[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

[groupiedrifter]

[To say Newt looks like a mortified deer in the headlights would be an understatement, when he turns and finds himself face to face with Rhysand.

'Yeah, me neither'.

Can't do what? What is it he can't do?

Can't... let things go? Can't let him go in there?

Truth is, he'd felt every fist that had landed across his face, and his jaw hurts at even the thought of it, but nothing really compares to the fact that he'd put the guy in that predicament in the first place. Rhys had scrambled to steal away a switch that would have blown apart their crew... He'd hurt Alina — and he knows Rhysand loves Alina. He'd hurt a lot of people that Rhysand loved.

The promise that they'd made in that sweaty little gambling area leaves his heart beating faster. I don't want to die, he thinks. But since when does what he wants matter, at the end of the day...? He stares at him a moment longer, thumbs scrubbing his palms nervously. Licks his lips. Wills himself to speak.]

Are you — Are you here to finish the deal we made?

[Rhysand would probably not mind keeping his promise.

It'd be a super easy promise to keep.]

[business]

( it's instinctive to flinch, though rhys plays it off as if he's looking away, glancing towards a sterile wall inside the ximilia. not looking at newt helps, anyway. can he deny being compelled? not at all. nature exists inside of him, and demands payment for the promise made. but it's really just — five hundred years of evidence that breaking promises is a death sentence, and not the actual act of prythian and the mother claiming their due. not that newt would know that, and not that he would have any reason at all, to expect decency out of rhys.

still, it goes down as a bitter pill, aching every notch in his body as he swallows. he's not a violent person by nature — he doesn't take anything out of the action of killing, expect his clothes to the laundromat.

he tosses his hand up, nonplussed, waving away at newt like a displeased patriarch. a motion of finality, decision made.. )

Deal's off. I cannot kill you, Newton. ( despite every bone in his body telling him otherwise — he can feel this is the right decision. even if it comes back around to him, karmically. even if it kills him. ) And I don't want to. Sorry. I just — can't.

[groupiedrifter]

... Oh.

[He knows that promises are pretty fucking important, if their getting tattoos is anything to go by; he doesn't know a lot about fae, but... it almost seemed like a perfectly wrapped death sentence that wouldn't go unaddressed. So here he stands, his feet frozen, his hands wringing each other.]

I mean. I wouldn't blame you. I really don't wanna die, but I'd been thinking. Uh. That there's plenty of people here who'd have totally valid reasons to kill me. I won't, like... haunt you from the other side if you change your mind, but I — I'd really like to live. Which is a punkass thing to say; like, selfish, after everything I've done, but I could probably not freak out and run if you had to.

[He's rambling. Trembling a little, too. Adrenaline, maybe. Or guilt. He's not sure which it is. Lately it feels as though every moment is a precursor (ha... haha) to a mental breakdown, but he'd like to think he's been handling those like a champ. A champ of mental breakdowns. He barely even has them in person, this time!]

And, like. It makes our tattoos feel a lot like a couple that broke up. We're gonna have to go get them covered up with our new super sexy lover's names, and that'll be awkward to explain to the tattoo artist. Like "oh, yeah, this was a suicide pact, but for some reason he let me off the hook, so now I'd like it to be something lame, maybe a mustache or an overused saying"-

[He's. Gonna keep shake-rambling. You'll have to cut him off at some point.]

[business]

( still not that invested in looking newt in the eyes, rhys instead glances at the tattoo of their promise on his finger, flexing his hand to watch the star bunch up and aim elsewhere. it'd been a bad bet, to begin with. foolish. he wasn't in his right mind, and yet — it's not like he ever forgot the importance of a man's word. just because nature hasn't come back with a fury pull the promise out in rhys' flesh doesn't mean he feels good about letting a promise go by unclaimed. in fact, his whole body seems discontent, on guard for the shoe to drop.

instead, he drops his hand, finally looking up at newt — who, it seems, has gone on rambling for some time, without rhys noticing. eyebrows quirking up, his lips pull into a strange smile, fighting with the urge to laugh. it'd be very inappropriate, is all. )

Deal's off. ( he repeats it, looking distant for a moment. ) You're a good man, Newton. I've killed a lot of good men, a lot of innocent men. Women, too. Enough that I've lost all taste for the violence it involves, truly.

( he does believe in peace, as far off and dreamlike as it sounds. taking a few steps forward, he catches newt's waving hand, reverently running his fingers against the tattoo on his finger, not unlike a lover might stroke a wedding ring. rhys lets out a heavy sigh, turning his hand over, drawing lightly against the thin lines of his palm. )

Long Life line. ( he taps against it. he doesn't comment on all the ways his head line is an absolute nightmare. ) Why don't we come to a new agreement, about what our tattoos mean? Divorce unnecessary, unless you'd rather cover it.

[groupiedrifter]

I — I haven't really killed anyone, so... I'd probably chicken out if you ever needed me to help you. Like that. I mean, I'm a medical scientist, and I just... I only ever meant to help save lives, y'know?

[A weak, miserable laugh.]

Even though I guess now I can't say I haven't... killed people.

[He twists the ring on his pinky finger. Little skull face, loves this ring. It's been the first time he got to wear it again in months.

He watches Rhysand now as he talks, his fear of the man reaching out and snapping his neck dissipating by the second; if it happens, at least he probably won't see it coming for long. The last few days, he's been terrified of initiating contact — and here Rhys is, touching his hands, treating him so kindly that Newton almost wants to scream at him for being such an idiot, that he barely knows him, that he's entirely damaged this crew in the last few days in ways he'll never be able to make up for.

Instead he slumps forward to wrap his arms around Rhysand, burying his face in the man's shirt. Maybe it's a stupid choice, and maybe it'll get him shoved away and berated, but it's all he can think to do, all that seems right.]

Thanks for stopping me from hurting more people.

And — thank you for letting me live.

[There's an unspoken You didn't have to.]

I'll make it up to you; I'll make it up to everyone, I fucking swear.

[business]

( his arms hesitate, the useless tree branches that they are, and he'd be ashamed to admit it. rhys is not the kind of man who's ever had the luxury of turning down a hug, and a lack of experience suddenly makes him feel wholly out of his depth with the affection. how can one touch put the pieces of newt back together again? he wants to, desperately. to fix the mess and put glue on the shards of newt's psyche, make him feel whole and happy again. how can he make all this better?

he can't. maybe the only person who could is the man in his arms now, he who seems so much smaller than he ever has. breakable, like frost collected in the dips and valleys of leaves. strangely undelicate, though, for all rhys has known he's been through. that he can stand on his own two feet, stand to wrap his arms around a man who almost killed him, speaks multitudes to strength. it's that strength that rhys embraces, one hand cupping the back of newt's skull to keep him cradled under rhys' chin — two oversized bat wings sprout quietly from his back, and quickly cocoon newt in either direction. a little reprieve, if he can't stand the thought of anyone else seeing him. )

Is my memory off? You have nothing to make up to me. I'm the one who pummeled you. And I'm the one who pushed that stupid promise onto you. If anything, I owe you for all my ... well. For being as I am.

( vile and violent. he gives newt a squeeze, pressing his cheek down to the top of his head. )

It means protection, now. These marks that join us. I swear by the stars, I will do right by you. I will see it through to the very end.

[groupiedrifter]

[Newt melts like he's been starved of touch — because he has. He's been desperate for it, even as his body revolted without him knowing why. God, he had felt like a broken, unwell man, even before he knew what was lurking in his head. All that time, he'd thought it was just Newton Geiszler. Just like he'd thought his night terrors were him. Just like he'd thought the distance he'd formed between him and people he loved more than himself was all him... What a fool he was. A stupid fucking idiot.

He presses his cheek into Rhysand's shoulder, hiding in the shade of his wings as he tries to work the lump in his throat loose.]

... They didn't let me do this. They made it feel like every time someone tried to touch my hand, or hug me, or kiss me, that it was — disgusting. [His voice shifts, quietly outraged; quietly upset.]They fucking tricked my mind into thinking it was me all this time... that there was something wrong with me, when it was all I actually wanted.

[He buries his face, his breath a sharp, sad thing.]

I don't wanna be alone with them anymore.