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ryvswb · 4 years

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How are Ruby and Yang doing in the Red base?

*Red vs Blue guitar jingle plays, as the camera pans down to Church walking towards Red base*

Church, walking up to Grif, Simmons and Lopez, who are standing in front of Red base: Heya reds. I'm- what the fuck are you doing?

Grif, holding a bottle of whiskey: Getting drunk.

Church: With your helmet on?

Grif, pouring whiskey in his visor: Its been a long morning shut up.

Church: WHATEVER. Two girls fell from the sky and landed near our base and are looking for their friends. Caboose told me he saw them land over here so I came here to fetch them.

Simmons, excitedly: Oh you mean Ruby and Yang! Oh you'll love them they're really nice. Very well behaved too!

Lopez, in spanish: They blew up the warthog. Twice.

Simmons: Yang's in the base with Donut. They seem to be getting along!

Grif, exasperated: A little too well...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Inside Red base*

Yang, singing along as Bmblb play loudly on her scroll: BABY CAN'T YOU SEE?

Donut, singing VERY off key: WON'T YOU BEEEE WITH MEEEE?

Yang: WE COULD LIVE IN A GARDEN OF ECSTASY!

Donut, singing so loud he may as well be screaming: YOU COULD BE MY QUEEN!!! I COULD BEEEE YOUUUR DREAAAAAAAAAM!!!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Jumpcut back to Grif*

Grif: And thats why I'm drinking my sad juice.

Simmons: Theres also Ruby. She's absolutely adorable. I showed her through the base and she was super excited the whole way through! Even when I showed her how to organise all our ammo in alphabetical order!

Lopez, in spanish: She drooled all over our tech and weaponry.

Grif: *Sniff sniff* Why does my gun smell like chocolate and strawberries?

Church, growing impatient: Alright okay cool story, where is she so I can pick her and the other one up and leave?

Simmons: Oh Sarge wanted to recruit her into the red army, you know, cause she's red and as a gun, so he took her on a trial misson.

Church: *SIGH* WHERE?

Simmons: Blue base.

Church: You mean the same Blue base guarded by two literal killing machines?

Grif: Yep.

Church:.......

Church: Fuck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*On the roof of Blue base*

Tucker, awkwardly standing in between Weiss and Blake, who are both loundging on beach chairs with drinks: So hey beautiful. Once we find your friends do you think you and I could...oh I don't know. Go have a bite somewhe-

Weiss, taking a sip from her drink before dryly cutting Tucker off: I'm a lesbian.

Tucker, with genuine disapointment: Oh...

Tucker, turning to Blake:...

Tucker: Are you a lesbian too?

Blake, not lifting her eyes from her book: Bi.

Caboose, poking his head out of Blue base: WHERE ARE YOU GOING???

*Distant polka music*

Blake, her cat ears twitching slightly: What is this music?

*Polka music grows louder*

Tucker, as he notices a beaten up warthog zig zaging in the distance: Oh no its the idiots.

Weiss, squinting at the warthog until she notices the one driving it is none other than Ruby: Oh no one of them is MY idiot.

Sarge, on the shotgun seat: You're doing great private Rose! Your unpredictable driving tactics are confusing the enemy!

Ruby, struggling to make the warthog to drive straight: Well I sure hope they're as dizzy as I am! WHY DID YOU LET ME DRIVE THIS THING!? I'M SIXTEEN!

Sarge: Oh shush kiddo your doing great! You're almost as good as I was at your age!

Freckles, noticing the warthog zing zagging closer and zooming onto Ruby: HOSTILE TARGET DETECTED.

Tucker: Oh fuck! She's not on his no-kill list!

Freckes, locking onto the warthog as it drives full speed towards him: TARGET LOCKED.

Church, in the distance, sprinting from over a hill: FRECKLES! DISARM WEAPONS! DISARM WEAPONS!!!

Freckles, as the warthog zooms past him and crashes into Blue base: WEAPONS DISARMED.

Church: Oh thank fuck...

Ruby, dizzily walking out of the warthog: Heyyy...Weiiiss.. I came to pick...you up....*face plants*.

Weiss, screeching from atop the base: RUBY ROSE HOW DARE YOU SCARE ME LIKE THIS!? IF MY HAIR WASN'T ALREADY WHITE I WOULD'VE SPOUTED FIVE WHOLE GREY HAIRS BECAUSE OF THIS!!!

Sarge, still sat in the warthog: Well that was underwhelming. How am I supposed to test this new kamikaze jeep now?

*warthog beeps rythmatically*

Sarge: Oh grapes.

*warthog explodes, sending Sarge flying into the ocean*

Blake, still reeling from the whole string of events: Is...this how things always go around here?

Tucker, apathetically: You'll get used to it.

#rwby #red vs blue #ryvswb!au #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #leonard l. church #lavernius tucker #michael j. caboose #sarge #dick simmons #dexter grif #lopez #frankly delano donut

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agentwallflower · 4 years

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Supernova: Chapter 2

I’m here, I’m depressed, I’m in self quarantine until the 6th. Let’s do this thing.

Also, as always, thanks for coming back. It’s been a rough couple weeks, but when I go back to work I’ll be normal time. Not that I want to be - 8:30 to 5 is rough. But, hey, I’m worth nothing to my department so I get whatever is leftover and have to deal with the whims of my capricious coworkers.

Me, bitter? Absolutely.

Next chapter comes up on... let’s see... April 16th! Oh boy, you’re getting three updates this month... yay. Nah, I’m prepared, just wasn’t expecting it. But that should be fun.

Also, introducing the second protagonist in this novel. I love him so much, and I hope you like him too. He’s a precious child, I promise you. But I’ll stop talking so you can meet him.

Remember, April 16. And if you like the story and want to help pay for my work snacks so I don’t tell my coworkers what I think about them, my ko-fi is here. Thanks for reading, and I’ll see you in two weeks.

'Sky Rider, are you there? We need you downtown.'

Goddamn it... he wasn't supposed to start work until 1.

Angel Martinez groaned as he made a grab for the device on his bedside table. At the moment, it was beeping like nothing else in a frequency that was specific to him. Anyone else wouldn't hear a damn thing. They were the lucky ones if anyone asked him.

“I'm pretty damn sure that Richter's on duty today, Scanner.”

His voice was thick with sleep as he sat up, yawning as he reached for a pair of glasses that he pressed to his face. Around him was organized chaos at best. He hadn't gotten the chance to clean his room in quite some time, and it showed. Between the mix of school books and clothing on the floor, he probably looked like any other young adult who sucked at cleaning. If not for the jacket hanging on the back of his chair, he could have been.

He heard the voice in his ear as he looked around for his gear. 'We can't get in contact with him. Wouldn't be his specialty anyway – ice cracks ground after all.'

Angel swore into the receiver as he dug out a boot from under his bed. “I better be getting overtime for this, Scan.”

'Sure, just make sure you save the day first. You flying or straight up beaming?'

He stopped moving, quirking an ear to listen for noise. If he was right, neither of his roommates were currently home. Just in case, he felt the tingle release from his temples, sweeping the apartment he shared with them. No signs of human life besides him.

“You know where to pick me up in five.”

'One of these days, you're going to trust me enough to let me pick you up where you live.'

Angel snorted as he recovered the last of his gear – a shiny motorcycle helmet with a dark visor. “That's never going to happen, Scan. You don't even have my phone number.”

'You know I could just-'

Scanner didn't get to finish as he cut the line in order to get changed. By now, Angel was a practiced hand. He was no Whirlwind, who had it down to a science in the windy city, nor could he duck into phone booths like the old greats to make a change. Despite that, he was pretty good at getting into costume under a time crunch. Within a minute, his pajamas had been tossed off for the tight dark jeans, red bandanna, and heavy leather jacket that marked him as Bear Paw's newest hero.

The last thing to go on was his helmet. For that, he had to toss his glasses aside and scrape his hair back into a messy bun. Soon it was on, locked and sealed. The minute it was in place, the visor glowed to life with details. Just like he thought – no one was in the apartment.

“Well... better get going.” Angel watched as his keys zoomed to his hand, and then he used them to lock the front door as he left. If anyone had seen him as he closed the door behind him, they would've figured he was just some biker asshole.

He liked it that way – it brought less questions than the spandex numbers some folks in big cities liked to wear.

The minute left, he had shifted. His shoulders straightened, and his entire frame vibrated with suppressed energy that he kept low during the day. Had he not been on top of things, electronics would have started popping and fizzing whenever he walked by.

But damn... he hated doing morning jobs.

Angel was no longer Angel in mind at that point as he jogged to his favorite pickup place near his apartment. Now he was in work mode, and his mind was focused on shifting into high gear. He could feel his entire body tingle as the sleeping energy rose to full power, roused from the slumber he kept it under.

He had to; otherwise he'd wind up reading the minds of everyone around him or lifting shit in the air when he was stressed like some amateur.

'You almost there or what, SR?'

He pressed the side of his helmet – the com link kicked in. “Almost there, Scanner. You going to tell me whose ass I'm going to kick today or what?”

His voice was deeper now, pounding at the bottom of his range in the hopes it just might go lower one day. That had yet to prove to be true, but there was always hope for tomorrow. As long as assholes needed kicking, there was a chance.

At least that's what he told himself.

His visor changed – there was a mug shot there now. Angel winced at the man staring blankly at the screen, holding up his numbers. The sign was frosted over, as was the background. It would be a miracle that whoever took the picture didn't come out of it without some form of frost burn.

Great, just what he needed that morning. Had he ever mentioned he hated being cold?

'You and Cryojolt play nicely together if I remember right.' Even through the projection, Scanner's sarcasm could have beat a man to death. It was one of their specialties. 'Before you ask, I couldn't get Ember. She-'

Angel finished it for them as he approached the shed set towards the back of an abandoned field, choked with overgrown grass and weeds to hide his footprints. “Day job, I get it. Not going to lie, I wish some idiots weak to psychic blasts would try something when I'm on duty for once instead of waiting until I'm sleeping.”

He was so not dressed for winter weather, but it wasn't like he could choose to be picky. Their roster... well, just thinking about it made him wince as he hopped the fence that split the abandoned property from the rest of the area. Since it backed up close to a small corpse of trees, nobody would see him coming. It was perfect for a quick getaway, especially if he had his bike.

Lucky for him, he didn't need it.

'Maybe next time. Anyway, I can see you're in proximity. I'm going to beam you into the drop zone. Hold onto your stomach, SR.'

Sure, Angel could've flown over. He could do that now, after a lot of crash landings and two broken bones that hurt even long past the tech's equipment had fixed them. But that was obvious – stealth was the name of the game here in order to keep his packer from being frozen to him.

It was kind of hard to fly around with Feelin' Fine with 69's helicopter. Those assholes always got to the scene first... he was pretty sure the anchor had a thing for him.

He didn't have much time to reflect on that fact. The air began to hum around him, and a warm tingle settled into his bones. He closed his eyes, but he still saw the light anyway. The visor kept the worst out, but he still felt it. This was why he had to be so far out – in a city like Bear Paw, sudden flashes of light for no good reason were troubling at best.

At worst... well, there was a part of old town that was still a giant crater after 20 years, so to say they might be a little jumpy might have been understandable.

Angel didn't have much time to reflect on that fact. The warmth receded all too soon, and with it the light. The next time he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the shabby shed that he used to make a quick getaway. Instead, he looked to be in an alleyway, where someone really needed to take out the trash. He wrinkled his nose and pushed past, helmet visor already giving him details that he needed to keep from dying.

“Couldn't get me any closer, Scan?”

'I thought you loved making a big hero entrance, SR.'

The psychic scowled as he hopped over an overturned trashcan. “That was an accident. I didn't meant to...”

'Accidentally walk away from an explosion like you were some kind of living meme? I still see GIF sets of it when I go on Reddit. They really bring out the subtle blue tint of your visor, but it makes me wonder if we should get you a red one instead. You know, brand recognition and all.

Angel rolled his eyes behind said tinted visor, feeling his face heat up regardless as he reached the end of the alley. “Less sassing, more tactical advice so I don't get my ass handed to me.”

The view in his visor changed as Scanner tapped into it. Instead of the alley, he was now looking at what could have been a winter wonderland if not for the fact it was the middle of the freaking summer and it sucked ass. There just wasn't supposed to be that much ice breaking out of the cracks of a city street, especially when he knew for a fact the only source of water was a nearby sewer. Just thinking about it made him grimace as he watched the camera pan.

It finally focused on the man of the hour himself. Cryojolt as he liked to be called wasn't one of the more flashy villains that Angel had ever dealt with. He didn't wear a ridiculous outfit or spout cheesy lines that sounded like he picked them up from a comic book when he was 10. Instead, there was just cold determination – his very heart was frozen, or so they said. He was a man on a mission, and today's objective was to make everyone's life hell.

“How'd he get out of jail anyway?”

'Got an appeal coming up, his lawyer argued it was cruel and unusual given the accident that turned him into a living deep freeze

“Remind me if I ever meet Ms. Noble to show her all the scars I have from when she gets her clients out on bail.” His voice was flat as he scanned the area. “Alright... I think if I distract him and get him away from the sewer line, this won't be nearly as bad.”

'Better hurry up before Feelin' Fine gets there. You don't want to wind up on Twitter again.'

If he didn't know better, he would have sworn Scanner liked seeing him in distress. Still, Angel shook his head as he got closer to the action. Even though it was summer, the temperature had dropped significantly and ice frosted his visor in cobwebs of silver and white. A temperature reading brought him no comfort – if it had been raining, there would have been snow in that part of the city.

It was one of those days that he wished he had never answered the phone.

Before charging out, Angel stopped to collect his thoughts. He closed his eyes, breathed slowly – all the things he had been taught by other psychics over the years in order to effectively tap into his powers and override his body's desire to run away screaming. They were good, but nothing worked as well as what an old man with a shield had taught him once a few years ago.

Just stop thinking.

It wasn't like he turned his brain off completely – that would be impossible, even for someone who wasn't psychic. Instead, he just emptied his mind of anything that could cause him to freak out. With an ease that came from years of frantic effort, his entire body relaxed, and his energy hummed louder than before.

Time to go to work.

“Alright, big guy... I really hate working morning shift, so you better be ready for me.” Another calm breath, and Angel was ready to go. Slowly, he edged out of his hiding space and onto the slippery road. The treads on his boots did wonders to keep him from slipping, as did the heavy bottoms. Like this, he would only fall if someone pushed him.

And lucky for him, a giant wave of energy almost knocked him completely on his ass.

“They didn't send the fire one?” Cryojolt's voice reminded Angel of ice cracking in the tundra, which was pretty on the nose for someone who was supposed to be a fusion with the world's most annoying ice cream machine. Honestly, he was lucky the bell hadn't been part of the deal – hearing that jingle every summer made his teeth itch. “Do they not take me seriously?”

Angel grunted as he hovered a few inches off the ground. He had kicked his powers on at the last second, keeping him from harm. It was solid ice underneath his feet, probably too thick for his boots, so he kept hovering. No broken ankles, and the added bonus of looking like he had planned it.

“Nah, they just love pulling my ass out of bed to deal with headaches. Lucky for you, I've got one hell of a migraine for motivation.” He cracked his neck and it resounded across the frozen space. “So, we doing this or what?”

Cryojolt didn't take the time to answer with words. Instead, ice soon stretched out in a radius around him, icing up telephone poles and severely abusing some cars' tires. Angel felt the cold on his ankles, but he didn't waver. Instead, he floated a little higher and shifted his balance. It made it easier to get some momentum going and send him flying.

'Going for the direct route this time I see.'

Scanner's voice filtered through his helmet, and his visor updated with a wide shot of Cryojolt back as he zoomed towards him. Here the ice wasn't as thick – if the story was to be believed, this was where he had been pinned against the ice cream truck's wall as the radiation fused him with his own product. It looked pretty frost bitten to say the least – definitely not comfortable to sleep on.

'Try here. PT must've caused some structural damage when she got him the last time they squared off.'

Angel nodded, but before he could react he had to swerve out of the way of a ball of pure ice aimed straight for his head by an irate ice cream man turned low level villain. The course correction led him to almost bouncing off a telephone pole – luckily his boots cushioned the impact. He stood there, surveying at an angle.

“Trying for an attack from behind won't help you. You're not as quiet as the acid spitting one.” Cryojolt was moving a little slower, though. His ice wasn't as clear as he lobbed another chunk at his opponent's head. In fact, it even went a little off angle as he dodged out of the way. “Damn it all...”

Angel watched from his safe spot atop a mailbox. “Having problems with your juice, big guy?”

'His core temp is starting to rise. It's too hot out here for him to be effective.'

He nodded at the details, watching as the man stared down at his hands in obvious disbelief. The last time had been during the middle of one of the coldest weathers Bear Paw had since the decade had rolled over. Now? He wasn't looking so good under the hot sun.

Bad for him, but good for Angel.

It was about time to finish things up; he had better shit to do than stand around and watch someone who didn't have a handle on their powers try to figure them out. Plus, like, the city was a real bear when it came to fixing superhero damage. He'd rather not get the Union slapped with a bill for the repairs – Ember had one hell of a look on her face when that happened. Not something he wanted turned on him, no thank you.

“Hey, big guy! I think you picked the wrong season to bust out!” His energy hummed as he hopped off the mailbox. “Surprised you didn't figure that one out when you were in jail.”

Cryojolt's icy eyes leveled on him. “Not a lot of time to practice in solitary. Maybe I can get some now!”

The ice flooded like a wave from his feet, but Angel managed to fly out of the way before it froze him to the pole. His new landing spot came atop a previously frozen over car, the ice slick under his feet as he landed. His opponent threw more ice, but he redirected it as his mind hummed. When the man paused for breath, it was his time to strike.

He almost felt bad for what he was about to do.

Now, most psychics had their favorites. The West Coast liked mind blasts to incapacitate their opponents. Southern edges were more on throwing their opponents against the wall and pinning them there while they talked a good game. Thanks to his training, his preferences were strongly East Coast – nothing wrong with a little power blast to knock somebody flat on their ass.

His hand tingled as he powered up, the palm starting to glow red as it took on his aura. Red auras, according to his old teacher, said someone was in conflict with themselves. Sky Rider didn't worry about that – though Angel did. He could do more of that later, in his off hours. Right then he had to finish things.

Cryojolt fired again when he caught his breath. Angel hopped off the car just in time to see the roof turn into a glacial sculpture. A few more seconds, and he was in range at the full amount of power he wanted to use. It smelled like ozone as he released it from his palm, watching as it arced away from him like he was the main character in an anime for kids. All he needed was to shout his attack names.

Not that... he had them or anything. Not since Endgamer anyway.

A faster opponent would have been able to dodge. Fellow psychics maybe could have reflected it. Someone with training would've known how to block. Cryojolt was none of them – he was a victim of circumstance who barely had a handle on his own abilities. It was almost sad to watch him take it full on and land hard in the street a few years back, front smoking and ice melting. He hit his head as he went down, and then he didn't get up.

He was still breathing though – phew.

Angel waved the tingle from his palm as he approached. “Can I get a pickup for this guy, hopefully without a bonehead lawyer this time?”

'Already sending down the bubble along with something to keep Cryojolt contained. I'll beam you up before the news can get there, just stand away from the body.'

He grimaced at the term as he gave the prone human a wide berth. Beam burns were serious business. “Hey, he's still alive. I just knocked him out.”

'Slip of the tongue. Now are you ready or what?'

Another flash of light, and the temperature got so much warmer. Angel looked around at the bright room where the Union liked to call their home. Half the main area was taken up by computers, all of them running scans on the city. The chair in front of it swiveled around, and the person in it rolled towards him.

“You took a little longer than I thought you would, SR.”

Scanner was still typing on the keyboard they had attached to their wheelchair's armrest. They didn't have a screen – didn't need one. Half their consciousness was embedded into the large setup behind them, watching over the city even as they worked elsewhere. It was a great power, but not so good at kicking ass. That and... other reasons meant they stayed here, where they could annoy Angel all they wanted.

He shrugged his frost covered shoulders, watching as the ice melted at his feet. Maybe he should stay there until it was gone; somebody could hurt themselves. “I just woke up.”

“You said that last time I called you out early.” Scanner rolled their mismatched eyes – one blue, one a sort of copper color – as they started to head back to the spot in front of the computers. “It's all clear for now, but keep on guard. PT's not going to be on for a while – she's on niece duty today.”

Angel shrugged his shoulders as he took a seat on the couch to catch his breath. “I gotta see the old man later, but I can stick around for a while.”

“Say hi when you see him for me.” And Scanner was gone, back to their screens and monitoring the clean up. The psychic was glad to curl up on the couch and catch a bit of sleep until he was free to go. After all, all that energy had to come from somewhere.

All in a day's work for the city's only active psychic. Man, and to think he got paid for nearly getting killed...

#Supernova Collision Trilogy #writing #novel

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encomiium · 5 years

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Take Me With You (I) 13 July 2019 Charles

Charles felt something give in his arms and he stopped cold, gathering up the massive stack of folders and papers he’d been judiciously balancing on his chest just before it sloped out of his grasp. As he meticulously shuffled the pile back into some semblance of form, inching closer to the lab down the hall with a few tentative steps, a bright red light shone through a crack in the door beside him. In the long and winding metal hallways coiling within their underground base, doors and walls blended together and cracks in the surface sometimes felt like magic.

Curious, Charles pressed his foot against the door and nudged it open just enough to peek inside. The red light came from a large screen depicting numerous status bars, all indicating some sort of low data set; Charles couldn’t see much as the screen was obscured by two men, one noticeably taller than the other.

“Sorry boys,” the taller one said, his voice quiet and gentle and immediately recognizable as one half of the legendary Striker Rogue pilot team. Charles gasped, a tiny, giddy grin toying at the corners of his mouth as he watched Elliot Simon—the Elliot Simon—begin to help a boy, about Charles’s own age, out of a trainer pilot suit. The boy placed his suit on a nearby table, left dressed in his standard issue greens, before excusing himself from the room through a rear door, his shoulders stiff.

Charles’s body felt like it was full of bubbles, his fingers gripping onto his papers tighter. His eyes went wild with the feast of a sight, usually private and secluded from viewing. He knew the lab might be a little miffed he’d be tardy with all their test results, but the opportunity to watch a real-life drift compatibility test was just too good to miss.

“Just fucking bring Armstrong in already,” Timothy Shaw—the Timothy Shaw—said, cutting through the sound of whirring mock mechanics, his arms crossed and still looking at the screen. Charles had only ever heard him cussing at TV cameras and screaming at cadets in the pilot program, hearing him so close and personal was like seeing Santa on Christmas Eve. “That’s the last one and all the other results are the same, if not worse. Might as well cut his hopeless arse out of the program now,” he spat, almost exclusively directing his words to the other pilot-in-training, still strapped in and finally taking off his helmet.

Charles drew in a breath.

It was him. The legacy of the program, the one they all looked to as the future of jaeger piloting, the one with scores surpassing even those of his legend of an older brother. The one who asked him if he could have his uneaten pudding in the cafeteria.

Robert Armstrong seemed barely phased, grinning as if nothing could touch him, as if he didn’t know what a failing score was. “Gotta agree with Captain Shaw on this one,” he said, as easily as you would talk to a friend on the playground, “I’m gonna be piloting Gypsy Danger with Richard anyway.” It sounded like he was asking if they could end early and get to dinner before all the good tater-tots were gone, not at all like he was worried about the outcome of measuring the most important metric of jaeger piloting. The other boy—the one who left in a hurry once the test had concluded—he might never get a chance to pilot a jaeger if Robert was his only chance at finding drift-compatibility.

“You’ll pilot Gypsy Danger with Richard when your father retires,” Elliot corrected, flipping through a clipboard on a desk near the screen. Robert rolled his eyes with a sigh, but didn’t prod further, instead electing to reach up with a gloved hand and smooth his helmet-hair down, all gold and shiny and infuriatingly perfect. “If you don’t find a drift-compatible partner before then, you’ll never be prepared for Gypsy Danger so, if I were you, I would mind the attitude and begin focusing on the test.”

Timothy began scrolling through the other cadets on the screen. It was abundantly clear he didn’t care much for the blonde boy in the suit, but as clear as that was, he was their best cadet and, quite literally, the future of protecting the planet. Charles leaned forward a bit, squinting through his glasses and desperately trying to read what was on the screen. He’d watched the cadets training, seen Robert in simulation countless times. He was a natural with a brute force fighting style and a tactician’s brain. He was a tank, in mind and body, intelligent and unbelievably strong, and he needed someone who could match that.

Just as Charles thought of the name, Timothy zoomed into a file on the screen. “Banning’s results weren’t horrendous,” he muttered, though all of the stat bars were yellow-orange. Not ideal. Elliot sighed, shaking his head, “His results with Catherine were too strong to stick him with Robert.”

“Hey!” Robert grinned, shifting in the suit. Elliot laughed, not looking up. Charles’s chest tightened at just the sight of them, smiling even as the world lay in rubble a few meters above their heads, while the world’s water supply became tainted with radioactive kaijuu blue. In the face of all of that, between the blood and sweat they all poured into their wok, they were close. They were working for a brighter future, together. The labs were nothing like that. It was sterile in there. Everything was sterile, from the tools to the people.

Between being an uninvited voyeur and his silent envy, Charles didn’t feel his papers slowly edging out of his grasp until it was too late. The files in his arms gave way to gravity, knocking against the door Charles had been leaning towards and swinging it wide open. A torrent of papers spilled out onto the floor in front of him and all three pilots stared at him. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of how stupid he looked, in his dumb lab coat and his dumb glasses and surrounded by a mountain of dumb paperwork he’d been too lazy to make two trips for.

“Sorry, sorry, God, I’m sorry--” he blurted out before rushing to gather up his mess, crunching and crumpling papers into his chest.

“Wait,” Elliot said quickly. Charles looked up from his place crouched on the floor and Elliot Simon—the Elliot Simon—was holding a hand out to him.

“You can’t be serious,” Timothy said, dead-pan. Even outside of the drift, they could read each other’s thoughts. So fucking cool.

“What if it’s the machinery?” Elliot said innocently, shrugging his shoulders.

“Take the fucking piss, Elliot,” Timothy nearly yelled. Charles crushed the papers closer to his chest.

“Leave the papers—Charles, right?” Oh, my God he knew his name. “You’re…” Elliot trailed off. Charles stood and immediately dropped the papers, creating an even bigger mess around him. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, an absolute fish out of water, before walking quickly to Elliot’s side, slipping on a few of the files and pushing his glasses up his nose.

“An intern in the biochemistry lab. Thomson. Charles Thomson I--um--I’m sorry I don’t know how to fix machinery, that’s not my speciality.” When the world needed him most, let it be known that Charles Thomson claimed it wasn’t his specialty. Fantastic.

“No, no,” Elliot said gently, taking his labcoat off his shoulders and stealing his glasses right off his face. Everything blurred, but Charles was not about to stop a man with five kaiju kills under his belt, one of them a five star behemoth that breathed fire. “Have you ever drifted before, Charles?”

Charles’s mouth went dry, “I--no, sir.”

Timothy scoffed.

“Good! Then it stands to reason that your results with Robert should be zero,” Elliot said happily, his warm hand on Charles’s spine, guiding him towards the pilot simulator, which was, up close, much bigger than Charles anticipated. The room was suddenly way too vast and much too cold without his coat. His body covered in goosebumps, his heart in his stomach, he didn’t have the courage, much less the audacity to correct Elliot Simon’s very flawed logic. A better control would be a fucking cantaloupe, not Charles’s unpredictable mess of a human brain.

“Hey,” Robert grinned. He suddenly looked much less like the kid whose bunk was next door to his room, and more like a lion who’d suddenly caught a mouse under his massive paw. Like he was ready to eat Charles alive.

“Hi,” Charles barely squeaked at the indistinguishable blob he assumed was Robert above him in his pilot suit.

“Alright, just step up into those--there you go!” Elliot chirped while Charles adjusted to the foot holsters that suddenly clamped down around his ankles, suddenly strapped into the world’s most expensive elliptical, barely balanced and terrified of breaking anything. Just as the helmet began to lower onto both of their heads, Charles’s heart thundering in his ears, a scream of terror and regret stuck to the back of his throat, Charles felt a warm hand on his leg.

“If you don’t want to do this, you tell me right now and we’ll get you out of here,” Timothy said, his voice so kind, Charles’s knees would have buckled if he weren’t held up by the steel closing in around him.

Charles looked over at Rob, already comfortable in his helmet. He winked, those sea-glass eyes still impossibly blue behind the tint of the visor. Charles thought of all the times he wished so badly to get a taste of what these cadets had, how his gut ached for just a moment of a chance to be something bigger than numbers and formulas. Yet, standing in front of one of his heroes, whose jaeger was on a poster just above his bed, his entire body trembled and he thought, for a moment, he wasn’t strong enough to seize the one chance he’d dreamt of while compiling data sets at a cold, metal desk. He’d always be what they said he was. Weak, a coward.

He hadn’t realized his fists were clenched until he felt the blood rush into his fingers when he released his hands. “I’m ready,” Charles said, the words tumbling out of him without permission, the truth pouring out as a bead of sweat ran down his hairline. An errant heat carved something new in his body, a place where a warm, a carnal and precious desire burned in the lowest part of his gut.

Timothy sighed, patting his leg before stepping back, “Alright. Let it flow. You don’t have to let him in anywhere you don’t want him, you understand?”

Charles nodded, stealing his gaze forward as he reached up and lowered the helmet down over his head, keenly aware that, very soon, there would be another human being inside his head, in every memory, witnessing every tear and mortifying thought. If it was going to be anyone, it might as well be the best in the cadet class. The heat in his gut roiled and Charles bristled, the taste of competition sweet on his tongue. It was a tender secret that he kept, but the need to be great was always hiding somewhere inside of him, in the place between his spine and his lungs.

“That helmet looks good on you,” Robert’s voice in his ear crackled. His voice was kind, even more kind than when he passed by his room after dark and whispered good night. Charles barely knew the kid besides forgettable conversation and his entropic kindnesses, but in a brief moment of weakness, Charles allowed himself to think he wouldn’t mind getting to know him.

Still, he couldn’t help but laugh, his cheeks warming, “You can’t shake me, Armstrong.”

“Alright, boys. Initiating neural handshake,” Elliot said through the com and before the countdown ended, Charles felt a punch to the chest, his mind bathed in bright blue flashes.

He stepped back at the force of it, his entire body tense with the shock of the drift, everything flying by him so fast in crisp, perfect technicolor. It all rushed through him so quickly, like falling into a raging, whitewater river; he was drowning in memories, only some of which were his, filling his throat as he tried to fight against it and he was desperate to cling onto something, anything. He heard a voice somewhere, a voice only a far off part of his mind recognized. It yelled something and he rushed to it, reached out to it as if it were the only thing that could give him even a moment of relief.

“Charles, don’t!” he heard somewhere, echoing, but it was gone just as quickly as all the other memories, flashes of his father and someone else’s mother, static images of piles of siblings and huge, lonely rooms.

Charles gasped as he stopped in a basement, cold and dark. He heard the voice again, this time louder, in his ear, as if it were his own, “Worthless!” The heat of it made him flinch.

A blonde boy rushed in front of him, his body flung like a ragdoll, his tiny arms covered in splotches of green and purple bruises, in whiplashed fresh red blood. “No, dad, please, I’ll do better I promise!”

A door ripped open beside Charles, and freezing cold air rushed out from it. An empty freezer.

“You know what to fucking do. If I catch you outside of it, it’s double time,” the voice said, before it vanished. The boy, small, but with those unmistakable blue eyes, began to crawl for the freezer, coughing and choking on his own wails.

Charles knelt down, reaching a hand out, his body moving without him, his eyes trained on this tiny thing who couldn’t see him, “Wait,” he said softly, his voice echoing back in his own ears like feedback on a radio, “You don’t have to go in there.”

“I do!” the boy sobbed, hiccuping as he crawled closer to the freezer.

“No, you don’t! Come with me instead!” The boy turned and stared at Charles, like something had changed. Charles felt it too, the way a dog can feel when a storm changes. This storm, howling around them, became much bigger than either child could fathom, two hurricanes colliding and creating something monstrous and frighteningly beautiful. In front of Robert was a boy with tear stains down his cheeks, reaching out to him with a small, pudgy hand. He was crying too. Behind him, his mother leaned down to him, breath reeking of something sharp and sour, and told him she wished he’d never been born.

Robert took his hand and suddenly they were on a swing set in the middle of nowhere under a full moon. Around them flashed memories of shattered glass above their heads, of bigger boys shoving them into trash cans and breaking their glasses when they cry, of utter silence and a loveless home.

“I come here when I feel alone,” Charles whispered, the image of his mother’s snarling face burned bright and clear in his mind’s eye, when he’d thought he’d banished it for good. He looked over at Robert, small and still bleeding, “You can come here too. And then neither of us will be alone.”

Suddenly, the blues turned pink, and a memory flashed before them in the darkness, of Charles standing at the end of a metal-coated hallway watching as Robert, who looked more handsome than he’d ever seen of himself in a mirror, laughed in a way that reminded Charles of the brass section at the ballet Grandpa Pavel used to take him too. They both felt the fluttering in Charles’s chest, like the flutes, the heat in his ears, like the violins, and Charles panicked, jumping off the swings and backing away.

He felt something warm in his hand and he almost wrenched himself away, forgetting what human skin felt like on his own.

“No, it’s okay,” Robert said, not bleeding anymore, his bright eyes almost glowing as he pulled Charles back down to the swing, “Not alone, remember?”

And then, silence. Darkness. Peace, save for the sound of Richard Armstrong in Rob’s head, echoing brightly in Charles’s own mind, “The drift is silence.”

Charles opened his eyes and he realized the blur in the room was not from a lack of glasses, but from tears. He looked at Robert, who was breathing hard and already staring at him. He looked at Timothy and Elliot, whose indistinguishable faces were bathed in green from the screen.

He heard a Scottish lilt in his head, sounding like a song, “Welcome to the cadet program, darling. Beautiful job.”

#IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE TWO PARTS BUT IT GOT SUPER LONG SO I SPLIT IT UP #*shrug emoji* i got /inspired/#d:charles thomson #gen:drabble #au:pacificrim #btw thats a real richard quote from actual pacrim im very proud of that #but i hATE THE REST IM SORRY ITS NOT PRETTY ITS MORE PROSE THAN POETRY

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art-carlos-blog · 6 years

Text

(FMP) Final new Improved story

Here it is in simple details:

A zoom out scene of a spider web with a spider is seen. It is seen in a floor point of view. A metal shoe walks by it and it then changes to a face view of a knight with a torch.

He is seen looking left to right with torch in hand. He then stops and it zooms in his face, his face looks slowly up. A distance behind view is shown of his back, standing still and looking up. The camera slides up and shows the big room with a long dinning table on the middle ruined, the walls are slightly broken and has spider webs on it, the light hanger has many spider webs, tapestry hanging from the wall are ruined and many object are on the floor. There is a door near the fire place, which is in front of the dinner table.

While this all happens, a small bug walks on the side of the camera, stops to take a look and walks off screen. To finish the view the knight begins walking and walks a bit close to the side of a chair of the table.

The camera changes to a close up scene of him walking fowards near the chairs, we can see the tables details and him with his torch walking, while looking around.

A perspective shot of the door knob is seen and we see the knight walk closer to the door. To the point that we see his chest and then his hand slowly and carefully wants to open it. He opens it slowly and a loud obnoxious door opening sound is heard. He blows out the fire.

It changes to a view of the door continuing to open and then stops, the knight head pops up and looks left to right. He bring his body out of the door and closes it while he does so, the view changes to a full shot of his body and he just closed the door.

He then takes out his torch from the behind and with a match he lights it on again. He walks fowards towards the viewer perspective and the camera moves up to see his face. He gets close to the camera to the point that we only see his helmet.

(optional: we can see 2 eyes in the dark of visor eyes with a serious and concentrated stare into the distance)

For someseconds we stare at his face and he says

"hmm............."

This would then transition to a perspective shot of the camera, that's shows the behind of his shoulders and head and we see a long corridor. At the end of it is a decently well lit area with torches and a treasure chest. It zooms in while doing this.

Camera shows a perspective shot of him walking off screen, and then quickly shows him walking towards the chest.

We seen a view of the knight below. From the waist area and him looking ahead for a few seconds while holding his torch. Instantly the scene changes to a close up of the floor and wall and a odd Button on the floor. As this happens he steps on it. And the view changes to a sideways full shot to a pair of metal spikes instantly jutting out of the ground, this shocks the knight and he drops to the floor.

A view is seen of the knight lying on the floor is breathing in and out in shock, it quickly shows behind his shoulders and head while he looks at the spikes going down.

He slowly gets up still frightened and cautionsly walks around the trap.

He then gets around it and bends down for a breather, stands up, relights torch and carries on walking. He walks off screen and it shows again the waist shot, he walks for a bit longer and then looks down as he sees the button again on the floor. A view shows his foot close to it. A view shows him looking down and up again. In which the scene zooms out to show the behind of the chest. (This means he is close to getting the treasure)

It shows him again and he looks up. He notices that the celling is cut out like a square and not joined together. It changes to the view of him of his shoulders and chest. He looks left to right and walks back. He looks on the ground and sees a rock.

Grabbing it, he throws it up from his hand gently twice and looks again to the button on the ground and then to the celling.

He throws the rock at the bottom and the celling comes crushing down in a extremely violent and loud obnoxious way. It shows him again and he sighs in relief it wasn't him. The celling slowly moves up into place and clanks into place.

The knight carefully walks around the button and faces the chest. A view shows his back a shoulders, in which he opens the chest normally and sees gold and diamonds. It shows a full shot view of his back, he is grabbing a brown bag from his waist.

He puts the brown bag next to him on ground and still holds it. He puts money in the black and scene fades to black.

The screen fades back and shows him walking out of the castle onto the connecting bridge with a big bag of gold. He walks towards the viewer and then out of scene. Screen fades to black and the end.

Credits appear on black screen in white and in black letter typeface

So the reason, why I made a new story was due to the fact, that my other story was bland and generic.

I asked my friends, teachers and class mates on their views of my story and they said it was okay, though it had a lot to be desired. They said it had to be more fleshed out and needed more backgrounds.

I too believed this so I am happy I made this new story. So from now on this story is the true final story for my animation.

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