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reapershea · 7 years

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D O G M A.

“Get the fuck outa here you stupid fucking wrench monkey!” Maddox yelled as he picked up his spanner and lobbed it at the now fleeing, young mechanic boy who had been sent over to look the tank over. Letting out a small chuckle to himself as he watched the wrench strike the back of the boy, Maddox turned back to inspect his beloved tank for any damage the boy may have caused.

A few moments passed as Maddox began to inspect the tank, when he heard another set of footsteps approaching him from behind. “If thats you again James you better have your fucking running shoes on, I wasn’t joking when I said I would start breaking ribs” Maddox called over his shoulder with anger in his voice, not bothering to actually look and see who he was talking to.

Desensitized. The loss of a recent crew member had forfeit solemn resolve. Had it been gruesome luck that the fatality lacked mournful definition? They had not been an integral part of his barbaric brethren-- their withered existence had only lasted the duration of a harrowing month. He had not become profoundly attached. Obliterated remains littered the metal beast’s interior, bloodied remnants plastered against the felled tank gunner’s designated seat. Felix had received word of their freshly assigned replacement, and meant for them to sweep Banshee’s mechanical innards. He preferred harsh reality to genuine introductions.

Reaper’s purposed gait bypassed his respiring tank gunner’s venom; they all held particular discomfort regarding unsanctioned company near their tank. It was their warring home-- their’s to preserve. "That threat a promise for your Commander, too?” he queried, scaling the machine to sit upon its bullet-scraped roof.

#dogma.

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reapershea · 7 years

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E L P I S.

They were all calm. Her chocolate orbs observed the number of minute details to consider within the circumstance. Light rain tapped along the lining of the thin material tent, the gray clouds brushed the horizon, and the horses did not trample over in fright or anxiety. They have all matched the pace of residing in dangerous territories, and their heart no longer long to chase after the open fields to escape. They look at the horsebreaker with gentle, wide eyes ready for their next command. And what a sad thought that was for the former equestrian. Acelia recalls the early mornings when her hand would smooth the soft mane, and her smile would radiate to their nature. Personalities were beyond the light that shined, and she fell in love with their joyful demeanor. Sitting ahead with them today, though, she notices their composure no longer retains to the past. They have sharpened their edges, and they no longer radiate the light she once depended on. Nonetheless, though, the native Swedish continues to support their nature, for she could not imagine a day without the animal.

Hearing the footsteps of a stranger pass by, Acelia also caught hint of a muscle twitch within Rider, one of the few horses who still posses a sense of emotions. Turning to glance who came to view, she only greeted them with her gentle smile that stretched with dimples carving into her cheeks. Her smile was much brighter before, but she vowed to not let war deplete her personality and romantic appeal. She was not going to lose herself within it all. “I did not feel right to leave them alone. They need company, as well; just like us.”

The war-torn destrier was vicious; a wolf with snapping canines. A stark coat was stained crimson by its harrowing sprint through a battlefield. Lather was foam tinted pink, bleeding into drenched mane, tail, and forelock. The stallion bolted through a line of toppling soldiers, and reared his protest at the abrupt halt caused by Felix’s parked tank. The soldier to his right whirled, swift to raise their awaiting weapon. Sliding from the tank’s roof, the Tank Commander placed himself between the beast and its impending bullet. “Put that fucking down,” he sneered, the palm of his hand snapping down a rifle barrel, “that look like a kraut to you?” He turned on a worn, dark-leathered heel. The charger’s sapphiric irises were shot, wide-eyed and howling of the visions they’d seen. One glance at its bridle, and Felix knew the equine’s ownership, an SS Officer emblem branded within leather slick with blood. And again, spotted on the saddle, as he crept forward with a cautious gait. He detested his lineage, loathed the fact he could pass off as a German soldier by mere voice alone. There were few perks of his birthright ( like when Costin posed him as an officer, or had him trick German troops across radio lines ), but this being one of them: “Einfach,” he urged, lilt solemn, “einfach.” The destrier pranced on obsidian hooves, cranium tossing from his reach and evading his approach. It took time that others did not hold patience for-- like the soldier who’d lifted the rifle, despite not holding reason for murderous intent. Yet, he coaxed the brute into submission, the familiar language stealing volatile resolve. As he passed the recruit, stallion in hand, he snorted. “And the safety’s on, idiot.”

Reins in hand, Felix led the destrier toward more sanctioned company, where a plethora of horses knew sheltered treatment. “I hope you know German,” he began, halting a few paces from the Horsebreaker, “because it’s the only thing this one will answer to.” He swept to the animal’s left side, where the saddle’s cinch loosened beneath his actions. “At this rate, we’re going to possess the whole of Germany’s cavalry.”

#elpis.

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reapershea · 7 years

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LIEUTENANT FELIX “REAPER” SHEA · 35 · TANK COMMANDER · SHADOWED COMMANDO · TAKEN

" I have scars on my palms and the insides of my fingers. There is blood in my mouth and staining my clothes, I have died too many times to count and come back again stronger. "

ORIGIN:

Berlin, Germany

TRAITS:

+ Altruistic, Resolute, Venturesome

- Bloodthirsty, Caustic, Forbidding

BIOGRAPHY:

THERE IS A WAR OUTSIDE, COME SEE THE BULLETS FLY.

Felix Shea was the product of a forbidden romance between his mother, an Agent within the Bundesnachrichtendienst (Germany’s Federal Intelligence Service), and his father, an American Commander for the US Army, resulting in his German-American heritage. Both his parent’s loyalties were unwavering for their respective countries, making the relationship harrowingly difficult. Their infatuation for each other, however, prevailed. His father’s generally prohibited visits resulted in Felix becoming the eldest of five brothers (himself included) over the course of five years. For the youthful part of his life, he reigned in adolescent tyranny. His father was forced to be absent due to the relationship’s unaccepted circumstance, and his mother was often deployed on her own Intelligence missions.

This left Felix with a severe lack of an authoritative upbringing, causing him to become well-acquainted with a fair amount of the Bundespolizei (German Federal Police). His mother, absent for months at a time, left her children with various neighbors or mediocre care systems. The majority of these individuals and establishments considered their existence a nuisance, thus resulting in Felix forced to become the fatherly figure each boy lacked. Having been devoid of one himself, his tough brotherly nature was the only technique he could muster when raising four brothers, despite being a child himself.

Felix involved himself with street gangs in his early teens, finding them the closest idea to a family he’d been subjected to. His days consisted of underground fights, and evenings within cells. Despite his own delinquency, he was quite diligent in making sure that his fellow kin remained outside criminal activity. He was his family’s sole provider, and did what both parents failed to express the will to do: keep them alive. By sixteen, his mother was reported MIA, and soon after proclaimed deceased after the recovery of body during the infiltration of a Russian compound. Officially considered orphans at their mothers demise, the Shea children were at last claimed by their absent father. They were shuttled to America under secrecy by the hands of American Intelligence.

If you asked Felix, he would have told you he and his brothers were better off on the streets of Berlin. America was difficult, their origin (accents especially) making everyday life a near impossible feat. Their father, they learned, was a decorated war hero, but an incapable, intoxicated man within the home. The Shea abode was littered with violence and detestment; the brothers were often runaways brought back by local authority. Their father’s income was of poor funding, as the man blatantly spent it for his own gain. At eighteen, Felix passed his soul over to the Military, and each brother followed suit, though it would unknowingly lead to a shortening of lives.

DO YOU HEAR THE BATTLE CRY?

His first two brothers, the youngest as well as being twins, were lost in a flight training accident as result of poor mechanics. It was a hard blow given to the remaining three, who’d only had each other to hold onto. The news reached Felix last, being the eldest and most established within the Military, letters often took months to track him down. The third brother, who’d followed in Felix’s footsteps when it came to heavy artillery, lost their life in a heroic, self-sacrificing maneuver which involved evacuating a small town of civilians. Against orders, he defied an impending ambush, and gave his life for those under distress from a war which had been deemed necessary casualties. The fourth brother is currently established as MIA, though the case has been forgone by Intelligence Operatives after a year. While Felix wishes to harbor hope for his closest sibling, he clings to each brother’s dogtags with sorrowful remembrance.

He and the majority of his tank crew have been united since the North African Campaign (at one point, they had even experienced the deplorable life of a prisoner of war). Of course, they’ve gone through a fair amount of losses, but a few have remained resolute. On one of his first missions with his newly assigned tank crew, the outcome caused a harsh outlook to deepen a dark reality. It was a rescue mission— one that required heavy artillery to aid in suppressive fire— that his team had experienced more than once. The received orders hadn’t been as straight forward as the deploying officer had provided. Heavily outnumbered, outgunned, and out missiled, the team was trapped in the midst of an ambush, and it swiftly turned into a futile effort as a mortar struck their tank. After the accident, Felix began a rather lengthy recovery that resulted in an honorable discharge. Though he was fortunate enough to survive the accident, he did not escape completely unscathed. Shrapnel and burn scarring along the length of his torso (right side) and back resulted in intensive nerve damage. Because of this, Felix has lost feeling in the majority of the injured area.

Like the bulk of his brethren, he was resilient, and refused to remain immobile while fellow comrades faced war’s unceasing villainy. After tapping into a radio and receiving information of a particular brutal fray, he and his crew vanished from the medical tent’s confinement and started toward the calamity. It was a bloodbath, but nothing they hadn’t thrust themselves upon before. During this siege of a German fort, Felix came across the famed Shadowed Commandos. It had been their transmission his team had responded to, and because of them, the unit was able to add a victory to their efforts. He and his tank crew were swiftly inducted within the elite unit, and since then, are often sent among the thick of warring battlegrounds as their Tank Commander, Felix, has a knack for daring endeavors that wind up conquering the fray.

FACECLAIM: Jensen Ackles

#bio

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