gysgt-reaper

[gysgt-reaper]

"You need to be sober, but you know me and my whole... thing with heights and flying and all that shit. You'd need me at least belligerently intoxicated just to get me on board, much less agree to your shenanigans.

"... But I am totally on board for the standing and staring at them afterwards, particularly as, were I drunk as stipulated, I'd be giving them the surliest "What, motherfucker?!" stare in the history of the UNSCDF..."  

"If you and me were ever to get discharged from service, what crazy-ass reasons do you think it would be on account of?"

"I’ve always wanted to jack a D77H and cut off all communications right as a new shipment of rookies - fresh out of the academy - is about to dock. We spiral towards them acting like most of the maneuvering thrusters in vector pylons are shot, cut on the comm an’ scream bloody murder before bailing at the last second an’ getting our asses locked in the brig."

[gysgt-reaper]

"Wait- waaait... this is important.  "What the fuck happens to the D77H after we bail out?! And how are you gonna get be on bo- fuck, a lot of alcohol is involved in this idea..." 

"If you and me were ever to get discharged from service, what crazy-ass reasons do you think it would be on account of?"

"I’ve always wanted to jack a D77H and cut off all communications right as a new shipment of rookies - fresh out of the academy - is about to dock. We spiral towards them acting like most of the maneuvering thrusters in vector pylons are shot, cut on the comm an’ scream bloody murder before bailing at the last second an’ getting our asses locked in the brig."

[gysgt-reaper]

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HALO RP

And you will be added to this list

If that isn’t your fandom, find it here or send in an ask.

[gysgt-reaper]

At least you didn't run this time. That's something, right?

Damien had no sooner sank down onto a seat at an unoccupied table near the door before burying his face in his hands, trying his damndest to bring himself under control, to calm down and get himself put back together. The other soldier, annoying as he was, hadn't meant any harm by initiating phyical contact. How was he to know that Reaper would react that way, when so many other soldiers obviously didn't have any issues with companionable touches, ribbing, or riding around on each other's shoulders, as the other man had arrived using another ODST as his chariot of sorts. 

Not his fault. You're tired, it's a new unit, it's a new ship, it's-

Reaper's internal monologue was interrupted by the other trooper's voice, pitched low and rhythmic as he spoke a short ways behind Damien. It was oddly soothing, and after a moment, the younger man's shoulders relaxed even as a little pang of intermingled guilt and regret ran through him. He'd come off much more unpleasant than he'd intended to towards the other man, between exhaustion and unhappiness with his new assignment, had taken it out on the other man with no justification and little provocation. To have the other man not only reach out to him again with that caring sort of concern, but so soon after Reaper's little spectacle, made the young trooper wince as he re-ran the words over in his mind as the man slid the tray onto the table beside him before saying his piece and setting off at a leisurely pace.

Making friends and influencing people sure as hell isn't my strong suit, Damien thought bitterly, as he made the mental note to both find the other soldier after breakfast, apologize, and at the very least make nice with him in the form of introductions and a little small talk. Hell, after a little coffee, he was generally more approachable himself, and certainly pretended to enjoy social interactions much better than before it. Reaper took up the coffee cup in his hands, holding it between them to enjoy the warmth for a  moment before he raised it up to his lips-

The lights flickered once, dimming then brightening, before the red warning lights at the mess hall's doors, down the hallways outside, sprang to life and began pulsing in a slow rhythm. 

"Attention all hands, proceed to battlestations immediately, repeat-" 

Sonofabitch!

There were certainly more curses that flitted through his mind, as he set the cup down with only a moment's mournful glance before he pushed himself to his feet and made for the doors. Thankfully he'd had the presence of mind to choose a seat near the exits himself - the last thing he needed right before a combat drop was to be jostled around in the crush of soldiers trying to make it out of the hall. 

Skidding around a corner, he set eyes on the retreating form of the trooper from only a few minutes before, the other man already breaking into a run for the ODST's prep and drop bays, and quickened his pace to keep sight of the other man figuring that would be his best bet to find the quickest route there with minimal difficulty. The last thing he needed this morning was to be late to his HEV or miss the drop entirely on account of getting himself turned around. 

"All hands, prepare for slipspace jump." 

The day just kept getting better and better, and Reaper slowed his pace for a moment, as did the other trooper, both men compensating for the routine sense of distortion, the slight lurches of the vessel that inevitably accompanied the entry into Slipspace. Wherever they were headed, things weren't going to be pretty once they dropped. 

Something To Prove - LCpls. Reaper and Hoffman

"Hell of a mess," Gabe breathed, his hands kneading at the tension now coalescing at the base of his skull. "Poor kid. Fucked up before the fighting’s even started.." 

The image of a young Arabic woman, gnarled fissures scarcely visible beneath worn dogtags and tresses of ebony, gnawed at the forefront of his mind. For a time her eyes had held a terror similar to that of this sullen trooper, a fact that left a dull ache wedged below Hoffman’s sternum. Over the years he had learned to weather the startled blows known to leave his temple and almost indelible shade of blue as well as the ocean of tears offered each time in sincerest repentance. 

Reaper had not struck him physically - though Hoffman imagined, given the chance, he might have gladly done so - but the grip about his heart proved almost identical to that which arose each time his mother had lashed out in his youth. War had changed her in ways he could never have imagined, and it had taken decades for the family to learn her fears and properly anticipate her reactions. The other ODST was far too young to have known the true horrors of combat, and yet the fear in him appeared much the same. 

"The fuck makes a guy bolt like that? A complete 180 just because of a little-" Contact. Surely that must’ve been what set him off. 

With an exasperated sigh, Hoffman amassed what little remained of the morning’s provisions, poured two helpings from the freshly-brewed pot, and eased his way out of the mess with a loaded tray. “Forgot your java, pal..” he scoffed, his tone soft and oddly melodic. “They just called my unit, so I don’t think I’ll be able to finish my meal. You take it. I’ve not touched anything anyways.” 

As it was he could barely make out the silhouette of the other trooper over his shoulder. Good. Eye-contact was the last thing he wanted; the man had suffered enough for one day. “See you around, sometime. I’ll catch your name later.”

With that Hoffman placed the tray lightly at his side, leaving one of the two mugs for his haggard comrade and throwing back the one that remained as he meandered toward the hangar. 

[gysgt-reaper]

Damien had been about to open his mouth to respond, already forming a non-committal sort of apology to the other man in his mind for his behavior, if nothing more than to smooth things over and ensure that the other ODST would leave him alone. He came across as gruff so often that he was used to having to deliver such apologies, used to going through the words and the motions of playing at being sorry to smooth someone else's ruffled feathers so that both men could just go on their way as if nothing had happened. But then the other man had reached out, touched him in a gesture that was so startlingly invasive, so unexpected and unpleasant between the strangeness of the contact and the still-healing injury etched in his skin that for a moment, Reaper’s mind went blank for a moment, before the silence was filled with the sudden rush of things he’d rather forget, old memories of bad times welling up unbidden in the void left by the shock of that touch. Before he could come back to himself, stop himself, the young ODST's hand came up, slapping the other soldier's hand away as he recoiled from the contact, pale eyes wide with something akin to panic, the short hiss of words escaping him conveying the sudden rush of fear, shame, and anger that ran through him in that moment as his back met the counter and his hands moved to steady himself against it, braced and tensed as if he were some feral little animal ready to spring away from an advancing predator. "Don't fucking touch me!" The cool steel of the countertop beneath his hands served to bring him back to himself, and in the wake of that moment of reactive panic only shame remained, though it was quickly accompanied by another flicker of anger that someone had made him react in such a way. The other trooper, previously all smiles and jokes, was left standing there dumbfounded as Reaper pushed himself away from the counter and made a beeline for the mess hall doors, abandoning both the idea of coffee and a decent breakfast in favor of fleeing entirely, hoping to avoid the inevitably awkward questions he knew he was going to face in the wake of such odd behaviors.

Something To Prove - LCpls. Reaper and Hoffman

"Damn, no wonder the rest of your unit doesn’t seem to be hangin’ around. Coffee or not, you sure as hell aren’t gonna make many friends here with an attitude like that." Hoffman’s grin had lessened considerably, fading to little more than a forced smirk while his excited fidgeting had all but disappeared. The other man’s words were clearly taking a toll, and yet Gabe found himself oddly compelled to remain. "I didn’t catch your name, transfer. Your folks not teach you any manners? Must be an Earth-kid.." 

With an almost abject nod he waved away his current company, choosing to instead dedicate what little down time remained to this irascible insomniac. 

"I wouldn’t advise giving into said punchy urges with so many officers hanging around. Last thing a guy needs before a drop is a pissy CO and a pending disciplinary waitin’ for him when he gets back, but I’m sure you already knew that. You’d have clobbered me a long time ago if you didn’t, right? To be perfectly honest it might do you some good to- Damn, what the fuck did you do to your lip?" Hoffman’s thoughts trailed dangerously far from subject at hand. “You some kind of professional fuckup with a razor?" 

Against his better judgement, he permitted a single finger to trail lightly across the raw tear marring the other trooper’s face. “You seen a medic about that yet?"

[gysgt-reaper]

[[OOC - Will be responding to you today, Hoff, just got busy at work for a bit.]]

[gysgt-reaper]

"Must be why you seem like such a decent guy," Reaper replied, as he swept his gaze over the field, watching their fellows for a moment. "Because you're not one of those-"  Reaper's voice went quiet as the other man began speaking to the unit commanders, receiving their orders without question. Take down the Covenant at a distance, reposition, and lather-rinse-repeat to keep them from sweeping into this section of the city. It sounded easy enough in theory, but Reaper knew just as well as Fii did that things never went so smoothly in practice. He flicked his confirmation light once as well to signal that he understood, before shifting position towards the indicated approaching Covenant forces. He waited a handful of moments before speaking again.  "... I think we were back shipside for two days before getting deployed again," Reaper spoke softly, making sure that his words wouldn't overwhelm their need to stay alert. "Everybody's been in and out so damn fast lately." 

Anybody Out There - ODSTAdrianFii

"Reaper, I’m a field officer. I might have been trained to be an officer but since I didn’t have the good sense to get off the field, they don’t trust me with shit." Adrian chuckled softly as his shifted, following the forward scouts for just a second before moving back to watch their six.

Same old, same old, it seemed. Get in, get civvies out, don’t die. Standard operating procedure, it seemed. Follow order until they get fucked and then make up the rest as you go along. “I read you, Sergeant." Adrian said, fingers moving to link the scope of his rifle to the visuals on his HUD. “Forward read, we have movement at six o’clock, two klicks south of your current position, come back." Adrian flicked a friendly hand sign to Reaper as he continued to scout, knowing Reaper was covering their front. “We read you, Captain. Are they civilians, come back?" “Negative. Targets are too large to be human. We have Covenant contacts number about twelve in total. It looks like a small recon group, over." There was a pause over the comms before the officer called back both Reaper and Fii. “Fii, Reaper, wait til the covvies are about a klick away and then light them up. Once they’re gone, I want you to abandon your locations and re-position so any surrounding covenant can’t find you. Over?" Adrian called back over the comms with a flick of his confirmation light, hefting his rifle up to bear in preparation.

[gysgt-reaper]

[[OOC - Thank you, for this. Again, I say that your pieces all tell a story, or paint a scene in my head. I damn well may end up writing a piece themed around this, because it really is that striking and resonates that much with me for Damien.]]

[gysgt-reaper]

ODST Dress Uniform Analysis (Guide in progress) - posted in HALO Prop and Costuming Tutorials Discussion: THE JACKET:From what I can tell, the unform is based on the World War I United States Army Officers Uniform, just in black. At first a lot of us thought it might be the current United States Marine Corps Dress Blue Uniform jacket, but the chest pocket flap and the wrist cuff flap show that it is not the USMC Dress Blues.The pocket flap looks to be three different types used. These cou...

[[OOC - Visual breakdown of the ODST Dress uniform, draws material from the live-action ODST trailer that was made. 

Excellent costuming and artistic resource right up in here.]]

[gysgt-reaper]

"Thought you were an officer, Fii," Reaper replied with a grin, settling fully into position, sending a quick confirmation light to his unit commander even as he began his own sweep of the battlefield below. "Ain't it your job to know the answer to that?"  His rasping voice bore enough humor to make it clear that he was only joking, one serviceman to another. The expected companionable ribbing between an enlisted and an officer on the battlefield when the situation could change at any minute, just to relieve tension. Below him, Reaper could see the forward scouts of his unit beginning their push forward, men creeping carefully along, low and tight to shadows and cover. "Right now, it's that good old mix of search and rescue, and grease any alien sonofabitch that you find, far as I've been told. But you know how quick a situation can change out here." 

Anybody Out There - ODSTAdrianFii

[gysgt-reaper]

Helljumper, Helljumper where you been.

[gysgt-reaper]

Feet first into hell then back again.

[gysgt-reaper]

When I die please bury me deep, place an ma5 down by my feet.

[gysgt-reaper]

"The 12th," He replied, as he moved to follow, eyes sweeping the field as they went. While some might have thought two snipers would end up easily overrun and overwhelmed on the field of combat, think them limited once the enemy moved in too close, Reaper had always been of the mindset that assuming that two decent scout snipers would even allow any contacts to reach what would qualify as mid-range was an insult.  "Yourself?" 

So this one time on a drop - Open RP

“Gunnery Sergeant Damien Reaper,” He rasped back, quickly grabbing up his pack and securing everything once more before taking up his rifle. “Callsign’s Spooky, short for That Spooky Motherfucker.” 

[gysgt-reaper]

Attack my Askbox

♔: Three facts that people might not realize or know about your character

☢: Three headcanons that pertain to your character

❆: Three OOC facts about the Writer (why would you even ask this the most interesting thing about me is that i pretend to be two socially incompetent unstable adult men on the internet)

♕: Three different quirks the character has

☎: Three different people you’d like your character to interact with (canon or pandfandom)  ▦: Three different scenarios you’d like your character to participate in

✦: Three different things that remind the writer of the character

❖: Three things that the character likes

✘: Three different things the character disapproves of

[gysgt-reaper]

And there it was.  Sin number seven - bothering Damien Reaper when he hadn't had his coffee yet. Damn near tantamount to the sin of decaf.  Bothering, in Reaper's mind, was a well defined concept - either infringing on his personal space or yammering away at a mile a minute like a spastic chihuahua on methamphetamines. And the other trooper was doing just that, yammering on at speeds that would put the Shaw-Fujikawa drives to shame as he stood nearly arm to arm with Reaper, making him have to lean and reach around him to grab a filter, coffee, the basket, contort to get the damn thing set up and ready to brew. By the time Hoffman was done with his introduction, jittering like an excited little dog about to wet itself, Reaper had just about hit his limit, standing with his hands braced against the countertop the coffee machine was situated on, drumming angry fingers against it in an attempt to curb the desire to turn and slap the other trooper upside the head.  You already got two disciplinaries from the holdover unit, He told himself angrily, teeth almost finding the place on his lip where a ring had previously resided, where now only a healing injury remained, stopping before they bit down out of habit. That would've made his morning even better. Don't fuck it up first morning, don't do it, don't do it... "Yeah, I'm a new fuckin' transfer," He rasped, his words slow as if he were talking to a very foolish child, or barely in control of his temper. "I haven't slept all night - I also haven't slept much all fuckin week, I'm an insomniac. Do you know what that is, Gabriel?" Reaper turned to the other trooper, his voice managing to convey his sarcasm despite it's odd quality.  "It means that I don't get much sleep, and that I need my fuckin' coffee in the morning to deal with people like you. And if I don't get coffee first, and I have to deal with people like you, I get punchy. And when I get punchy, that means we have a fucking problem because I start considering relieving those punchy urges with my fist in your face. Now. Fuck. Off."  With that, the young trooper turned back to the coffee pot, once more leaning and tapping his fingers angrily against the countertop as he watched the dark liquid slowly beginning to drizzle into the pot. 

Something To Prove - LCpls. Reaper and Hoffman

The curt demand and raspy tone came as something of a surprise, - despite this other man’s emphatic irritation - comparable to being viscously swatted over the head with a rolled newspaper. 

“Shit, man.. I’ll put another pot on for you.. There wasn’t but a taste left in this one anyway. If anything, I think I saved you from some watery grounds,” Hoffman mumbled, scarcely audible over their boisterous, considerably less grumpy, throng of companions already filling the mess. It would take far more than a single man and a sliver of misplaced frustration to dampen Hoffman’s mood, however. 

As swiftly as he had dismounted his unit mate and rammed the coffee pot back into position, Gabe had taken to the other youth’s side, finding little reason to leave more than an few centimeters between them. They were comrades, after all. They might as well have been family as far as Hoffman was concerned. Maybe this cantankerous punk was merely something of a moody cousin? 

“You’re one of the transfers, right? I hear the higher-ups didn’t really give any of you a chance to so much as glimpse your quarters before dragging you off to that drab briefing; I’ll bet that’s why you’re bein’ such a tight ass!” Half-formed thoughts and verbalized elation dribbled from his lips at a dizzying speed. Each new question or remark to pop into his skull presented in the form of a stutter in whatever sentence he happened to be spewing at his weary brother-in-arms at the time. “LCpl Gabriel Hoffman, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, all things considered!” With that he inhaled, quivering breathlessly in the grip of his own excitement and tossing a glance back at several onlooking ODSTs, already cringing at the thought of how the caffeine-deprived trooper was going to react. 

[gysgt-reaper]

There were few things in the world that Damien Reaper really counted as sins.  Coincidentally, most of them revolved around coffee.  You had your unforgivable sin of labeling decaf as regular, tantamount to denying the holy spirit. You had dropping the coffee pot, which was a close second. Being that inconsiderate motherfuck who took just enough coffee to leave the next guy with a quarter-cup because you were too lazy to do anyone the courtesy of setting another pot to brew... But the young trooper standing at the coffee station had managed to, in a single moment, not only win himself Reaper's ire but make his tired brain come to the conclusion that when it came to coffee, there were definitely seven deadly sins and that this man had to be the embodiment of several at once.  Taking the absolute last of the coffee from the pot, which had to be worse than leaving only a quarter cup.  Drinking straight from the pot, which Reaper had never even considered a possibility (though despite his personal ire being roused at the act, there was just a shred or two of admiration as he'd never really considered the possibility of doing that himself).  Standing in front of the damn station, blocking it off entirely. Particularly while mounted on a 'trusty steed', that being the back of another trooper.  "Get the fuck out of the way."  No greetings, no hello, no acknowledgements of rank - though tired eyes did note that there wasn't much room for a confrontation there - just a raspy, snapped order to move uttered by a surly, tired-looking young trooper in desperate need of caffeine. Each word, thanks to genuine weariness, rang true with the accent of Damien's birthplace - wherever that was, and his expression of utter disapproval seemed even more filled with loathing thanks to the still pinkish line of scar tissue that traced it's way from the left side of his lower lip and down towards his chin. Short brown hair hadn't quite reached civilian length again, but was certainly well out of it's regulation boot hair cut, giving him an overall youthful air that if he'd been more awake and less angry might have given him a wolfish, lean quality... but instead leaned itself more towards angry young punk.  Either way, it was clear that the young man wasn't at all in the mood, or used to, taking anyone else's crap, as when his words didn't achieve immediate results, Reaper moved to jostle the other two men out of his way so that he could start brewing up the next pot of coffee.  "Standin around like assholes, gettin in everybody's way... fuckheads..." 

Something To Prove - LCpls. Reaper and Hoffman

Little could ease the mind of a certain anxious Lance Corporal as well as the subtle warmth of packed barracks- the distinctive chill of harsh, metal walls mingling with the heated breath of twenty some odd young ODSTs. Gabriel Hoffman had slept like a dead man that night with a fitting grin that suited only one as carefree as the dead etched into his feature. 

At the morning’s telltale commotion the man stirred, still splayed contently across his assigned cot while brushing a palm over a clean butch cut of ebony hair. “Transfers must be gettin’ the rundown,” he muttered idly as a final stretch drew any lingering fatigue from his muscles. The youth rose with an enthusiasm befitting both his age and the nigh euphoric level of rest the man had obtained the night prior, repaired the night’s sparse tossing and turning with bedsheets taut enough to bounce even the heaviest of coins under the scrutiny of whatever fastidious inspector was assigned to review his unit’s barracks that morning, and flittered to door before sprinting to the mess hall. 

So this is what I’d been missing all along.. 

Something about the life of a pilot had always left a dull ache gripping the innermost reaches of Hoffman’s chest. He had achieved so much in his years working under the UNSC’s Air Force, and yet he remained anxious - entirely unsatisfied. It was as though he was still merely a child going through the motions of some part-time gig; it felt nothing like what he had imagined a career would. No passion, no fulfillment. Few found themselves surprised when the pilot jumped ship to join up with the Marines only a few months after a well-deserved promotion. There he had excelled to a degree that put even his most remarkable of prior accomplishments to shame and quickly landed himself on the fast track to the ODST. 

Who would’ve thought.. Me - a Helljumper!

The UNSC Onyx Wrath was doubtlessly the largest ship the former pilot had beheld in his short career, and that realization thrilled the man beyond reasonable comprehension. It was a fact Gabe made no effort to conceal as he leapt onto the shoulders of a hapless unit mate already well-versed in his affectionate antics. “What grub are they servin’ up today? Anything special for the new arrival- Fucking coffee, man!” 

Steering his mounted comrade forward, Hoffman took hold of the sole, undrained pot, finishing it off triumphantly without so much as an idle thought cast toward the use of a cup. As the final drop of sweet caffeine slid across his lips the gaze of a rather surly-looking trooper captured his attention.