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
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