Newt Geiszler | Pacific Rim (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
groupiedrifter) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ximilialog2021-11-06 04:09 pm
groupiedrifter) wrote in ximilialog2021-11-06 04:09 pm
[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.
[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,![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
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.]
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.
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,
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.]
no subject
Friend? You've known him a handful of months. In your lifetime, mere eyeblinks.
They've a nasty habit of breeding, so we're very sure you will find no shortage of replacements.
[After a moment, their eyes gleam, and the small mouth on the gnarled, strange face curls into a small smile; the others smile primly after, one after the other. There's a coldness to it, an aura of what is most certainly a primal evil that leaves little in the way of moral grayness, nor of some deeply hidden goodness.
They're consumer of worlds. Destructive, so that they may live. Leeches without empathy.
So it's no great shock when they add:]
Maybe we'll ask the orbs for a new suit, when this one is too worn to wear anymore.
no subject
[ The Doctor's voice hardens just a little, traces of his bright and jovial tone from earlier sharpening with an edge of warning.
Yes, he may present himself as a happy-go-lucky sort, but he is not to be underestimated by any means. He's clever, he's very very clever, and he knows it too. He's sure this creature can read that off of him as well.
But ah — this is interesting. ]
Have you spoken with these orbs?
no subject
... Not yet, no. But we would rather have more of them in a singular location first. The more of their power in this place, the better. After all, we have... regrets of our own, too.
[It sounds like they're displeased to admit it. But of course, Newton Geiszler did love to run his mouth about the prevention of humanity's destruction. They've done their best to rewire him — and so at least they've stopped him from speaking at all of the Precursors themselves. The last thing they need is The Doctor being aware of them in the waking world.
And of course, they have no desire to share those orbs or their power.
They want, want, want — and they do not, above all else, share.]
Newton will help us make it a reality. He failed to accomplish his first personal goal, but we will make sure that he does not fail them again.
... Such conditioning does take time, unfortunately.
no subject
[ What might they already know about these orbs and their power? How could they know about it? It does beg the question of what these orbs are like themselves, and he certainly hopes they don't think the way these creatures in Newt's mind do.
Ah. Yes, and speaking of Newt's mind ... ]
If it's regrets you have, perhaps we could discuss them, perhaps there's something else that can be done that doesn't involve you getting all up into this dull dreamscape and nesting here. [ Blandly, the Doctor goes on: ] Bit pathetic, really, now that I think about it, hiding yourselves in a fragile human mind. You said it yourself: they don't exactly last for very long, now do they?
How do you know this one will last for as long as you need it, eh?
no subject
[The precursors glance over to Newton's slumped figure, fingers drumming eagerly together. If one didn't know the amount of genocide they'd committed and planets they'd ravaged, you'd think they were a silly little Bond villain.]
You heard that, didn't you, Newton? Come now, we know you're playing dead again. [The figure slumped forward doesn't stir to rise, but his body trembles, eyes clenched shut. Somewhere, a little voice in his head says there's no place like home. Maybe someone's tapping their red slippers together for him elsewhere. Rather ineffectively, alas.] What have we told you? Like the Doctor says: a fragile human mind. So easy to accidentally bruise that mind when it tries to fight back, isn't it? It's better this way... Less friends to harm with your actions.
[His fingers twitch at the sides of his head, then curl faintly into messy hair. The precursor ignores this and moves closer to the Doctor. The body bows forward to throw a long shade across the very white space, the others in the hivemind watching with rapt attention like soldiers in a line.]
Hmm. Are you offering your mind to us? How much cleaning can we do, wearing a Time Lord, I wonder...? Or should we treat you the way we treated your little fiery companion?
[At that, Newt draws in an aching, guilty breath, the noise as sharp as the sound of an arm snapping. A sound he replays in his head now, much like the haunting voice of a ghost on a recorder.]
no subject
His gaze flicks briefly back towards his friend still slumped over, miserable and hurt, and completely out of place in this hellscape, and then he shifts his attention back on the precursor before him. His mouth twists into the thinnest of smiles, quirked to one corner. ]
Well, I should think twenty-seven brains might entice — [ Ever confident, on the edge of cocky, the Doctor is only interrupted by the sudden sound of bone snapping. It's an otherwise abstract sound, it could be almost anything else, except — the scream of pain that accompanies the break is unmistakable, the cadence of the cry familiar even if that level of pain is something he's never, never heard from her before.
His face falls, plummets really, the sounds splintering across his hearts and deep within his chest. The creature's words 'little fiery companion' suddenly make themselves clear, but it takes no time at all for the Doctor's expression to shift from devastated to hardened, his eyes darkening. ]
What did you do to her.
[ It isn't a question, it's a demand — and his voice is low and suddenly drained of any emotion other than the sharpest edge of carefully controlled fury. ]
no subject
But hearing his controlled fury does unsettle them. Somewhat. Only somewhat, in this world they've made for themselves. It's easy to turn smug superiority into confidence in villainy, as the Doctor may be familiar with in all his travels.]
I wonder how she's faring out there in the real world? After all, you do know that when one is hurt this deep in their dreams, it follows them into reality, don't you?
[Newt's back stutters where he lies. He's sobbing quietly.
They've already done a lot of work to him this day.]
Wouldn't it be wiser, to go after her? You wouldn't want to leave her alone to suffer.
[Then, quietly, from the heap on the floor:]
... I'm sorry, Doc. I'm s-so sorry.
no subject
But his expression changes again, fury and fear masked with humour, and it's the way he can switch his emotions on and off like a light that can often disarm his foes. It's the uncertainty of what he's thinking; what he's got planned.
(Which, at the moment, really is a whole lot of nothing — no plans here. Absolutely no. Plan. Just a whole lot of wits and a sonic screwdriver, and the realization that he's dealt with many things in the past, but this — this is definitely exceedingly new.) ]
You won't hurt her again, not ever, not so long as I exist — and you'll leave Newton's mind at once. [ He waves a hand, gesturing to this nightmare-scape built around them. He hears Newt's voice from the floor, soft and miserable, but he chooses not to acknowledge it at the moment; all of his attention is on these precursors. ] All of this? This is over now, do you hear me?
no subject
You will not tell us what we can and cannot do. You won't even remember saying such a ridiculous thing to us; yes, not even you. But by all means, keep thinking it's over after this. Keep thinking it's never even began in the waking world.
We've much work to do. In part thanks to Clara herself, you know.
Newton traded his compliance for her survival.
[They slowly seep into the floor of the white, endless space. The veins beneath the Doctor's feet pulse with their presence — not gone, not as commanded. They aren't so easy to remove with words, not like some of the less vain creatures out there who would flee at the Doctor's very word.
Newton stays slumped on the floor, sitting up on his elbows as those very same veins the creatures had blended into pulse in his arms and legs. He's stuck to the floor by them. He's immobile, defeated, and cold to the touch.
This is what happens when you drift with an impossibly large hivemind of monsters.
He knows now. Too little, too late.
He can't bring himself to look at the Doctor, though. Shame keeps his face downcast, eyes staring at the shimmering, cool surface he's trapped on.
The creatures speak, their voices echoing, disembodied.]
I think you need to leave, Doctor.
no subject
[ The Doctor goes very still at the mention of Clara's name again, trying not to imagine just what it is she'd gone through with these creatures in order to get Newt's 'compliance'.
And while he would not hesitate to call Newt a friend, even in the short time that they've known each other, the thought that he and these creatures might somehow be the cause of any harm coming to Clara finds the barest edge of resentment splintering through him. It's a shameful thought, and one he banishes immediately, doubling his determination to see that these precursors leave Newt alone. ]
Newt! Newt, can you hear me? Come on, mate —
[ Truth be told, he's still wracking his brains for a plan, but there are too many unknown elements, the newest one now involving the way those tendrils seem to have amassed themselves over the other man's body like an intricate, pulsating, disgusting web. His gaze hasn't left these precursors, but he can see what they're doing from the corner of his eye.
To the creature: ]
And what'll you do when I do, eh?
no subject
... I'm sorry, Doctor... It wasn't me... I didn't want her to get hurt... I know how much she means to you; she means so much to me, too, I would never hurt her... I'd never. I'd do anything...!
[His hands move up to run through his hair, gripping it with a frustrated sound.
The Precursors watch this show for a moment, stoic.]
We'll keep working on making Newton a suitable host, of course.
In whatever way we have to, until it takes.
[Obviously, their tone reads. With their words, Newt flinches, and soon he's sitting up and grabbing the Doctor's arms in a way that can only be described as desperate.]
Don't leave me here; don't leave me with them again...! Please, Doc, can't you do something? You're — y-you're the Doctor, right? You can do anything! You save people; you fix things! All over the universe, you — there's gotta be something you can do to stop us.
[His eyes widen, and he looks horrified. Sickened. He struggles to say:]
I — I mean them. Stop them.
no subject
I know, Newt, I know —
[ The Doctor's expression doesn't change, even while the precursors continue to speak, even when Newt speaks again and something in his chest, between those two hearts, stops for a beat.
That one word, that one word ... us. It's working then, whatever they're doing. Whatever they've done to Clara to motivate Newt to comply, the Doctor thinks, it must be working. After all, he's allowed it, hasn't he? These strange creatures full of darkness and greed and power, he's allowed them to manipulate the situation to suit their purpose, and oh, he'll admit he doesn't expect Newt to move so animatedly so suddenly, and when he does, he can only stay still in his grip.
He meets the other man's eyes, calm reflecting panic, and does his best to let him know that he won't be abandoned, certainly not by him. Newt's just got to believe it. It is so, so important that he does. ]
Of course there is. Of course there always is. [ He takes a breath. ] I won't leave you, Newt, I never leave anyone behind. [ He quirks his lips into a smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. ] I'm the Doctor. You're going to be okay.
[ He reaches up to pat Newt's shoulder where he hasn't got tendrils of creature running through his flesh, and then he pulls back, remembering his sonic screwdriver, which he now directs at the main 'mouth' of these creatures, arm outstretched like he's wielding a blade. ]
No more of this — [ He raises his voice now, loud and bold and very, very confident. ] — do you hear me? This is your last chance.
1/2
The Precursors flinch at the sonic screwdriver, as if they very well know that it's the Doctor's most favorite little 'weapon' — but then, they all relax, black and beady eyes looking past it and at the Doctor's confident face.]
The last chance for what, Doctor? To put our hands up? Leave before you get cross? Very well... I suppose we've no choice but to leave you and Newton be; you've convinced us with your big scary words.
[The creatures melt downward into the pale, barren floor, leaving those awful blue veins to glow vibrantly in pulses. Newton looks around where he sits nervously — and then his face twitches, and his eyes flicker, and he slowly stands up where he previously could not. He tiredly paws for the Doctor's arm, looking dazed.]
Doc...?
no subject
Eh, just kidding. This isn't something you can wave your magic wand at and make go away. So. Anything else you want to tell us? [The ground behind the Doctor opens up, sucking air through it greedily. They look from it to the intruder of their dream, amusement flashing in their eyes.] This is your last chance.
[The Doctor can likely feel it. The pull on him, the feeling of being slowly dragged in every way to a different dream. A more pleasant one. Isn't that what anyone wants, Doc?
To forget the bad and enjoy the good? Even as the puppet's smiling lips tremble?]
no subject
And then: ]
No — no! Newt? Newt! Wake up, Newt!
[ He can feel the pull at his feet from beneath him, the tugging at his jacket, the slowly loosening grip on his limbs but it isn't enough for him to dart forward to do anything useful in this nightmare-scape. He can't. He's losing feeling. There's a hazy edge to this nightmare that he can't quite put his finger on. So he looks to Newt in desperation, willing him to meet his eyes, trying to find his friend beyond the inkwell black of his puppeteer.
Fruitlessly, perhaps, he calls out over the sounds and the fading image of the dreamscape slowly dissolving, slowly fazing him out, piece by piece by piece. ] I'm going to find a way to help you, do you hear me? Remember this, remember me. I'm going to help you.
no subject
[Their twisted smile is pleased by the desperation, but as the roar of wind getting pulled through that terrible gaping maw in the floor, the smile turns into a grimace — and then, with a sliver of hope in his watery eyes, he says hoarsely:]
... I'm sure you will, doc.
[The hand — under the Precursor's control or Newton's? — that is holding the Doctor's wrist pushes back then, throwing off his balance so that the Time Lord is left to fall down that long, dark tunnel. A fall, startling as it is, that takes him from Newton's mind and into something else.
Something that is hopefully a kinder, better dream.
As the Doctor falls, the memory of the encounter sifts through his fingers like a fine sand, until there's nothing left.]