he might be able to tell she's upset, and if she sees even the faintest glimmer of sympathy, she's going to lose it. so the second chuck has his attention, she drops her gaze down at her hands in her lap and she starts picking at her nailbed. ]
Told them I'd tell 'er they stopped over.
Ow — [ there's a few unfortunate seconds where her faux arm is sandwiched between them, and it actually does hurt quite a bit; but a hiss and a sharp wiggle, and she's got one arm around his neck and the other running down his spine, tucking his shirt into his pants in a weird, uncoordinated grope. ]
Gonna let me lock you in my room? I have one dog already, so I'll be really good about bringing you food and water. You're even already house trained.
Gonna let me lock you in my room? I have one dog already, so I'll be really good about bringing you food and water. You're even already house trained.
Good. [ there were several insults at the tip of her tongue, like glad you didn't suddenly grow a vagina after kicking slatten in her's but that's drawn out and complex and useless when she can just grab his sleeve and haul him past a few more drunk civilians (chuck was the bully who cut in the lunch line in primary) and into the booth the smiling machinist indicates for them. ]
Page 1 of 6