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)
ximilialog2022-05-23 11:20 am
groupiedrifter) wrote in ximilialog2022-05-23 11:20 am
[PLAYER PLOT LOG] you can fight this all you want
CHARACTERS: Everyone opting into the Kaiju player plot!
LOCATION: The Train to Vrefesea
DATE: The very end of the mission.
CONTENT: Newton Geiszler, fully possessed by precursors, attempts to wipe out the Ximilia crew and get to the station to retrieve the orb — by borrowing some of the orb's power to raise a miniature kaiju, of course! How else do you try to kill your meatsuit's friends and take what's obviously yours? (Please read the mod's mission conclusion as well, as it contains information before and after this player plot!)
WARNINGS: Likely will involve blood/violence, potential mentioned NPC civilian death, and possession; any additional content warnings will be listed in anyone's top levels!
I. YOU BETTER RUN LIKE THE DEVIL | (KAIJU ATTACK PROMPT)
"Oh, screw it."
There's a vivid burst of light in front of Newton — a cacophony of energy around him that brightens his eager, manic expression. He talks to the mysterious glow, his smile wolfish, predatory. "Lend me some of that sweet power of yours, and I'll make it worth your while. Enough destruction to feed on for lifetime after lifetime. I know just the planets we can visit. I even have the perfect means of travel in mind to take over. What do you say? The Ximilia's really cozy. Help me get to you in Vrefesea, and we'll strike you up a fresh new bargain...!"
The orb is nowhere on the train; it's many miles away, and yet — it's power is here, and there's little room for doubt: it has given Newton Geiszler a fraction of its power. Before anyone can push through the force that has been created, it's too late. The ethereal light pops like a bubble in front of him, expanding to blind those in the train cars nearest to him.
If any crewmembers of the Ximilia are close enough and make the choice to lash out at him, what weapons they have on hand will not meet Newton's skin; their blades or bullets will bounce off a resilient set of thick, reptile-like scales. As the train shakes uncomfortably, rattling their bones and flickering the lights, a long-tailed, bi-pedaled beast bursts out of the light itself, created from thin air and shielding its master from harm. The sharp spines that line the back of the beast's head scrapes gashes into the ceiling of the train car, and its barbed tail whips around with enough strength to break bone, smashing into windows and letting unpleasant gusts of wind into the long line of cars.
It is a kaiju.
Just like the creatures from Newton's world that he'd spoken of many times aboard the Ximilia — smaller and more compact here, but no less of a nightmare when you're literally powerless. And despite Newton saying nothing to it, it seems to know exactly what its purpose is. The beast looks straight down the walkway ahead of it, toward orbers and confused civilians approaching from the back cars... and begins its wild assault down the middle of the train cars. Newton has already fled in the other direction — toward the front of the train — and as he goes, the kaiju lets out a battle-cry that rattles abandoned glasses before it lunges toward whomever may be unfortunate enough to be in its warpath.
You'll need to think fast or fight hard; the kaiju is creating chaos as it goes, and the passengers are all in peril if left unguarded. Likewise, many orbers don't have the means to fight, and must simply run and survive... to do what they must to get out of this without the beast's massive claws slicing through their skin or its tail snapping bone. It will not hesitate to try and take anyone too slow or bold in its mouth and shake them like prey, throw them aside, and move onto the next target. The kaiju's goal is clear: it is here to kill and damage, to keep them all at bay for their master.
Those who can manage it may dodge around the beast with some fast moves, or tucking away into corners to be passed over, left to be able to hide safely in the debris and chaos... or give chase to Newton. The others who fall back? Must fight it, as well as defend the train's passengers, many of which scurry toward the back of the train in a mad panic.
Luckily, the kaiju is not all-powerful: if a weapon is lodged between its scales, the pointed ends can be wedged in deep enough to draw blood and do real damage... and the softer underside of its long, alligator-like jaw can be pierced after many foolhardy attempts, but be careful: its blood is a terrible corrosive. If it meets one's skin and isn't removed very quickly, it will leave an awful burn where it falls, one that will worsen until the thick substance is wiped away and left to slowly corrode elsewhere.
Eventually, the creature will be taken down. Try not to get killed before then.
[PROMPT NOTE: The two selected characters from the plotting post's RNG may create a thread together to kill the kaiju; the takedown will happen at the very tail end of the player plot, of course, but feel free to start in any time! Everyone else is more than welcome to land blows on the kaiju or find themselves running, harmed or attempting to save civilians and orbers.]
II. SPARKS AGAINST THE RAILING | (OPT-OUT OPTION)
But not everyone will even know what's happening, in that moment: those who are further back in the train cars will be concerned by the distant jolts of energy making the train cars tremble, until an even larger jolt that knocks them to their knees — followed by the smell of smoke. If they make their way through the doors that bridge one piece of the train to the next, they'll find themselves stopped suddenly short... when they open the door and find that there is no next train car to greet them. No walkway that leads to a new door.
Instead, they look down to see railroad tracks submerged in ocean water.
And further up the tracks? The rest of the train is speeding away, leaving them behind.
As the backend of the detached train they're stuck in slowly rolls to a helpless stop, an inspection will reveal what must surely have been a bomb of some sort that had been detonated and completely blasted through the train coupler. Can't really keep moving if you're not coupled to an engine anymore, can you...? The orbers and passengers on these last few cars will be mortified to realize they're stranded — and there's no catching up to what sounds like the distant sounds of monstrous roars. Indeed, it looks like everyone trapped there will have to simply hope that those left aboard the speeding train will return for them later. And for the orbers: they'll have to hope that their fellow teammate will retrieve the orb and teleport them back to the Ximilia.
Hopefully with everyone in one piece. Hopefully.
[PROMPT NOTES: If you'd like minimal interaction, there's also the option of still being able to contact those involved through the network/inboxes! This is basically just an option put into place so that anyone who isn't feeling the player plot or are too busy to participate to have an easy out.]
III. SAY HELLO TO THE BRUSH FIRE | (BOMB DISARMING PROMPT)
Ah, but was that explosion the only one those left aboard the speeding train need to worry about?
Unfortunately, the answer is no.
Those who have managed to skate by the kaiju or are further back on what's left of the train will have another concerning dilemma on their hands, one of which is swiftly brought to their attention: explosives.
Explosives some of the more seasoned orbers may recognize, built eerily close to those used to blow up the pulse-fire mining tunnels on the planet Badrock. Another sample of Newton's work, something which the precursors possessing him must've sapped knowledge of to prepare before they'd even left for this train mission; those train guards really should have checked their luggage, huh?
There is a telltale timer build into the sides of the devices, giving frighteningly short windows of opportunity to be defused. Yes, if left unattended, these will no doubt finish off any of the remaining train cars, leaving them to become stranded — or worse. Derailing is not something anyone will want to happen here, nor do they want Newton to decouple the remaining train cars as he makes his way to the front of the barreling locomotive; being left behind or killed means the orb's as good as theirs.
Attempting to rip the explosives away from the spaces they've been attached will do no good, not unless you want an instant explosion to occur (and maybe some of you need to be urgently stopped before you do this very stupid thing; don't you know anything about pressure switches, friends?). But if you've got someone around with particularly skilled hands and well-trained brains when it comes to bomb disposal, you may be in luck, because they can most-certainly be disarmed by those familiar with basic technologies. Better get on that fast, team. Newton will appreciate it keeping you busy either way.
IV. KILL ALL YOUR FRIENDS | SEMI-CLOSED | (CONFRONTING NEWTON PROMPT)
'We feel you wriggling around in there, Newton,' the precursors think.
Armed with a supply of talismans from Sedorum powered by their new best friend the orb, they make their way from train to train, their perfectly shined shoes tapping urgently along the train. Most of the civilians make way, too busy cowering, but they don't hesitate to aim a handy-dandy ray gun from the Ximilia herself and shoot any brave souls who try to stop them from progressing. 'That'll show 'em.' As long as they can get this body to the first few train cars, it'll be easy breezy: the remaining bombs will detonate and decouple the rest of them to be left with a violent, murderous kaiju, they'll get to the station, and the orb will be as good as theirs... And then, of course, they'll take over the Ximilia and collect the rest of the orbs for themselves.
Easy peasy, as Newton would have said.
But the prideful creatures don't particularly expect too many of you to get through the kaiju's barrage, or the bombs planted along the couplers ... Hmm. But shouldn't they have heard some explosions by now? Surely the timed bombs weren't disabled, were they? They slide their hand into their pocket, curling Newton's fingers around the etched talismans there he'd taken from Sedorum — the last mission had a lot of benefits, y'know?
So do be careful if you're giving chase: he's more armed than he seems, and more capable of defensive attacks than some who are usually more superpowered aboard this train. They won't hesitate to shoot to kill, though you can try your best to talk to Newton; clearly this must be Newton, right? And Newton is a good man — surely he can be convinced what he's doing is wrong. Surely he will see reason and remember his empathy and better nature...!
(Oh, if only.)
But eventually, finally, with some elbow grease and maybe a bit of rough treatment, Newton will be apprehended.
Just in time for (most) of the train to roll up to the loading zone.
... Welcome to Vrefesea Station?
[PROMPT NOTES: This prompt is somewhat closed for Newton! I'll be plotting with CR and seeing who is interested in running into him and getting hurt or failing to capture him; if you're interested, feel free to hit me up on plurk at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
simpledog or via private message! I cannot guarantee I can involve everyone that is interested for the sake of time, but I will try my best to keep it varied! There will also be a short network post from the precursors, as well as a post-player plot log where characters with the ability to supernaturally or technically help remove the precursors from Newton's mind, so there'll be plenty of other methods of interaction if those fit your fancy! The two characters who are RNG'd to apprehend Newton in a thread will be contacted and threaded out here in a closed thread.
And that's all she wrote! Check out the mod's conclusion post to see the ending of the mission and the player plot, in which the orb is retrieved and Newton is apprehended and returned with everyone else to the Ximilia. I'll be posting a log sometime after this one for (less perilous) precursor interaction and removal aboard the station, so stay tuned for that if you're interested in being involved!
Thanks so much for everything. ♥ ]
LOCATION: The Train to Vrefesea
DATE: The very end of the mission.
CONTENT: Newton Geiszler, fully possessed by precursors, attempts to wipe out the Ximilia crew and get to the station to retrieve the orb — by borrowing some of the orb's power to raise a miniature kaiju, of course! How else do you try to kill your meatsuit's friends and take what's obviously yours? (Please read the mod's mission conclusion as well, as it contains information before and after this player plot!)
WARNINGS: Likely will involve blood/violence, potential mentioned NPC civilian death, and possession; any additional content warnings will be listed in anyone's top levels!
I. YOU BETTER RUN LIKE THE DEVIL | (KAIJU ATTACK PROMPT)
"Oh, screw it."
There's a vivid burst of light in front of Newton — a cacophony of energy around him that brightens his eager, manic expression. He talks to the mysterious glow, his smile wolfish, predatory. "Lend me some of that sweet power of yours, and I'll make it worth your while. Enough destruction to feed on for lifetime after lifetime. I know just the planets we can visit. I even have the perfect means of travel in mind to take over. What do you say? The Ximilia's really cozy. Help me get to you in Vrefesea, and we'll strike you up a fresh new bargain...!"
The orb is nowhere on the train; it's many miles away, and yet — it's power is here, and there's little room for doubt: it has given Newton Geiszler a fraction of its power. Before anyone can push through the force that has been created, it's too late. The ethereal light pops like a bubble in front of him, expanding to blind those in the train cars nearest to him.
If any crewmembers of the Ximilia are close enough and make the choice to lash out at him, what weapons they have on hand will not meet Newton's skin; their blades or bullets will bounce off a resilient set of thick, reptile-like scales. As the train shakes uncomfortably, rattling their bones and flickering the lights, a long-tailed, bi-pedaled beast bursts out of the light itself, created from thin air and shielding its master from harm. The sharp spines that line the back of the beast's head scrapes gashes into the ceiling of the train car, and its barbed tail whips around with enough strength to break bone, smashing into windows and letting unpleasant gusts of wind into the long line of cars.
It is a kaiju.
Just like the creatures from Newton's world that he'd spoken of many times aboard the Ximilia — smaller and more compact here, but no less of a nightmare when you're literally powerless. And despite Newton saying nothing to it, it seems to know exactly what its purpose is. The beast looks straight down the walkway ahead of it, toward orbers and confused civilians approaching from the back cars... and begins its wild assault down the middle of the train cars. Newton has already fled in the other direction — toward the front of the train — and as he goes, the kaiju lets out a battle-cry that rattles abandoned glasses before it lunges toward whomever may be unfortunate enough to be in its warpath.
You'll need to think fast or fight hard; the kaiju is creating chaos as it goes, and the passengers are all in peril if left unguarded. Likewise, many orbers don't have the means to fight, and must simply run and survive... to do what they must to get out of this without the beast's massive claws slicing through their skin or its tail snapping bone. It will not hesitate to try and take anyone too slow or bold in its mouth and shake them like prey, throw them aside, and move onto the next target. The kaiju's goal is clear: it is here to kill and damage, to keep them all at bay for their master.
Those who can manage it may dodge around the beast with some fast moves, or tucking away into corners to be passed over, left to be able to hide safely in the debris and chaos... or give chase to Newton. The others who fall back? Must fight it, as well as defend the train's passengers, many of which scurry toward the back of the train in a mad panic.
Luckily, the kaiju is not all-powerful: if a weapon is lodged between its scales, the pointed ends can be wedged in deep enough to draw blood and do real damage... and the softer underside of its long, alligator-like jaw can be pierced after many foolhardy attempts, but be careful: its blood is a terrible corrosive. If it meets one's skin and isn't removed very quickly, it will leave an awful burn where it falls, one that will worsen until the thick substance is wiped away and left to slowly corrode elsewhere.
Eventually, the creature will be taken down. Try not to get killed before then.
[PROMPT NOTE: The two selected characters from the plotting post's RNG may create a thread together to kill the kaiju; the takedown will happen at the very tail end of the player plot, of course, but feel free to start in any time! Everyone else is more than welcome to land blows on the kaiju or find themselves running, harmed or attempting to save civilians and orbers.]
II. SPARKS AGAINST THE RAILING | (OPT-OUT OPTION)
But not everyone will even know what's happening, in that moment: those who are further back in the train cars will be concerned by the distant jolts of energy making the train cars tremble, until an even larger jolt that knocks them to their knees — followed by the smell of smoke. If they make their way through the doors that bridge one piece of the train to the next, they'll find themselves stopped suddenly short... when they open the door and find that there is no next train car to greet them. No walkway that leads to a new door.
Instead, they look down to see railroad tracks submerged in ocean water.
And further up the tracks? The rest of the train is speeding away, leaving them behind.
As the backend of the detached train they're stuck in slowly rolls to a helpless stop, an inspection will reveal what must surely have been a bomb of some sort that had been detonated and completely blasted through the train coupler. Can't really keep moving if you're not coupled to an engine anymore, can you...? The orbers and passengers on these last few cars will be mortified to realize they're stranded — and there's no catching up to what sounds like the distant sounds of monstrous roars. Indeed, it looks like everyone trapped there will have to simply hope that those left aboard the speeding train will return for them later. And for the orbers: they'll have to hope that their fellow teammate will retrieve the orb and teleport them back to the Ximilia.
Hopefully with everyone in one piece. Hopefully.
[PROMPT NOTES: If you'd like minimal interaction, there's also the option of still being able to contact those involved through the network/inboxes! This is basically just an option put into place so that anyone who isn't feeling the player plot or are too busy to participate to have an easy out.]
III. SAY HELLO TO THE BRUSH FIRE | (BOMB DISARMING PROMPT)
Ah, but was that explosion the only one those left aboard the speeding train need to worry about?
Unfortunately, the answer is no.
Those who have managed to skate by the kaiju or are further back on what's left of the train will have another concerning dilemma on their hands, one of which is swiftly brought to their attention: explosives.
Explosives some of the more seasoned orbers may recognize, built eerily close to those used to blow up the pulse-fire mining tunnels on the planet Badrock. Another sample of Newton's work, something which the precursors possessing him must've sapped knowledge of to prepare before they'd even left for this train mission; those train guards really should have checked their luggage, huh?
There is a telltale timer build into the sides of the devices, giving frighteningly short windows of opportunity to be defused. Yes, if left unattended, these will no doubt finish off any of the remaining train cars, leaving them to become stranded — or worse. Derailing is not something anyone will want to happen here, nor do they want Newton to decouple the remaining train cars as he makes his way to the front of the barreling locomotive; being left behind or killed means the orb's as good as theirs.
Attempting to rip the explosives away from the spaces they've been attached will do no good, not unless you want an instant explosion to occur (and maybe some of you need to be urgently stopped before you do this very stupid thing; don't you know anything about pressure switches, friends?). But if you've got someone around with particularly skilled hands and well-trained brains when it comes to bomb disposal, you may be in luck, because they can most-certainly be disarmed by those familiar with basic technologies. Better get on that fast, team. Newton will appreciate it keeping you busy either way.
IV. KILL ALL YOUR FRIENDS | SEMI-CLOSED | (CONFRONTING NEWTON PROMPT)
'We feel you wriggling around in there, Newton,' the precursors think.
Armed with a supply of talismans from Sedorum powered by their new best friend the orb, they make their way from train to train, their perfectly shined shoes tapping urgently along the train. Most of the civilians make way, too busy cowering, but they don't hesitate to aim a handy-dandy ray gun from the Ximilia herself and shoot any brave souls who try to stop them from progressing. 'That'll show 'em.' As long as they can get this body to the first few train cars, it'll be easy breezy: the remaining bombs will detonate and decouple the rest of them to be left with a violent, murderous kaiju, they'll get to the station, and the orb will be as good as theirs... And then, of course, they'll take over the Ximilia and collect the rest of the orbs for themselves.
Easy peasy, as Newton would have said.
But the prideful creatures don't particularly expect too many of you to get through the kaiju's barrage, or the bombs planted along the couplers ... Hmm. But shouldn't they have heard some explosions by now? Surely the timed bombs weren't disabled, were they? They slide their hand into their pocket, curling Newton's fingers around the etched talismans there he'd taken from Sedorum — the last mission had a lot of benefits, y'know?
So do be careful if you're giving chase: he's more armed than he seems, and more capable of defensive attacks than some who are usually more superpowered aboard this train. They won't hesitate to shoot to kill, though you can try your best to talk to Newton; clearly this must be Newton, right? And Newton is a good man — surely he can be convinced what he's doing is wrong. Surely he will see reason and remember his empathy and better nature...!
(Oh, if only.)
But eventually, finally, with some elbow grease and maybe a bit of rough treatment, Newton will be apprehended.
Just in time for (most) of the train to roll up to the loading zone.
... Welcome to Vrefesea Station?
[PROMPT NOTES: This prompt is somewhat closed for Newton! I'll be plotting with CR and seeing who is interested in running into him and getting hurt or failing to capture him; if you're interested, feel free to hit me up on plurk at
And that's all she wrote! Check out the mod's conclusion post to see the ending of the mission and the player plot, in which the orb is retrieved and Newton is apprehended and returned with everyone else to the Ximilia. I'll be posting a log sometime after this one for (less perilous) precursor interaction and removal aboard the station, so stay tuned for that if you're interested in being involved!
Thanks so much for everything. ♥ ]
no subject
( were it another situation, in a slightly more fun/funny context, he might draw out the drama of it to make it more — cinematic. as is, the heft of this promise does little good other than to make his stomach hurt with the impending dread that comes when you know you're fighting a losing battle, but too stubborn to give up the ghost. too stubborn to actually kill the man he said he would, when instead of kaiju and deception, rhys only sees the starburst pattern of a tattoo when he closes his eyes, and the man who put it there.
not someone who deserves to die laying down. newt's in there somewhere — whatever infection currently has him under its vice is the thing that should suffer. the cancer to be expelled. )
We promised we'd kill each other, if things got too bad.
Well. This seems about as bad as it can get, and yet I have no real interest in hurting him.
I will, if I have to.
But mostly we need to stop him, before he can do more damage.
no subject
the infection still lingers. her fingers still refuse to kindle with heat, beyond the hope of burning it out like a fever. but even with their options dwindling before her very eyes — ]
no one is killing anyone, promise or no promise
do you hear me?
[ if only her stubborn willpower could bend reality to make that true. she can't blind herself to the trail of carnage newt has left, a vivid mural of blistering skin and swaths of blood, as though to mock her with the fact it's already too late to create a peaceful ending to this. alina's stomach churns as she crawls to her feet, hissing as a scattered piece of fine china slices across a knee. ]
i'm already working on finding him so we can put an end to this
i'll do it without you if you're actually entertaining MURDER as a solution
no subject
( the end of the sentence goes unfinished, newt's monster unsettling the train on the tracks with its clamorous body, a tense moment spared when it seems like the train might derail entirely. a timer clicking down, if rhys ever heard one — it has to be now. it has to be them. who else has goodness enough for rhys to leech off of?
no one, and simultaneously — everyone. his feet don't move to save himself. inaction could petrify him, he could die laying down with a whiskey in his hand and a smile on his face. but everyone else? the orbers, alina, newt? they deserve better. )
I know where he is.
No killing, Alina.
No dying, either.
I'm the distraction. You're the muscle. Understood?
no subject
in the here and now, it's the beginnings to might prove to be a hopeless plan. there's no laughter to be found in that. she drags in a breath, presses past the bristle of her pride at accepting orders. better to be a dedicated soldier, she tells herself, than the woman he's kept cooped up away from danger too many times. better than being equated to a baby in a playpen by him again, as though she can't be trusted to run free without bumping into a table's sharp edges, finding creative methods of gambling with her life.
it's enough trust from him that she doesn't march to the beat of her own defiance. she tucks the dinner knife up the sleeve of her dress, a parallel match for the ornate dagger secured on her other wrist. not a big bad weapon, in newt's world, but —
when you're scrappy, you learn to fight with whatever is on hand. she'll make do. ]
where?
[ that single word says all it needs to, that leap of faith she's taking in not demanding to hear every detail of what move rhys plans to take next. on a whim, she stumbles into the adjoining train cart, grasping at velvet upholstery to stay upright as everything rattles and shakes beneath her feet. ]
no subject
I'm going in. I'll leave the door ajar.
( the beast is giant and alina is crafty. rhysand, somehow, manages to convince himself not to worry about her tripping over her two selectively left feet.
though it does seem apt that the sun summoner could be bested by some dragon-esque creature, a counterpart to alina's soft, lovely lines. literary foils aside, rhys keeps the poetry from his brain. alina will be safe because he told her to. he did, right? not dying is the same instruction as protecting yourself. all will be well.
and if not —
it's simply not an option. he could turn around right now and find her and shield her body with his, and laugh while she curses him, and love her while she hates him, but it's out of his control. sometimes, the struggles of a friend supersede the natural inclination of your heart. newt has to take the forefront because — well. rhys has already failed alina, every which way you can fail a person. the least he can do is trust her with herself. the least he can do is make sure he doesn't fail newt, too.
the door to the final car opens with a creak, rhys not bothering to mask his entrance. outside the door he'd been the worried friend and lover, panic turning the violets of his eyes into bright firelight — but inside he's the calm, collected high lord, chin up, hands in pockets. it seems not even a kaiju attack is enough to ruffle his proverbial feathers, hair as ever on the handsome side of tousled like maybe the attack just happened to wake him from a nap, and maybe that nap was spent with another body pulling on his curls. )
Newton. ( rhys inclines his head, the greeting of a king to an adviser. disrespectful, but vaguely regal. ) You know why I'm here, don't you?
no subject
This thought brings them great pleasure, of course.
There is, though, a dried line of blood from one nostril. A familiar ghost of a memory may pass Rhysand's mind of a time when Newton had stared up at him, terrified but hopeful. ... If I go crazy, can you kill me, too?
In their hands, they hold two things:
A dagger with blood on the blade.
And in the other, some kind of small rock. Rhysand may recognize it as a talisman from Sedorum, if he'd gotten familiarized with the work there; any kind of projectile won't work well for whoever comes after Newton.
A slight smile pulls at their lips.]
Because you're a nutjob who goes out for suicide pact tats instead of therapy sessions?
Yeah, I remember.
You know that was all a load of bullshit, right?
no subject
a hand falls out of his pocket, his first finger pointing up to the roof of the car. showing off the ink detailed on his finger, a promise pressed into every line of pain. )
You didn't always think it was bullshit. ( safely back in his pocket, his gives an air of being nonthreatening while he moves, sauntering over to the side of the car. it'd be foolish to give newt his back — but it's a near thing, purposely done. he doesn't see mr. shortcakes as a threat, or at least that's the impression he gives. ) Besides, therapy is one of your words. If we Fae feel particularly emotional, we go die in war.
So — let us discuss. How best would you like to die? ( over his shoulder, rhys grins. ) My hands around your throat, intimate? A blade in your gut, slow? Drowning's no good, I'll get bored in the middle. Maybe you think you should suffer a bit, before I kill you. Given all that you've done, maybe you feel like repenting with your pain. Your death could absolve your sins.
no subject
I'm all good now.
[They say so casually, waving around a knife caked with a teammate's blood.]
Before you decide to, uhhh, do the whole 'absolving' thing, I've got some unfinished business to complete myself. You know how it is, right? Other obligations.
[They walk slow themselves, but more cautiously, like two angry cats circling with the knowledge that they'll end up scrapping. Eyes on Rhysand. Just as he wanted, because the precursors don't trust taking their gaze off him for even a moment. Hmm. Newton does look a little gaunt, doesn't he? Not quite so full in the face; he hasn't been in charge of his eating habits for a while now, you know. Food has been a fourth or fifth concern to them, and Hermann's tastes in healthy foods is a real bitch to shake off.
They casually reach where they wanted to be, and carefully collect a small box. Shoddily made, it looks like, but that's just how Newton Geiszler is. That big brain is what he's useful for; his ability to make garbage into functional equipment is why they're even here in this train at all. Thank him, the lot of you.
Holding the box delicately, they stop walking, flipping it open to reveal the small, metal switch inside. That's — probably not good. They don't seem keen to explain in some villain monologue what it is either.]
Just stand there and look pretty, and I'll gut you after I put a bow on my work.
no subject
he doesn't look to the door. won't risk alina's safety. he'll just have to trust that she'll be there, when it become imperative. until then — )
Newt. ( foxlike, his head tilts in an almost otherworldly way, shoulders tense with a distinct rigidity. his hands are still in his pockets, but it's like a bomb waiting to go off — he could lunge at any time. ) There are women and children on this train.
( newt would care, wouldn't he? he was the one who brought up the girls in rhys' life when he was on the ledge of jumping. rhys could've predicted that threats weren't going to work — but tempting with empathy is a slippery slope, the kind that pummels you when you put faith in it. stepping along the perimeter of the room, rhys moves them as slyly as he can, until newt's back is almost parallel to the door. optimal position. )
People you love are on this train. I'll tell you — it's quite a bit easier to love someone when they're alive. ( he frowns, jaw setting, eyebrows furrowed by his own seriousness. ) This isn't you, Eye of Newt. You told me you wanted to live, after I kissed you. ( he taps his own temple. ) Right here. So why are you doing everything you can to assure your own end? We can help you, all of us. We will help you. Stand up and fight for yourself.
no subject
[They give Rhysand a flat stare, unimpressed by the speech and particularly unaware that anyone's going to be approaching from any which direction. Not when they're too busy being thoroughly disgusted by the memory of Rhys' kiss to Newton's forehead. Their forehead. His forehead. Whatever.]
I'll be sure to throw a prayer out for the people I 'love' who're about to blow up into little pieces — right now.
[They move to flip the switch in their hands — a switch that would set off the remaining bombs, a switch that would derail the train, leave everyone in a broken pile of twisted steel and ruin —
But their finger locks up over the trigger... and then refuses to move.
Newton looks alarmed at first — baffled — before his expression shifts into quiet fury. But despite how they try to press forward, something (someone) inside them clings to their coattails, pulls desperately at the end of the rope, shaking with the effort of attempting to stop the last step of this grand finale. NEWTON, they hiss. DO NOT F̴̹̣͋̓̈I̷̥̥̟̽G̴̣͑̿̆H̷̠̖̎͜͝T̸̖̋ ̵̱̯͓̽̽Ú̸̳̰Ś̸̡̙͎͠͝.
There's your window; it's the only one you're getting before all the strength escapes the consciousness locked deep inside this body, and it's only a few seconds at most, so you'd better make the most of it.]
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determinedly, she chooses now.
the shadowy cranny just behind the door has welcomed her like a long-time friend, returning her to her roots of sneaking through the world, unseen and unexemplary. so when she twists around the corner, it's without a warning; rhys' can have his words, as flowery and pretty as they've always been, but alina ...
is all thorns and brambles. she breaks into a vicious velocity as she rounds the corner like an animal ready to pounce, throwing all of her weight into the sudden leap she takes at newt's back. glass scattered along the train cart slices into her bare feet in the process, but it's a sting of distant pain lost in the haze of adrenaline. inconsequential, next to making sure that little silver box is knocked away from him.
like any other wild creature, she knows this is it: that last chance they have for surviving. she's never been inclined to just roll over and die when death tries to hold her down by the scruff; she's devoted to making sure newt — newt, or whatever inhabitant has taken over his body like a virus — knows it, too, as she foregoes the civility of her dagger for something more personal than a blade to the back.
in a flash, she bites downs into the meat of his shoulder with the same ferocity of a starved dog, uncaring that she's immediately assaulted by the stomach-churning taste of copper behind her teeth — his blood, or someone else's, where it flecks across his suit jacket like a drying stain of gruesome paint chips. ]
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but then she's on newt, her tiny body a swath of pure relief that doses him, body taunt and tight for the fight that immediately seeps out of him. not that — he really can't afford to be relaxed as the grand Switch flies out of newt's hand, and rhys is brought to the pointed head of a decision that really feels bigger than it is, in the moment. one choice. alina with newt, or the entirety of the train with the switch?
he doesn't have to think. he lunges forward, using the motion to bend down, swinging one arm wide to crack his fist in the side of newt's knee, hard enough that he hears a satisfying pop as newt goes down. alina's bloodied feet to the floor — the leverage she needs. )
Choke him out!
( rhys has showed her how. and — for once — not with any nsfw connotation.
that assured, rhys makes the move towards the switch, ignoring the instinctive pang in his body to finish newt off, to conclude the promise. his whole body is at war — at a hundred different wars, really, but that at least has to take precedent. it has to. )
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Get —
[With gritting teeth, they manage to untuck the dagger from underneath them — the one still coated with the Doctor's dried blood — and jabs it upward from beside their ribs; hopefully it finds flesh, finds Alina's torso where she clamors to attempt to choke the body into unconsciousness.]
— off!
[She'll feel the awful feeling of a sharp edge pushing through skin, and it's enough, he thinks, to slam his head back into hers with reckless abandon; it doesn't hurt them, after all; Newton's body is an easy puppet, a pliant thing that can fight through any pain they see fit.]
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your life flashes before your eyes — that's the myth they've always perpetuated, isn't it? that one final mercy when you're staring death down the barrel of a rifle, waiting to gurgle out one last prayer. that one sliver of light before everything goes black, wrapping you up in warm memories before the world goes cold around you.
it's just another pretty lie, alina discovers, as newt's skull sets itself on a collison course with her head. there's no glimpse of clara's bright eyes, or that colorful grin that saturates newt's eyes — no chemical smell of nail polish as yelena makes artwork out of alina's nails, or rhys' voice rumbling beneath her ear in late hours of the night, or mal's fork relentlessly stabbing food off of her plate. there's just —
pinpricks of white starbursts in her vision, narrowing down into a tunneled view of newt. through the throbbing in her head, she registers the blood filling behind her teeth — no one but hers, this time. with a choked groan, her scrabbling hands loosen from newt's throat, sealing over her side.
trembling, they come away with a tacky red glaze. her blood, too — though the searing pain in her side is secondary to the betrayed realization he's stabbed her. a small incision through her ribs that could have been deadly, with enough precision. with enough force.
her second realization comes quick on the first's heels: she can only hope rhys hasn't seen it, hasn't changed courses from putting a pin in newton's plans. without the luxury of checking if he's gone, taking (not) newt's final key far from him, alina uses her wavering strength to latch onto his suit jacket and pull with clawing hands, twisting them around on the floor, in a desperate bid to clamber on top of him.
as one final insult, she spits, a glob of blood splashing across his face. her own defiant refusal to die quietly or quickly, if he plans to kill her here and now. what would be so different about taking her last breath here when she's always suspected she'd die a martyr's death? ]
It's over.
[ breathless, the words grind out behind her teeth. newt's suit is a gory canvas now, her palms dragging her blood against its lapels — but alina doesn't fare much better. a splotch of red bleeds through the black of her dress, tiny cuts on her arms bubbling up with blood from where she's rolled them into debris. ]
Why don't you — [ she tries to plant her knee firmly into his knife-wielding hand as she uses the leverage on his lapels to lift and slam him back into the floor — but it's a weakening attempt. the skin on her ribs pulls, splits further to send out a fresh burst of blood, pushing out a whimpering breath between syllables. ] — get out of him?
[ her sapped strength isn't nearly enough to push him into unconsciousness, despite her best efforts — wouldn't be, even if she were at full bodily strength. her grasp begins to slacken bit by bit, heaving out pained exhales through her flaring nostrils. ]
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however, there's no one there to praise him. a most unfortunate sight.
instead there's newt pinned underneath alina, her hands on the lapels of his jacket — and newt's hand swiftly rounding on her, clapping her hard on the cheek, knocking her aside. a stiff breeze, that's all it is. alina will get up, surely. but she doesn't, and newt makes a move on her, and rhys is on them before he gives his feet the instruction to move, gripping newt by the scruff of his neck and tossing him off, back to the floor. there's no thought of mercy then, is there? alina is bleeding, and the blood thumping in her veins is the soundtrack to his necessary violence. was he actually saying he wouldn't kill newt? only under the caveat he didn't hurt alina. now?
he settles his large body over newt's prone one, knees on either side of his chest as he reigns down, fists like hail, slamming into his face, one, two, three, four. if he weren't limited in his strength now, there'd be the sound of breaking bones, ruddy cartilage, the scent of brain and blood staining his scabbed knuckles. for now it's just the blood, the splatter across his chin and the gratification in knowing he — he can't hurt alina anymore. alina —
funny, the very thing that set his frenzy is the same that knocks him out of it — alina bleeding. he stops all of a sudden, fists raised to pummel another storm on his body when he realizes alina was hurt, alina was hurt, and he didn't go to her. two promises in combat with each other. suddenly he scrambles off, blinking at the blood on his hands — feral, a caged animal, seeing violence he inflicted and curling in on himself, memories of a not so distant war evident in the space behind his eyes. corpses. he saw enough of them. created enough of them. many bodies who didn't deserve the pain he inflicted — newton doesn't either, and he doesn't even have the ability to take the pain away, now.
crumpled, he shakily wipes the blood off on his shirt, a garish streak of red across white cotton. ignore it, swallow it down. forget it ever happened. )
Tie him up. ( he can't do it. alina probably can't either. but — she just has to. ) Will you, please?
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a breath in. a breath out. every inhale creaks into her lungs. every exhale wheezes out of her in a whistle of sound. the dazed expression she wears could be the thing of stargazers, lost in the twinkling lights from shortcircuiting electricity — if it weren't for the palm that cups her side, containing the flow of red that leaks between her fingers. a slow, warm trickle to combat the numb exhaustion that floods into her veins.
if it isn't done, it will be soon.
she catches her eyelids fluttering, listening to the drum of rhys' knuckles battering into bone and skin like a violent lullably. forces them open despite the urge to dream it all away as a nightmare, ignoring the stream of moisture that drips from the corner of her eye. when her head turns, a throbbing blur passing through her vision, her mouth opens on a soundless syllable. a small rasp in her throat that can't be heard over rhys' hammering fists, trying to drag him back from spiraling too far, from more blood that will cake into his lifelines long after it's been cleaned away.
you promised, she doesn't have the coherency to say, desperate and sharp. you promised.
not to kill him. not to keep that promise to newt, no matter how it must tear at fey rules to discard it. what he's done to newt isn't much better; as he withdraws, alina takes in the pulpy bruises scattered along newt's cheek, a brutal contrast to the eerie peace that settles over his unconscious expression (her fault, she quietly thinks, for not being able to get the job done herself). unconscious, or —
no, not dead. relief pierces through stomach-churning nausea in her stomach, long before she registers rhysand buckling. like he's trying to make himself impossibly smaller, compact, to escape what's been done.
it's enough to set her into motion. a fiery sting lances down her side when she rolls onto her knees, planting her palms down as her vision wobbles. it's clear she'll claw if she has to; clear she's trying to seize the opportunity to do something that doesn't feel like slowly bleeding out onto the floor; clear she can't quite get there as she crawls on her hands and knees to newt's body, only successfully pushing herself halfway before —
her teeth dig into her lip, trying and failing to seal away a hiss of pain. ]
I can't. [ it chafes at her to admit it. to simply ... give up. to seem so powerless, when she had managed to exist without needing to rely on her summoning as a crutch. her expression wrings in pain as she makes another effort, only to suddenly wind an arm around her stomach, hunching over. it stings at every part of her — her independence, her pride, her guilt — to admit, winded with strain: ] — I can't.
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his vision blurs heavily once he straightens himself up enough to look at the scene before him, tiny fissures of panic making his stomach churn as he sees alina, weak and bleeding, on the floor. suddenly, restraining newt is the least of his worries as he moves, like a man haunted, to catch alina in his arms before she crumples unconsciously. her head nestles in his lap, careful fingers drawing through the raven dark hair at her temple in an attempt to soothe to both of them, while he locates the source of her hurt. she's bleeding from nose to feet — but it's her stomach holding the brunt of the pain, a gash turning her black dress darker in the spread of a stain.
she'd gotten stabbed. stabbed — and he hadn't noticed. not because he hadn't been watching, but because he can't fucking smell it. he lets out a strangled breath, fingers resting over hers to put more pressure on the wound. )
Hey — t-that's okay, baby. That's okay. ( he nods, like the solidifies the fact that she must be okay. must. he doesn't sob, but tears trail out of his eyes like rainfall, something he only notices when salt and pain fill up his mouth. insistent, he smiles down at her, because if he's confident then she will be too — if she doesn't accept that she's dying, she won't be. rhys refuses. ) We'll be home before you know it, and you can sleep all you want then. Just stay here, now, just awhile longer. Deep breaths, follow mine.
( in on a four count, out on a four count. he shows her, until she follows him, keeps up the steady breathing while he takes up the hem of her dress and eases it gently over her hips, following the deepest shades of red to the gash at her side. rhys doesn't balk. doesn't cry. the soldier of him settles firmly into place at the sight of her oozing wound, forgetting panic in the place of efficiency. and if his fingers shake, it must be the adrenaline leaving him. if his eyes well up, it's the speed of the train. alina isn't dying so there's no need for concern.
one of the prepackaged medical kits gets swiped from the back of his trousers, something he'd grabbed and imagined using on newt if it came to that — although now he's grateful he had the foresight at all, one handedly opening it and spilling it's contents on a clean bit of floor as he searches out what he needs. antiseptic, gaze, a needle and thread. he prepares it with the same efficiency as a soldier on the battlefield, patching his brothers up to get them back in the thrill of it. he has been that man, too many times over.
he wants to tell her this is my fault. he wants to say i'm sorry. instead, he flushes her with antiseptic before pushing the needle through her flesh, and gets to work. )
You know — I think Mal is in love with me. Too bad for him, I'm in love with you. ( it's second nature to talk through everything, keep her conscious and focused on his words while he makes quick work of her stitches. ) He's very insistent, that's all. I love you so much, Rhysand. Please kiss me. Kind of clingy, actually. It reminds me — well, it makes me think of my best friend. Cassian. I miss him, I guess. Please don't tell him. The first time we kissed, he was punching me a second before. It wasn't exactly romantic. He didn't talk to me for a week after the fact, and then he pretended like it never happened. Do you think I let it go, Alina? Absolutely not. I never let anything go.
( he ties off her stitch with a graceful knot, sealing a bandage over her smooth stomach while blood sluggishly ceases to spill from her — stitches not tight enough, but good enough for now. he soothes her dress back down her but frowns at the saturation of blood, swiftly shrugging out of his suit jacket to lay it across her chest, tucking her arms in to better keep her warm. )
I guess the moral of that story is that you can try to leave me all you want, but I simply will not permit you. Okay? We're here, we're staying. You're staying with me, Linny. You're not going anywhere.
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[ the added pain is the adrenaline she needs to jolt her consciousness back into awareness, though not at the cost of — everything. how lucky for her, she thinks with no shortage of venomous sarcasm, that the answer to being stabbed is to be stabbed again. every threading push through her skin elicits a hiss, whistling out from between her grinding teeth. a clack-clack of bone that begins to creak, with how tightly she's clamped her jaw.
her nails scramble along rhys' forearms, a vain attempt to escape it. she's as successful as a cat trying to escape the horrors of a bath — which is to say not at all, despite the ragged tallies she's pockmarked into his flesh for his trouble, squirming uselessly in his hold. that should feel ... promising. she should be thankful for the hurt, if only for the reassurance it provides: a reminder that she's alive enough to choke on her flinching breaths.
she should be. instead, her expression only pinches with indignation, a distant offense that he's jabbed her without warning. shakily, she pets down her side, tests the bandage in disbelief — but there's no sticky blood that greets her. no proof that rhys had only slapped tissue paper across a gaping wound to trick her into being comforted. then, and only then, does she allow herself to slump back down into his lap, useless to gather the strength necessary to do much more than curl his jacket around her, making a fortress out of its fabric.
for the first time, she finds herself wishing a heartrender were in the vicinity. not for the first time, she wishes that newt's infection hadn't been right to consider her power a crutch, the only real gift she has. the only blessing that might have saved her from needing to maul newt, from forcing rhys to watch her bleed out like a leaky faucet, from being the liability he needs to cradle while newt lays limp and unconscious beside them. ]
Someday, someone will teach you that you can't always get your way. The entire world doesn't kneel under your command, High Lord.
[ she huffs out what sounds suspiciously close to a wet laugh — but it only crunches her stomach together with a cough that ratchets through her, pulling her mouth into a tight grimace of pain. right. no laughing allowed, then. she doesn't even have the scope of movement to wipe away the shiny trails of moisture streaking his face, that premature mourning that makes her want to shout stop it. i'm still here. ]
I can share my best friend with you, but Cassian isn't Mal. [ she murmurs, adrenaline fading away to leave a groggy haze. ] Cassian hates you less.