notyourrookie | Open RP post

It's a common misconception that Felix is nothing but a loud, impulsive, sadistic asshole who can't plan his way out of a paper bag. He knows this is so because he cultivates that reputation. Because he is unapologetically all of those things. But in his line of work, he's found that being underestimated is as good a weapon as any plasma rifle or knife.

The plan is months in the making. Conveniently, he has all the time he needs. The injuries he sustained on Chorus keep him from charging out into the world to exact his vengeance as soon as he regains consciousness. It starts as an annoyance, but over time, he realizes that it's an asset. Everybody thinks he's dead. And dead men have a freedom the living can only dream of.

Tucker and his merry band of morons may have killed him, but Washington gets the brunt of the blame. If it hadn't been for him, Felix reasons, Locus wouldn't have changed. He wouldn't have turned his back on his partner and abandoned him. Wash, more than any of the others, needs to die as slowly as fucking possible.

Eventually, Felix locates him, light years away from Chorus. He finds the planet. He finds the safe house. He learns Wash's schedule. And one day, while Wash is out doing whatever fucking do-gooder bullshit he does on a daily basis, Felix sneaks inside in nothing but dark clothes and a few weapons. The armor, far too bulky for such delicate work, gets left behind. Much as he wants to nosily rifle through Wash's things, he touches nothing and hides in some out of the way closet, where he remains until Wash comes home and eventually turns in for the night. It's only when he's sure that Wash is asleep that he leaves his place of concealment and slinks silently to the bed.

Standing there looking at him, Felix's fingers itch to take the knife and plunge it repeatedly into his throat. But that's too easy. Too quick. It can't be over that fast. He won't deprive himself of the pleasure of chipping away at this asshole piece by bloody piece. Ever so carefully, he sits down on the edge of the bed like they're old friends and places the tip of the knife lightly against his chest.

"Hey Wash," he calls softly, voice oh so gentle and light. "Time to wake up, buddy. Do it slowly, yeah? You don't want to sit up too fast."

It's been quiet. That's the problem. It's been quiet, the war is over, Chorus is safe and he's on some backwater but pretty safe colony where no-one knows him except the Reds and Blues. It's been months and months since he so much as had to draw a gun, and as weird as that's been, it's also been... nice. He hadn't realised how tired he was, how exhausting living constantly paranoid and on-edge was, until he didn't need to anymore.

And sure he still sleeps badly, has nightmares and nights when he stays awake, watching the door, but those are getting fewer. And tonight, the sleeping pills, just a half of one, enough to let his mind shut up and let him rest... it's not ideal but it helps.

Of course he wouldn't be allowed to keep it.

His eyes snap open at the first words and it's only the brief feeling of metal against his neck that keeps him from slitting his own throat. He can't move. Can't reach for his own knife or gun. He doesn't recognise the face but... but that voice...

"Felix."

Boring as it'd be for this to end so soon, Felix can't banish the thin thread of disappointment that curls through him when Wash doesn't bolt up in alarm and kill himself. It would be a poetic kind of irony that he would appreciate, even if it ultimately robbed him of hours of entertainment.

Still, one eyebrow arches in an expression of amusement that might not be able to be seen in the dark. That isn't important. It happens automatically and he doesn't waste the effort necessary to correct it.

"Bingo." He smiles, letting the smug satisfaction he feels at having Wash at his mercy like this infuse his voice. "Didn't think you'd make the connection."

Ever so gently, he digs the point of the knife into his skin. Not hard enough to break it but certainly hard enough to be felt. "Tell me something. You believe in ghosts?"

He keeps his gaze steadily on the other man, not daring to look away. Internally though, he's cursing himself. Should never have let his guard down. Should have kept moving, should have hidden himself better because this is what he gets. And there's another part too, calculating whether he can grab any of the weapons he has nearby. Probably not right now, but he needs to plan.

He keeps his breathing light, worried about that knife against his neck. And he really wants to punch Felix in his smug fucking face.

He swallows, a faint smirk crossing his lips at the mention of ghosts. "Met a couple."

[The mission had been routine right up until the point it went pear-shaped and went to hell. North couldn’t say for certain where things had gone wrong but an enemy patrol had suddenly flanked them from the right and then bullets where cracking through the air directly towards them.

He’d caught oen in the shoulder before he’d been able to dive behind cover. Theta chimed in with alarmed alerts telling him what he already knew, that the suit had been perforated by the bullet and it had lodged in his shoulder. Had the Innies known they were here? Were they packing AP rounds just because they knew there were armored Freelancers were in the area?]

Wash! I’m hit. They’re firing AP rounds. [North sounded remarkably calm for a man who had just been shot but this wasn’t his first rodeo. He was reminded all too vividly of that disastrous mission to the Bjørndal Cryogenics Facility with South months back. He’d gotten shot multiple times in the chest but there hadn’t been a panicky AI in his head at that time. This was the first time Theta had been there when he was actually wounded so North was doing his best to remain calm for Theta’s sake as well as for Wash’s. But blood was already leaking down his chest and his arm was pretty much immobilized by the damage because he couldn’t even get it to lift without the pain punching up to breath-taking levels of agony.] Watch your head, we need to find an evac point now.

[The very last thing he wanted was for the Rookie to get his head blown clean off by an enemy sniper. He somewhat clumsily traded his rifle over to his good arm and was quietly grateful for all the hours he'd invested in honing his natural ambidexterity for just these sort of instances.]

[Oh shit. Shit shit... Everything had got fucked up in the worst possible way. How had they known they were coming? Had they been betrayed? Or had they just been victims of the worst luck in the universe?

He hears the crackle of North's voice through his radio, and curses softly at the news. Like things weren't bad enough already. North is their sniper and is also significantly better at close range than Wash. He also has their team's sole AI.]

I'm on it.

[He says it anyway, because what other choice does he have? He really doesn't want to die here.

Wash takes a breath and then throws himself across the small gap between his meagre hiding spot and a bigger set of the shipping crates. Bullets follow him, but at least to get him here they're gonna have to get up close. Hopefully he can get around to North before that happens.]

[North had know idea how their mission had gone so awry so quickly. Neither he nor Theta had detected any alarms being tripped as they crept closer to the Innie base they'd been expected to recon. But who knew, maybe it truly was just monumental bad luck on their parts?]

I'm laying down suppressive fire. I'll try and pin them down and cover you. Pull back and then you'll cover me.

[They could only hope there was enough cover for them to get behind the enemy line of fire and then use the bombed out ruins of this decommissioned base to their own advantage. The war had left it mostly in ruins but apparently there had been enough buildings and materials still lying about to interest the Insurrection. Unfortunately for them, they now apparently knew the two Freelancers were in the area and it was going to make their escape all the harder.

North's sniper rifle had a suppressor on it so the sound of each shot was quieted but it still cracked through the air every time he pulled the trigger.]

Got it!

[It was the only way they had a chance. Wash quickly checked his ammo and crouched down, ready to bolt as soon as North started shooting.

It took only a moment. A sniper rifle wasn't ideal for this. What Wash wouldn't have done for a machine gun right now! But it was better than nothing. As soon as he heard the shot he was up and running, heading back the way they'd come. He threw himself behind the nearest wall which provided decent cover and aimed his rifle.]

Three, two, one... go!

[North had a shotgun as backup but the enemy combatants were just too far away for it to be accurate by any stretch of the imagination not to mention the velocity on the pellets would have degraded so far that it probably wouldn't have even pieced body armor. It was meant for close range, offense at best and right now, he was woefully thinking about the DMR he probably should have brought instead.

Still, there were few people in the Project who could match North for his accuracy and ability when it came to wielding a sniper rifle and with each sharp bark of the rifle, another enemy troop was felled.] Egressing now.

[Trusting that Wash would have him covered, he climbed out of the crouch he'd fallen into and hurried back towards Washington's position in spite of the enemy fire and the fact that each movement had more pain flaring through his shoulder and upper chest.]

[Wash started firing, a steady stream of bullets to keep North covered, and keep those assholes from shooting. He thought he might have hit someone, but at this range it was difficult to tell. Didn't matter. Had to keep firing and just hope that they got out of here before they ran out of ammo.

Christ, why had he thought about that?

He caught North's movement out of the corner of his eye and then fell back, pressing himself up against the wall of the container.]

They aren't letting up.

This was not how Felix thought his day was going to go, but then - a lot of things have happened that he didn't think were possible.

First, the Tartarus being crash landed on them. Then, Locus choosing to betray him - refusing to kill those stupid little sim soldiers. The idiots thinking that they had killed him with that little grenade - and he thought he had died, would become just a pancake on the sharp rocks.

No, Felix was more resourceful than that. It was a good thing Hargrove gave them grappling hooks. And it was a good thing Hargrove had decided to show up, too.

He knew Hargrove didn't care about either of them. The thing was, Felix didn't give a shit about him either. But that little SOS that Tucker had sent out?

Oh, Felix had made his way onto the Staff of Charon. And when the Freelancers arrived to save their little blue buddies? Felix was there, a new rifle in hand, a cracked visor on his helmet.

"Oh, hello. Fancy meeting you two here," he says, though the faux cheer is tinged by mania.

The war seems like it might be over, but there are battles still to be fought. The pirates have scattered, but those tanks had taken a hell of a lot to take down and then that message had gone out...

They needed to find the Reds and Blues.

The ship was in Chaos but the main forces seemed to be elsewhere when Wash and Carolina arrive, heading up through the decks, taking out who they can.

And then an unfortunately familiar figure steps out ahead of them.

Wash levels his rifle immediately. "Get out of the way, or we'll just have to throw you off another ship."

After all they've been through, Tucker thinks, they're entitled to a break. Absolutely entitled, really, it was about fucking time. And Kimball had set them up, was keeping the secret about where they were and no one was bugging them. No more bullshit except what they created on their own, which was familiar and almost comforting. Just him and his people.

Thing is, Tucker thought he'd be enjoying downtime more.

Doing next to nothing is great, don't get him wrong. He's especially enjoying not being shot at or stabbed anymore. Not having to train his ass off day in and day out just to ensure staying alive. It just feels like he needs... more than leisure.

Maybe war's ruined him for the civilian life.

Especially since he's found that his favorite part of the day is actually the morning routine with Wash. The other soldier still gets up at dawn, runs laps around the base and does all the exercises that Tucker used to loathe. He doesn't wake Tucker to do them with him anymore but Tucker finds himself hauling himself out of bed every morning anyway, putting on his armor and falling into pace beside Wash, running to keep those glamorous calves.

This morning is no different. He hears boots pass his door and gets out of bed, reaching for his armor and wondering why.

Maybe part of him is expecting the universe to catch up and hit them again.

Maybe he just likes the company.

It's taking a lot of getting used to, but then again, Wash has never really lived in a time of peace. Even as a child, there was the ever-present threat of the Covenant, a war that had lasted longer than he'd been alive. Then there'd been the army and the Project, and now?

Now there is apparently a water park.

He still wakes at dawn because that routine's been part of his life for too long to give up quickly. He's already outside, stretching before he pulls on his armour when the door opens and Tucker steps out.

"Morning," he says quietly, offering a brief smile before he seals his bodysuit up the rest of the way.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. This wasn't what he had signed up for.

He wasn't supposed to live longer.

To be fair his master had died of age, not anything that the man he named Florida could account for. Not a bullet he could step in front of. Not a foe he could stab. But Florida had always known that he would go first. There were jobs that put him in an obscene amount of danger after all. But time after time his master would send him off with a 'come back in one piece' and damn it if Florida hadn't done his best to oblige. It was... disappointing. And now here he was, the oldest hawk, the longest bound to their master, and the oldest surviving Hawk since many others that had been bound in the master's youth had died or been retired in one manner or another.

Which meant Florida was considered, in some ways, the de facto leader of the lot. Meant he was supposed to be the first one to approach the heir, their new owner. He hadn't been able to foist that off on someone else fast enough. Fact of the matter was that this young man, this son of the man he had lived to serve, was not someone Florida wanted to work with. He was bound to obey and he hated it. This wasn't his master, this wasn't the man whose family had taken him in, raised him as if he was actually family, who had fostered him and the man who had accepted when Florida had decided the best way to help the man who he had been raised with was to be a Hawk to him. This was a child. A boy who wasn't going to be able to live up to all his father was. And Florida had no out.

So instead he did his best to avoid. He stayed quietly near the back of the mews when the man arrived, and hoped not to be noticed. Let someone else indulge the asshole.

Open RP post

sometime post-chorus

Re: sometime post-chorus

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Final Battle aka: shoot Felix, Wash, you know you want to

Re: Final Battle aka: shoot Felix, Wash, you know you want to

moontime shenanigans;

Re: moontime shenanigans;

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