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)
ximilialog2022-04-19 10:03 am
groupiedrifter) wrote in ximilialog2022-04-19 10:03 am
[Open] April Catch-All
CHARACTERS: Precursor!Newt (Featuring Normal!Newt) and you!
LOCATION: Ximilia Station
DATE: April, up until next mission!
CONTENT: The precursors settle into their new situation quite nicely. Newt hates all this.
WARNINGS: Possession and emotional manipulation, general icky controlling vibes, discussion of attempted suicide and mental health issues, some body horror in the Law and Newton thread.
I. Welcome Back (Welcome for the First Time) | TELEPORTER ROOM / HALLS
[The mission ends, and there's an emptiness in the precursor's chest at it — not a painful one, not an aching one, but emptiness like a jar with nothing in it to rattle. It's sickly sweet, the conclusion to that battle, but they don't really care about obnoxious, fleeting humanity — or whatever word each planet likes to call it. One of the benefits of being narcissistic sociopaths is side-stepping everyone else who gush and weep and do all of those obnoxious things.
Things that the old Newt would have done, especially. They can feel him like a splinter, squirming uncomfortably in the mental iron maiden they've vice-gripped him into. He's one of those miserable little souls, just like the rest: scared, sad, and terribly alone. They pay him no mind, because he's easy to release and put back as needed.
They appear in the teleportation room, a little blood on their shoe as they sigh out and adjust their collar.
Then they smile, pulling from Newton's muscle memory.]
... Phew! That was a shit show. Totally thought we were gonna bite it when ol' Long Johns floated in, but I can appreciate a happy ending as much as the next guy. Good work, everyone!
[They heft the very heavy duffel on their shoulder, full of goods from Giva and Sedorum, and pat a few shoulders before they leave as everyone else checks in on one another; it's better to just slip away and get to work. They have so many projects they'd like to work on; they can scrap all of Newton's work on regenerative tissues and consider bigger, better ideas with that material.
Mmm, yeah. A little rest would be nice.]
II. All Work and No Play Makes Newton a Dull Boy | LAB
[Newton being in the lab long hours isn't that out of the ordinary, they think. Honestly, none of the other activities seem appealing — movies and communal book-reading, or whatever tedious activities the others prefer. Honestly, they miss focusing their work on dominating the lives of others. Newton's mind is full of great scientific information regarding earth and earth-like technology, but all of his 'pop culture' and music and comic book knowledge really would be best left in the dark, to be used only when they need to blend in.
They promise him that they will be merciful at some point and allow him out. Like how... humans let their dogs out to urinate. Ha! Yes. But not now. Right now, they're busy. Sorry, amigo, but you stay right where you are. They instead focus their hours writing down every bit of information they can about Giva — complex drawings of weaponry and engineering feats they'd seen and scribbled while there. Knowledge of their wings, architecture, the various species they had witnessed. They write about what natural materials the planet of Giva itself seemed to contain. It joins a large stack of spiral notebooks beside him, all labeled BRACCIA, GYEONGJE, BADROCK - all the places they've visited, at least, with every scrap of information they learned. Things Newton could not remember with his limited capacity, they can record rather effortlessly.
The lad really should be on ADHD medication.
Chuckling to themselves, they sit in the too-quiet room, their desk neatly structured. Beside them, they eat from a nutritious plate of steamed vegetables. On occasion, they light a cigarette, smoking as their focus tunnels in on designs they're reworking from scrap and Ximilia supplies.
It's rather peaceful for once.]
III. Out, Out, Damned Spot! | KITCHEN / SUNROOM | (limited to Clara + 3 additional tag-ins)
[You promised, Newt's whiny voice whispers from the depths. You promised to be merciful.
It's been days since they returned, and Newton has shifted between the lab, the mess hall, and their room. On occasion, they visit the liquor cabinet and pour themselves a drink. Not too much, of course; their medication limits such activities. As they sit and swirl around the amber contents, they sigh.
You're impatient, they think back.
Impatient? Newt laughs, strangled and delirious. It's been...
The voice drifts, because he's not sure how long he's been tucked away.
They sigh and lower the drink.
Alright, alright. Don't have an aneurysm, huh? We'll give you a break. A flare of relief bubbles up from the trench they'd left Newton in. They add sternly: But if you act out or try anything, you'll never be allowed out again. Just a stroll, nothing more, nothing less.
Newt floats back up into himself, for a moment. He sits there, feels his limbs working for him. He runs his tongue along the ridges of his teeth, the feeling almost foreign now. The moment his eyes wet, though, his hands move against his will to wipe the wetness away.
Not allowed, they tell him. Don't embarrass yourself.
He almost replies back aloud.
This is a nightmare, but he only has so long, so he abandons the drink where it is and walks through the halls. He looks a little troubled, brow pinched, while he enters the sunroom. The light feels good on his skin, even artificial, and he sucks in a breath and does exactly what he's told: he strolls. Every person he sees, he wants to scream at, shake and explain what's happening. But there's a cold feeling that runs down his spine when he considers such things, as if a gun is at the base of his neck and trails down agonizingly slow to rest under his breastbone.
He looks at his watch. Five minutes have felt like seconds. How long does he get?
It'll be a surprise, they tell him.
He bites the inside of his cheek, uncertain what to do. So he just lingers in one spot, the shadow of a tree's leaves dancing across his face.
This is why freedom's a terrible method of operation, they tell him. You've finally been given it after all this time, and all you can seem to do is stand in place.
He wants to prove them wrong, but... they're right.
He doesn't know what to do.]
IV. All You Can Eat: WILDCARD / STARTER
[If you want something particular, let me know! Or just tag in with whatever you'd like! Plot with me on![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
simpledog or message me if you're not sure about something you'd like to tag in with. I can also make a personalized starter, if there's something in particular you wanna thread! I'm flexible. :Db Precursor!Newt is more often than not switching between lab, kitchen, and his room, with little outreach to his CR. Other than prompt III, he'll seem relatively normal in spirits. Very casual, yanno??? :)]
LOCATION: Ximilia Station
DATE: April, up until next mission!
CONTENT: The precursors settle into their new situation quite nicely. Newt hates all this.
WARNINGS: Possession and emotional manipulation, general icky controlling vibes, discussion of attempted suicide and mental health issues, some body horror in the Law and Newton thread.
I. Welcome Back (Welcome for the First Time) | TELEPORTER ROOM / HALLS
[The mission ends, and there's an emptiness in the precursor's chest at it — not a painful one, not an aching one, but emptiness like a jar with nothing in it to rattle. It's sickly sweet, the conclusion to that battle, but they don't really care about obnoxious, fleeting humanity — or whatever word each planet likes to call it. One of the benefits of being narcissistic sociopaths is side-stepping everyone else who gush and weep and do all of those obnoxious things.
Things that the old Newt would have done, especially. They can feel him like a splinter, squirming uncomfortably in the mental iron maiden they've vice-gripped him into. He's one of those miserable little souls, just like the rest: scared, sad, and terribly alone. They pay him no mind, because he's easy to release and put back as needed.
They appear in the teleportation room, a little blood on their shoe as they sigh out and adjust their collar.
Then they smile, pulling from Newton's muscle memory.]
... Phew! That was a shit show. Totally thought we were gonna bite it when ol' Long Johns floated in, but I can appreciate a happy ending as much as the next guy. Good work, everyone!
[They heft the very heavy duffel on their shoulder, full of goods from Giva and Sedorum, and pat a few shoulders before they leave as everyone else checks in on one another; it's better to just slip away and get to work. They have so many projects they'd like to work on; they can scrap all of Newton's work on regenerative tissues and consider bigger, better ideas with that material.
Mmm, yeah. A little rest would be nice.]
II. All Work and No Play Makes Newton a Dull Boy | LAB
[Newton being in the lab long hours isn't that out of the ordinary, they think. Honestly, none of the other activities seem appealing — movies and communal book-reading, or whatever tedious activities the others prefer. Honestly, they miss focusing their work on dominating the lives of others. Newton's mind is full of great scientific information regarding earth and earth-like technology, but all of his 'pop culture' and music and comic book knowledge really would be best left in the dark, to be used only when they need to blend in.
They promise him that they will be merciful at some point and allow him out. Like how... humans let their dogs out to urinate. Ha! Yes. But not now. Right now, they're busy. Sorry, amigo, but you stay right where you are. They instead focus their hours writing down every bit of information they can about Giva — complex drawings of weaponry and engineering feats they'd seen and scribbled while there. Knowledge of their wings, architecture, the various species they had witnessed. They write about what natural materials the planet of Giva itself seemed to contain. It joins a large stack of spiral notebooks beside him, all labeled BRACCIA, GYEONGJE, BADROCK - all the places they've visited, at least, with every scrap of information they learned. Things Newton could not remember with his limited capacity, they can record rather effortlessly.
The lad really should be on ADHD medication.
Chuckling to themselves, they sit in the too-quiet room, their desk neatly structured. Beside them, they eat from a nutritious plate of steamed vegetables. On occasion, they light a cigarette, smoking as their focus tunnels in on designs they're reworking from scrap and Ximilia supplies.
It's rather peaceful for once.]
III. Out, Out, Damned Spot! | KITCHEN / SUNROOM | (limited to Clara + 3 additional tag-ins)
[You promised, Newt's whiny voice whispers from the depths. You promised to be merciful.
It's been days since they returned, and Newton has shifted between the lab, the mess hall, and their room. On occasion, they visit the liquor cabinet and pour themselves a drink. Not too much, of course; their medication limits such activities. As they sit and swirl around the amber contents, they sigh.
You're impatient, they think back.
Impatient? Newt laughs, strangled and delirious. It's been...
The voice drifts, because he's not sure how long he's been tucked away.
They sigh and lower the drink.
Alright, alright. Don't have an aneurysm, huh? We'll give you a break. A flare of relief bubbles up from the trench they'd left Newton in. They add sternly: But if you act out or try anything, you'll never be allowed out again. Just a stroll, nothing more, nothing less.
Newt floats back up into himself, for a moment. He sits there, feels his limbs working for him. He runs his tongue along the ridges of his teeth, the feeling almost foreign now. The moment his eyes wet, though, his hands move against his will to wipe the wetness away.
Not allowed, they tell him. Don't embarrass yourself.
He almost replies back aloud.
This is a nightmare, but he only has so long, so he abandons the drink where it is and walks through the halls. He looks a little troubled, brow pinched, while he enters the sunroom. The light feels good on his skin, even artificial, and he sucks in a breath and does exactly what he's told: he strolls. Every person he sees, he wants to scream at, shake and explain what's happening. But there's a cold feeling that runs down his spine when he considers such things, as if a gun is at the base of his neck and trails down agonizingly slow to rest under his breastbone.
He looks at his watch. Five minutes have felt like seconds. How long does he get?
It'll be a surprise, they tell him.
He bites the inside of his cheek, uncertain what to do. So he just lingers in one spot, the shadow of a tree's leaves dancing across his face.
This is why freedom's a terrible method of operation, they tell him. You've finally been given it after all this time, and all you can seem to do is stand in place.
He wants to prove them wrong, but... they're right.
He doesn't know what to do.]
IV. All You Can Eat: WILDCARD / STARTER
[If you want something particular, let me know! Or just tag in with whatever you'd like! Plot with me on
no subject
[ Peter is a combatant, and he's long assumed that he won't die peacefully in bed. The first time he got killed, it was in battle. He figures the next time it happens, it will be the same. In response to the other question, he reaches up to rub at his nape with a hand, wincing. ]
Uhhh. It hurts, but I had worse. I really don't like doctors, so no, I haven't gone to the infirmary. Others need our doctors' attention more than I do. It's fine. I'll go back to full health soon enough.
[ What it's to be shot in your very soul and feel the worst pain you have ever experienced? Nothing, nothing. He is doing well, truly. ]
no subject
Of course not, Peter. You're one of my best buds, y'know?
I only want the best for you... which isn't a broke neck, for the record.
[They wouldn't complain if you did break it, though. After a moment, they wave a hand dismissively.] Yeah, I don't get along with the medical staff either. But if you want people to listen when you tell them to visit the infirmary, you better practice that preaching.
no subject
[ Peter has been missing his team like crazy, and it's been half a year since he last saw him. It's good to know that he made friends here.
If he only knew better. ]
And yes, I know, You can also count on me for anything, man. [ One day, all those bad vibes will come to bite the Precursors in their skinny alien ass. ONE DAY.
After that reply, Peter opens his mouth, thinks better of it, and closes it again. Then he chuckles. ]
Okay, that is a fair point. I did pester you about that. Ey, how are you feeling lately? Have the nosebleeds stopped?
no subject
[Haaaa.
But at the questioning, his slight smile fades.]
How'm I... oh, right. No nosebleeds! I've had, like, one or two since the seizure, and none in the last few months. [They tap a finger to Newton's temple.] I think I'm officially in the clear.
no subject
[ And joking aside, one of the many reasons why Peter likes Newt so much. He's playful, fun and kind. Peter's smile vanishes at Newton's next word, worry taking over his features. ]
Seizure? What seizure? What caused it?
no subject
I've been on medication for it, and everything's smoothed over.
[They offer a small shoulder shrug, like it's really no big deal.]
Water under the bridge now; sucks that I can't drink liquor as much, though.
[Newton Geiszler did love his bar drinks.]
no subject
[ Peter might not like the infirmary or anything that has to do with it, but he knows they have some great doctors and nurses on board. He still eyes Newt warily for a couple of seconds, before his shoulders relax. ]
Ah, worry not. There's plenty of coffee and milkshakes to compensate for that.