ximilialog | [OPEN] MISSION 3.1 | Dream a Little Dream of Me

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[OPEN] MISSION 3.1 | Dream a Little Dream of Me

CHARACTERS: Newton Geiszler and YOU!
LOCATION: Newt's Dreamscape / Memories
DATE: During Mission 3: The Sleeper
CONTENT: Newton's fallen into a deep sleep; in this log are multiple memory prompts people may venture into, to be updated as they're completed!
WARNINGS: Basic warnings include: possible violence/blood, monster imagery, domestic and emotional abuse (including a toxic relationship memory), and removal of bodily autonomy.

MEMORY 1: YOU'RE ONLY YOUNG ONCE. 1997.
MEMORY 2: BUT YOU CAN BE IMMATURE FOREVER. 2008.
MEMORY 3: CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTES. 2015.
MEMORY 4: THE BUFFET LINE. 2025.
MEMORY 5: XIMILIA, N̷̥̑Ì̵̱Ĝ̴̩H̵̩͐T̷͈̀T̶͙̂I̸̛̹M̴̤̉E̷̠̾. XXXX.
PERSONAL GOAL: THREE LETTERS YOU'LL NEVER SEND.

[OOC NOTES: If you would like to have multuple memories (i.e. one memory segways into another), feel free to let me know via PM, through the subject line, or at my plurk,

simpledog! If none of these speak to you in particular, feel free to post a top level with 'WILDCARD' as the subject line, and I'll whip up a randomized memory not on this list. ;)

ALSO — feel free to have your character interject anywhere in the “‘memory”, they absolutely don’t have to wait until the dream prompt is over and can change the flow of the dream at any point they’d like; I just write a lot for each prompt to give lots of meat for ya.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(TOP LEVEL CW: toxic relationships, domestic violence)
[The third memory is neither soft or harmless, nor bursting with vivacious energy.

This, my friends, is a bad break-up to a bad relationship.

The bar is predictably alive with music, but it's easier than some rowdy dive bar — it's the kind you can sit and relax in, the kind of sound and energy that forks over dollars for a beer at the counter. Ol' ZZ Top and other 'ancient' covers muffle the dimly lit conversations, all by a band that gets paid every night to give folks a nice time. A bit stuffy, this place, but warm. Unfortunately, the two figures that walk in are nothing remotely warm or easy.

A tall, longer-legged man with short dirty-blond hair and a sleeve of tattoos pushes through the doors with an icy expression shadowing his features, his cheeks splotched red. Everyone else in the full bar doesn't pay him any mind, though, nor do they seem to give the shorter man that trails after him any mind, either. Newt's looking mostly like his usual self as he wanders in behind his supposed boyfriend: familiar black jacket with a band shirt beneath it, doc martins and tight black pants, fingernails polished black, with chips in the paint... though the uneasy and disappointed look on his face isn't quite so typical. His arms are folded defensively, protectively, as he says:]

I just don't get why you're so mad, Trav.

['Trav', short for Travis, turns and glowers back at him, struggling to keep his voice down.]

You don't? The way you blab with some fucking chick for twenty minutes straight while I stand there like a jackass?

[Newt looks gobsmacked at first, and then shakes his head.]

Dude, what? She's my student. In my cellular biology class. Are you out of your damn mind?

Oh, yeah, sure, that's it. I'm out of my mind. Didn't know you had a psychology doctorate, or whatever the fuck.

I never said — We were having a good night, man. Don't be a dick.

A what?

You do this, you just go off like — [He runs his hands over his face, cutting himself off.] I just don't get why you're—

Unhinged? Jealous? Keep making me out to be the bad guy so people will feel sorry enough for you to pity flirt. No, you listen to me — shut up and listen. What else have you got otherwise, huh? Five-hundred PhD's to make you think you're anything special? [Travis crowds in closer, and Newt's hips bump into a chair as he backs up, but there's nothing but counter to back up into after that. His arms stay crossed, defensive and stubborn despite the anxiety that flashes behind his black-rimmed glasses.] Newt, that's all you're special for. You're not shit without the job you brush me off to obsess over. Pull your head out of your ass and drop the bullshit for once in your life.

... Whatever, man. Let's just drop it.

[Travis' smile twists up, eyes pinched. He looks like he's humming with energy; Newt always thought they were alike, like that. Always humming with energy when they're stressed out. There were a lot of things he liked about Travis, until the day he started not liking them. Funny how fast things shift.]

Before you freak out? Get too emotional? Oh, why don't you cry about it to your little 'pen pal', Hermann? Write him a dozen more letters, go ahead! Don't forget to put a little 'P.S., can't wait to fuck you'!

[Newt's expression drops into something too neutral.]

Stop.

[Travis does not.]

Seriously? You're the most unlovable fucking person in the world, Newton. He'd drop you after a day.

[Newt quiets, throat working as he swallows miserably. The words are disarming for a moment — just a moment, and Travis takes advantage of that moment to continue:]

You know what? I don’t know what was I thinking, trying to make this work all this time.

Look at you. You're ugly inside and out.

[Newt's body moves on its own, then — two hands shove Travis back by the shoulders in outrage before Newton can even stop to think it through. Travis barely budges, just stumbles back a step or two before he looks at Newton with grim consideration. Then, with back-alley vindication and acid in his expression, he counteracts by sending a fist right into Newt's cheek. It throws the shorter man against the edge of the counter just as the bar patrons seem to finally notice the disruption.

Which is... just in time for them to watch Newton launch himself at Travis with full fury now, scrambling to throw a punch, and soon they're a crooked line of violence that clamors around the room like a messy tornado, knocking over tables and chairs. The bouncer comes in from outside moments after to try and part them. Newt's wired, though; he’s angry and bursting with energy and is yelling over the shoulder of the man that tries to keep him restrained:]

Fuck you! Fuck you and your tiny baby dick, you massive prick!

[... The rest is history, huh?

While a pair of disgruntled, newly arrived cops take Travis' statement, Newt sits on the street curb outside the bar with a split lip and his hands cuffed behind his back, his forehead resting against his knees, waiting for them to make their way over to him next.]

Edited 2021-11-15 06:26 (UTC)

[ Sam knows how to throw a punch, but he's not a violent person. Has learned his lesson especially in regards to antagonizing white people. Remembers sobbing, bloodied nose and mouth. Suspended from school for punching a boy who'd called Sarah something beyond reprehensible, and the kid walked away while Sam got suspended for having started it. Remembers his father's hand, heavy and warm, remembers a deep voice saying 'This world ain't ever gonna be gentle or faith with you, Samuel. You gotta be fair and gentle with the world regardless. And don't you ever get angry with a white boy. You feel that anger, but you don't let 'em have it. 'cause it's gonna be you who pays.'

And it's true. Shouting at Bucky on the street in Baltimore nearly made a cop pull a gun on Sam until his partner reminded him who Sam was - gunning down a minor celebrity ain't a good look even for white cops.

And still. Still. As he stands in this pub, surrounded by accents that make it easy to pinpoint where in the world he is, watching the scene unfold... Sam's blood is running hot. At first he tries to tune it out. It's an argument, it's none of his business - except Sam's more than just trained to listen for shit like this. He's clocking this long before the first punch is thrown. And it's a memory. He could let it play out, and nothing would change. He can stay on the sidelines and pick up the pieces, after. Try and pull Newt out, give him a good talk about this kinda abuse.

Except.

Except.

Here's the thing. Sam's moving before Travis has recovered from that shove, because he sees it coming. Seen plenty of men gear up to throw a bunch. Fuck this memory. He's not letting Newt live it again. And Sam knows the implication - that in reality, no one got in between them, that this likely ended with Newt hurt in more ways than one. But today just ain't the day, and Sam just ain't that person. He steps in between them, then. Inserts himself and takes that fist like the wall of muscle he is compared to Newt. Shields the man with his body.

Sam doesn't usually do this, either - doesn't rely on his height and the width of his shoulders to intimidate. But listen - he rocks up to gunfights in jeans and t-shirts, knife in hand, and walks away with the biggest gun on the block. Fuck this dude. Sam gives Travis a shove, less harsh than what Newt did. Glowers. ]

Walk away. Don't gimme another reason. I ain't gonna hesitate to take you out like trash, asshole.

[ Travis chooses poorly - Sam doesn't know if he would in real life, or if this is just the dream compensation his mood for violence and throwing it at a different target - but Travis leans to the side. Opens his mouth, begins saying something nasty and ugly and twisted to Newt. And Sam ain't here for that either.

He punches Travis, once. Practiced ease. Sam's able to keep pace with super soldiers. He's as superhuman as it gets for an unenhanced person in the modern world. He's strong, but more than that, he's trained. Travis goes down, hard. He's not out, but dazed for a moment. ]

Stay the fuck down.

[ And Sam casually turns to Newt, curls a hand around his shoulder. Now he's warm. Not towering, but casual, body language easing off the threatening buttons. His voice is casual, but steady. ]

We walking away or taking your ex outside?

Edited 2021-11-16 04:48 (UTC)

[Some part of him, deep down, knows this scene beat for beat. There's the part that relives it with bleary exhaustion, then there's this youthful idiot — this 20-something that's both a MIT college professor and a disaster in boots, the kind of guy who probably gets what's coming to him, because he doesn't think before he speaks. He stares gawking for a moment, first to Travis where he's been knocked to the floor, then to this stranger (stranger?) with wide eyes behind the same old black-rimmed glasses. He opens his mouth, struggles (for once) to speak.

Travis speaks for him, using the nearest table to try and drag himself back up. For round two? For leaving? Licking his wounds elsewhere? Newt's not sure. Travis just says: "I fucking knew it! I fucking knew you were fucking around with other guys; who the real trash here?! Couldn't even wait until I dropped you, you two-timing prick."

Newt's more than a little torn on what he wants, but he's pretty sure letting this stranger wail on his boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) would just be shitty for everyone involved. So he grabs Sam's arm before he considers maybe going for that round two, his face turning red enough to blotch out his freckles.

His voice is reedy and thin and like it's getting stuck and stilted in his throat.]

Whoa, whoa, it's...! Walking away. Walking away's good.

[He glances around Sam to the blonde-haired man leaned holding his face, glowering. He hasn't jumped at them yet, though. Hasn't pulled them into a catfight; maybe it's because he knows this guy is bigger and tougher, and he'll actually really get hurt. But worse than that... the entire bar is turned to watch. Every pair of eyes look back, and the band's not playing anymore, and — he feels shame as hot as embers in his face, along his neck.

Anxiety creeps up as quickly as the embarrassment did.]

... I'd — like to get out of here, yeah.

[At least the air outside is cold. It feels like a hundred degrees in here right now.]

[ The asshole just can't take hint, has to get one more dig in, as to yank on the barbed wire just one more time. Sam wants to kick his teeth in. He doesn't. Instead he keeps his hand on Newt's shoulder and half turns around, looks down at Travis. Sneers. No agression here, just firm disgust. ]

If you were more than just a shitty memory, I'd love to give you a piece of my mind. But all you'll be is an uncomfortable footnote left behind. [ Looks up towards the barkeep, and inclines his head. ] Sorry for spilling sewage on your floor, man.

[ And with that, he leads Newt outside, hand still on his shoulder, not letting go unless Newt shrugs him off or shows signs of discomfort with the touch. They walk away, and Sam gives Newt's shoulder a squeeze. ]

Y'know, it's okay to cry if you need it. Or just let it all out and scream. I'm sorry it didn't really happen like this.

[If he'd been left to the situation, he's pretty sure he would have lost it. Completely. He's not very good at controlling himself or keeping his words in check — that's probably how he ended up in this predicament in the first place. Said some stupid shit. Pissed Travis off somewhere in the night, and it snowballed. Look at you. You're ugly inside and out. Yeah. Yeahyeahyeah, he gets it; no need to fucking rub it in, he was right, he was right. He gets irrational and emotional, and if this guy hadn't jumped in, he'd have been sporting a black eye and a chipped tooth on top of his new status as 'single and ready to scream into a pillow for five hours straight'.

He shifts uncomfortably, tucking his hands into his pockets. He doesn't shrug off the stranger's hand. He's not sure why. He looks — so freaking familiar. God, he hopes he's not also one of his students, or someone who works at the university, or someone who saw one of his interviews on the local TV.]

What do you mean...? [He shakes his head. Sniffs. Don't you dare fucking get emotional right now, Newt, don't you prove him right about you right now.] No... no, no, I'm not gonna... Look — thanks for, uh. For helping me. Don't think I'll ever go back to that bar ever again out of shame, but hey: you probably saved me from looking like a bigger jackass.

[He blows out a breath.]

... It was my fault, anyway. I pushed him first. So, uh.

[He stops, shakes his head, and turns to offer his hand, which is admittedly a little wobbly. The adrenaline's settled into a deep, exhausting dread that comes with — well, basically losing the last year and a half of companionship. (If you can even call it that, near the end.)]

I'm Newton. Call me Newt, though. [He doesn't... really feel like introducing himself as a doctor, at the moment.] You're alright, right?

[ It breaks Sam's heart, seeing him like this. Not remembering the distance to this, being right back in the moment. Sam's lucky - the worst he ever got was a punch from a gay who didn't appreciate Sam's lingering gaze. He learned early to keep his interests quiet, and the few people he attracted throughout the years whose interest he returned were, at worst, simply not great fits, and at best love of his life material. Nevermind that his brightest relationship ended the most cruelest - but it's different, he knows. Sam has had an honest, warm and plentiful love that ended in a tragedy through outside circumstances. It's not remotely comparable to the damage something like this leaves. The sinister kind of scars. The feeling that you and your emotions are never valid. Sam takes Newt's hand. ]

Sam. And yeah - always am.

[ He hesitates, then tugs lightly. Shifts his grasp on Newt's hand to pull him in, clasped hands between their chests, drapes his other arm around Newt's shoulders into a loose half-hug. ]

It was never your fault. That guy's an abusive asshole. You didn't do a single thing to deserve this from him, and it shouldn't have happened to you. None of it. I know it feels like it right now, but you ain't alone. There's people who care about you, just the way you are. I promise.

[Newt should probably worry the guy's just hitting on him or something... Playing hero so he can squeeze in where Travis was, make himself out to be some big damn hero who deserves a phone number or something. But who the hell is he kidding? The guy's hot as hell; he doesn't need to go to all that effort for a certified dork in skinny jeans. (Hey, Newt,he thinks to himself, remember when you thought you were hot shit? You need to get back to that guy.) But something about this Sam, he seems so fucking familiar... So normal to have around. God, it's on the tip of his tongue.

He gets distracted for a moment by what Sam says, and makes the most skeptical little noise at 'abusive', like that's the wildest thing he's heard all night. His face is still a little red, mortified when he realizes where Sam's getting at (but he doesn't shove his arm off, doesn't push him away, can't bring himself to).]

C'mon, Dr. Phil. It's not like that. I'm fine, it was just a — bad night. I got him all wound up, and anyway, he gets jealous sometimes, that's all; Trav always had a problem with that kinda shit. Last person he was with went out on him, found someone else. I told him all the time, y'know? That I wouldn't do that to him.

And I didn't. I know what a choice like that does to families, to relationships, all of it. Hell, I'm a product of that kind of thing. [He looks around the darkened street, eyes anxiously wandering the scenery as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes to bump against his wrist.] But I guess that doesn't really matter now, huh? Newt Geiszler, single and ready to mingle again. Jesus christ. How'd I mess this up so bad?

[His voice cracks a little as he motormouths, and the cigarette he pulls from the pack hangs uselessly in his mouth, not yet lit. He's not sure when his voice started wobbling, or when his eyes misted up, but here we are.]

How embarrassing, dude.

What am I, a 16-year-old who got stood up at prom?

Edited 2021-11-16 08:08 (UTC)

A bad night is staying too late and getting cleared off the street with water cannons at the end of Mardi Gras.

[ Seriously. ]

Or crying together on a rooftop at night far away from home 'cause you had to deliver some bad news to someone.

[ Sam inclines his head. ]

Good night is being up at 4am and making Sazerac together, sharing in insomnia and anxiety, 'cause that's how you love your friends.

[ He tugs the cigarette from Newt's lips gently, tucks it behind his hear instead. Cups the man's face with both hands and runs his thumbs over his cheeks. ]

Bad boyfriends keep you small. Blame their jealousy and control issues on you until you believe it's your fault. Go to punch you in the face. You didn't do a goddamn thing to that man. You didn't mess up. [ He shakes his head, holds Newt's eyes. ] You're not as small as he tried to keep you, Newt. You got so much fucking love in you, it's unbelievable. And you'll go on to save lives, and blast loud music, and proposition my best friend through emoji. You'll go on to become so invaluable to so many people who all love you so much better than that plastic bag blowing over your road.

[You just don't get it, some other little part of his brain says. You don't see all the worst parts of me. There's almost a defensiveness, a feeling that he needs to elaborate, explain all of the reasons why this scale is balanced, and why this relationship was just as much his own to run into the ground, burn it up with all of his stupid imperfections. He's loud, he's abrasive, he talks before he thinks — he's a fucking mess who overworks and gets too loud and passionate, doesn't think about the feelings of those around him. Why wouldn't Travis get pissed? Why wouldn't he get frustrated, dealing with him?

Sure, hitting him would've been going too far, but — it's not...

Wait, what?

Newton looks absolutely perplexed by everything being said, stopping on the sidewalk to turn to Sam. Some giggling pair of girls pass by haphazardly, one shoulder bumping his, but it doesn't feel... as real as it should. Mardi Gras, rooftop crying, Sazerac? It all sounds like things he should know. He does know. Blasting music in a lab at 2 in the morning, much to the exasperation of his crew; sending stupid little messages over the earpiece, teaching emojis to people far before his time; helping his team make cures and create diversion; having panic attacks in the middle of an army of monsters —

— a Kaiju storming for him, mouth open, late nights and limited funds in a gritty old lab, Hermann throwing a broken piece of chalk on the ground, Newton looking at him from across a room with some sense of loss (lost time, always lost time), packing boxes in an apartment he moved into on a whim with his friend Syd, while Travis keeps his back turned to him at a window —

That goddamn plastic bag, blowing over the road.

He stares for a long moment, holding the man's gaze, his own puzzled.

The hands on his face feel a lot more real than the girls who had bumped into him.]

Sam?

[The name was given to him earlier, but that recognition in his eyes is certainly new.]

Edited 2021-11-16 18:03 (UTC)

[These dreams are a pain in the ass, Shinjiro has decided. The bar is nicer than the types of places he usually hangs out in -- he was, technically, too young to drink in Japan, but if he ever wanted to he knew exactly the places where he could get alcohol if he wanted it -- but he still recognizes Travis' type immediately. Shinjiro would see them all the time, the ones who thought they were hot shit. They always piss him off. None of his business, he thinks, though.

None of his business, he reminds himself as the argument escalates, none of his--

--He's in front of Newt before he really even consciously decides on it, catching Travis' fist in a hand. And while he's young, he's tall, just a couple inches shy of six feet, and he glowers at Travis with an expression that's legitimately intimidating, unlike his typical worn, tired air.]

You must be lookin' in a mirror, asshole. Get out before I make your face even uglier.

[Most people would be wise enough to turn away and leave a clearly dangerous situation. Especially when they're not much of a fighter, not like most people who are scrappy enough to intercept a fist. Travis, unfortunately, doesn't seem very intelligent when it comes to knowing how to pick his battles. He glowers back, ripping his fist away from Shinjiro and taking one step back — but not leaving, not stepping down.

Newt blinks from behind Shinjiro's shoulder before his brain catches up (okay, not punched in the face, that's cool) and then he reaches over to put a hand on the stranger's shoulder.]

Hey, man, I appreciate it, but we're good—

[Ugh, but he can see it already, that fiery personality that has lately been a fiery temper instead. Trav's never hit him, never tried to — ... before tonight, anyway — but he's busted a lamp or two in his time. Volatile's a word for it, and volatile is what Newt's tried to rectify, but Newt's volatile in his own unique way, and —

Shit.

"Let's see you try, prick," Travis seethes. He's bristling with anger and seems more than ready to unleash that energy on someone. Judging by the look in his eye, he's had maybe one too many drinks.]

Jesus Christ, Travis, just let it go—

[Travis proceeds to lunge at Shinjiro, trying to use his weight to shove him backward. Newt's kind of in the line of fire if he succeeds, stuck between Shinjiro and the bar counter. So hey, at least you'll have something to cushion you if he manages to actually get one over on ya, huh?

(Please don't crush him on accident.)]

[Ugh. Of course.

It's always the drunk idiots. Shinjiro heaves a sigh as the older man charges at him before pivoting just slightly to the left to dodge the force of the charge, while raising an arm to clip Travis under the chin and knock him off balance, rather than allow him to slam into Newt instead.

This guy won't be satisfied with such an easy end to the fight, though. That much is obvious. So the next time the guy recovers and comes at him, he's entirely done humoring this farce; Shinjiro grabs his arm and pulls him in closer, before slamming into him with a headbutt. Shinjiro grabs him by the shirt front, then, shoving him up against the nearest wall]

You too drunk for your ears to work or what? I said get the fuck out.

Edited 2021-11-23 07:31 (UTC)

[Newton is usually the first idiot to jump into a bad situation, but he looks genuinely torn as he watches the small (particularly one-sided) skirmish. Over a year's worth of relationship tells him he should stop Shinjiro, maybe even get angry at him — he just headbutted his boyfriend, right? That's something you defend someone's honor for; that's something you get pissed about...!

But then. Then again. They're, uh, not gonna be in any relationship after this, huh? And Travis was gonna punch him. Newt admits he pushed him first, so maybe he deserved to get shoved back, but —

He blinks and jumps in surprise at the sight of Travis getting shoved into the wall.

And ultimately, the good and bad warring in Newton's head leaves him just standing there.

Travis looks over at him, stunned offense on his face.

"You're seriously not gonna do anything?" he says in a strangled voice. "I should've fucking known. You pussy." He rips himself from Shinjiro's grip so that he can move for the exit — leaving to go lick his wounds elsewhere; one of those wounds is definitely to his pride.]

[Shinjiro lets Travis slink off without saying anything further, even as he rolls his eyes at the man's parting insult to Newt. This guy really was a piece of work, wasn't he. Once he's definitely gone and doesn't seem to be coming back, Shinjiro turns back to the scientist.]

You ain't hurt right?

[Newt's response is a bit belated — he's busy watching Travis leave, something a little lost and distraught behind his thinned lips and sullen stare — but then he snaps back his attention to the mysterious guy in the beanie like he'd only just realized he asked a question.]

Huh? Oh, yeah, man. I mean — no! I'm not hurt or anything.

I was handling it, you didn't have to, uh...

Who are you?

[The others in the bar are probably wondering that, too. They're busy staring at the two remaining men, baffled and confused by the short, fast skirmish that had just happened in the bar. Probably not wise to linger too long.]

[Shinjiro thinks "nearly getting punched" isn't really "handling it", but does not remark on this. It's not like he did it for thanks, anyway; he's generally more uncomfortable when he receives it than when he doesn't.

Instead, he just shrugs.]

Just some guy passin' through. Name's Aragaki.

[In case that rings a bell. But he's understood by now that trying to convince someone else of the dream-ness of these dreams is more trouble than it's worth. Not like they can escape without those antidotes, right? They're both stuck on this side of the dreamscape.]

Aragaki, uh. I'm — Newt.

[He hesitates, and then offers his hand. It's trembling a little.

Probably has to do with the fact that he just got into a nearly physical altercation with someone who just officially walked out of his life.

Just maybe.]

Sorry for getting you involved, dude.

[Right, handshakes. He's getting more used to this, after months on board the Ximilia. Shinjiro shakes his hand, drawing no attention to the tremble in it.]

S'fine. That guy was annoying as shit.

[Newt snorts at that.]

He's my boyfriend.

[But then a passing realization in his eyes has him correcting himself in a stilted, awkward reply:]

Or, uh. Was. My boyfriend. I guess.

[Shinjiro shrugs.]

He's a dick.

[A beat, and well--normally he wouldn't get involved in someone's private life, but it's too late for that now, isn't it? He adds, casually:]

And wrong, y'know. You could do plenty better.

Edited 2021-12-08 06:43 (UTC)

[Newt shrugs, looking far less confident than his usual fanfare.]

I don't know. Maybe I'll just... take a sabbatical on romance. A long one.

[He's not so sure he can do better, but he appreciates the short but sweet pep talk. After a moment, he sighs softly, trying not to let himself think about the months and months of relationship that just went down the toilet; he'll just cry later into a pillow or something.]

Would you, uh. Like a drink? I've got cash for it.

... In a not sexy way, for the record. I don't think I have it in me tonight for rebound flings.

[Ah. Is this the part where he admits he is technically too young to drink, and did not walk into this bar by choice? That will require so much explanation that he knows from experience now will definitely not be believed and he does not have the spoons for it tbqh.

So, a half-lie it is:]

I, uh, don't really drink. [He rubs at his neck.] They just have real good onion rings here.

[Please let there be onion rings here.]

[Newt looks... extremely skeptical, yeah. He's been to this bar plenty, and he's not totally sure he's seen onion rings on a menu anywhere. But y'know, the guy might just be hiding something. Who's he to pry? Even if he totally wants to pry.

... Harder to do when he's so shaken by the night, though.]

Right. Well. I think they're all out of onion rings. [He clears his throat.] But I'll order you some cheeseburger sliders. As a thank you gift.

[Damn. And here he'd thought he picked a pretty common western food. But at least Newt doesn't call him out on it.]

...You really don't gotta thank me. Like I said, he was pissin' me off.

[Shinjiro always feels more comfortable painting his motivations for things as selfish. It's just easier when you don't give people the impression that you can be relied upon to help them in a crisis.]

Edited 2021-12-11 07:59 (UTC)

[Newt awkwardly waves down the bartender for an order, trying to ignore the way so many eyes in the bar keep flicking their gaze over to him. Like maybe they're expecting the drama or trouble to persist. Swallowing hard, he shakes his head.]

Nah, man, you were super cool about that.

I probably wouldn't rocking a missing tooth or something if you hadn't stepped in.

I'll get you a soda, too, Mr. Straight Edge.

(no subject)

petsthedog - 2021-12-13 14:55 (UTC) - Expand

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