Title: The Rhythm of Life
Fandom: Robotech/Macross
Author: karrenia (Karen)
Rating: General
Character: Roy Fokker
Recipient: shanaqui's previously filled multifandom
under appreciated fandoms and/or characters.
Request Details: http://community.livejournal.com/fic_on_demand/820381.html
Day 28 of the June Challenge
Disclaimer: Robotech/Macross belongs to Harmony Gold, as do the characters of Roy Fokker, Claudia
Grant, Rick Hunter, and any others mentioned; they are not mine. Story title inspired by the Edwin McCain song by the same name.
"The Rhythm of Life" by Karen
If he gave too much thought to how he approached each and every battle, he likely would have burnt out by now, or frozen up at the critical moment. Too much rode on his shoulders, and his ability as a pilot and leader of both the equally famous and legendary Skull Squadron for Roy Fokker to allow himself to royall muck things up, for that to happen.
"Too many lives depend on me, not just the men who flew under my command."
Although, there was a time, not too long ago, when one of this other pilots had no heavier burdens forced upon their young shoulders, then keeping their aircraft mantained, shiny, in one piece and in the air, at the Pop Hunter's flying air-show.
'It was odd, really,' Roy reflected as he strode along the paths of the newly refurbished and landscaped terrain of Macross Park, his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his navy slacks, 'how war and time moves people around like pieces on a chess board.'
Roy Fokker had never considered himself much of a gambling, but even would not have laid odds that they'd both end up in the miliatary.
Roy's native skills as both a pilot and a charasmatic leader, and the fortunes of war with the alien Zentreadei, skyrocketing his carreer to a commanding officer post, and who should show up at the maiden launch of the newly refurbished super dimensonal fortress, or the SDF-1, but that very same brash, mop-topped, literally fly-by- the seat of his pants, kid, Rick Hunter?
Roy chuckled at the mental image of a young adolescent man, caught napping in the cockpit of one of the new high-tech transformable mechas aircrafts. He recalled, not without a wince of remembered embarssament, whether that chagrin had been directed at Rick, or at himself.
Roy had stood on the edge of the podium, above the gathered crowd of spectators for the big event, gathered there were the military brass, a bevy of high muckety-muck diginatires, and the press.
Roy had been interrupted in mid-speech, one clutched around the metal pole of a microphone, yelling at Rick to get the hell out of the cockpit. Mainly for Rick's own saftety, but also because the former owners of the giant fortress had entered Earth-space and had launched an all-out attack.
Thinking back on that, Roy shook his head, took one hand out of his pocket and reached up to brush away a thick lock of blond hair that looped down to fall over his bright blue eyes.
The glint in those famous blue eyes, and that off dead center killer smile, had made him a good pilot,and equally famous with the female officers, but until he had meet a certain communications officer,
Roy had quite enjoyed playing the field, keeping his options open, he called it, if pressed.
"Yes, that's the ticket, right there," he said aloud.
His own unruly mop of blond hair refused to stay put and looped down and he sighed and pushed the offending patch back into place.
In the back of his mind, he wondered, "If regulations and standard military protocol have changed all that much, that they were allowing fighter pilots to wear their hair so dang long, that it cannot in their eyes.' Roy chuckled at that mental image and then brushed it aside.
Roy thought about it some more, shrugged and figured that the new mecha-to pilot interface in their helmets would make up for that.
The sound of other people walking through Macross park, absorbed in their own concerns and conversations momentarily snapped Roy out of his wayward thoughts.
Roy sunk a glance at the chronometer on his left rest, realizing with a start that if he didn't hustle he would be late for his date with Lt. Commander, Claudia Grant.
Off duty or not, Claudia would no doubt have more than a few opinions, on keeping appointments and punctuality. She certainly was not shy about sharing those opinions. In fact Claudia's very openess was one the first things that had attracted him to her, well, not the very first thing, but it came close.
Roy quickened his pace and as he passed by the water fountain at the park's edge he caught a brief glimpse of his reflection in the reflective surface. "Still, got it." he gave his reflection a brisk half-salute and hurried on, wondering if still had time to stop at a nearby florist and big up a dozen red roses. If he timed it right, he just might make it.
Fandom: Robotech/Macross
Author: karrenia (Karen)
Rating: General
Character: Roy Fokker
Recipient: shanaqui's previously filled multifandom
under appreciated fandoms and/or characters.
Request Details: http://community.livejournal.com/fic_on
Day 28 of the June Challenge
Disclaimer: Robotech/Macross belongs to Harmony Gold, as do the characters of Roy Fokker, Claudia
Grant, Rick Hunter, and any others mentioned; they are not mine. Story title inspired by the Edwin McCain song by the same name.
"The Rhythm of Life" by Karen
If he gave too much thought to how he approached each and every battle, he likely would have burnt out by now, or frozen up at the critical moment. Too much rode on his shoulders, and his ability as a pilot and leader of both the equally famous and legendary Skull Squadron for Roy Fokker to allow himself to royall muck things up, for that to happen.
"Too many lives depend on me, not just the men who flew under my command."
Although, there was a time, not too long ago, when one of this other pilots had no heavier burdens forced upon their young shoulders, then keeping their aircraft mantained, shiny, in one piece and in the air, at the Pop Hunter's flying air-show.
'It was odd, really,' Roy reflected as he strode along the paths of the newly refurbished and landscaped terrain of Macross Park, his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his navy slacks, 'how war and time moves people around like pieces on a chess board.'
Roy Fokker had never considered himself much of a gambling, but even would not have laid odds that they'd both end up in the miliatary.
Roy's native skills as both a pilot and a charasmatic leader, and the fortunes of war with the alien Zentreadei, skyrocketing his carreer to a commanding officer post, and who should show up at the maiden launch of the newly refurbished super dimensonal fortress, or the SDF-1, but that very same brash, mop-topped, literally fly-by- the seat of his pants, kid, Rick Hunter?
Roy chuckled at the mental image of a young adolescent man, caught napping in the cockpit of one of the new high-tech transformable mechas aircrafts. He recalled, not without a wince of remembered embarssament, whether that chagrin had been directed at Rick, or at himself.
Roy had stood on the edge of the podium, above the gathered crowd of spectators for the big event, gathered there were the military brass, a bevy of high muckety-muck diginatires, and the press.
Roy had been interrupted in mid-speech, one clutched around the metal pole of a microphone, yelling at Rick to get the hell out of the cockpit. Mainly for Rick's own saftety, but also because the former owners of the giant fortress had entered Earth-space and had launched an all-out attack.
Thinking back on that, Roy shook his head, took one hand out of his pocket and reached up to brush away a thick lock of blond hair that looped down to fall over his bright blue eyes.
The glint in those famous blue eyes, and that off dead center killer smile, had made him a good pilot,and equally famous with the female officers, but until he had meet a certain communications officer,
Roy had quite enjoyed playing the field, keeping his options open, he called it, if pressed.
"Yes, that's the ticket, right there," he said aloud.
His own unruly mop of blond hair refused to stay put and looped down and he sighed and pushed the offending patch back into place.
In the back of his mind, he wondered, "If regulations and standard military protocol have changed all that much, that they were allowing fighter pilots to wear their hair so dang long, that it cannot in their eyes.' Roy chuckled at that mental image and then brushed it aside.
Roy thought about it some more, shrugged and figured that the new mecha-to pilot interface in their helmets would make up for that.
The sound of other people walking through Macross park, absorbed in their own concerns and conversations momentarily snapped Roy out of his wayward thoughts.
Roy sunk a glance at the chronometer on his left rest, realizing with a start that if he didn't hustle he would be late for his date with Lt. Commander, Claudia Grant.
Off duty or not, Claudia would no doubt have more than a few opinions, on keeping appointments and punctuality. She certainly was not shy about sharing those opinions. In fact Claudia's very openess was one the first things that had attracted him to her, well, not the very first thing, but it came close.
Roy quickened his pace and as he passed by the water fountain at the park's edge he caught a brief glimpse of his reflection in the reflective surface. "Still, got it." he gave his reflection a brisk half-salute and hurried on, wondering if still had time to stop at a nearby florist and big up a dozen red roses. If he timed it right, he just might make it.
