#& ELIAS RYKER. ( undercover. )

[silencedsonatas]

@magicandsciencemuses - ryker, undercover verse liked for a starter.

     His weight, and the warmth of him as he nestled against her was a welcome sensation in the ambient chill that crept through the apartment in the still murky, pre-dawn hours, eliciting a soft sound, a low grunt of discontent that wormed its way through her throat at the shift of weight beside her, at his lazy attempt to disentangle from her, and her fingers drifted up to scrape through his blonde strands, curling into them lightly as if to bewitch him into staying there with her.  "It is early yet,“ she protested, in some attempt to delay the moment when he would withdraw from the warmth their bodies had given to the sheets and blankets tangled around them. 

[rykerelias-archive]

CONTINUED: [x] @magicandsciencemuses​ Simon & Elias. Firefly ( undercover. )

   “It’s a perfectly standard vaccine needle size, Mr. Ryker,” Simon answered, doing his best not to roll his eyes. The only smaller needles he had were butterfly-style, but those were typically reserved for children or those who were particularly thin or dehydrated. If he tried one on Ryker, in all likelihood the tip would just break and then he would have a pissed and punctured mercenary on his hands. “Are you going to sit still and quietly so I can complete the process, or should I inform the captain?”

     There was an uncomfortable shift of Elias’ shoulders, a stubborn set creeping over his jaw for a moment, an expression bordering on sulky stealing over his features before he let out a huff, reluctantly reaching to roll up the sleeve of his t-shirt to bare his shoulder to the doctor.  “Does it have to be quietly?”  He couldn’t help the grumble, his gaze flickering back to the needle in hand again before skipping towards the door of the medbay, grateful not for the first time that everyone else on the ship seemed occupied with things more interesting than his apparently required intake physical.  “How long is the rest of this gonna take, anyways.” 

[rykerelias]

intelligence cont.

Listen though.  Elias is a smartass.  He can be crass.  He isn’t overly particular about his language and speech patterns unless he’s actively trying – it is very easy to assume that he is dumb and pretty, I have zero problems with that being the basic assumption even with him being a detective etc.  His intelligence isn’t always obvious, and he isn’t the kind to flaunt it because the more superior someone feels to him, the more they’ll let their true selves show, the less they assume he’ll understand, the more they’ll say or imply around him and that’s why he was so good at his undercover work for those years.  If your character assumes he’s dumb I won’t be offended.  It’s fine.  He’s not a classic intelligence, he has a reputation for violence and for standing and staring while his partner does the work, it’s all good.  I just needed to get that ramble out of my head.

modern verse ramble.

So for Elias’ modern verse, a lot of things stay the same as his backstory for his AC verse.  Mom split when he was 3-4, dad was kind of a jackass and sometimes violent and wasn’t around, Elias raised himself for the most part, Dad got put in jail when Elias was 13.  Elias bounced around juvie and the streets and the system for a while, hooked up with a local gang, got some marks against him, ended up arrested for armed robbery, assault w/ a deadly weapon, extortion yada yada, went into the military rather than prison.  Six years, came out, wandered for a while, ended up applying for the police academy, got accepted, got tapped for undercover work, three years there, three years bouncing around, finally settled in homicide.  

Main difference I’m going to do is probably not actually going to make a difference to anything unless someone happens to want to write for the Dad / or maybe it comes up in plot points later but.  Dad was a finger man for the local mafia, had wracked up a suspected body count of 16+ but could only get put away for one of them.   Gets out twenty years later, just in time to find out that Elias’ UC work has gotten him into hot water, like, boiling, with a mafia family and the dad decides he’s going to do whatever it takes to keep him safe, etc.  Reunion is messy and bloody and Elias doesn’t want anything to do w/ the dad but he has to accept his help to protect (whomever) and they end up sort of coming to terms before things go horribly awry.  

personality / relationships.

“I’m - I’m sorry, I messed up.  I… should’ve told you about my past.  You’re… a step up for me and I’m, I’m a step down for you.  I’m like five steps down for you. And I ju– I just wanted you to see the good stuff.”  

                                    “That is what I see.”

               And this is why, while I have my own development and headcanons and had things in my head for Ryker before I started watching the Killing, Holder is still a huge inspiration for parts of Ryker’s personality traits and such…  because there are some things that are vastly different, but some things are just so brutally the same.  Ryker, who knows who he is and where he came from, who honestly believes he can never be the kind of man that someone he loves actually DESERVES, because of the things that he’s done and the kind of person he thinks he is, who wants nothing more than to put the wrong things right and make the world a better place, who believes in the spirit of the law but fails over and over again to live by the letter of it, and hates himself for it but doesn’t know how to be anything else, how to be better, and he tries, and he fails, and he spirals, and then he picks himself up and he tries again, knowing it’s just a repeat cycle.  Ryker, who KNOWS the bad things, the bad people, the bad places because he’s been there, he’s done them, he is them, and he wants so badly to be better than that but over and over again he gets caught in this loop of thinking the only way he can help, the only way he can really make a difference is to do things the wrong way.  And part of him accepts that, that he’ll always be the bad guy.   He’ll always be that person that is five steps down.  And he KNOWS his people deserve better, and he WANTS to be better, and he tries, and he tears himself apart trying to be better than he is, when really, he already is so much better than he sees himself, and the people he’s in a relationship with love him not in spite of his past and his mistakes but because they are a part of him and they love the whole him and he just can’t swallow that, can’t believe that because he loathes himself so much.    I have so many emotions about this man.

personality / relationships cont.

“So I’ll see you later.”                         “Yeah?”              “We had a fight.  It happens.”

             it just makes me so sad.  how many times do people have to have hurt him, have walked out on him, have blown up something out of proportion or even if not, just not considered it worth the trouble to TRY to make something right before he just knows that all it takes is that one mistake, that one fuck-up on his part to lose someone, to lose everything.

abuse headcanon.

ok so this icon hurts me for so many reasons.  it’s like.  #640 of 900 something for starters don’t get me wrong i love having resources and this movie is perfect for elias in so many ways but omg it is taking forever to finish.  but also. it just hurts because his instinctive reaction to someone trying to hurt him is to block his face like, do you know how many times in your life you have to get slapped or punched in the face before that’s what you do?  cause i do.  it’s a lot.  now granted, in the movie it’s from he was a boxer but.  it also just.  suits for ic for elias growing up w/ his dad and growing up on the streets and in the gangs and prison system and just.  ugh.   ALSO MIGHT ADD IN THOUGH THAT HE DID SOME BOXING, STREET FIGHTS ETC IN HIS MODERN VERSE / MAYBE DID SOME PIT FIGHTS IN HIS AC VERSE IN HIS EARLIER ADULT YEARS FOR EXTRA MONEY ET AL.

[rykerelias-archive]

TRANSFERRED FILE. || @cardshcrp Remy & Elias. VERSE: modern au. ( mutant. undercover. ) 005. THREAD: to be named.

   Another day another dollar, that was the motto he lived by, so far as any of the Guild members were concerned – and honestly, all in all, as lives went, as jobs went, this one wasn’t exactly unpleasant.  He’d never been any place quite like New Orleans, vibrant and alive and dark and musty all in one, wrapped up in an energy that he just couldn’t place, couldn’t name.  It felt OLD and primal… He liked it, and it unnerved him, all in one.   He’d been there nearly a year now, working his way slowly through the lower tiers of the Guild, doing his thing, keeping himself just enough on the radar to keep a slow upward momentum, pulling the jobs he’d been assigned with just enough finesse and gusto to get in and get out, careful to never leave too much blood in his wake. That wouldn’t sit well with ANY of the many eyes on him, unless it happened to be mutant blood, in which case he was pretty sure Stryker’d get his jollies off to it but – that was something that was entirely neither here nor there.

   He had an apartment, small, one bedroom, living room, small dining room attached to the kitchen, open terrace balcony that was one of his favorite parts.  A part time job covered the day to day expenses, unable to touch the pay that he’d accrued through his less than illustrious career under Stryker’s command.  The money from the jobs with the Guild was play money, but he didn’t often indulge. Maybe blow off steam, pick up a girl, get wasted, do a few lines and go back to business as usual the next day. Generally, though, he just stayed low, out of the lime light, keeping his ear to the ground, making his random meets and passing on whatever he thought would be most relevant, or whatever it was that Stryker was most itching to get the down low on.   Otherwise, he mostly just chilled, enjoying the little bit of freedom, or illusion of it anyway, he was afforded, unless he got called in to HQ.

   It wasn’t like they were required to give him notice, but he’d still half grumbled when he’d stared at the notification on his phone at six in the morning, an alert to be at the headquarters by eight.  Sure, they’d given him time, but that didn’t mean heWANTED to be awake.  Sleeping in was a luxury he hadn’t been able to afford most of him life, and he’d grown rather fond of the idea.  Still, he’d shoved off the sheets, clipped his way through his morning routine – short and sweet, still, and by 6:20 he’d been out the door to head to one of the local bodegas that served a local breakfast sandwich that he scarfed a couple of down on his way through the city.  He killed time for a good hour just walking; knowing the ins and outs of the place he’d called home had saved his ass more than once and with the winding, tangled mess of back alleys and avenues and streets that started as one name and ended as another – it was a fucking wonder anyone ever made it to their destination.

   Twenty til, he was at the doors to the HQ, passing through the checks to make his way inside, wandering through to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee and out into the courtyard behind for a smoke, until the last glance to his wristwatch confirmed it was time to head back inside.  Stubbing out the smoke, downing the last of the coffee and tossing the paper cup, he made his way towards the usual meeting area – caught by one of the … clerks, he’d guess was the best term, and diverted to one of the lesser used rooms, a library that was probably worth more than he’d make in a few lifetimes, leather bound tomes stretching from floor to ceiling across the walls, some more fragile pieces displayed behind glass, marble busts and woven tapestries displayed at whim.  Ironically, a mine waiting to be cultivated, though not one of the members of the Guild would dare – nothing here was worth the wrath that the heads of the families would bring down on someone as idiotic as that.  

   A sweeping glance, his attention settling on a small cluster of people, mostly familiar faces, none that seemed to warrant the kind of setting –   There was a momentary pause, a half hitch in his stride as he made his way towards the center of the room, his gaze drawn, lingering, on the dark-haired figure that loitered casually behind the others. No FUCKING way.   His gaze drifted, his hands settling loosely, shoved into the pocket of his hoodie as he loping steps came to a stop just shy of the couch and settees the others were sat on, a light jerk of a chin in the direction of the others.   “Should’ve warned me the big dogs were gonna be here, my man,” he said, to the one that typically handled out assignments, doling out jobs to those he saw best fit.  “I would’ve worn my proper duds,” he protested mildly, a half smirk touching on his lips before his attention turned again, briefly, towards the one and only Remy LeBeau.  He didn’t try to offer a hand or introduce himself.  Either the man knew who he was, or he didn’t care to – if it was something else, he’d let him make the first move.

           AH, there’s his special interest. Not that he bothers to show he’s noticed, of course; he’s busy linking his arm through Baptiste’s, leaning down to whisper in his ear, something to make his old friend laugh condescendingly and leave the others to wonder what (or more likely WHO) he’s speaking of.

In reality, it’s just another bad pickup line, but it’s the APPEARANCEof things that mattered, and it works like a charm, as usual.

Remy takes his time with it, happy to let the newcomer sweat a bit. Crooking his finger at the assembled thieves one by one, he beckons them over - alone, in pairs, once a group of five - and speaks with them. It’s quick, concise, and thorough, accompanied by flash drives, file folders, and once a dagger. Specially tailored jobs for hand-picked individuals, each and every one more than capable of doing the work. Master thieves, fences, appraisers - they disappear as quickly as they’d come.

Forty-five minutes, and Elias is left alone with the King of Thieves. Cocking his head at the other, Remy allows a lazy smile to spread across his face, cheeks dimpling as he jerks his chin in a silentC’MON.

“C’MERE, HOMME,” he chuckles, and holds up a manila folder, waving it at him teasingly with one hand even as he extends the other for a shake. “I GOT WORK FOR YOU, MONSIEUR RYKER. OR D’YA PREFER ELIAS? EITHER WAY, IT’S GOOD TO MEETCHA.”

Waiting was a BITCH. Sure, it was a skill he’d had to cultivate over the years.  Waiting for the go call on missions, waiting for a target to make its appearance, waiting for the right time to strike – it was different, though, in combat scenarios. He’d known what he was waiting for, known that in the end the built up tension and adrenaline would lead to something, that all that pent up ENERGY would be released in a torrent of violence and bloodshed and that when it was over he’d go back to based, wash away the dirt and grime and blood and sleep like the dead for however long he could.  Lather, rinse, repeat.   But this kinda bullshit?  

This was the kind of waiting that made his teeth ache and his muscles burn, where he had to find someplace to set himself, some place to lounge and look placid and uncaring when really he was about as impatient and irritated by the whole mess as could be imagined.  The only thing that gave him the necessary control to ride it out, to drop back and lean against one of the STURDIER display tables, hips settled against the desk, one long leg stretched out over the other was the fact that he was currently in the room with the Big Dog.   The chances of him actually coming face to face with the guildmaster had been slim to none from the get go.  He couldn’t pass up the opportunity, just because he would much rather be killing time doing nothing on his own couch.

Of course, it didn’t help that one by one, little by little, the others got pared away, shuffled around, handed out files and jobs, weapons and equipment as needed, while all he had to do was sit and listen.  CLICK. The Zippo lighter lid flicked openCLACK. It closed.  Almost silently, quieter than it could have been, every thirty seconds or so, almost on the dot.  Counting.   Listening  Watching, all under the vague guise of boredom, observing the ongoing meetings with half lidded gaze, wishing he could snag a smoke more than anything.  But this was the kind of potential info he was here in the first place.   With each passing group, with each man or woman that departed, his stomach grew tighter, his jaw clenched a little longer.  Click.  Clack.

A tilt of his head, a slow jut of his chin came first in acknowledgment of Remy’s gestures and words, pushing himself up off of the desk, dropping his lighter back into his jeans pocket as he wandered towards wher Remy was, a vaguely curious look cast in the direction of the folder that the Guildmaster held in one hand.  His own hand extended, calloused and rough and strong, to shake Remy’s, briefly, curtly. He made no effort to impress or intimidate with it – there, and gone again, if released.  “Either’s fine,” he acknowledged with a shrug, his hands slipping back into the pocket of his hoodie once the handshake ended, his tall, broad frame sinking, folding down into the chair opposite of where Remy loitered. His posture was idle, lounge worthy even, but a sharp enough eye would see the stance beneath it all, ready to coil, spring away, dodge at any moment.  “Pleasure’s mine, for sure,” he replied, a faint tilt of his head in deferment. “So what’s this job and – not that I’m complainin’ or anything but – most of these other guys, they’ve been here a helluva lot longer than me so.  Y’sure you don’t got somebody better for whatever it is?”  A vague deferment, a hint of self depreciation, his language and drawl specifically targeted to make him appear non-threatening, a lesser species.

        “Mm.” Good handshake, even if the guy was a little too quick to pull away. Elias is cautious, that much is obvious. It’s a good thing, maybe. To be expected, anyway; he’s never met someone for the first time that wasn’t. Something about facing down a mutant that could blow the place sky-high in an instant made people real wary.

Remy takes his time settling, keeping the folder in his grip rather than sliding it across to the other. Not yet, not yet. “You can drop the humble shit,” he grins, cheeks dimpling. “If youreally wanna use that excuse? Half the people in the room was in this business before I was born, but here I am sittin’ pretty. Experience ain’t talent, and I like it when people stay straight with me.”

A beat, and then he shrugs, unable not to crack the joke that’s sitting heavy on his tongue. “Or decidedly not straight, whichever, but that ain’t the point at the moment.”

He taps the folder, sliding it over the table with a fingertip. “I like keepin’ an eye out for rising talent. And before you try wavin’ it off, shove it. You ain’t failed a job yet, and that’s unusual, however messy the execution is. That’s real good.”

Leaning on his elbows, he slides the mirrored lenses of his shades down and pins Elias with his infamous devil eyes, red and unblinking, for a long, long moment. “I like that kinda record.” A vague gesture at the file, and he’s pushing his glasses back up with an easy smile. “So, here we are. Don’t get too freaked out, handsome, if you think I’m singlin’ you out. I like t’make it a habit to drag promising new blood along wit’ me on the occasional recreational job that I take. It’s good experience for you, and it lets mehave a look at how you work.”

It’s the truth, but it’s a warning, too, and if Elias is smart? He’ll know it. It’s a quick way for Remy to tell him I’m watching, as well as implying his future personal endorsement should the other excel. All very cushy and neat, directly indirect.

“This ain’t anything too rough. My lovely wife and I have noticed some of her folk have been slackin’ off, so I’m gonna shake a little wakey-wake into ’em. In other words - ”

His smile widens, utterly saccharine.

“I’ll be breakin’ into a compound of assassins alone to teach ’em the wonders of security and provide a little free demolition for their new remodel, and I could use a little covering fire. Comparatively, your risk will be low, as long as you’re keepin’ a fair distance. Of course, you’re free to decline, but it’ll be fun, promise.”

And if you’re stupid enough to try shooting me in the back, you’ll find out the hard way I’m faster than a bullet, and I’ll find out you’re another ladder-climber to get rid of.