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

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[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

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[There's nothing but quiet for two days. In those two days, Newton Geiszler himself doesn't think, doesn't feel, doesn't recognize that he's even trapped somewhere. But the precursors? They're still awake in there — cursing in their vitriol, bouncing off the mental recesses of Newton's vessel as they try over and over again to stir the body to consciousness once more. It's not until the stasis finally wears off that they emerge once more, eyes fluttering open to the sight of a very plain, very metallic room.

Glancing around, there is not much to be seen.

Smooth walls. Smooth floor. It might as well be a prison cell of some sort... And then their eyes land on the Doctor where he stands, just to the left. Their scraped up and bruised face twists into a look of revulsion and annoyance, though when they try to move Newton's arms forward to launch themselves to his feet, they find their wrists ache where they're cuffed behind Newt's back. And cuffed to the back of the chair. Their ankles... also do not move far when they try to jerk them loose, and the chain of the cuffs there jingle as if themselves furious.

Glowering up, their mouth contorts into an impatient, fake smile.]

Wow. That's no way to treat your pal, is it, Doc?

[They know they're screwed on the whole orb thing. For now. Chances are, someone aboard the ship's going to kill them off and shoot them out the airlock into the vast reaches of space... but it doesn't matter. As long as they can keep the information about the orbs from across the vast reaches of space, who cares what becomes of this vessel anymore?

As long as nobody knows who they are, anyway.

Newt's the only one around who has their faces in mind. Their 'name' to the human race.

It won't matter.]

Closed to Kovach. Hallway by the infirmary.

[The reentry to the station is still jarring, it still tingles along his nerves until he wants to scratch at his skin. It makes the wounds from fighting the losing battle against the monster (Kaiju) itch.

But since the explosions echoed down the corridors on the train, since the calls for help rang out through the smoky air and since knowing who made this all happen, he'd had a plan.

He waits, not with bated breath or shaky hands, but calm. Collected. He showers and redresses in black, he nods and smiles sad smiles in commiseration with the other orbers as they all reel from the revelation.

And as soon as the false sun sets, when the lights turn down to allow them all to have a sense of the changing days, he sets out towards the infirmary.]

Kovach.

Open. Leaving the infirmary.

[Wiping a hand across his mouth, the Darkling stumbles out of the softly lit infirmary, hands still shaking with excess adrenaline and the sinking feeling of losing.

The threat remains, and any new attempt would likely be as thwarted as this one. Would end the same way, with the man responsible for this still sleeping soundly. Unhurt. Unharmed.

When so many others were not that lucky.

Shadows pool around his feet, writhing like snakes around his ankles as he walks away slowly.]

[Or hit up his inbox! If you want to talk, I'm on

ireth

[ It was a predictable outcome by now that Drift haunted the infirmary at the end of every mission like a moody ghost or second shadow to the staff. He worried, even as he minded his heftier frame taking up space as he tried not to run underfoot with all his nine-foot mass.

Out in the hall he saw a figure stumble out, one he knew who loathed being seen in any state of weakness. The oil dark pools under his hobbled stride, and shadowy tendril that lashed out around his ankles either didn't deter Drift or went by his notice.

Drift was already making the short strides to meet the Darkling halfway, arms already going out. ]

Hey, you need to take it easy.

Pardon me?

[The words clipped and angry, leaking emotions in the way his jaw clenches harder than his hands hanging by his sides. The Darkling spares a short glance at Drift, the real Drift, who is made of living metal and taking up space in the too-white hallway.

He's still thinking, and rethinking, options. Excuses. Ways to spin this in to something that is less. Something that shows less of his weaknesses.]

[ Sometimes — always, really — Drift had trouble distinguishing what was genuine, simmering anger in the Darkling...or the Darkling just being his usual self. Drift sniffed but still clung to the idea that something was truly wrong with the Darkling and attempted civility. ]

You heard me. You look like you're in a bad way. By all means, though, pass out on the floor in the middle of the hallway if it preserves your dignity. [ Sort of. ]

He's not himself. [ Drift amended, taking a shot in the dark. ]

[ Word really has a tendency to spread in this place, especially when it's something so public. Finn's pretty sure Kirigan's already been put through a few lectures but uh- ]

I'm sure you're busy but we need to talk. Where are you?

[ If he doesn't get a reply, Finn's just gonna track him down with the Force. This is a courtesy thing. ]

Are you that concerned about my wellbeing, Drift?

[He can see him, because it's hard to overlook this man, but his eyes are empty of everything but rage when he turns them on Drift for a short second before watching the hallway again.

His mind is still in the infirmary, still thinking about a way around the man guarding it.

There were ways to play this, to not give away more of himself than he already had by being caught, red-handed and shadows swirling in angry waves, and there were ways to reach his goal. But no way to do both.]

No one are who they claim to be. We came here as clean slates, why would this one be the only one hiding the truth from the rest of us.

The sunlight room.

[Perched in a patch of grass, the shadows swirling like angry snakes all around him.]

Yes. [ Drift swung a single word down with the swift finality of a sword struck sharpened by a truth. It may have stuck if Drift hadn't spoken like a sigh.

He stands firm in the corridor — the points of his helm threatening to scratch the ceiling as he stares stolid down at the Darkling. ]

[It's been two and a half unpleasant days since the kaiju attack on the train, and only a handful of hours since the Doctor had finally unearthed just what it was lurking in Newton's body.

Precursors.

People may have remembered Newton mentioned them months ago in passing, here and there in conversation — and now with the help of that annoying sonic screwdriver, their mental walls were stripped away, presence laid bare. This is officially not Newton Geiszler, though the bruised and scraped up face certainly belongs to him. Anyone with a knack for sensing these things will finally register them for what they are, and... if they focus hard enough passed the impossibly large hivemind that has woven itself through Newton's neurons, they may sense a faint, distant human consciousness wedged down deep in there, too far to reach, too far to hear.

The precursors are currently kept in a rather boring holding room that Viveca and Degar had set up, Their (Newton's) hands and feet cuffed to the holding chair they've been sat up in; their clothes still smell of smoke from the train, rips in the sleeve and a splash of dried blood on their collar and shoulder. Now that they've been ratted out by the good Timelord (ugh, their worst fear, confirmed), they're not bothering to fake it until they make it. The villains in the stupid human show with the talking dog never bothered denying their crimes after they've been unmasked; they suppose they'll just have to do the same.

They also don't seem quite that worried about this predicament, regardless.

After all, they're only neurally linked to Newton. They don't have to worry about retribution, not when their physical bodies are who knows how far away. Rather, they're just waiting now with mild interest to see how the rest of the crew handles the situation; what else can they really do? Well, other than hold Newton hostage in his own body. Cat's out the bag, and as frustrated as they are that their plan failed by a sliver of bad luck and annoying cremates, they don't consider it a complete loss.

Meanwhile, Kovacs and Peter keep taking shifts to watch over them, which is terribly annoying (and they may or may not have told them it'd be nicer if they faced the wall, just so they don't have to look at them). But hey, now is your time to talk to them. Just them, as themselves, albeit with some muscle keeping a watchful eye for any signs of someone looking to shiv the body they're housing in. Come on, come all, and talk to the hivemind.

... If you really want to subject yourself to that bullshit, anyway.

Then again, considering the shitshow that happened days prior, people probably have plenty to say.]

[ He's not hard to spot, that's for sure. Finn would have thought he'd be trying for a lower profile but that's all right.

With a sigh, he sits himself down next to him, not very worried about the dark tendrils swirling about. He's even going to be quiet for a moment, not even a greeting, just waiting to give Kirigan the chance to open the topic on his own.

But if not, well, Finn's patience is limited in this regard. He won't wait for long. ]

Why?

[Casual and non-caring, but it is rather impossible to stare down someone when you have to crane your neck back just to watch the face. The Darkling tries anyway, head tilting back and eyebrow raised.]

[If he's waiting for the Darkling to fall to piece, to make excuses or try to explain this away, Finn can wait for a long time. He sits, legs crossed and hands on his knees, watching the moonlight skitter across the artificial lake. The tiny ripples that look like something out of a storybook.

Too pretty to be real.

Sitting like a statue, he stays quiet, the only acknowledgement of Finn even being present comes in the way the shadows part for him, creating a tiny circle of green grass for Finn to sit in.]

[ To be fair, Finn's waiting for none of those things, doesn't expect anything like that from the other man. But he does appreciate the shadows parting for him. That one simple act makes him feel better about this whole thing.

Either way, Finn's patience ends. ]

Why'd you try it?

[There are many ways to answer that. Many truths that he might mention, but he keeps staring at the water. It laps at the shore, eroding the grass and dirt one tiny bite at a time. Or perhaps it doesn't, none of this is real, after all.

It's a cage.

Gilded and filled with promises, but a cage none the less.

Something to keep them occupied. Something to keep them content enough to never revolt against the chains placed around their necks. A balance, to the missions they've all agreed to fulfill.]

Why would anyone try.

[ It's been more than just two and a half unpleasant days for Peter, and he sometimes feels like his life is just a really long joke the universe is playing with itself for entertainment. It would be better, easier if he could just...not care. If he only walked away and hid in his room, ignoring everyone else and especially Newt -No, not Newt. The things inside him- instead of standing guard to make sure any other orbers tries to hurt or kill him. He could not fault them if they tried, not after the kaiju and the bombs and the deaths.

But even since he was a kid, that was Yondu's biggest complaint about Peter, that he was too soft-hearted and emotional, and no amount of beat-ups as he grew up with the Ravagers could change that. Besides, his memories of that dream he shared with Newt months ago have returned. He remembers crystal clearly how Newt was terrified, cowering as monstrous alien creatures stood, messing with his head and taking root in his mind. Peter too remembers that he blasted their faces, and while it did not hurt them, it annoyed them enough. Going by what happened recently, it is clear that they hold a grudge.

He is glad for Kovacs's company, even if they mostly stay silent, and cover each other when one has to take a break for whatever reason. Peter has been gone for a little while, cooking for Rey and Finn in exchange for helping him and healing his injuries. He left them the food on their doorstep before coming back to Newt's cell, carrying a third box with him. There are two bottles of water, rubbing alcohol, gauze pads, tweezers to remove any glass that might still be stuck to Newton's face, a blanket, and bandaids. For the latter, Peter made sure to grab some the most ridiculous ones he could find. He walks into the room and only briefly locks eyes with Newt before he puts the box down and grabs a gauze pads and the rubbing alcohol. ]

[ Finn sighs again, deeper this time, weary. He doesn't really want to have this conversation, is the problem. Kirigan's one of the most dangerous people here, but he's also Finn's friend.

Oddly enough, though, he's yet to really think of the Ximilia as a cage despite all the evidence in front of him. ]

Because he's a threat. He tried to kill us, managed to kill others, hurt a few of us pretty badly. But you know it's not really him in there, right?

( The days following their return to the station are always busy for him, and getting away from the infirmary for a breather typically meant getting right back. Feeling fresher after a shower, if not yet well rested, McCoy leaves off his immediate return when Kirigan passes him out in the corridor. )

Hey, Kirigan. ( He glances to the darkness at his feet, because it's impossible to miss: an inky stain against the white flooring, seething and roiling like an angry sea. It puts McCoy in mind of something caged, throwing itself against its cell in a mad frenzy, and his gaze snaps back up to the man's face. )

You alright there? ( No, of course not, they're none of them 'alright', or fine, not after that, so he moves right on, gesturing back toward the infirmary. )

You look fit to be tied. Something I can help you with?

[ Why was a good question — likely the only question. Drift has to mentally double back and hurriedly catalog the last several months and string together an answer. Simple questions were often the most loaded with single-barrel precision.

Drift doesn't slouch, but he does bend down in a half-bow. Eyes turned a slate grey-blue and fixed on the Darkling's face. Thinking back on their last conversation. The speculative idea of Cybertronians with warframes like Drift against Ravkans and the etherealki suddenly had more bite to them when not passed over the rim of a glass of whiskey. (What would you do? To save your world?) ]

Because you've already said enough that I know what you're feeling, [ You're not the only old killer who has lived too long, he wants to say. ] And that you're wrong — we're not here with clean slates, this is a ferry where the fee is regret and no one rides for free.

And because if you've held it together this long you can do it for a little while longer. [ Drift cants his head and stares pointedly, almost asking the Darkling if he wants to lash out and rupture the hull separating them from the vacuum of space — where dark truly was dark. ]

... Great. Just great. Our favorite idiot returns.

[At least Kovacs doesn't talk talk talk.

As Newton sits there, watching Peter with a displeased glower that doesn't belong to the owner of the body, there's an erratic, shaky tapping of his finger against the arm rest he's cuffed to. Slow, heavy, graceless.

The box that is deposited, as well as the items taken out of it, give them pause to squint skeptically at one of their least favorite crewmates... like maybe they can't quite believe their eyes.

There's an obvious shift in pronouns, now that the jig is up:]

Don't tell us you're going to kiss our booboos all better.

We dealt with that kind of disgusting behavior enough when we weren't steering this vessel.

You all say the sweetest things. [ Peter says without looking, pulls the items out of the box and places them on a nearby table. He remembers now just how much of an asshole these creatures can be, and he's not impressed. ] And here I thought that you were starting to enjoy our conversations. Maybe I should have led with another blast to the face. Did you all like that the last time?

[ The tapping does get his attention, and he briefly looks over his shoulder to glance at Newt. Maybe it's a nervous tics? A body reaction caused by the possession? Peter pours the alcohol on the gauze pad, slowly, soaking it fully as he interprets the rhythm of the tapping. Is that...Morse code?

When he turns, he has to fight the urge to fist a hand on Newt's hair and pull his head back, then press the gauze over the bloody wound on his collar. But that would only hurt Newt, and he knows that much. Instead, he steps in close, cupping Newt's face gently and leaning over him. There's a sharpness in his eyes that is not usually there, anger behind the casual demeanor, but his voice is soft and almost playful when he speaks again. ]

Why, would a kiss be to your liking? I could be amenable to that.

[Sabriel's recovered her memories, by the time she meets with the creatures currently controlling Newton's body. She leaves her bells behind for now. She wants to see what they can do in person, rather than in a dreamscape... but not yet. And she can still draw on a much weaker echo of their power through her voice.]

Now... what are we going to do with you?

[Sabriel's tone is bone dry and carefully controlled. She knows what she promised Newton... but was that really him she'd promised it to? Or a hive of monsters wearing his face, laying one more spiteful preparation in case they were discovered.

Well. Using Belgaer will not be that risky. Especially if she's able to have help, when the time comes.

And it is not impossible, to harm something without a physical form. Not for someone like her, anyway.]

[Oh, they would mostly definitely prefer you manhandle the body they're manipulating than to do any of this nasty behavior. Some world away, some other time, Newton Geiszler would be far too excited at the prospect of getting kissed by — ha, probably most of this crew.

But they're not Newt, and they don't display such affections.

So they make an absolutely disgusted face at that.]

We'd rather not, thank you very much. Aren't you humans big on consent? Respecting bodily boundaries? I don't think Newton's giving his permission for such a thing any time soon.

[They're aware that they're saying this while using this body without consent.

But they're not humans, and they don't give a shit, so. They lean in, scowling.]

We could always bite the tip of your nose off.

[The finger taps still. Same five letters.

Three fast taps.

Three long taps.

Tap, taphold, tap.

Tap, taphold, tap.

Taphold, tap, taphold taphold.

Repeated, over and over.]

On his behalf.

( Pressed for time and focused on the other orbers, McCoy hasn't had a moment to spare. Newt was, for the time being, secured, a word that sat uneasily with the doctor. Finding that the man has essentially been left to steep in his own injuries, in dirty clothes and Lord knows what else...

...he can't stand it. This is still a sentient being he's looking at, even after everything he-- they've --done, and whatever his feelings about that, they have to come second. Whatever it is lurking behind Newt's eyes, well, he'll get to them here in a bit.

He looks critically at the various bandaids dotting the man's face, the rusty red blood on his shirt, wrinkling his nose at the rising scent of smoke and rubbing alcohol and sweat-soaked body. )

I mean to run some tests on you, clean you up, fix whatever my compatriots have busted in capturing you, and put a line in your arm so you don't have another seizure, ( McCoy explains crisply, and gives the cart he wheeled in with him a tap. )

Is that gonna be a problem?

[Funny, out of all the people aboard the ship, she's one of the few that gets a genuine flash of uncertainty before they return to their usual smug bastard behaviors. Perhaps they just know she's capable of something they'd rather not worry about. But then again, they always did give a good challenge when it came to mind games, didn't they? Some little girl won't be able to wipe the slate for a hivemind of ancient creatures who have conquered planets. Certainly not alone, and they don't believe for a moment anyone on this miserable station can succeed with her.

Pride is a terrible thing, it is.

Watching her, they pop their lips, a disinterested little tic they stole from Newton.]

Boy, that's a good question. What are you going to do with us and our weird little pile of skin and bones?

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

► Closed to The Eleventh Doctor

While Newt was sleeping - (open and closed) tw - violence, attempted murder

infirmary baby!

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Text. un: Kirigan

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► Open to All | (You look stressed out!) | The Precursors

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infirmaryyyyy

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