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)
ximilialog2021-08-14 11:31 pm
groupiedrifter) wrote in ximilialog2021-08-14 11:31 pm
OPEN | he's just LIKE that (redux)
CHARACTERS: Newton Geiszler groupiedrifter and you!
LOCATION: The Ximilia Station; see each prompt for details.
DATE: Post-mission and onward.
CONTENT: Newton's time after the mission is... something. Don't worry, the Pizza Party's coming soon enough.
WARNINGS: nightmares, talk of possession/bodily autonomy kinda, nothing too wild; newton is currently struggling with the beginnings of alien possession/brainwashing from post-PR1, just as an FYI!
I. Just Another Manic Monday | The Lab | OPEN
[Newton finally gets the rest he told people he would, after checking on those who'd ended up in the infirmary.
... Sort of.
The first night, he sleeps like a rock. It's plagued with strange, abstract dreams, of course — Newton's hands becoming monster-like and impossible to use to administer a serum to anyone else, or So-Yeon's brother demanding Newton bring her back or else he would rip him apart from the inside out with those black, shadowy tendrils. But they're strangely not so difficult to manuver, those dreams. It's not like he hasn't had nightmares from time to time after an extremely destructive Kaiju attack.
It's complicated, isn't it? They spent almost two months in that city. That's long enough for most people to fall in love with someone. That's long enough to madden a new convict in prison, just before the numbing can begin. That's how long it took him to really, really like his team and the people in it. So the dreams aren't weird. They're par the course.
The next few nights, however, are uncomfortable. Different.
He wakes up startled, eyes peering around the room in a panic, as if trying to find someone lingering over him, but his memory always seems to fail him; whatever it was he had dreamt, he'd come up empty recollecting it. Either way, he ends up so shaken with feeling on these occasions that he ventures to the lab when everyone else is asleep, trying to keep his mind preoccupied. The first week, he does so by slowly piecing together the wrinkled, written copy of the reports he'd made about the infection on the planet. He can be found there at his new favorite stool at unusual hours when most have retreated to sleep, too lively and hyper for someone who should by all means be sleepy. His knee jostles as his foot bounces the speed of a humming bird's wings.
Anyone passing by can hear someone playing the Ramones as loud as they can on their iPhone — and a certain scientist obnoxiously singing along:]
♪ Hurry, hurry, hurry, before I go insane!
I can't control my fingers,
I can't control my brain,
Oh, no no, no, no, no! ♪
[It's not remotely unusual activity, if you've known him at the PPDC.
He's created a special cabinet in the lab where he has began a meager collection: behind one glass door, there's a few tiny jars marked 'GYEONGJE - MONSTER TISSUE SAMPLES H - L'. People passing can probably hear him speaking into his small recorder, putting his findings to spoken word, too. Some people can't read, after all. It's only fair.
The lab is where he lives, half the time. Maybe more, if we're talking cold hard percentages.]
... Note to self — [He says, into his recorder, looking at the very, very concerning boxes of different tech parts.] Build big-ass speakers.
II. It's Just a Jump to the Left | Mess Hall | OPEN
[So anyway, he builds a big-ass speaker.
Anyone walking by the Mess Hall at, once again, obnoxiously late hours will find the music playing much more loudly; for some poor souls, it may be reverberating in their brains if they're on the right-hand side of the Ximilia. His haphazardly created speaker, formed by what practically looks like Frankenstein's monster (actually, he's named it Frankenstein's Speaker, thank you), plays a playlist off his phone:]
♪ It's just a jump to left...!
And then a step to the ri-i-i-iiiight!
With your hands on your hips,
You bring your knees in ti-iiight!
But it's the pelvic thrust,
That really drives you insane!
Let's do the time-warp again,
Let's do the time-warp again! ♪
[Newton is very pleased with himself where he stands and studies his work in action, eating the last scoops of peanut butter straight out of a jar as he loosely, absently wiggles out the Time Warp dance (by sheer virtue of not being able to not move his ass a little). It seems, once again, that he's rather hyperactive and full of unparalleled energy. In fact, you might just, uh. Start to realize this isn't a rare occurrence. In fact, it's going to slowly become the norm. The expected. The anticipated.
Rest in peace, Ximilia crew.]
III. Not Under the Bed, Just in Your Head | Outside of Room / Communal Area | OPEN
[Newton wakes up asleep.
Wait, no, that's not it. He's asleep. He knows he's asleep. But he's awake.
He realizes it's definitely a dream when he reaches up to adjust his glasses and finds they're not there. Everything's crisp and lit a familiar, humming blue color at the edges. His hands are the pale blue of a drowned man's lips, and the space around him is practically empty, save for the pulsing, root-like growths that crack the smooth white floor. He stands there for a long moment, and then some frightening clarity comes to him.]
I've been here before. I've been here before, haven't I? In my sleep? [A long, awful shadow stretches out over him, casting him in the dark (he's always hated the dark). The veins in his wrists are glowing; the veins in the crease of his elbow, too. He looks up from the sight of it, eyes wide.] It's — It's you, isn't it? I drifted with you; I know what you are. You're —
Precursors. Yes. [It sounds like many voices at once, all bouncing around him. His blood feels like melting snow sluicing through his veins.] Very astute observations, Newton. How unfortunate it is, that you're apparently some of the best of what humanity has to offer; not very bright creatures, are you?
[Newt folds his arms. It's supposed to look like defiance, but he just looks frozen with chilled fear.]
... Fuck you, man. We met you, step for step. And we won. This isn't real. I'm just —
Like we've said: not very bright creatures. This is your mind, and it's a dream, but it is very real. Haven't you felt us?
[Newton swallows hard. Dozens of rows of beady, dead eyes look at him from high above. Outlines of unnatural, long-limbed beings lumber over him and smother out the lights. He shrinks, just a little. Just enough to lose. He never had the high ground, here. As he thinks back, his heart lurches in his chest; he can see the memories from that first drift as clearly as he could the beings looking back at him. He felt their coldness, their indifference to life; he felt the multitude of them, lurking in the shadows. He was terrified to tell Hermann the extent of it, that first time - the fear that still rattled him, right beside an exhilaration he didn't understand. He hated it. He wanted to do it again. The paradox doesn't escape him as much, now, knowing they're here.
In his head.]
... No. The — the Drift. The first trial run. You...!
Us. Yes. We'll admit, it is taking us an unfortunate amount of time to pull your feet out from under you; we've never commandeered a human being's mind before, after all. Even beings like us have... new and exciting ventures. This would be so much easier with the right equipment.
What do you mean, 'commandeered'? What the fuck? I thought we-
Killed us. Won the war. Stopped the threat. Right. Not very bright and unabashedly vain. But then again, we've already had this conversation with you, haven't we? It's a dull loop to entertain. To the point: we're not happy with you, Newton. We do value your mind, and we... had hoped you would be of greater use — as you tend to be — but it's clear you're too incompetent a species to be left to your own devices. It's not your fault, really. Just genetic misfortune.
What are you saying? What do you want from me?
Silly little man. It's easy to mock you during these talks of ours, but you are brighter than what they give you credit for. We want the power they're collecting, of course. These orbs, they're worth our time and effort, just as much as they're worth yours or anyone else's.
[His mouth parts with quiet realization.
They want to collect them, too. They want to use them; who doesn't?
He dares not imagine what they want them for.]
You failed us on Gyeongje by not completing your required task, though we do appreciate sight-seeing for potential new... 'workspaces', I think you'd call them? Future mining opportunities? Either way, we'll be giving you the proper pushes you'll need to not let us down again. You will be a perfectly respectable member of our army. You liked them, didn't you? What was it humans called our weapons? 'Kaiju'?
Well, this is your chance to be one for us. Is that not one of the greatest honors a human can receive?
... I won't... Fuck. I refuse! [He runs his hands through his hair and trembles like a leaf. Then blinking hard, he shakes his head, paces in a tight circle and mutters under his breath; his chin snaps up sharply, and he points at the beings that tower over him and spits:] This is insane! No, fuck no, I won't let you! I'll tell everyone about you before you can even do anything. I'll warn Hermann, and-
[A horrible peal of laughter drowns his thoughts out. He suffocates in it. A mental monsoon, one that makes him cower down like a child, the dignity draining out of him. He curls up with his hands over his ears, looking too much like the limp, whimpering mess that Otachi's offspring had almost devoured on the tangled streets of Hong Kong. The Precursors look down, and their voices drip with restrained amusement and hollow pity when he peers back up at them from the ground.]
Oh, Newton. You won't remember this.
You never do.
[Newt wakes up drenched in sweat, eyes peering around the room in a panic, as if trying to find someone lingering over him, but his memory always seems to fail him; whatever it was he had dreamt, he'd come up empty recollecting it. The dark shadows that cast all over his room become overbearing, and he turns on every light in his room before giving up on the prospect of staying in it, rushing out into the community area to pace his nerves away.
Only he'd forgotten his glasses, and he pretty quickly makes his presence known by bumping his knee super hard into a table and saying motherfucker! with feeling.
Maybe Newton Geiszler literally can't enter a room without being a beacon of physics in action.]
IV. Mission Impromptu Sleepover | CLOSED to Hermann
[Look, he's not particularly proud of where he ends up, but something just... pulls him here. He's not sure how to explain it, but the decision was... it was like being in a game of tug-of-war, only your arms are the rope, and you're just hoping nobody rips them off. One half of him said to go back to his room, to face the dark and the restless sleeping, and one half — the drift half — it said go on, it'll make you feel better.
Anyway, that's how he ends up sneaking into Hermann's room. Hermann's only just been cleared to leave the medical bay, albeit with a wheel chair and lots of teasing from Newton and reminders to not try to go using his cane until he's sure he's good (which dredged up a lot of fantastic bickering, thanks for asking). Point is, he doesn't wanna interrupt his rest, so he'll just... not bug him.
If he's quiet, he tells himself, he can go in, get some shut-eye, and then leave before Hermann even knows he's there.
It's foolproof.
So he does what any sane friend would do! He finds a spot on the floor, whips a blanket over him that just manages to cover those chicken legs of his, and tries to close his eyes and sleep from the comfort of... Hermann's bedroom floor.
It's fine. It's not weird at all.]
V. Wildcard
[I'M EASY TO PLEASE, hit me!
I'm open to PMs or![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
simpledog PPs if you wanna plot something out that isn't on here!]
groupiedrifter and you!LOCATION: The Ximilia Station; see each prompt for details.
DATE: Post-mission and onward.
CONTENT: Newton's time after the mission is... something. Don't worry, the Pizza Party's coming soon enough.
WARNINGS: nightmares, talk of possession/bodily autonomy kinda, nothing too wild; newton is currently struggling with the beginnings of alien possession/brainwashing from post-PR1, just as an FYI!
I. Just Another Manic Monday | The Lab | OPEN
[Newton finally gets the rest he told people he would, after checking on those who'd ended up in the infirmary.
... Sort of.
The first night, he sleeps like a rock. It's plagued with strange, abstract dreams, of course — Newton's hands becoming monster-like and impossible to use to administer a serum to anyone else, or So-Yeon's brother demanding Newton bring her back or else he would rip him apart from the inside out with those black, shadowy tendrils. But they're strangely not so difficult to manuver, those dreams. It's not like he hasn't had nightmares from time to time after an extremely destructive Kaiju attack.
It's complicated, isn't it? They spent almost two months in that city. That's long enough for most people to fall in love with someone. That's long enough to madden a new convict in prison, just before the numbing can begin. That's how long it took him to really, really like his team and the people in it. So the dreams aren't weird. They're par the course.
The next few nights, however, are uncomfortable. Different.
He wakes up startled, eyes peering around the room in a panic, as if trying to find someone lingering over him, but his memory always seems to fail him; whatever it was he had dreamt, he'd come up empty recollecting it. Either way, he ends up so shaken with feeling on these occasions that he ventures to the lab when everyone else is asleep, trying to keep his mind preoccupied. The first week, he does so by slowly piecing together the wrinkled, written copy of the reports he'd made about the infection on the planet. He can be found there at his new favorite stool at unusual hours when most have retreated to sleep, too lively and hyper for someone who should by all means be sleepy. His knee jostles as his foot bounces the speed of a humming bird's wings.
Anyone passing by can hear someone playing the Ramones as loud as they can on their iPhone — and a certain scientist obnoxiously singing along:]
♪ Hurry, hurry, hurry, before I go insane!
I can't control my fingers,
I can't control my brain,
Oh, no no, no, no, no! ♪
[It's not remotely unusual activity, if you've known him at the PPDC.
He's created a special cabinet in the lab where he has began a meager collection: behind one glass door, there's a few tiny jars marked 'GYEONGJE - MONSTER TISSUE SAMPLES H - L'. People passing can probably hear him speaking into his small recorder, putting his findings to spoken word, too. Some people can't read, after all. It's only fair.
The lab is where he lives, half the time. Maybe more, if we're talking cold hard percentages.]
... Note to self — [He says, into his recorder, looking at the very, very concerning boxes of different tech parts.] Build big-ass speakers.
II. It's Just a Jump to the Left | Mess Hall | OPEN
[So anyway, he builds a big-ass speaker.
Anyone walking by the Mess Hall at, once again, obnoxiously late hours will find the music playing much more loudly; for some poor souls, it may be reverberating in their brains if they're on the right-hand side of the Ximilia. His haphazardly created speaker, formed by what practically looks like Frankenstein's monster (actually, he's named it Frankenstein's Speaker, thank you), plays a playlist off his phone:]
♪ It's just a jump to left...!
And then a step to the ri-i-i-iiiight!
With your hands on your hips,
You bring your knees in ti-iiight!
But it's the pelvic thrust,
That really drives you insane!
Let's do the time-warp again,
Let's do the time-warp again! ♪
[Newton is very pleased with himself where he stands and studies his work in action, eating the last scoops of peanut butter straight out of a jar as he loosely, absently wiggles out the Time Warp dance (by sheer virtue of not being able to not move his ass a little). It seems, once again, that he's rather hyperactive and full of unparalleled energy. In fact, you might just, uh. Start to realize this isn't a rare occurrence. In fact, it's going to slowly become the norm. The expected. The anticipated.
Rest in peace, Ximilia crew.]
III. Not Under the Bed, Just in Your Head | Outside of Room / Communal Area | OPEN
[Newton wakes up asleep.
Wait, no, that's not it. He's asleep. He knows he's asleep. But he's awake.
He realizes it's definitely a dream when he reaches up to adjust his glasses and finds they're not there. Everything's crisp and lit a familiar, humming blue color at the edges. His hands are the pale blue of a drowned man's lips, and the space around him is practically empty, save for the pulsing, root-like growths that crack the smooth white floor. He stands there for a long moment, and then some frightening clarity comes to him.]
I've been here before. I've been here before, haven't I? In my sleep? [A long, awful shadow stretches out over him, casting him in the dark (he's always hated the dark). The veins in his wrists are glowing; the veins in the crease of his elbow, too. He looks up from the sight of it, eyes wide.] It's — It's you, isn't it? I drifted with you; I know what you are. You're —
Precursors. Yes. [It sounds like many voices at once, all bouncing around him. His blood feels like melting snow sluicing through his veins.] Very astute observations, Newton. How unfortunate it is, that you're apparently some of the best of what humanity has to offer; not very bright creatures, are you?
[Newt folds his arms. It's supposed to look like defiance, but he just looks frozen with chilled fear.]
... Fuck you, man. We met you, step for step. And we won. This isn't real. I'm just —
Like we've said: not very bright creatures. This is your mind, and it's a dream, but it is very real. Haven't you felt us?
[Newton swallows hard. Dozens of rows of beady, dead eyes look at him from high above. Outlines of unnatural, long-limbed beings lumber over him and smother out the lights. He shrinks, just a little. Just enough to lose. He never had the high ground, here. As he thinks back, his heart lurches in his chest; he can see the memories from that first drift as clearly as he could the beings looking back at him. He felt their coldness, their indifference to life; he felt the multitude of them, lurking in the shadows. He was terrified to tell Hermann the extent of it, that first time - the fear that still rattled him, right beside an exhilaration he didn't understand. He hated it. He wanted to do it again. The paradox doesn't escape him as much, now, knowing they're here.
In his head.]
... No. The — the Drift. The first trial run. You...!
Us. Yes. We'll admit, it is taking us an unfortunate amount of time to pull your feet out from under you; we've never commandeered a human being's mind before, after all. Even beings like us have... new and exciting ventures. This would be so much easier with the right equipment.
What do you mean, 'commandeered'? What the fuck? I thought we-
Killed us. Won the war. Stopped the threat. Right. Not very bright and unabashedly vain. But then again, we've already had this conversation with you, haven't we? It's a dull loop to entertain. To the point: we're not happy with you, Newton. We do value your mind, and we... had hoped you would be of greater use — as you tend to be — but it's clear you're too incompetent a species to be left to your own devices. It's not your fault, really. Just genetic misfortune.
What are you saying? What do you want from me?
Silly little man. It's easy to mock you during these talks of ours, but you are brighter than what they give you credit for. We want the power they're collecting, of course. These orbs, they're worth our time and effort, just as much as they're worth yours or anyone else's.
[His mouth parts with quiet realization.
They want to collect them, too. They want to use them; who doesn't?
He dares not imagine what they want them for.]
You failed us on Gyeongje by not completing your required task, though we do appreciate sight-seeing for potential new... 'workspaces', I think you'd call them? Future mining opportunities? Either way, we'll be giving you the proper pushes you'll need to not let us down again. You will be a perfectly respectable member of our army. You liked them, didn't you? What was it humans called our weapons? 'Kaiju'?
Well, this is your chance to be one for us. Is that not one of the greatest honors a human can receive?
... I won't... Fuck. I refuse! [He runs his hands through his hair and trembles like a leaf. Then blinking hard, he shakes his head, paces in a tight circle and mutters under his breath; his chin snaps up sharply, and he points at the beings that tower over him and spits:] This is insane! No, fuck no, I won't let you! I'll tell everyone about you before you can even do anything. I'll warn Hermann, and-
[A horrible peal of laughter drowns his thoughts out. He suffocates in it. A mental monsoon, one that makes him cower down like a child, the dignity draining out of him. He curls up with his hands over his ears, looking too much like the limp, whimpering mess that Otachi's offspring had almost devoured on the tangled streets of Hong Kong. The Precursors look down, and their voices drip with restrained amusement and hollow pity when he peers back up at them from the ground.]
Oh, Newton. You won't remember this.
You never do.
[Newt wakes up drenched in sweat, eyes peering around the room in a panic, as if trying to find someone lingering over him, but his memory always seems to fail him; whatever it was he had dreamt, he'd come up empty recollecting it. The dark shadows that cast all over his room become overbearing, and he turns on every light in his room before giving up on the prospect of staying in it, rushing out into the community area to pace his nerves away.
Only he'd forgotten his glasses, and he pretty quickly makes his presence known by bumping his knee super hard into a table and saying motherfucker! with feeling.
Maybe Newton Geiszler literally can't enter a room without being a beacon of physics in action.]
IV. Mission Impromptu Sleepover | CLOSED to Hermann
[Look, he's not particularly proud of where he ends up, but something just... pulls him here. He's not sure how to explain it, but the decision was... it was like being in a game of tug-of-war, only your arms are the rope, and you're just hoping nobody rips them off. One half of him said to go back to his room, to face the dark and the restless sleeping, and one half — the drift half — it said go on, it'll make you feel better.
Anyway, that's how he ends up sneaking into Hermann's room. Hermann's only just been cleared to leave the medical bay, albeit with a wheel chair and lots of teasing from Newton and reminders to not try to go using his cane until he's sure he's good (which dredged up a lot of fantastic bickering, thanks for asking). Point is, he doesn't wanna interrupt his rest, so he'll just... not bug him.
If he's quiet, he tells himself, he can go in, get some shut-eye, and then leave before Hermann even knows he's there.
It's foolproof.
So he does what any sane friend would do! He finds a spot on the floor, whips a blanket over him that just manages to cover those chicken legs of his, and tries to close his eyes and sleep from the comfort of... Hermann's bedroom floor.
It's fine. It's not weird at all.]
V. Wildcard
[I'M EASY TO PLEASE, hit me!
I'm open to PMs or
no subject
Yzak, uh...!
[He puts his achy knee back down, stands there awkwardly in his white t-shirt and jeans-he-clearly-was-too-lazy-to-remove-and-therefore-slept-in, sweaty and disheveled like a man who had been alarm-blared out of a bed.]
Hey. How's it going?
no subject
He stares for a moment, because, wow, Newt looks like shit. ]
You look like shit.
[ No sugarcoating coming from Yzak there. He straightens up in his seat, slipping a bookmark into the book he's reading for now. ]
Is something going on?
[ He tilts his head a bit, as if listening for something - like a sudden bustle of people moving around, signaling that there's some sort of event happening on the station. ]
no subject
[He smooths out the front of his shirt, the monsters inked across his forearms vibrant against the white fabric. He's also super barefoot and super bedheaded. Oh, jeez, he must look like a total mess.]
I... uh... Was just... sleepwalking, probably.
Dreaming about — [He waves his hand at the air, which is honestly just a gesture used to buy time while he quite literally catches his breath.] The attack alarms going off. Yeah. We had alarms for when Kaiju were sighted, and I guess I just got a little too into it.
[lie lie lie
But saying he was scared from a nightmare he didn't even remember anything about?
That was fucking embarrassing. More embarrassing than even the concept of sleeprunning.]
no subject
[ He arches an eyebrow with that incredulous-sounding reply, giving Newton a long, silent look that makes it clear that his stammering isn't as convincing as he's hoping it is. ]
Well, whatever.
[ Yzak gives a small shrug of his shoulder before continuing. Whether Newton is lying about it or not, he still hit on something that Yzak can at least relate to. ]
I don't sleepwalk - and thank god for that, because if my team ever saw me looking like that I'd be disgraced - but those sorts of dreams are some of the more obnoxious ones.
no subject
It's not like he's lying that dramatically, anyways. After all, he could have been dreaming about a Kaiju attack, or some big emergency relating to it. Maybe he was dreaming about almost getting turned into a snack for an underdeveloped, angry Kaiju baby. Wouldn't be the first time.
And anyway, he's just — being dramatic. Ask anyone at the PPDC; he's always super reactive.]
Disgraced is kinda harsh. [He shuffles his feet a bit, his breathing evening a little more Then he slowly seems to decide 'fuck it', and moves to sit down on one of the couches.] Other people have it worse. It's not like I've ever needed counseling or anything; I've only ever been at ground zero once. During an attack, I mean.
no subject
He lets out a small scoff, though. ]
That's the kind of thing you hear from someone who probably needs counseling as much, if not more, than anyone else.
no subject
Disgusting, abhorrent bisexual energy.
He rests his arms over his stomach and tries to relax. It's when Yzak speaks, though, that he looks over and smiles a bit impishly.]
Oh, okay! If that's how that works: do you need counseling?
no subject
Don't try to flip that back to me! Bastard! I was just pointing out that it doesn't matter what aspect of war one experiences or how many times, they all affect people!
no subject
[But, shockingly, he lays there quiet for longer than anyone would probably think him capable of, his feet very still where they hang. He feels heavy now, like there's a big lead blanket over him.]
The war's over now. Weird.
I got really used to it, I guess.
no subject
[ He doesn't say peaceful, because he himself simply moved from being on the frontlines, to throwing himself into the rebuilding, the politics, the occasional armed escort or scuffle. There was still work to be done. And Yzak isn't even sure if this second "peace" will even last. The last one didn't. ]
How long did it last?
no subject
Over ten years. Twelve, approximately.
Some part of me is suspicious of this place, sure, but — some part of me is also kind of relieved to have... some kind of direction, still. When I walked into my lab after the fact, I looked around at this place I'd slaved in for five years straight and felt... kind of directionless.
Maybe that's just a normal feeling for people neck-deep in it one second, and then free the next.
Suppose there's still a shitload to do after that, though. Clean-up and research on what's left — preserving what we can, just in case.
no subject
He leans back where he's sitting. ]
I think I'd lose my fucking mind if I felt as though I lacked a sense of direction. [ Yzak sounds almost annoyed at the mere thought. He's been in that sort of position before. Lost. Unable to see what he should have been, needed to be doing. ] So you're right about that, it is a normal feeling to have. For those of us who prefer to have some sort of goal ahead of us at any given time, at least.
Have you been part of the countermeasure effort for that long? Those twelve years.
no subject
So it's been about eight years since my work started being solely for the war. Before that, I was a teacher. [Imagine Newton Geiszler as your teacher in college. A harrowing, interesting experience, no matter how you slice it.] Me and Hermann got transported to the PPDC Shatterdome in Hong Kong about five years back. Things were a little more, uh... funded then.
By the time the war was over, he and I were the only scientists left on the payroll.
[It's fucking bonkers, now that he thinks about it. The world was ending, and the government said it wasn't worth the cost. Fucking nuts.]
no subject
[ While that does sound like QUITE THE EXPERIENCE ... somehow, Yzak begrudgingly thinks to himself, as he always does in these moments when he's admitting something to himself he never would outloud, Newton is clearly competent enough and has that kind of obnoxious personality where it's likable. ]
It's always about money, even in a situation where really shouldn't be.
[ He spits out that remark, having dealt with that kind of bullshit himself.
When he mentioned himself and Hermann, though, it reminds Yzak of something he'd been wondering. ]
You two ... you came to the station together, didn't you? Were you both approached at once by [ He waves his hand. ] that commander? Or did you not expect to see each other here, when you arrived?
no subject
[He glances over, blinking.]
Who, me and Hermann?
I guess we kind of were approached around the same time, yeah. But... I had no clue he'd be here. I guess maybe the orb guy couldn't decide which science guy he wanted more, or something. Maybe. Who even knows what their methodology is.
... Either way, I'm glad to have him here, even if some part of me kinda wants him to go home now. It's not exactly the safest working conditions. Go figure.
no subject
[ Yzak's around a lot of older soldiers - he figures if he ever had to take some some kind of teaching role for new recruits or something, plenty would be older than him.
More mature, sophisticated, adultlike than him, though? Absolutely totally not! ]
So they don't just grab people from the same place and ask them together or something like that. Interesting. [ He shrugs, though, after hearing that. ] I was just curious. Because there seem to be more than just you two, who didn't come here alone. [ He also might be lowkey envious, but dare you to ever try to get him to admit he gets easily lonely. ]
You didn't always have very safe working conditions during your war, did you? Somehow ... I wonder if he'd think something similarly about you.
[ Just like that whole 'don't tell him!' concern on their last mission. God, Yzak thinks, what a couple of dumbass nerds. ]
no subject
Which, maybe I'm a little quick on the trigger. Sue me, I don't sit still very well.
... You accidentally set off the sprinklers a few times, and people get so ass-clenched...
no subject
His presence here is appreciated, anyway. By more than just you!
no subject
[He looks over, SO VERY OFFENDED!
In that way that is impossible to take seriously, of course.]
Hermann's a big giant stick in the mud, and he's got that same stick up his ass, but he's — Hermann. He's one of the smartest dudes alive, and he's more reliable than just about anyone, yours truly included.
Just don't tell him I said that, because it'll go to his goofy-haired head.
no subject
[ ... ]
Ugh, but you won't, will you.
no subject
And give him a big head about it?
Hell no! He can eat me!
[In conclusion:
Predictable.]
no subject
[ HE JUST. HE JUST NEEDS THIS REMINDER. ]
no subject
An endless supply, is what.]
A very smart, very cute 35.
no subject
Who can talk someone up just fine unless they're listening. Then it's he can eat me like we're 5.
Augh, who even cares! I don't care about that! [ He throws a hand up. ] I just meant, sure it's not the safest, but he can handle it! We can handle it! It's fine!
no subject
I know that! I'm just saying. And for the record, I'm at least 10! Don't pretend you're not in the same boat as me when it comes to emotional maturity, dude! You're the one who screeched in my ear the first time we met!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)