ximilialog | forget your lust for the rich man's gold

𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 𝕚 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕪 𝕦𝕡, 𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕞𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕕 𝕝𝕦𝕔𝕜

[ Upon arrival back at the station, Raleigh is quiet, reserved, thinking hard about the things they’ve seen and done, how the mission went in comparison to the last. Better than he’d anticipated, but maybe that’s a bit of quiet pessimism shining through. It’s not as if any of the damn missions have gone all that well.

Still, it leaves him on edge, as does the return of his pain, the nerves firing on all pistons once more, keeping him from sleep. The slow creep of radiation towards vital organs, twisting a once healthy body slowly, methodically into something different, something full of rot and decay. He needs medical attention, he knows. Sooner rather than later. The missions tend to be filled to the brim with action and problems, and Raleigh has been too distracted to have anything properly taken care of. Temporary fixes are all well and good, but he needs more. Much more.

But not tonight.

Tonight, with the stars in the far, far distance, Raleigh is on a training mat with the blade he’d borrowed from Itachi, working with it, pulling up the skills he’d gleaned from Mako, the sharpness of Tokyo’s daughter forever embedded in his brain. Slow, practiced movements. Not advanced, but not beginner. Her father had been a swordmaker, and one cannot master such an art without understanding the weapon itself.

He can also be found with a hanbō, and that he is far more practiced with, going through routines like clockwork, almost a performance. Barefeet, bare chest; clad only in sweats, Raleigh dances alone with the staff, illuminated only by the one or two lights he bothered to turn on. ]

𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤, 𝕀 𝕨𝕚𝕤𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕞𝕪 𝕝𝕚𝕡𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕓𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕 𝕒 𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕖

[ It isn’t often Raleigh gets a full nights sleep. He’s a notorious insomniac, know for taking catnaps in strange places back at the Hong Kong Shatterdome. In the few short weeks he’d been there, he’d endeared himself to half the crew, and could often be found snoozing against Gipsy’s foot, ankles crossed, hard metal of the jaeger behind him. Sometimes, he would be found up on the roof, dozing like a cat, skin warmed by the sun.

Mostly though, he was awake, especially at night. It doesn’t seem to have changed here aboard the station, and Raleigh often prowls the halls in the midnight hours, when the only light comes from under other fellow insomniacs' doors.

He frequents the kitchens, looking for candies and treats, itching to fulfill his sweet tooth cravings. Sometimes he’s looking for liquor, and can be found at a table in the mess with a bottle and a glass, staring listlessly into nothing. Other times, he can be found seated by a window, staring out into space and contemplating his smallness, his insignificance when compared to the vastness of the beyond.

𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕀 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕨𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕦𝕡, 𝕀 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕘𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕥

[ When Raleigh is actually in his room, the door tends to be open these days, closed only when he feels the crushing need for privacy, to be alone with his thoughts. He’s spent so long being alone, though, that there is a need for intimacy of the verbal sort, of friendship and open doors, of being welcomed into his space even if it’s a little uncomfortable sometimes.

He’s often on his bed, ankles crossed, leaning against what passes for a headboard, reading whatever books he can get his hands on, things he’s asked for, bought on missions, whathaveyou.

Pictures have been taped along the wall over his tiny nightstand, and the ones that didn’t fit or he ran out of tape for are in a packet wound by a rubber band, propped up against the wall.

There is a glass of whiskey a safe distance from his treasured photos, the bottle proper settled on the floor.

𝕤𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕥, 𝕓𝕠𝕪𝕤, 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕨𝕒𝕣

(( wildcard option! Prompts don’t suit your fancy? Lets try something else! ))

Edited 2022-04-19 23:00 (UTC)

[ After coming back, Peter spends the first two days mostly resting. He wasn't fully recovered from what happened in Scorpion's Bend when he got dragged to a literal hell city, and that wasn't very good for his health either. Nor was the following. Having wings had been cool, but one of them getting hit brought a kind of searing pain he's never experienced before. It will be hard to forget, but it's not as if Peter isn't used to it.

Eventually, he's got enough energy back that he no longer sleeps easily, both because of the nightmares and because he's always been sort of nocturnal. He needs more practice with Gamora's sword, it came in handy during the last mission, but Peter only has proper experience with firearms of all kinds, and that's how he ends up in the training room. He catches Raleigh when he's doing a routine with the hanbō and Peter is instantly mesmerized, not wanting to interrupt but curious about it. He doesn't say anything at first either, just in case he distracts the other man, but he's also not trying to hide his presence. ]

[ Raleigh's got enough awareness to know when there's someone else in the room, but there's no move to stop him, so he will finish out the routine that he's started, spinning to a stop, the butt of the staff hitting the ground with a soft thunk. He's sweaty, leaning on the staff, when he looks up and flashes a little smile. ]

Hey.

Ey man, hi. Nice moves you've got there.

[ It's always a delight to watch Raleigh fight or train, actually. Peter has the feeling that if Drax were around the ship, he would enjoy sparring with the man as well. ]

Trouble sleeping?

Thanks, man.

[ He's still out of breath, leaning a little on the staff before pushing off. Been a while since he's actually focused on training. These mission take up a lot of energy - in every possible way. ]

Yeah, kind of an insomniac. Figured I'd try to wear myself out.

Ah, I know how that is. The last mission has been rough as well. [ Between the mess that was Scorpion's Bend a few months ago and later the worry that Finn, Daisy, and the others would get executed before they had the chance to be rescued, Peter has been on edge. He's always been better at focusing on other people's problems than his own, so he offers. ] If you feel like talking about it...

[ He is here to listen. And if Raleigh doesn't want to share his thoughts at all, that is fine by him too. Peter looks at the wooden stick he's holding, not familiar with what the hanbō is as a training weapon but curious. ]

I don't suppose you'd be willing to teach a fellow orber who also can't sleep? I usually use my blasters, but hand-to-hand hand-combat is more useful to burn out the extra energy. You move really elegantly with that thing.

It really was.

[ The whole...jailbreak thing, staying behind and helping people, it had been a lot.

Plus the whole heaven and hell thing, then showing back up here and feeling like shit again. Not great. ]

Yeah man, of course. I'd be happy to. [ He gestures - there's a second one leaning against the wall - he'd been hoping that someone would show up. ]

𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭

[ Dean doesn’t spend a lot of time in the sunlight room, choosing mostly to spend his free time in his room with his vinyls or in the kitchen cooking, distracting himself from his thoughts by keeping his hands busy.

Now, though, he’s there in the meadow on his back, hands behind his head as he looks up into the moonlit night, stars twinkling above. He tries to count them and immediately fails, giving up and instead allowing himself, for once, to think about the people he’s left behind, the people he’s lost along the way. Allowing yourself to get close to people is always a danger, both here and back home, and he wonders if Luke is alright, if he made it home safe, if he came to terms with the regret he’d had, letting it go and instead allowing himself to move on.

That’s the happy ending, he guesses. Dean isn’t sure he can let go of his regret, it spawns so many things; so many that he’s seen and that he knows are yet to come.

He wonders about his brother, thinks about the last time he saw him, the last things he said. He wonders if Sam will forgive him if Dean manages to fix this, if he rights his wrong and stays in hell on the rack, instead of caving to Alistair, instead of breaking the first seal. He wonders if he’ll be able to forgive Sam while he rots on that rack, tortured and broken, for choosing a demon over his own brother.

He wonders about Castiel, about how he’s alive after he’d been blown to smithereens by Raphael. He wonders, secretly, quietly, if they would have grown closer in the coming years, or if it would all be for nothing in the end, especially now that Dean’s choosing to undo that regret and instead of being saved by an angel, bearing his brand, he’ll stay in hell forever.

Dean stays there a long time in that meadow. You’d almost think he was dead, the way he’s so still, eyes barely blinking as he looks up at the ‘sky’. ]

𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐈 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[ When he isn’t angsting in the sunlight room or sulking in his room, he’s in the kitchen, searching for something to make that’s unique and creative, something that’s good instead of granola bars and rations.

He can be found there on any number of late nights, experimenting with what’s available. Usually, there’s a bottle of liquor beside him, a glass half empty as he putters around, searching for cookware, dishes, whatever he may need. Salt, spice. He doesn’t sleep much, maybe a few hours a night, so he has to find a way to spend his hours somehow.

On any given evening he’s there, apron on, humming Zeppelin and flipping pancakes or burgers or stirring mac ‘n cheese. Whatever’s available. ]

𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐦𝐞

[ A habit he’s picked up from his old man over the years is keeping a journal filled with experiences and sketches, notes on everything he’s been through and how it was handled.

The leatherbound journal in his hands is simple, the pen equally so, but it does the job. He doesn’t need fancy charcoals or colored pencils. He just needs an inkpen and his memory, blank pages and some Zeppelin.

His door cracked, it’s easy to hear the rhythmic beats of John Bonham, the dulcet tones of Robert Plant echoing down the hall, Dean occasionally singing along (hey, he ain’t half bad!) as he sketches and writes, getting his thoughts out of his head and onto paper. ]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰

(( wildcard option! Open to any and all suggestions ♥ ))

[ After being lost to himself last mission, Finn's been spending a large amount of his downtime alone, trying to find himself again. Part of that has been reconnecting with those on the station, either on purpose or on accident. Once he could feel the Force again, everything was so loud. It's better now that they're here, not as many voices shouting in his head, but it's still not quiet enough to let himself think.

Dean isn't one of the loudest (like Newton) but he is... a little concerning to Finn. He hadn't approached the other man, though. They weren't all that close, and Finn shouldn't be feeling out other people like this, anyway. Even if he doesn't actually mean to. It just keeps happening.

All the same, he frequents the Sunlight Room a lot these days, and he finds himself there at the same time as Dean. He approaches quietly, trying to gauge if the other man would rather be alone, and honestly thinks that he... does. Finn still walks closer, though, stopping a few feet away with hands in his pockets. He looks exhausted, baggy clothes on a slouched frame, but there's something in his eyes that seems... eerily knowing. ]

Hey... Nice night?

[ He hears Finn before he sees him, hunter and marine training and all that, but no one on the station proper has presented themselves to be a direct threat to Dean so far, so he doesn't twitch into a defensive position, instead just staying where he is, blinking up at the sky. ]

Yeah, it is. It's probably an illusion, but it's pretty.

[ It is a nice illusion. One would think Finn would be sick of those by now, but he looks up and... is okay with it.

He glances down again. ]

Do you mind some company?

[ He won't be offended or anything. If anyone understands the desire to be alone right now, it's Finn. ]

[ Dean blinks his thoughts away and gestures next to him. The meadow is plenty big for two, and Dean doesn't overly mind the company. ]

Not at all. Make yourself comfortable. It's like a real life Twilight meadow.

[ Finn offers a small smile before sitting on the ground beside Dean, looking up at the fake-stars. Then... he falls back to stare up at the sky. ]

I've never actually done this before.

[ Random, but there it is. ]

Do you do this a lot? [ Does it help? ] Wait, what's a Twilight meadow?

Not a lot, but sometimes. It's kinda relaxing.

[ Not the first time he's stared at the stars, though he tends to prefer to lay on the hood of the Impala to do such things.

Still, this is nice. ]

Oh, uh. Movie thing. Really terrible movie, actually.

Oh.

[ Glad he doesn't get the reference, then.

Anyway, Finn opts for silence at that point, just taking in the atmosphere and the scenary and the serenity of it all. Even Dean's presence feels like a balm right now.

And, eventually, quietly: ] This is relaxing.

[ Silence is good, in moments like this. Quiet and peaceful, just taking in the view with someone by your side. Dean's crushingly lonely sometimes despite being part of a decent sized crew, so this is nice. ]

Yeah. Used to do this sometimes, with my brother. Just stare at the stars, maybe shoot off some fireworks.

[ Right, his brother. They spoke about him once before, when they first met... ]

When you were kids or-...?

[ Finn is curious to know more, sure, but he kind of wonders if Dean may feel better talking about him. Figures that he... must miss him. ]

Kids and adults. We kinda traveled around together for a couple years.

[ Sort of, anyway. ]

Man, we drove like a thousand miles for an Ozzy concert once. We did some crazy stuff.

[ He has no idea what an Ozzy is. But he does know what a thousand miles are and is pretty sure they didn't fly there. ]

That's a lot. You guys sound really close.

[ To travel so long without killing each other, y'know. ]

Yeah, we were. We'd drifted for a while, he went off to school and I was working with our Dad. But then some shit happened and we linked back up. And then he pulled some bullshit and now I'm ready to strangle him again.

[ Mostly though, at this point - he just misses him. ]

Typical brothers, I guess.

Yeah, you... mentioned something like that.

[ Something something the devil something. Finn didn't know what to think and sort of tried to push it out of his head. Sorry, Dean. ]

Maybe you'll get to strangle him soon. People show up here all the time, after all.

[ Yeah, probably for the best. It's not a super fun place he comes from. ]

That's true. I kinda wonder why it's me here, and not him, too. Unless he just doesn't really regret what he did.

[ But deep down, Dean knows that isn't true. He knows Sam realizes just how much he fucked up, but again - why isn't he here, too? ]

If the orbs offered this to everyone, we wouldn't all be able to fit on this station. But they reached out to you, so... maybe they'll find him, too.

True. Place would be overrun.

[ Maybe Finn isn't wrong, maybe they'll find Sam. Kid has a lot to atone for, but man...if Dean can fix it, then none of it happens in the first place. ]

Just wish the orbs would hurry it up, you know?

... Yeah...

[ Except, Finn finds he doesn't want them to hurry up. He wants this to last a long while. Which... is dumb.

He opts not to say that. ]

You'll see him again before you know it.

[Now that space heaven, space hell, and everything in between is over and done with Harley can paint her nails and have a good time with her bestie. That title gets thrown around quite a bit, and once again the flavor of the month honor is handed over to Dean. With her nail polish in hand, some cheez-whiz (of the off-brand variety), and some buttery crackers she helps herself into Dean's place, and look she would've knocked if she hadn't been struck by his vocals.]

Chi-Town ain't much to look at, but nobody told Robbie that. You can find the same garden variety gangsters in every major city in the continental US. Hey, Deano! Girls night?

[ Dean never really knows what kind of interaction he's gonna get when Harley shows her face, so it's really always a gamble. This time, she bursts in with a myriad of strange fuckery in her hands, demanding a girls night.

Alright.

He closes his journal and stows it in his night stand, a wry smile on his face. ]

Hello to you too, Harley. Make yourself at home.

We're not moping again, are we?

[It's a valid question, he's been having a hard time and she never asked why just played the buddy card and drank away his woes with him but the fact remained that she did care. Evidenced by the slightly concerned smile plastered on her mug.]

C'mon. Tell Aunty Harley all about what you were writing in your diary. You do my nails and I'll give those shoulders a squeeze.

A little quid for your pro quo.

Nah, no noping here. Not today anyway.

[ He grins, and he stretches a little, popping his back. Sitting at weird angles isn't super great for a guy who gets thrown around by demons and monsters on the reg. ]

It's mostly notes and drawings of the places we've been. My old man kept one, kinda kept up the habit from him, I guess.

[ He eyes that polish, lips twisted in a little smirk. ]

I'm probably gonna screw that up, y'know. But I'll give it a shot if you mean it about my shoulders.

By the sounds of things, you need a lot more than your shoulders done. You're too young to have popcorn bones.

[Harley holds out the nail polish with a wicked grin and takes up a spot on Dean's bed facing him. The notes and drawings, that much is interesting and she passes the journal a casual glance on her way to getting nice and comfortable.]

Steady hands, if you can draw and write in that big leather-bound book you can paint my nails. Or... I could paint your nails and you could do my shoulders?

Tell me about it. I feel like an old man.

[ He takes the polish and sets the journal aside, pulling his legs up to sit cross legged, reaching for her hand. ]

Definitely not. Gimme your hand.

Well, you might feel that old but you don't look that old? If it helps.

[Harley's not quite sure where she'd guess Dean's age at but she knows from hanging out with him on a mission and at the station that besides drinking like a fish and having bad joints he's as sturdy as they come.

A hand she does give! It's nice to have the help, not that she has any problem painting her own but getting serviced does wonder for the psyche.]

So, we're gonna have to let these bad boys dry before I can pony up on my part of the deal. Wanna tell me more about your journaling, or should we talk about the weather? [The non-existent space station weather.]

[ Jim's always been too curious for his own good, but he doesn't necessarily see it as a bad thing. Lands him on a tough spot on occasion, but for the most part he ends up pleasantly surprised, as is the case now.

To be fair, Dean was practically inviting a prying Captain sliding the door open further and poking his head in, especially with that music playing and Dean's voice joining on occasion. He figured he'd be alone (if he weren't then he'd had the door closed, he's sure), and he greets him with a smile, leaning against the door frame. ]

Accepting company, or would you rather be left on your own?

[ Dean looks up when Jim slides the door open and flashes a smile, book in his lap, pen stilling from where he'd been scrawling something on the paper. ]

By all means, come in, have a seat, grab a drink.

[ He'll even shift to make room on the bed if Jim would like to have a seat. ]

[ He promptly steps inside and closes the door behind him, taking the invitation and crossing the distance to Dean's bed, taking up a seat right next to him. He's not up for a drink just yet, but he is interested in what Dean's doing, so unless the journal is hidden away, he peers into it curiously. ]

Ah— a journal. I keep one of those too, [ He comments. ] Most people back home think it's silly and a little outdated, but what do they know, right?

[ He lays it in his lap, wide open for perusal. It's a sketch of his wings, actually, so he doesn't forget what they look like. If he's allowed to keep this, he'd like to show Sam sometime, provided they survive what happens to come. ]

Not shit, apparently. [ He grins. ] My dad always kept one. Full of notes and drawings and stuff. I actually have it with me.

[ Jim lets out an impressed little sound, picking up the journal so he can get a better look at the sketch. While he's at it, he takes a little peek at previous pages, provided Dean doesn't mind. ]

This looks good, Dean. Never would've pinned you for an artist, [ He teases a little, nudging his leg against Dean's. ] Is it personal? Or can I see his journal too?

Well, I dunno about all that.

[ artist...eh. He'd call it amateur at best. It's just practice. Still, it makes him blush. ]

Uh, yeah. Sure. [ It isn't far away either, stuffed under the bed, and he gropes for it and hands it over, abandoning his pen in favor of his whiskey glass. ]

[ Well, Jim doesn't think one needs to be a professional to be an artist, and besides, practice makes perfect. As long as Dean enjoys drawing, not much else matters.

He takes the journal with a thanks, opening it and leafing through the pages. He's mostly curious about the similarities and differences, not just in style but in content as well; how much Dean may have learned from his father in this aspect too. ]

He was really meticulous.

[ There's newspaper articles taped to pages with cramped, handwritten notes underneath, sketches of monsters, copious amounts of notes and symbols littering each page. Dean's still working on his, so his pages aren't as nearly filled out, but it's just habit, at this point. ]

I think Sam's the better artist, though.

Yes, I can see that.

[ To Jim, none of it is quite real, more fantasy than anything, even if he knows it's real in Dean's world. But it's no less fascinating, and he takes his time reading some portions of text, looking over the pictures of monsters and symbols that litter the pages. ]

Well, still. Yours are pretty good. Do you have anything of Sam's?

forget your lust for the rich man's gold

raleigh becket | pacific rim

𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 𝕚 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕪 𝕦𝕡, 𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟

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dean winchester | supernatural

my mama warned me

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body dripping

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body dripping in black

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