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

[groupiedrifter]

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.]

Comments

[unclesam]

[ 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.

[groupiedrifter]

[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?

[unclesam]

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.

[groupiedrifter]

[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.]