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
iv.
"I’m sorry, mother."
"All I ask is you try something different. Be a little adventurous with your diet, eh? A little sugar and fat will do you some good for those hollow cheeks, Häschen."
How typical of Hermann to dream of his mother scolding him. The two sit quietly together at the dining table of their family estate. Not a soul can be heard from the halls. Merely the tiny clanks of cups and saucers as his mother takes a sip of her tea. He glances at his jumper, too casual for him to be caught dead at the lab. It’s his hoodie from TU Berlin. Peering over his reflection in his tea, he notices how he looks about five years younger. Perhaps even ten. The stressors of wartime can do a number to one’s complexion.
Sitting right next to his teacup is a letter. Newton’s letter. Decorated to death in colourful stationery and stickers. You think a child would be the mastermind behind such eccentric choices. But it’s difficult to make out the wording. Everything appears as a haze. The only line he can accurately decipher is:
Find me.
"Your friend again?"
He nods, picking up the letter with one hand. What in the world does ‘Find me’ mean?
Before he can muse more on this peculiar message, he feels a light tremble underneath his feet. Looking up at the ceiling soon reveals an inhuman cry overwhelming his ears. The plaster from above cracks and tears before it is ripped to shreds, the hungry maw of a Kaiju taking its place and then—
Darkness.
He doesn’t wake with a start. Instead, his eyes open wide. Total darkness. He’s in his bed. A nightmare. It was all a nightmare. Ignoring the single tear trickling down his cheek, he sits up and carries his legs over to the bedside.
With his free hand hovering over his heart, he can feel how fast it’s racing. The thought of going back to sleep is less than ideal. Hermann needs to clear his mind.
His hand traces along the safety rails on his bedside, taking one careful step at a time. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights. Hermann already knows where needs to go: The washroom.
Another step and he feels something…warm. A warm, soft, fleshy thing with coarse hair underneath Hermann’s foot.
No. Not again. Another nightmare, perhaps? Preposterous. That couldn’t be. Then who could this foreign thing be?]
Whoever you are… [He says, slowly reaching for his cane resting by the corner of his bed.] Reveal yourself before I have you compromised!
no subject
The world is, of course, blurry as fuck. He had put his glasses carefully under the bed, so he wouldn't roll on them in the night. Looking up and over, there's a familiar figure, and —
Oh shit, is that a really fuzzy-shaped cane hovering over my head?
He puts up his hands sharply, nearly toppling sideways and wincing back from what he feels might just be a thwack on the head, if he can't spit out the words fast enough. Panicked:]
Wait, it's me! It's Newt!
[PLEASE YOU'VE ALREADY ALMOST DENTED IN HIS NOSE THIS WEEK]
no subject
He jabs the butt of the cane against the floor out of frustration.]
Bloody—!
[Before he goes off on Newton, he makes a gesture to signal the sensor to turn on the lights.
And low and behold, there he is. Laying on the floor like some hapless rat ducking under a pizza box.]
What in God’s name are you doing here?! You nearly gave me a heart attack. Goodness, are you drunk? Is that it? How many times have I told you to be responsible about your liquor intake?!
no subject
Anyway, he's sputtering and red-faced and looking particularly lost for words.]
What? No! I'm —
[He swallows, thinks for two seconds, and then-]
Okay, fine, I'm drunk. Totally thought this was my room, so — it obviously isn't, and I'm gonna just go find the right one. Super sloshed at the moment - [He mimics Hermann's voice, a staple of these sorts of chats:] so very sorry about that.
[Yes. Yes! A perfect excuse. He's just drunk. Haha, silly Newton, drinking too much and stumbling in somewhere to take a nap. Must be all the celebrating the end of the mission! Must've been that (not yet revisited) bottle of strong stuff he stole from the palace! God, what an annoying co-worker. So irresponsible!
He starts collecting the blanket into his hands, standing up sharply, maybe adding a little swaying for show.]
I'll just be on my way out.
no subject
Then there is the other part of him that reaches to grab Newton’s clammy shoulders and says:]
No.
[Clearing his throat.]
Stay a moment, will you? I was getting up to fetch some water and I could use the company.
no subject
Uh. Okay?
[He looks baffled by the response, but... you know. He was an intruder, and he kind of deserves getting scolded (this time! don't get it twisted!), so he feels a little like he's being punked. He kind of hopes Hermann doesn't notice that his gaze isn't inhibited by liquor, or that he doesn't smell like someone who downed enough liquor to mistake rooms, and after a moment, he moves to sit back down cross-legged on the floor.]
... Kind of a weird time to want company.
[And then he stands right back up again, like he's not sure what to do with himself. The world is still a big ol' blur. Maybe that's a good thing, so he can't clearly see whatever it is Hermann's face is doing at him.]
Wait - you're still messed up. You want me to get it for you?
no subject
I know this is a silly request and you’re…under the influence. But I had the most frightful nightmare.
[For a moment, Hermann wants to hold his tongue. It makes him sound so childish, being taken aback by a figment of his imagination. The sweat under his brow, however, begs to differ. A part of him is holding out that Newton may have shared a similar phenomenon.]
When I felt you laying there on the floor, I thought it was happening all over again. [Then it finally dawns on him.] Dear God! I nearly broke your nose again.
no subject
No prob. You know I don't mind grabbing whatever.
[They bickered wildly back in the PPDC, and Newton absolutely would relentlessly annoy the fuck out of Hermann — sometimes on purpose, sometimes not — but he always took care with Hermann's physical needs. You gotta take shit like that seriously. Physical, mental, all of that. Lord knows Newton's had his weird episodes and needed to be forced to take days off.
... Mostly by the marshal, because he's one of the few people Newt ever listens to.
Listened to.
Fuck.
He quickly moves to collect a glass of water from the bedroom, unsure if it's a good or bad thing that he's pretty much convinced Hermann he's totally not sober. Man, maybe he should feel bad that being drunk is one of the first logical outcomes to this situation. By the time he awkwardly returns and clumsily puts the glass in Hermann's hands (Newt get your fucking glasses), he says:]
It's also no big deal to have nightmares. It is a big deal, I mean, but also not a big deal to feel any kind of way about it. What I'm trying to say is don't feel embarrassed by it.
[A pause.]
And for the record, you didn't break my nose because I've got strong bones. Stronger than yours, obviously.
no subject
Of course, when Newton isn’t even trying to tease, he still finds some way to do it. Just as he takes his first sip of water, he’s about ready to blurt out ‘Shut up!’. But again, he withholds it. Hermann has long come to terms that his brain is practically wired to bite back at Newton. Even if he isn’t in a confrontational mood.
One sip soon turns into a half chug, nearly emptying the glass.]
Yes, well, for you it’s no big deal, but… [He rests the glass on top of the nightstand.] It’s a call from the past.
[There was no such thing as a good night's rest in the first few years of the war. To tell someone "good night" is a silent prayer that you’ll see them in the morning in one piece. It didn’t bode any better in the latter half, but there was a sense of camaraderie and solidarity within those words.]
I used to have them frequently. Back when the Kaiju first attacked. [His brow slightly quirks.] Back when even two hours of rest was a luxury.
Then you came along. I suppose I was too furious with your antics to even entertain such nonsensical fantasies.
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From the past, huh... Suppose I'm kinda glad I helped distract you with my impeccable charm, then.
[He stares at Hermann's blob-shaped form for a moment from over his knees, where he's let his chin sit. The wall's nice and cool on his back.]
... D'you wanna talk about it?
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[He wants to talk about it. The problem starts when he doesn’t know where to begin. How to put the pieces all together logically for it to be intelligible enough to decipher.
A flush of embarrassment reaches his cheeks. Hermann folds his hands together on top of his lap and glances at Newton.]
That’s the trouble with nightmares. You come out not understanding what truly makes them frightful.
Our brains are as complex as advanced supercomputers and yet, there’s no sound theory to explain how and when they come about. They’re a unique specimen of their own accord.
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[Newton's certainly diagnosable, anyway. Certified 'mixed bag of issues', the kind that make him overbearing energy one moment and a soft, sad lump on a couch the next. His mind never really shuts the hell up, and sometimes he annoys himself so much that the people around him annoy him by proxy. That's the fun of being a manic eccentric, right? You never know what makes you the way you are, and you have to live with it, and sometimes it messes up perfectly decent relationships. He wants to be better, though. Learn to live with it and be a good weird person, like Uncle Illia.
Anyway. That's neither here nor there. We're talking dreams. Newton pulls the blanket up more around him; it's small and thin and barely covers his feet, but it was an emergency grab more than anything. After a moment of sitting quietly, he says:]
Wouldn't hurt to try and make sense of 'em. That's part of our job, isn't it?
Digging into guts and numbers until we understand things a little better?
Why not apply the same to our sleep cycles?
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[Guts and numbers. It's interesting to delineate the complexities of living organisms. Separated, they’re crude and cold ways to break apart life. Together? They come together harmoniously that a paint a much more holistic picture.]
…There is one study I recall reading a while ago. They consider nightmares to be “simply dreams that cause a strong but unpleasant emotional response.” They’re typically rooted in psychological stressors.
If the brain is the natural computer, then one can only deduce that there is an error in its coding. Something to be de-bugged.
[And no matter how much Hermann tries to rationalize the natural world, some things in this universe are vast and terrifying. Incapable of logical explanation.
In other words: He's beginning to realize how much of a toll this war has taken on him.]
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He sets his chin on his forearm and rambles:]
Hermann... It's because we're creatures that feel too deeply and think too much, man. We're super breakable and super fixable. And sometimes we scare ourselves in our sleep because we're amazing biological creations who forge images out of thin air when we're not even conscious.
We're not numbers. That's what's so amazing about us. We're spontaneous, overly complicated beings with differences so broad that we create each other by absorbing memories and passions and emotions from the people around us. Sometimes even from the people before us, considering how much you love old dead scientists.
... Point is, you're not a computer, dude, no matter how much you probably want to cosplay as one.
[The thought's a funny one. Seriousness aside. But then, even with all their ire, it's not the first time Newton's reminded Hermann with more gentleness than usual that he's not a robot or a computer. Newton seems like he wants to say more. He does, really, it's — just that human in him, you know?
Huh. He doesn't sound very drunk, does he. Not even a hint of a slur.
Sus.]
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[That’s the only way Hermann can logically parse through all his scattered thoughts.
It is also clear that Newton isn’t as intoxicated as he speculated. No slurred speech patterns or tangential anecdotes about his university days. What in the world is he doing here in the first place?
Curious…
Whatever it may be, falling back to sleep is the last thing on his mind. He’ll have to find some other way to keep himself occupied.]
What you said back on Gyeongje. Your silly little film about a child fighting robbers…
[A hint of reddish pink is showing on his cheeks.]
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[He just says it as a straight-up fact, because it is. Hermann's a perfectionist. And, well, okay, so is Newt — but in different ways. They might go at each other's throats a lot, especially when tensions are through a roof, but Newt knows the facts here.
'Your silly little film'?
He blinks in mild confusion as he looks up; the number talk, the figuring things out, that's classic Hermann. But he really doesn't have a big track record about talking pop culture stuff or... y'know. Fun movies.]
You mean Home Alone? One of the finest movies of our century?
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[He purses his lips.]
You don’t suppose…
[Hm. Wait. No. Scratch that. Just going to shake that thought right off.]
No. Nevermind. It’s a ridiculous thought.
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I'm kinda sure you've said that yourself, at some point in our working career.
[He slides is hand over, just under Hermann's leg, and retrieves the glasses he'd stowed under the bed; he slides them back on, blinks a few times to adjust his gaze.]
... Are you gonna pilgrimage with me across outer space to hunt down a copy of Home Alone?
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[That’ll be the day: Newton and him, scavenging the universe for one, sodding 90’s family comedy film.]
But I would like to hear more about these “fun” romps of cinema you’re ever so eager to boast about.
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Fine, he'll just find it himself!
But...
He grins despite himself.]
You mean other than the Godzilla movies I'd blabbed about all day in my letters?
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I’m hoping that there’s more to it than your freakish obsession with Godzilla movies.
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[A pause.]
You ever see Edward Scissorhands?
Now that's a look. Robert Smith wishes he looked as cool.
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[Whatever Newton just said has gone completely past Hermann’s head.]
The one with the hefty burlap sack monster?
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But then looking up, he says weakly:]
Seriously? You don't even remember the name of The Nightmare Before Christmas?
I'm gonna expire listening to this. Right here on this floor.
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[Rolling his eyes. At least he’s trying to make a genuine effort.]
Mother took Bastien and me to go see it when we were very little and left halfway because it was too scary for him.
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