all_inclusive | Entries tagged with zz: chuck hansen

Any entries earlier than this were pre-reboot.

The carpet of the halls was plush like a cloud beneath his feet and even the air seemed sweetly scented compared to that place he'd found on the other side of a perfectly harmless looking door upon his arrival. The smell of all that wriggling, oozing dead was burned into his nostrils and baked into his skin, or at least it'd seemed that way to him, which was why after he'd figured out where his room was he'd blown half the money in his wallet on some toiletries and a fresh change of clothes. He'd stayed in the shower until long after the hot water had thrown up a white flag and emerged reddened and shivering, but at least free of any invisible flecks of gore that might've accumulated while watching Joan Watson bust open zombie skulls like rotted fruit. It was going to take him a good, long while to get over that, even he could admit.

Not knowing what else to do, he made his way back down to the lobby with a wary eye on every door he passed, wearing his new, clean clothes and smelling a damn sight better to himself. The bar was an obvious attraction and his first choice, so he made his way inside, finding it casual enough to suit his tastes and taking a seat at one of the empty tables. He wasn't going to be hungry any time soon, so when the waitress made her way over he ordered a whiskey and at least three more after the first one was finished. After the waitress had left him, he found himself looking around at the people in the bar with him. There was no one in his immediate line of sight that would've got a second look on the street for being obviously, physically different than him, but from what he'd gathered there could be people in here that came from a whole other universe entirely different than his own.

It was frightening, but when the waitress returned with his first glass of whiskey, he was pleased to know that at least alcohol was universal. He would have to do thinking, so much thinking, and exploring too, but that could come later. Just then, all John Luther wanted to do was get quietly, thoroughly drunk.

rangerbecket

Raleigh used to be a synchronized diver. Used to is the key word there because now that Yancy's gone, he's had to go solo. He's never liked the singles event as much as the pairs and he feels off-kilter, somehow, even if he's only got to synchronize with himself. In theory, 10M platform should be easier without a partner. It just feels off instead.

He's got the pool mostly to himself for a rare moment. Sure, there's journalists around here and there because you never really escape them in the midst of the Olympics but they're mostly contained to one corner and seem to be interviewing a Russian guy who just finished up his practice session before Raleigh came in. Raleigh hopes they can stay distracted for a little while longer.

He shifts into a handstand position and flips off the platform, trying to see how many elements he can hit before he strikes the water. He's out for gold this year, for Yancy, seeing as how his brother can't be here this time around. Nothing less than the best will do and Raleigh will push himself until he's perfect; he's always been insanely competitive about any and everything under the sun.

He practices the dives over and over again, complicated dismounts and half tucks through the air. Once he's done, the pool seems more or less empty and he swims a few laps just to cool down before putting his hands on the edge and pushing himself up, water sluicing off his body.

Maybe he's got some downtime between now and the event to relax and just get his head in the game since there's not much more conditioning his body can take.

[Come enjoy Raleigh in his Team USA Speedo.]

71st_victor

It had taken her a long time to find it, but once she has it in her possession, they'll have to pry it from her cold dead hands to get her to give up the small, but functional axe she'd found on the grounds in a shed. It's probably the remnant of some old gardener, but in her hands, it could be the difference between life and death.

She wishes there were tall trees around, the kind of soaring redwoods that adorned Seven. She'd learned to wield the sharp edge of her blade on thick trees standing hundreds of times the size of her. Meek, weak, and a little mousy, Johanna had learned that everything can fall if you apply enough pressure and cut them down at the right angle. Everyone falls and everyone bleeds.

Johanna hefts up the axe and makes her way outside, careful not to appear too overtly threatening. There are strangers roaming here and she needs to maintain the facade in case she has to play them. The axe has to be hidden where she can find it and she needs to seem like the little girl who frightfully entered the Hunger Games. She makes her way to the English Gardens, settling cross-legged on the ground as she starts to dig a hole in the ground. It's nowhere near six feet deep, but it makes her think of the grave she'd basically dug for herself by joining the rebellion.

Once she gets three feet down, she gets the axe in there, covering it up quickly and dragging over several blue bell flowers to mark the spot in a circle. She wipes the sweat from her face, smearing her cheeks with dirt like a hasty camouflage.

She's going to keep protecting herself, no matter the cost.

Johanna catches movement in the corner of her eye and she softens her posture and her expression, careful not to look too aggressive. She draws her hand over the soil and keeps the shadow in her peripheral vision, always wary. "Did you come to look at the flowers?" she asks quietly, head down, eyes averted.

Meek, weak, and murderous if given the chance.

rangerbecket

When he sleeps, he remembers.

It’s been five years since Raleigh lost Yancy and he still wakes up sometimes in the middle of the night (or afternoon, as it was just a nap this time and not overnight) thinking his brother should be there, that they should be cutting up and finishing each others’ sentences and suiting up to go fight kaiju. Instead, there’s an empty hole where Yancy used to be and Raleigh’s not sure that it’s ever going to be filled in again and, more importantly, Raleigh’s not sure he wants it to be. As fucked up as it is, this is the only time he gets to see and hear Yancy anymore and he clings to it even if it’s probably not the healthiest choice.

It seems to help to have a purpose to fill his days besides welding on the wall. He’s glad Pentecost roped him back into being a Ranger even if he’d been against it at first because at least he’s fighting for something instead of just fighting so he doesn’t have to feel anything.

The hotel is a frustrating stumbling block in that process because while he’s here, he gets lulled into thinking it’s safe. There’s plenty to eat; Raleigh spent his whole first day gorging himself on meat and bread and shit that they just can’t get back home with all the rationing. There’s no televisions blaring about the latest kaiju attack, about people dying painful deaths from Kaiju Blue, about the military arguing whether or not Jaegers are worth the hassle when they can just build a wall to keep them out. The hotel is a bubble, safe, and Raleigh has to constantly remind himself that this is temporary. This isn’t something he can let himself get used to.

He’s pretty sure he’s not going to go back to sleep any time soon so he ends up pulling on a shirt and sliding into his boots, wandering without a purpose. There’s dozens and dozens of rooms in this place and he’s pretty sure he’ll never explore them all. He winds up in a room with a couple pool tables and thinks maybe this is a decent way to pass the time until the memories of Yancy fade a little.

He racks the balls and pulls out a cue, thoughtfully chalking the tip while he tries to decide how he wants to play, which angles to hit. This had always been a fun exercise with Yancy and had almost always ended in a draw; when you Drift as much as he did with his brother, you almost start sharing thoughts outside it. Raleigh nods at the person closest to him, asking if they want to start a game.

“I call stripes. Ten, corner pocket.”

It’s a welcome distraction.

trulyoracular

Drunk, tired, and in the middle of what appeared to be a round of Chaos with the Gods, Olaf knows that he saw someone going into Mike's bar and if his eyes don't deceive him, it's Kvasir, who still owes him a caravan from that time he burned it down, after sleeping with Olaf's girlfriend. Honestly, why do they ever trust gods?

He stumbles after him, fumbling through the door.

And that's when he trips over something solid like a doorjamb or a rug or maybe even a person. Clad in nothing but a pair of board shorts, Olaf thinks this might not look the very best, but he's not entirely in his right mind to know. He peers up from where he's landed to see someone standing over him in what looks like his very favourite rent-free hotel's lobby and turns on his back as he groans, the pain of smacking his torso on the way down radiating through his body.

"Did you see him?" he asks. "Did he come this way?"

If he has to beat Kvasir into repaying his debts, he'll do it. He might be an old man, but he's no shrinking violet. Maybe the rest of the family is dealing with the madness that afflicts the Johnson family, but he's got more personal scores to settle. If Axl happens to find Frigg in the meantime, then bully for him, but Olaf's got bigger, smellier, all-knowing fish to fry.

wearethehunters

( Read more... )

When the metal and smoke and light clear, Chuck finds himself lying on his back, staring up at floating cliffs. His whole left side feels ravaged and his mind feels carved–the echo of a broken Drift. Everything hurts and he has no idea where he is. He tries to sit up, stares around uncomprehendingly, and then lays back in the grass.

“Well shit.”

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Reboot Marker

At least it smells better in here.

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