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

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He basks in the warmth of her figure like a lizard along a heated rock, the fast beating of his heart finally slowing. But then again, she was always good at calming him after a nightmare, wasn't she? Nightmares that had been their fault all along. All this time... all these awful feelings. The fear she'd felt of him before — all of it had come down to the snapping of bone in a dream-world neither were allowed to remember.

All that pain that hadn't been explained until now. It's staggering to look back.

He laughs, sniffling, at her description of the TARDIS, though his smile fades by the end of her gentle reply. Because of course it does. But he humors her, gives her a chance to convince him; a hefty task, for a man who still has the deaths of civilians burned behind his eyelids... who still has the smell of his friends' blood in his nostrils.]

... Strong how?

[He leans his forehead against her still, but his eyes are closed, lost to memories of the last two, four, six — eleven months. But especially that train; god, that train.]

I didn't notice them all that time... couldn't find a way to remember them after the dreams. Couldn't stop 'em from breaking your arm, or pushing away Hermann and Daisy... Couldn't finish them off in Sedorum, or warn anyone in Giva... I laid in the sunroom with you and couldn't say a word —

And the only reason we're all still here is because of people like Alina and Rhys on that train... or the Doctor in that holding room... or Sabriel and the others in my head. I didn't do any of that.

[She lets him have his outburst, lets him be angry if that's what he needs to be. There's not much she can say to convince him to not have that moment. And honestly, she needs to hear it as much as he does. She can't just say a few words and make this better for him. It's going to take time.]

You're still here, aren't you?

[And if she knows him as well as the thinks she does, she knows that he's going to kill himself to try and make it up to everyone. He'll do whatever it takes to make things better.

Her forehead nuzzles against his, bumping the tips of their noses together in the process.]

Strength shows itself in different ways. Sometimes it's quiet and afraid. But surviving is a strength.

[She sounds more and more doubtful and quiet as she speaks, until she's left trailing off and sounding a bit hopeless. It's hard to tell if he's angry at her, or simply angry at himself and what's happened. She thinks that maybe it would be easier if she were cross with him. If she blamed him for her broken arm, blamed him for her not being able to remember how it happened until recently.

But no matter how she tries, she can't find blame to put on him. Not when she knows he'll be blaming and loathing himself for as long as he remembers what happened on that train.

She recalls the things the precursors had said to her before going for her throat. About her crying, about her clinginess. A bit of doubt starts to creep in, wondering how much of that was their words and how much was possibly coming from Newt's own mind.

She bites at her lip and shakes her head. But she doesn't pull away.]

[Newt knows, deep down, that she’s right about the definition of strong. Because there were people in his world that had fit that description perfectly, hadn’t they? Quietly surviving while the most frightening possible future loomed on the horizon… keeping the faith that things would be okay. People who are sick… People who’ve lost their loved ones. Crewmates here who can instill such comfort simply by giving to one another.

Newt knows what real strength can be.

But is that him?

That part, he is as lost as ever about.

The precursors did not fade away without taking little pieces out of him. But… At least for now, there’s one thing he can say with certainty, and it’s said as he buries his face against her — ]

Please… stay with me.

I don’t want to be alone anymore.

[Not like he’s been for two long months.

Not right now. ]

[She makes a soothing sound, much like she would for a small child that's frightened and needs comforting. Newt is strong, but he's been fractured during all of this. She'll do whatever it takes to try and make him feel safe once again.

Her fingers run through his hair, her palm pressing against the back of his head. And they lay like that for quite some time before Clara finally whispers a response back to him.]

I'm not going anywhere. Not until you say you'd like some space.

[And when that happens, she'll be sure to give it to him. But for now, she'll stay. He doesn't need to be alone. And she isn't sure she has the heart to leave him alone with his thoughts.

Clara isn't an amazing singer. But she still takes one of his songs that she's heard him playing in the labs on more than one occasion. And she softly sings it to him, sure that she's messing up words and notes. But none of that really matters. The effort behind the gesture is meant to soothe and get him to relax. Maybe he'll be lucky and drift off into a peaceful sleep.]

[Newton's hardly much of a singer himself. He never gave a shit about that kind of thing — no matter how you sound, you sing it loud, you sing it proud, and that's all there was to it. But right now, Clara's voice is one of the sweetest sounds he's heard. Sweeter than the awful voices that had trickled into his mind the last year. Sweeter than his own voice, chastising him for being pathetic — blaming him for everything that's happened.

It's just like before. Just like the first time she'd wrapped herself around him in a hospital bed. He feels, at least in this rare moment, safe... like he's not about to fall apart, topple like the tower of babel.

It's a nice song, one much better than a swan's.]

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject