[Mostly Open] So we'll press, and press 'til you can't take it anymore!

[groupiedrifter]

CHARACTERS: Precursors and you. And Eventually Newton. Hopefully!
LOCATION: A holding room in Ximilia Station.
DATE: Est. two days post-mission, after the kaiju is defeated and the orb is retrieved.
CONTENT: The precursors are revealed — and are finally removed from Newt's mind.
WARNINGS: Possession and the bodily autonomy issues that come with that. More will be added if necessary!

Closed and opened starters will be added as I go, which will be announced on plurk! But if you don't use plurk or would rather keep an eye out by email/tracking, feel free to use the tracking option and mark to receive notifs any new top level comments posted to this log! The log will involve an open starter to visit the precursors where they're cuffed/contained in the room, so stay tuned.

Also no rush once the open starters are posted!

Feel free to focus on the player plot log first and come back to this later.

CLOSED STARTER | THE DOCTOR
DARKLING'S TOP LEVEL | WHILE NEWT WAS SLEEPING...
OPEN STARTER | THE PRECURSORS, REVEALED
CLOSED FINAL CONCLUSION | THE PRECURSORS, REMOVED
OPEN PROMPTS | NEWTON GEISZLER'S RETURN

Comments

[bindsthedead]

Well. The next time I see you will be the last.

[Sabriel flashes that same grin again, all teeth and no mirth.]

I'm sure it will be memorable.

[groupiedrifter]

Uh, no. It's called speaking in the third person, numbnuts.

I'm Newton Geiszler. Same as the day I showed up in this freak show.

[No, they're not. They're agitated, is what they are. But also far too petulant and cruel and prideful to say they've been found out by a Timelord, and so they glower at him while looking like a child left in time out.]

... Unless you'd like me to lie and say I'm the Easter Bunny, sorry, but it is what it is. Not all humans are rainbows and sunshine anyway. You know that, dontcha'? Just look at the crazy shit humanity's done over the centuries. A few years of high school and a deep dive on twitter'll tell ya.

[lateness]

[ And for one split second, the Doctor does start to wonder whether he has made a mistake — whether he'd misjudged the way Newt had blinked a message in code at him, whether this man really is just Newt. It wouldn't be the first time after all, and it would hardly be the last either.

But it doesn't make sense.

It just doesn't make sense. ]

Well, if you really are Newt and you really mean this crew harm, then I'm afraid I just can't allow that.

I'm sorry.

[ The Doctor powers the sonic screwdriver on, the green bulb at its tip lighting up, bright and not entirely friendly, not this time. The high frequency of its buzzing is pointed directly in Newt's face. ]

[groupiedrifter]

[The precursors cry out hoarsely in pain, and Newt cries out in pain with them, bruised and bloodied face twisting up at the terrible frequency that shakes them to their core. If the Doctor holds it there, lets it unfurl the mental barrier that has been so neatly put up around Newton Geiszler's mind, the Timelord will feel something within himself crumbling to dust. First a handful of scattered images.

And then the corroding dam completely fails, and the precursor's presence will be too easily felt across those who are capable of sensing other life in this small station. But more importantly for the Doctor... the memories that had been blocked intentionally from his mind and the mind of others board the Ximilia return in a flood.

'Time Lord, yes. We're very familiar with you... You have a habit of wandering in 'by mistake'. He's just a little suit. Something to wear when we need it. Does it matter?'
'Oh, it matters. It matters very much when you're wearing my friend like a — what did you call it? A little suit?'
The sounds of Newton, crying softly.
'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?'
The anger. The sound of Clara's bones snapping.
'What did you do to her.'
'... I'm sorry, Doc. I'm s-so sorry.'
'I won't leave you, Newt, I never leave anyone behind... I'm the Doctor. You're going to be okay-'

The precursors jerk their heads to the side — Newt's head to the side — as a tear drips down the man's face against their will, and then another as green eyes flood with them.

From a shared pain caused by the sonic?

Or... from someone locked away inside, so relieved to be seen that he can't stop from weeping?

Either way, the memories are given back, and the creatures within Newton are laid bare to see. They glower up at the Doctor, sneering in anger, fingers clutching the armrests in a white-knuckled grip that chips fingernails.]

Well, great.

[cruelyethuman]

Is that how you see me. Curious.

[Out of sorts, angry. Furious and resenting Kovach - impotent fury at being denied, well, anything but mostly the danger this puts someone in. The risk that she might not survive a second attack, and he can do nothing to prevent it.

It had looked so easy.

More fool him, since nothing was ever simple on this station. The bonds that was forged in battle, growing stronger with each passing months.]

How would you know if any of us were. No one saw this coming, and we almost lost this fight. How do you know he was the only one, or that he won't try again.

[cruelyethuman]

No.

[The warmth that usually slips in to his voice when he looks at her, doesn't come. It's cold as ice, dripping with it as his shadows slither around his ankles, crawling up the walls to dim the lights.

Ink on water, smearing out around the infirmary room as he takes a step close to where she's laid up in bed.]

He's not.

[Not for lack of trying, and he had been so close. Newton had already been drowning, the air pushed from his body and replaced with shadows.]

How are you doing?

[cruelyethuman]

My shadows have no will of their own.

[As a demonstration, he scoops up a handful of it. It settles like smoke against the palm of his hand, as fingers on the other hand move and the shadows congeal, take shape and slowly a small black butterfly flutters its wings.]

I will it in to being- [He lets the butterfly lift, hovering just above his skin, wings beating lazily, and his hand clenches and the shadows seep out between his fingers, falling down to join the ones around them.] and I can will it away.

Is it like that for you?

[The Force. Not quite magic, not quite Small Science, but he knows the flavour of it, has felt it respond to him, answering the call of his touch.]

I will hold you to that promise, Finn. If he cannot be cured, he will be dead. Together.

[morethan084]

[Relieved to hear that Newt isn't dead, she follows the shadows he's got surrounding him with her eyes. Daisy isn't sure why he's acting like this but he's clearly upset about something.]

I see you got your powers back.

[Trying to read his expression as he steps closer to her, Daisy spots a few people in the room looking in their direction after the lights dim.]

I'm--

[In a lot of pain.]

Doing better.

[flickerandfade]

My convictions haven't changed.

[ Megatron settles back into his seat a little, hands still folded neatly in front of him as he studies Newt. He understands them on some level. He's been a conqueror and a warlord and met more than his fair share of biological creatures who do the same. He can feel it, the oozing contempt for other lifeforms.

It is uncomfortably familiar. ]

I came to understand that in becoming what I was, I had strayed from the convictions that lead me to the determination that revolution was the only path forward in the first place. But I've told Newt this before, haven't I? You should know the answer to that question already if you're inside his head.

[kovach]

[ five minutes, he says.

it's difficult to say what kind of guard he's meant to be here, having ended up in front of the room before he even really had the chance to consider what it is he aimed to do. a guard to stop the thing that lives inside of that body to gain another advantage, is likely the given here, and he knows that's the intent, remembering exactly what had happened on that train when their attention had been too distracted with pinot's mystery to prepare for it.

but he also knows what else he's protecting, not just the people on this station, but the man hidden somewhere in that body still, knowing the possibility still exists to save him instead of throwing him aside to simply be a sacrifice.

plenty of the orbers have wanted to have a word, many of them wanting to see if they could reach past the false presence of whoever is pretending to be newt to try to pull out the real man; kovacs himself attempted it back on the train. but he also knows that people are angry, furious towards something, whether it be newt himself or not.

it's that acknowledgement that keeps him on edge, eyes peering back to the closed room behind him like there's something unnerving pulling at him about the whole thing —

and then he sees the light, or the sudden lack of it, how it seems to dim around him, taking a moment to surface memories of what he'd first seen back on braccia, how kirigan had used a certain power during their fight with cheri. there's a brief squint of confusion before his eyes widen, panic settling —

his fist slams on the keypad of the door to open it, catching sight of the darkness enveloping the body on the bed. he doesn't waste a second further, boots moving fast across the room as his hand reaches into his coat for his gun, aiming it squarely at kirigan as he tries to snag at him at his shirt. ]

What the fuck do you think you're doing!?

[groupiedrifter]

[They roll their eyes.]

Trespassing? We found Earth long before there were humans. We just... returned when the land was more fruitful is all. Just because you all naturally formed there over time doesn't change anything; humanity was just another thing we can say is our property.

What's the saying? 'Finders keepers'?

[They're trying very hard not to give Peter anything, not when their loss is mentioned. It does drive them mad to think about, that one little group in humanity had been able to dismantle their work. Or, it stings, makes them absolutely rabid with hate. But we mustn't give that to ol' Pete.]

Oh, right. The Guardians... We remember.

Gamora was here for a time, wasn't she? Sure was a serious one.

[groupiedrifter]

[Their smile twitches — but that's all they allow.]

We look forward to it.

And Newton can have a front row seat for the day you all decide to risk your minds and fail all the same.

[And won't it be a funny thing, to know that in a day's time, they'll be absolutely wrong.]

[groupiedrifter]

Mmm, we remember. We remember everything you told Newton.

... We just don't believe for a moment you're past all of that. Once you've tasted blood, there's no getting better. We figure you just lied to the poor little human so he wouldn't know the awful truth of the matter.

[They shrug.]

At least be honest with yourself, Megatron... That way, when you inevitably return to what you've always been, you can say you had been truthful with yourself.

[Or maybe these beings can't possibly conceive of change. Can't fathom that there's any reason for them to change... and even if that were the case, that their race cannot feel compassion, cannot know guilt. Maybe it is a tragedy in its own way, to be a species that can't learn and grow because their genetic make-up is what it is.]

► Mostly Open (Get! up! coward!) | POST-PRECURSORS

[groupiedrifter]

I. we are free (the guiltiness is yours) | CLOSED TO CLARA

[Newton wakes up peacefully, as himself, for the first time in a while. It was pretty terrifying in the last few months to do that — because he always woke up feeling like the precursors had been a bad dream... only to lie in his bed like a man with a severed spine, hands and legs at the mercy of something else. But today... today his hands slide up from his stomach to his face, and he touches the stubble on his chin himself. With his own hands. Him.

It almost doesn't feel real. He remembers Finn and Blue, the TARDIS, remembers everyone's voices as Clara's face swam into focus...

He remembers the train, the explosions, the screams, the Doctor's blood on his knife — Alina's blood Peter's blood Daisy's blood —

The beeping of the heart monitor quickens, as he looks around the blurry room; his glasses must've been removed while he was sleeping so soundly, and his hand nearly moves to start scrabbling for them near any nightstand. But he also realizes there's a brown head of hair, a familiar little shape in a chair next to him, and his stomach lurches as his heart flutters. He remembers the way his muscles burned when he'd desperately clamored for control over the dagger in his hand; he remembers the tears pouring out of his eyes as the precursors tried to peel his quivering control from his body, remembers the feeling of being a weight on her where he'd pinned her to the train floor.

Stop, he pleads with himself. Stop thinking about it.

He reaches toward her with shaky fingers, unsure if she's awake or if she's just... quietly watching him, wondering if he's even Newton Geiszler anymore.

Swallowing hard, he expects the worst. Maybe it's good his glasses were placed aside, so he doesn't have to see the look she'll give him.]

We've g-gotta stop meeting like this.

[Some credit where it's due: there's an inkling of humor in there somewhere, under the struggle to get the words out.]

II. you must fix your heart! | CLOSED TO INFIRMARY WORKERS/PATIENTS*

[Newton asks that there be no visitors. Pleads, really.

The bedrest time in the clinic is just a precaution, just like the time he'd had a seizure and winded up in this same predicament. Left in this quiet little infirmary, the curtain drawn around him for 'privacy' that he doesn't particularly feel he deserves, he sits and stares at the hanging sheet in front of him mostly... He thinks about the little pamphlets he'd seen in the PPDC's infirmary before, the ones about common reactions to trauma, or whatever.

First, a relief to be alive. He definitely feels that. Even when Gwen had found him in Sedorum, he had — always wanted to live, and it makes him wonder if that's a super selfish thing of him, when something so dangerous had been in his head.

Second, the stress, fear, and anger. The not being able to stop thinking about what happened. Mmmyeah. That's strong. Strong feeling there.

Third, an alertness, being constantly on guard. Sharp reactions to sudden sounds or sights.

Considering he almost jumps out of his skin when someone who works in the infirmary draws back the curtain to look in, that is also a factor.

His hand goes over his heart with a gasp.]

C'mon, you gotta knock if you're visiting.

[There are blood tests, and brain scans. There's medications and all that.

Sometimes food shows up, and he picks at it with a frown, like a sullen child who won't eat their vegetables.]

... Maybe I should be in the holding room still. I mean, as a precaution, right? Like how people have to quarantine when they get the superflu. [He stabs weakly at what he's pretty sure is a slice of carrot.] Until all the scans are complete and we know for sure there's nothing left in there. I don't feel them but it's not like that always mattered, you know? They've always been there — maybe they'll always be there, like when you get mono and you'll always have that in your blood? Maybe the precursors are my Mononucleosis. Mononucleosis I got from drifting, and I can never get them out, and they'll just always have some foot in the door that I can't control...

[The poor carrot is just a mushy orange blob now.]

[OOC: *If your character is too stubborn and will sneak in anyway to check on him or question him, feel free to tag into this prompt anyway!]

III. and you must build an altar where it rests | OPEN / MULTIPLE LOCATIONS

[When he's finally cleared, it's with a refill of his antiepileptic medications (because his brain is still a shitshow with frayed edges). He gets to put his clothes on — clothes that were pushed somewhere neatly in a drawer that make him look like him. His jewelry, his glasses, they're all things that at least help him feel a little more like himself and not someone floating outside of their own body. Maybe everyone else shares the same hesitancy at letting him loose into the station, but... gotta start somewhere, right? He can't just live in the infirmary all his life, waiting for the day he snaps back into being 'okay'. His vitals are good, he can answer questions clearly, his head hasn't turned 360 degrees and he hasn't vomitted pea soup at any priests.

So... He's released from care. With the promise of checking in frequently for crucial follow-ups.

And now he's just.

Out. Free to wander in his own body, among people he'd tried to kill. (They'd tried to kill.)

Okay, obvious first decision: locking himself in his room for days. He does that very well, lays on his bed and watches Titanic and The Wizard of Oz and Jaws, like, twenty times. Then he puts his music on and turns it up so loud on his earphones that he might as well be dead to the world, or at the very least get his hearing checked after.

But that's really not a super great way to live, is it? And that's exactly what he's supposed to be doing. Living.

He's not really sure how he ends up here at some point, standing just outside the doorway that leads into the mess hall, but he does. It almost looks like some idiot middle schooler too scared to step out and perform for their talent show, but really, it's just some thirty-something year old man who should know how to do this. He can hear people talking in there, hear familiar voices laughing or grumbling or having easy conversation. The idea of stepping into that space and instantly souring the air makes him feel kind of sick. What kind of looks will he get? What kind of things will they think? He wrings his hands together, breathes out deep, and — ]

Iiii can't do this.

[— turns on his heel to try for a beeline to his bedroom.

Eventually — with some likely coaxing, though — he does.

Step into the mess hall.

And it very much feels like stepping onto a school stage, with all the lights pointed at you.]

IV. it comforts me much more | OPEN / KITCHENS

[Imagine: you're going to the kitchens to get a late night snack, and you here a pathetic little sniffling noise in the room.

Nobody around, but there's definitely a quiet little hiccup somewhere that sounds suspiciously melancholy.

A ghost? A haunting, in our Ximilia?

It's more likely than you think.

But upon investigation, if you're so bold, you'll find the source of the restrained bawling: Dr. Newton Geiszler, PHD PHD PHD PHD PHD PHD, curled up behind one of the counters with a carton of ice cream under one arm. Ah, the case is solved. Just a sad little man who is having a small mental breakdown while spooning rocky road into his mouth.]

V. we lay in the foundations | WILDCARD / OPEN STARTERS / ETC.

[Once he's gotten a little more comfortable with being out and about, he can be found in places like the sunlight room or the kitchen for thoughtful thousand yard stares at the walls, and most certainly his own room, though... he seems to be avoiding the labs currently. Maybe just a touch too difficult, going into a space he'd shared a lot with Hermann before things went to shit. Or maybe he just can't stomach seeing the perfectly tidy desk he used to work at. Maybe it's just a sick reminder that he's an idiot scientist who flew too close to the sun, no matter how desperate they were for what he'd learned all those months ago on Earth.

(God, there's a mission approaching soon, he thinks; he can't he can't he can't.)

Feel free to find him around the station, or message him, or whatever method you prefer. He doesn't really... start conversation currently, not like he used to, but it's a work in progress.

We'll get there. Just takes a little duct tape and time.]

IV

[blackfire]

（ odd hour of the night, or just the (frankly, insane) time he gets up for his morning routine? you decide.

but itachi is here regardless, and is making tea and a series of small side-dishes for the morning's meal. about the third time the Hiccup of Melancholy occurs, he opts to speak — ）

Would you like breakfast?

（ yes, newt, he knows it's you. you aren't subtle, you little weirdo. ）

ii

[firstroar]

They aren't there.

[no one's peeping behind the curtain - not the physical one, anyway. Blue's on the other side for his own needs, unmoving from the outside, but ever eager to see to this freshly-freed friend of his in this way he can.]

And if they were...I'd have the bite marks to prove it.

[like last time, you know?]

[groupiedrifter]

[At the sudden sound of Itachi's voice, there's a choking sound, one that implies a man has nearly suffocated on ice cream going down his windpipe.

After a sputtering rasp, and a thumping hand on a chest, the kitchen counter speaks in a congested voice:]

Uh...!

It's not — me.

[blackfire]

（ there is. a long pause.

it happens as he's deboning a (fresh, thank you viveca) fish, so his silence is punctuated only by the whisper-sharp sound of a knife in flesh.

then: ）

Naturally. Some other Newton Geiszler. Does he want breakfast?

slams in here

[bossily]

[She's been guarding him ever since Kovacs told her what Kirigan had done. The thought of someone else trying to kill Newt fills her with dread. And so she sits by his bed, refusing to leave. She even sleeps in the chair at his bedside, which is exactly what she's doing when he wakes.

It's the rising sound of the heart meter that wakes her, and she gives a startled jump as she looks around. Her eyes fall on Newt, and she sees that he's awake. His words are heard but not necessarily processed, not until she's moving out of the chair and almost quite literally crawling into the bed with him to embrace him in the tightest hug she's ever given.

She's resting on her knees on the bed, her small frame easily able to tuck beside him. Curling over him protectively, she tries to will all of that doubt from his voice with the sheer force of her love and affection for him.]

Don't worry. [She's finally able to speak, voice heavy with emotion.] I'm never letting you out of my sight again.

[Which probably sounds more like a threat than a sweet promise. But he'll forgive her attempt at humor, since this is the first time she's genuinely laughed since returning to the station.]

iv

[farr]

[ rita is plenty of an eater herself, having the sort of body that needs all the substance she can get. which is why she comes to the kitchen at odd hours of the night (or — whenever it is, on account of being on a space station and losing all sense of what time even is). tightening the wrap around strap of her silk robe, hair up in curlers beneath a bandanna, she shuffles into the kitchen, attempting to keep her slippers quiet with each step.

but as quiet as she tries to be, clearly there's someone else who's causing a slight bit more noise despite all attempts to seemingly keep it to themselves.

she pauses in the middle of the room, peering around before tracking the sound of the noise, carefully making her way to peek behind the counter — and finding the sobbing body of the man whom she heard was previously carrying some sort of murderous parasite bent on killing everyone on the station.

oh ... goody, she thinks, teeth clenching a bit as she considers her options.

she could turn and leave, sure, pretend she didn't see anything at all, because yes, sometimes it's very good to mind one's own business! but — oh, why did she commit herself to being more of a hero these days? and heroes don't just abandon a crying person in need.

straightening herself up a bit, she takes a breath to boost her own confidence before she crouches down next to him, her voice quiet and sweet, with a kind smile. ]

I was wondering where that Rocky Road went.

[groupiedrifter]

[Newton tenses at the voice in his head. But once he takes the 2 seconds necessary to recognize it's nothing like the voices that had plagued him for months, his body relaxes, hand lowering the spoon that had nearly been flung down.

Another few seconds listening replaces shock with guilt, of course.]

I... um... Hi, Blue. I'm...

[Sorry? The apology is on his tongue, which feels thick in his mouth. Not from the precursors controlling it... he thinks. He's mostly sure. It's probably just genuine human hesitancy now. How do you even broach the subject? 'Hey, sorry you got hurt before, and then had to actually go face the things that hurt you again, would you like some mashed carrots?']

Are you okay?

[firstroar]

[if Newt had managed it - that I'm Sorry - Blue wouldn't really have it in him to accept it. the 'sorry' and forgiveness is something he believes Newt would get more mileage out of were he able to give it to himself, to accept it himself.

it's not easy, is it? he's got his own forgiveness to accept on his own behalf.

there's a little stirring, something of exhale, but his thoughts are at least stronger-sounding than all of that.]

Despite everything... we're still here, aren't we? You and I.

Thank goodness for that. And thank goodness for everyone who could be here to make sure we could be.

ii

[naloxone]

[ by the time the carrot ceases to resemble itself, marta has already settled herself down on the armchair just beside the bed. the curtain she'd pulled back around them, offering that little sliver of "privacy" in an otherwise open area. is it risky, having him out here, in the open, where he's free to come and go and harm as he pleases? and vice versa?

maybe. but if there's one thing marta knows, it's that even science can be a leap of faith. and past the physical ailments and injuries they've suffered from the recent events, there is trust to rebuild and faith to restore. and keeping him locked up won't fix any of that. ]

It's better that you're here. Healing isn't just about the medicine.

[ which is why, before long, she gestures to what remains of the food in front of him. ]

Try to eat. Or you'll never make it to the sunlight room in your state.

[ that's right, conejito, she's BUSTIN' YOU OUT. ]

[groupiedrifter]

[He should have seen it coming, right? That Clara would so easily accept him back, allow him to be cared about like this after everything that's happened. But his hands are the ones that hurt her, right? He'd broken her arm, he'd betrayed her and Peter, and he'd stabbed the Doctor, and he could've killed Kovacs and so many other people here she cares about. He still smells the smoke and blood.

Who is he to her, in the wake of all of that? Someone she loves? Why?

But he remembers the fragmented conversation on the earpiece. They still exist there, and he can look at them even now — glitching and difficult to read at first, but they're there, saddled up with Clara's kind words.

I don't want to add to your regrets
but just know that I forgive you
okay?
I will always love you too, Newton
Remember that no matter what happens, we're family.
until the end

The relief at being himself again is almost too much, but Clara's immediate acceptance is like glass in his heart, sudden where they wedge into arteries. His face is buried, and he couldn't remember the last time he was able to do this, to accept someone else coming along and touching him without feeling sick. They almost ruined this for me, he thinks, his arms curling around her.]

I can't — [He trembles.] They won't let me cry — I can't.

[But the proof of their absence is undeniable, when tears begin seeping into Clara's clothes. It's a familiar moment, one they had enacted months ago, when the precursors had left him seizing on the floor just before Christmas. At least now... there's some finality to it, and despite feeling like he's not allowed to, he sobs in relief and remorse into the smaller body cradling his.]

I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry —

[groupiedrifter]

[His startle reflex is still going strong, judging by the fact that he somehow manages to jump like a cartoon despite being on his ass. Luckily, the rocky road is salvaged, not left to fly and splatter somewhere as he turns his red-rimmed gaze at — A sort of familiar face. He knows her, yeah, or at least knows that the precursors had spoken to her. There's memories there, because his eyes saw it all, but... But.]

Mrm, uhm, y-yeah.

Shit.

Sorry. Uh.

[He holds out the carton, his brain so currently overwrought and suffocating that it has breached into the other side, which is 'no thoughts, head empty'.]

Here you go.

[The raging embarrassment will proceed this shortly, but he is nothing if not generous with ice cream that he's bawled his eyes out into.]