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 Posted: Tue May 06, 2014 11:51 pm
The Creatures have found a way to get into our world, and they are so big and great that we are powerless to stop them.
That is, until the world bands together and creates constructs to fight them, ten stories tall and metal and runic and the ferocity of fear turned against the Creatures.
They're so big that it takes two to pilot, and the ones that can become the best of the best.
Students/Horsemen: Kaiju
Hunters: Hunter Pilots/around the base/etc - if you want, weapon can be your pilot or combine for jaegername/etc
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 12:48 am
Kostya
He and his first pilot have a fallout that almost kills him, because she trains with someone else but it's him that pulls the plug. She was beautiful in her intelligence: fierce and calculated, measuring percentages in her head and they were in sync until they were not.
She fights with someone else, and now he is alone, staring out of the hangar every time a Hunter leaves the bay, a longing in his eyes that can't be comforted by anything short of suiting up again.
And he stays that way, for a time, until she arrives, and changes everything.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 1:06 am
Leslie
He's not good enough to be a pilot, but he hangs around the base, both a nuisance and a pest, starstruck but too a*****e to admit it. He'll never be one, but he can hang around until they throw him out, especially now that the funding's gone and they need all the help they can get.
Maybe he's useful, sometimes, a bit of a slow learner but getting better, and so he hands the engineer the appropriate tools as they work on the oldest model, listening to the stories.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 4:53 am
America
She was hot s**t and she knew it. The certainty of her worth was clear from the lift of her chin straight down to the boots that strode across grates and walkways at a pace that never faltered or hesitated. America Jones was confident, skilled, and best of all, honest. She was as open and unashamed in life as she was in the drift, the transition between the two was swift and seamless, and that made her compatible with damn near anyone capable of making it into a jaeger.
For a time.
But nobody was really it, for her, and it wasn't as though she could hide that fact from her copilots. So yeah, America was a hot s**t pilot who could sub in for nearly anyone on the fly and was a total ********> godsend. But couldn't hold down a copilot long term. Didn't even want to keep any of them long term and so it wouldn't be a problem except for the fact that it meant she never got her own jaeger.
Which was ******** bullshit.
Until she stopped by to fill in at the international 'dome for some newbie with a broken arm and met a Russian who's face looked like it needed to be hit a few times to get some sort of expression going.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 5:13 am
Reese
Everything was close and safe and dark as the worlds throbbed around her. In time she would leave this to become strong. To fight. To serve the Precursors' purpose. But she was still small, still forming, and all she would do for a time is dream and evolve to meet that purpose.
That was how it should have been.
That was not what happened.
Everything went loud, then terribly quiet around her; the throbbing ceasing in pieces until there was only her small, under-formed body left to weakly crawl from the womb that was the world. There was a sound out here, in cold. She tilted her head slightly and decided it was unpleasant.
"Oh my god, oh my....what...how..."
With shaky steps she moved toward the moving noise thing and sat heavily in front of it with a loud huff as it's body altered to breathe in air for the first time. Leaning forward she stared at the thing, taller than her but very thin.
"Dude, I think it like...wants something," another thing appeared and moved around with fewer high pitched squeaking sounds. It had a peculiar odor. Tasting the air, she decided it was unpleasant as well.
"What would it want?! It was just born, it's like a baby! A baby monster oh my god!"
"Maybe we could sell it..."
"Maybe it's hungry...are you hungry?"
"It'd be a lot more bad a** if you didn't glow pink..."
"Good girl, yeah, be a good girl and you can have a snack..."
"Dwight, 1. those are my Reese's Pieces and 2. you're totally ripping off ET right now and I don't think we want her to phone home."
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Posted: Tue May 13, 2014 12:22 am
KostyAmerica
They were drift compatible. His close range to her long, her grapple to his throw, their dance a heated symmetry that should not have worked-- but it did, built over months and in him a trust was earned-- and a loyalty that was stronger than any blood tie.
He would die for her, without a thought, but more importantly, he would kill for her.
Kostya smiled, sharp and ferocious and empty-eyed, and sprinted towards the Hunter, catching her hand as she met his stride without hesitation.
It was time to do what they did best, and as they suited up, the metal caressing up their spine and spreading outwards to cover them, syncing their minds together and melding memories (abandonment, resentment) together (triumph, loneliness) until they served as a single unit.
gonna kill itof course we areyou ready, kon?born ready as of six months and three weeks and two days priorgonna soarhigher andhigher and show themnot to mess with us.
This is what it means to be a hunter.
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Posted: Tue May 13, 2014 1:08 am
Leslie + Taym
He'd never been good enough to be a pilot, because there had been no one that fit, even if his tiny, scrawny a** could get through training. He makes himself available, as always, clinging to the hopes that the program would find him someone or that someone would find him, and even if they couldn't touch the perfection that was Cold War, it would be so much more than just good enough.
His chance comes when Obadiah Thompson arrives, not quite skeleton-thin but gaunt enough to cut glass with his face and turns out that his tongue is sharp enough to do the job, too. He's sour and awful and gets along with no one, he's drift compatible with three people he disregards off the bat as not good enough to do the job right. He smokes like a chimney and his hands shake, he scowls constantly and pines for America in way obvious to all but her partner, and he is the single coolest person Leslie has ever met.
He shares a cigarette with him, one day, hands covered in grease because there haven't been missions recently and there's no one to get wrist-deep into in the med bay so he tries to help in engineering instead, and Obadiah looks at him once, twice, and says, with an outstretched hand and a judging, critical eye:
"Thompson."
They roll through training like feral animals, trading stories and Leslie doesn't ask where he's from or what he's done so long as Taym doesn't ask in turn. They're perfect partners in crime and Leslie's begrudging efficiency until the drift washes over them, melding their minds and splitting their memories in two after being shaken not stirred. In that moment, both of them realise that Leslie is a f**, and it damn near costs them Tanglehoof and everything else, and they don't talk for a week -- or, that would have happened, but two days and three hours later there's an attack and it's got a swarm this time, young ones that are hungry for their world.
In the chaos, in the hurried rush of deployed Hunters, they come to an understanding, and their girl and she's not Cold War or Wonderland or the Grecian Sisters, but she's theirs: small and fast and sharp around the edges, hooked for grabs and throws, powered by three cores and nimble like the both of them are.
Leslie grins, sharp and crooked, and Taym smiles back with teeth that are three times as yellow.
They charge forward, racing past Cold War and flanking one with a triangular head in rusted reds and alien-tiger stripes, and the Drift is no longer something to regretfully fight, but rejoice in, and they're both the biggest assholes that the other knows, and realise:
They'll be just fine.
It happens when you're too stubborn to die.
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Posted: Wed Aug 27, 2014 6:30 pm
America
She'd grown up in a big family, rowdy and energetic and loving despite that they were poor as ******** after the massive nightmare forms Florida turned their orchards and land into nothing more than a stomping ground. They'd all stayed by the coast though, working on the Wall for what good it did.
There had never been any future for America Jones other than Jeager Pilot, even without the fame and glory than could go hand in hand with the job, this had always been the goal. There had been a princess phase for awhile, but there were poorly drawn pink and gold Jaegers wearing tiaras while punching dragons in an old memory chest that cemented the fact that even as a child, America adapted her goals but never truly dropped them.
She didn't have the top simulation scores in her training group. Not at first. All the flashing lights and fiddly controls were overwhelming and distracting and made America nervous in ways she hadn't anticipated. But starting out awesome woulda been nice, but getting better was where she'd always excelled anyway. And she did, because the technical aspects of piloting were secondary to the physical and intuitive and so she trained her body and reflexes with the sort of ruthless abandon that someone with no out, no fall back plan, could manage. This was it for her, hell or highwater, her family worked that ******** Wall and damn if she wasn't going to be the one protecting them.
She was America Jones and she was hot s**t, but maybe she didn't start out that way, and maybe that was what made all the difference when the 'Bridge between her and one Konstantin Bashmet linked them in what was less a handshake and more a revelation.
"Oh...it's you." The first words she spoke to him that weren't some derisive joke or suspicious, aggravated posturing, and with them washed away everything that came before.
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