[Newton is giving a friendly wave, a beckoning motion with his hand that asks for the person in question to follow to a wooden table less centralized in the small encampment that's grown, littered with tools — a hacksaw, some shears, an axe, all sorts of things meant for people to scavenge through before they begin their journeys split into three parties. As Newt plops his ass down on one of the seats, he yanks off his leather arm guard and reveals the bright blue, highly scribbled-on cast beneath.]
I need your help cutting this bad boy off! Have you ever tried getting a cast off one-handed? It's the worst.
[Considering he's a little sweaty and there are a few attempted (and subsequently aborted) cuts in the cast... Newton has tried getting it off himself and can confirm that it sucks.
Wiping his boney brow, the dragon-human hybrid gripes:]
You'd think the thing was made out of concrete.
II. When the Tough Get Going | Jun's Party | (cw: nightmares/terrors, topics of possession)
[Newton himself has been tasked with 'the guy who picks the music', which is to say, he puts himself in the role without anyone asking for it. To his credit, he does play more period-appropriate songs instead of whipping out Pure Hell or New York Dolls like this were some gritty obscure dive bar in Chicago. He's had a month to practice his whimsical adventure music, and on occasion belts out his work in progress: The Ballad of Dweyre. After all, he told Fribs he'd do it, and so he shall! But any requests will be humbly attempted, especially if they're of a modern variety. Sure, the lute is a little more simplistic than an electric guitar, but by god he'll make it work. Trust him.
After some time, day becomes night, and camp has to be set up. Newton more than happily spends a chunk of time sitting at the campfire and repackaging old horror movies into dramatic tales for the locals who would have no idea who Freddy Kreuger or Chucky or Sadako are — and at any point, you may drift near as he starts into the climax of one tale:]
When Ryuji awoke the next day in the comfort of his cabin, he discovered the cruelest sight of all... Sadako's well, emerged from the wooden floorboards where his table had once stood in the dining area. He anxiously gripped the hilt of his sword, pressing his back to the wall, too aware that her curse had not truly been broken... no, it was a curse passed onto him now. And as Sadako's long curtain of hair began to crawl out of the mortar and brick opening, Ryuji found himself frozen... He couldn't move. He couldn't raise his weapon and prepare for battle. It's like every inch of him had been paralyzed by the sight... He could only watch as swollen, gray fingers scraped across his floor... closer... closer...! Reiko could only beat on the door from the outside; no matter how many times she'd swung her axe into the handle, it would not budge, even as Ryuji screamed his final scream of horror...!
[When the tale ends and the campfire is nothing but a couple of smoldering embers, they all move to their sleeping palettes (save for, perhaps, a handful of adventurers who take turns keeping watch). Newt had retired himself to bed, and it's not but an hour or two later before he finds himself twisting and turning unhappily where he rests.
As the dagger raises overhead, it doesn't slash down. It stills where Newton holds it beside his face. The fist curled in Clara's shirt doesn't loosen from it's painful grip, but — the dagger stays hovering, and then shakes as if fear has possessed them. Him. Someone. His breath is held. Confusion paints his brow at first, and then helplessness. The two bodies are both frozen in the moment — a still, almost too quiet moment, save for the distant roars of the kaiju — as fresh tears slide, unyielding, down his cheeks and wobbling lips; they drip across Clara's face where she's pinned beneath him.
"Newt? Newt, it's okay." Clara's voice cracks as she says it, and she tries smiling through her tears. "Do what you need to do—"
"You need to stop. I know you don’t want to do this. You need to fight it," Daisy begs, trying to staunch the blood running out of her.
"Newton!" Kirk yells, struggling through the pain of a blaster shot—
Peter Quill falls from the gaping wound on the train — Kovacs finds cover after being blasted back on his feet —
"Newt." Foxlike, Rhysand's head tilts in an almost otherworldly way, shoulders tense with a distinct rigidity. His hands are still in his pockets, but it's like a bomb waiting to go off — he could lunge at any time. "There are women and children on this train." (NEWTON, they hiss. DO NOT F̴̹̣͋̓̈I̷̥̥̟̽G̴̣͑̿̆H̷̠̖̎͜͝T̸̖̋ ̵̱̯͓̽̽Ú̸̳̰Ś̸̡̙͎͠͝.) Alina launches at him from out of hiding — she tackles him to the floor, scratches and bites and claws as the detonator flies away — they plunge the dagger into Alina's side. Rhysand's fist strike and strike and strike, cutting skin, swelling Newton's face, as Alina's blood paints him —
Newton wakes up with a sharp gasp, his pillow soaked with sweat as he vibrates with fear. Without his glasses, the dark treetops around them are full of beady black eyes that glisten in the dark, watching him, studying him like a bug in a jar. Branches become gnarled, gray fingers. He's frozen in fear, something heavy sitting on his chest. It's not real, they're gone, he thinks, but like the many times before, it only scarcely budges reality. You're free, you're safe, they're gone, they're gone.]
H — help.
[Newt barely gets it out, scaring into the deep, deep dark.
He's always been a little scared of the dark, but what he sees within it is so much worse.
When he eventually manages to wake himself up completely, perhaps with help from some patient outside source, he can't go back to sleep. He instead finds a place to pace on the outskirts of the slumbering party, a lantern held almost protectively in front of him.]
III. The Going Gets Tough | Jun's Party
[Boy, that's some bandit attack, huh? If you think for a moment Newt's not immediately frazzled and scattered and unsure how to assist in combat, you'd... well, you'd be 100% right. This is something he's never been good at, not in a million fucking years, okay! Still, people are needing the backup, and he's gonna provide it. As a pair of orcs prepare to strike your character where they've fallen back and caught unawares, the two orcs suddenly stop — then waver on their feet, tilting back and forth. Then they collapse, flat on their faces.
Behind them, Newton's hands are on either side of his head in excited surprise, and his eyebrows have ascended to his hairline.]
Holy shit, it really works! Dude, did you see that sleep spell?! I performed magic! I'm a fucking wizard-bard, dude!
[Please don't let him get clobbered with a mace while he's celebrating his very minor victory.
While he definitely needs rescue more than he's doing the rescuing, he does also electrcute the unholy shit out of another orc that is about to impale one of his teammates. So, like. He'd like to think he's doing pretty awesome. It's not until he smashes his lute over an orc's head that his luck kind of runs out — which is his own fault, because immediate knock-outs are only in movies, you know? He gets picked up by the scruff and thrown haphazardly into some mud by one of the bandits, one that quickly collects its sword before it begins to advance on Newton, who currently looks like this:]
IV. Wildcard | Open to Whatever!
[Wanna do something outside of Jun's Party? Wanna do anything with the other prompts? Got something that doesn't fit?
Just hit me up on simpledog and we can get something going! PMing totally works, too.]
Newton Geiszler | Pacific Rim
I. Before the Split
Hey! You think you can give me a hand?
[Newton is giving a friendly wave, a beckoning motion with his hand that asks for the person in question to follow to a wooden table less centralized in the small encampment that's grown, littered with tools — a hacksaw, some shears, an axe, all sorts of things meant for people to scavenge through before they begin their journeys split into three parties. As Newt plops his ass down on one of the seats, he yanks off his leather arm guard and reveals the bright blue, highly scribbled-on cast beneath.]
I need your help cutting this bad boy off! Have you ever tried getting a cast off one-handed? It's the worst.
[Considering he's a little sweaty and there are a few attempted (and subsequently aborted) cuts in the cast... Newton has tried getting it off himself and can confirm that it sucks.
Wiping his boney brow, the dragon-human hybrid gripes:]
You'd think the thing was made out of concrete.
II. When the Tough Get Going | Jun's Party | (cw: nightmares/terrors, topics of possession)
[Newton himself has been tasked with 'the guy who picks the music', which is to say, he puts himself in the role without anyone asking for it. To his credit, he does play more period-appropriate songs instead of whipping out Pure Hell or New York Dolls like this were some gritty obscure dive bar in Chicago. He's had a month to practice his whimsical adventure music, and on occasion belts out his work in progress: The Ballad of Dweyre. After all, he told Fribs he'd do it, and so he shall! But any requests will be humbly attempted, especially if they're of a modern variety. Sure, the lute is a little more simplistic than an electric guitar, but by god he'll make it work. Trust him.
After some time, day becomes night, and camp has to be set up. Newton more than happily spends a chunk of time sitting at the campfire and repackaging old horror movies into dramatic tales for the locals who would have no idea who Freddy Kreuger or Chucky or Sadako are — and at any point, you may drift near as he starts into the climax of one tale:]
When Ryuji awoke the next day in the comfort of his cabin, he discovered the cruelest sight of all... Sadako's well, emerged from the wooden floorboards where his table had once stood in the dining area. He anxiously gripped the hilt of his sword, pressing his back to the wall, too aware that her curse had not truly been broken... no, it was a curse passed onto him now. And as Sadako's long curtain of hair began to crawl out of the mortar and brick opening, Ryuji found himself frozen... He couldn't move. He couldn't raise his weapon and prepare for battle. It's like every inch of him had been paralyzed by the sight... He could only watch as swollen, gray fingers scraped across his floor... closer... closer...! Reiko could only beat on the door from the outside; no matter how many times she'd swung her axe into the handle, it would not budge, even as Ryuji screamed his final scream of horror...!
[When the tale ends and the campfire is nothing but a couple of smoldering embers, they all move to their sleeping palettes (save for, perhaps, a handful of adventurers who take turns keeping watch). Newt had retired himself to bed, and it's not but an hour or two later before he finds himself twisting and turning unhappily where he rests.
Newton wakes up with a sharp gasp, his pillow soaked with sweat as he vibrates with fear. Without his glasses, the dark treetops around them are full of beady black eyes that glisten in the dark, watching him, studying him like a bug in a jar. Branches become gnarled, gray fingers. He's frozen in fear, something heavy sitting on his chest. It's not real, they're gone, he thinks, but like the many times before, it only scarcely budges reality. You're free, you're safe, they're gone, they're gone.]
H — help.
[Newt barely gets it out, scaring into the deep, deep dark.
He's always been a little scared of the dark, but what he sees within it is so much worse.
When he eventually manages to wake himself up completely, perhaps with help from some patient outside source, he can't go back to sleep. He instead finds a place to pace on the outskirts of the slumbering party, a lantern held almost protectively in front of him.]
III. The Going Gets Tough | Jun's Party
[Boy, that's some bandit attack, huh? If you think for a moment Newt's not immediately frazzled and scattered and unsure how to assist in combat, you'd... well, you'd be 100% right. This is something he's never been good at, not in a million fucking years, okay! Still, people are needing the backup, and he's gonna provide it. As a pair of orcs prepare to strike your character where they've fallen back and caught unawares, the two orcs suddenly stop — then waver on their feet, tilting back and forth. Then they collapse, flat on their faces.
Behind them, Newton's hands are on either side of his head in excited surprise, and his eyebrows have ascended to his hairline.]
Holy shit, it really works! Dude, did you see that sleep spell?! I performed magic! I'm a fucking wizard-bard, dude!
[Please don't let him get clobbered with a mace while he's celebrating his very minor victory.
While he definitely needs rescue more than he's doing the rescuing, he does also electrcute the unholy shit out of another orc that is about to impale one of his teammates. So, like. He'd like to think he's doing pretty awesome. It's not until he smashes his lute over an orc's head that his luck kind of runs out — which is his own fault, because immediate knock-outs are only in movies, you know? He gets picked up by the scruff and thrown haphazardly into some mud by one of the bandits, one that quickly collects its sword before it begins to advance on Newton, who currently looks like this:]
IV. Wildcard | Open to Whatever!
[Wanna do something outside of Jun's Party? Wanna do anything with the other prompts? Got something that doesn't fit?
Just hit me up on