[OPEN] who doesn't like neon trees?

[groupiedrifter]

CHARACTERS: Newton and You!
LOCATION: Around the Ximilia
DATE: The rest of October catch-all!
CONTENT: Newton exists in October, doing Newton things.
WARNINGS: mostly just alien possession and dream invasion in prompt IV! will add more if needed

I. Kiss With a Fist | Closed to Rosinante

[It takes Newton a ridiculous amount of self-control not to find and explode at Rosinante before the dust even clears in the teleportation room; he's tired and feels sick as hell on return, but for one stupid, Newtonian moment, he sees a glimpse of him skulking around the place (he's not hard to notice, towering over everyone else) and feels his blood go hotter. It's like those times he'd get heated in a dive bar, quick to bark and quicker to get knocked on his ass, but it's a compulsion he hadn't quite mastered in his time alive.

Only this time, people are hurt and exhausted, him admittedly included, so he bides his time in an infirmary first. It's much later in the day (if it is, in fact, a day; time in space is atrocious to keep track of) that he notices Rosinante walking along the hall Newt had just turned onto himself. The sight of his extremely broad back brings the fiery temperament and outrage to the forefront again, and he thinks: well, if I get the shit kicked out of me here, at least I'll have made my peace.

His scraped up hands clench shut in offense and he walks briskly, quietly, teeth gritted behind his lips.

And then — ]

Hey, Rosi.

[Before the ever-so-tall Rosinante turns to his voice, Newt rears back a fist —

And when the pirate turns in full, Newton slams that fist as hard as he can into the man's groin.]

II. Lust for Life | The Lab

[After Sabriel's kind enough to help with his injuries, he makes a point to take it easy for the first few days. His ribs are still super sore, but he feels better and better, more prepared than ever to get back to the projects that had to be left on pause while he was gone for two months. It's been nearly four months, hasn't it? Since they'd woken up on this ship. Five months for some others. Anyway... All play and no work makes Newton a needy bastard just as much as the opposite, so he gets to it.

First on the agenda: finish Viveca's hovering robo-body, which is currently close to being done. The arms have been attached, and now the backside of the robot is opened up, wires spilling out and leaving a great tangle of work around a motherboard. The area is a bit cluttered and different to parse with one's eyes, but... he's getting it done!

He is, of course, as predictable as ever... and so anyone wandering close to the lab will be alerted to his presence by listening first, seeing second:

Watch on YouTube

The sounds of Neon Trees' old hit Everybody Talks wanders down the hallway, the lead singer's smooth voice accompanied by Newton's telltale vocal fry as he croons messily along; he's by no means a skillful singer, but hey, he's got the soul of a man having fun at a concert for one, ratatapping two pencils on the side of the metal table in rhythm with the drummer. His boots squeak on the linoleum floor as his bottom half moves side to side of its own accord, and he sings:]

♪ It started with a whispeeeeer, And that was when I kissed heeeeer, and then she made my lips huuuuurt! ♪

♪ I can hear the chit-chaaaat, take me to your love shaaaaack...! ♪

[He is, as always, in his own little world, and only stops to dig his hands back into the robot's body like he would any Kaiju — only this time, instead of harvesting, he's building, and that's kind of a novel idea, ain't it?]

III. You're Gonna Go Far, Kid | The Lab

[Once he's got his other projects squared away, he starts back to square one for an oldie but goodie: artificial tissue replication. Feels like so long ago that he'd even worked on anything other than extraterrestrial beings, but it'll be a good thing to work on, in case anyone on the ship's in dire need of skin grafts — he's already got a new theory when it comes to the Magical Sciences (which he's elected to name it, even if it doesn't exist where he's from) and he'd love to develop shortcuts to accelerated healing for anyone's post-surgical state.

This may very well be a stranger scene to walk into, but it's as follows:

New York Dolls quietly playing from an iPhone on 4%, a dish with a half inch by half inch square of what appears to be human tissue set off to the side, a shockingly tidy workspace where papers are properly stacked and tools are in their correct spaces, and a plate of carrots and celery that Newton is grumpily dipping into some hummus concoction and eating.

The papers he's scribbling on looks a lot like chicken scratch, but if you focus hard enough, you can pick out phrases like skin substitutes in the management of acute burn injury and cells are then encouraged to lay down matrix to produce the foundations of a tissue for transplantation and autograft and magic healing spells, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!.

Normal science stuff.]

IV. Remember What the Dormouse Said | Newt's Room → Communal Laundry Area

We've got to admit, we don't really understand the appeal.

[Newton sits in the middle of an endless expanse again, legs folded and elbows sinking into the soft flesh of his thighs. It's been easier to remember where he is in these dreams — back here again, sitting in the company of the creatures that are slowly invading his mind. He sighs tiredly, and glances up to the exact copy of him. Where he is slumped with his face in his hands, the other him is sitting eerily straight and neat, as if the beings that inhabit that body have no concept of how to naturally be human.

(Because they don't.)

Newt replies wearily:]

Of what?

Of being singular. Different minds, different goals, different beliefs.

[Newt glances up into his own eyes, which are hyper-aware and staring without blinking back at him. The pupil is so wide in other him's eyes, it's hard to see the hazy hazel corollas.]

Well, you're a bundled mess of sociopathic monstrosities, so...

We're just saying... If you were all like us, you wouldn't have had to worry about that. Not that it matters much; you'll be with us sooner than later. But imagine what sort of team the Ximilia could have been, if you were all of one mind. Different bodies, but a shared consciousness... Efficiency at its finest. You wouldn't have been left behind by your friend, because he would have been you, and you would have been him.

[Newton scoffs, disgusted. He hates how much more they've adopted right now, to sound like him. Mannerisms. Vernacular. It leaves something uncanny about the way they exist.]

... You guys didn't seem to have a problem abandoning kaiju on Earth when they failed.

[The precursors laugh, high and humored.]

Mmm. You've got the wrong idea, amigo. The kaiju are more like... detachable arms. They take part in our collective, but they're just as easy to remove for survival. Like... how lizards in your world can lose their tails to predators, in order to survive? The tail is no less important, but it isn't the brain or the heart. It isn't a necessity. It's expendable, in a very noble way.

Sounds fucked up, if you ask me.

That's what you are to them, Newt. That's what you are to Viveca and the faceless crew of this place. A tail. A detachable tail. We warned you, remember? We told you.

[Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, he grumbles:]

Can you stop looking like me? Just go back to looking like big creepy monsters again.

[Something flickers in their eyes. Judgement. He's always hated judgement; people loved to heap it on him growing up. Heap it on him after, if they felt as bold. After he got old enough to really defend himself, he was a snapping turtle, ready to take their fingers if they pointed at him with any kind of castigation. The precursors — other him — they look at him keenly, and he feels his hackles rise.]

Ah, yes... The man with monsters covering his skin thinks he can't be a monster, too. You've seen the way people look at you. You've dedicated your life's work to monsters, fawned over their innards, guilted your poor lab partner to drift in their hivemind with you, and yet you can't bear the thought of being one.

[He feels something crawling beneath the epidermis of his arms and chest. And as he looks down, he watches with growing panic as the kaiju there push out against his skin like creatures trapped in a net, writhing and gnashing their teeth, ripping through and growing and growing — ]

But look at you; if you're not a monster, why are they in your head?

Maybe you're the one who should be looking like us.

[And it's only when the largest tattoo on his chest rips free of his flesh that he screams —




Newton sits up sharply in his bed, blood pouring from his nostril before his hands can move up and cup around his nose. He's quivering as he looks himself over, eyes every tattoo on his skin with paranoia; the inked faces on his flesh don't move. There has to be some trophy won here, though, because he doesn't just leap out of bed and race out of the room like his sweat pants are on fire. He just sits there in the dark until breathing feels like it should again, remembering nothing once more — except for the distinct memory of Kaiju bursting from his body, which leaves him shuddering at the thought. He wipes his red hand off on his covers for a moment before he drags himself up out of bed, pops four aspirin and washes his face up.

Then he begrudgingly collects his pillowcase and bedsheet, stained with a rust-brown stain from months ago and a newly bled stain from tonnight, and he bundles them up, slipping on his tank top and using the quiet of later hours to sneak out of his sleeping quarters and into the common living area. His feet carry him quickly to the laundry area where clothes can be properly washed and he grabs the bleach, opens the washing machine —

And looks up owlishly when he hears footsteps, holding blankets that look like they belong to a crime scene against his chest.

After a long pause, he says — ]

Uuh. I started my period?

V. Wildcard | pɹɐɔplᴉM

[Got something for the remainder of October that isn't in the above prompts? Hit me up via PM or via plurk!]

Comments

IV. Laundry Area

[spacedisaster]

[ Back at the station, they have now time to rest, they have time to think. And there's nothing Peter hates more than being left alone with his thoughts. Without a mission to keep him occupied, they wander to his friends, left behind in his world. They drift to Gamora, who is now on her own and lost only gods know where. A Gamora, not the one that knew him, not the one that loved him.

He doesn't want to wake up his roommate because Parker needs all the rest he can get after the mission, and so Peter steps out of the room as quietly as he can. It's tricky not to disturb someone with super senses. The kitchen is what he's looking for, but being as unfamiliar with the station as he is, he ends in the laundry area instead. At this time of the night he expected it to find most rooms empty, but that too was the wrong assumption. Peter stares at Newt, at the bloody mess, and tries to process the words. It's probably a joke, but this is Newt, so he can't be sure. ]

Okay...?

[ Peter's hair is mussed from his failed attempt at sleeping, he's wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that ride low in his hips, and a simple form-fitting, navy t-shirt. Not to mention that he's barefoot. His ribs are still bruised, and his right arm is in a sling, recovering from a dislocated shoulder. He's not exactly looking like the picture of a put-together adult.

Sabriel offered to help, but his injuries aren't life-threatening, and he didn't even bring it up, opting to heal the old-fashioned way. Peter always gets better a little quicker than most humans, anyway, Celestial biology and all that. ]

Do you need help? That's a lot of blood.

[groupiedrifter]

[The short scientist doesn't look super great himself, but not from lack of healing; Sabriel's already been kind enough to fix a touch of internal bleeding and some seriously banged up ribs, anyway. But there's a sort of paleness to him, an exhaustion under his eyes, as if he's had a few unwieldy nights that just didn't pan out restfully upon their return to the station.

Newt rolls his eyes at the reply, but — yeah, fair, the poorly delivered joke could be genuine, this guy doesn't know Newton's life story. He shoves the tangled pile into the wash before any further examination can be done. Of course, he's also an idiot who clearly has a few spots of blood on his tank top that have now been properly revealed by his ditching of the pile. Cool.]

C'mon, I don't need help washing laundry. What am I, five? I'm a grown man! [A pause.] Sure, I've accidentally set a washer on fire before, but that wasn't all my fault.

What're you doing up, anyway? You look like shit, dude.

[Diversion in conversation is a-go.]

[spacedisaster]

[ Does anybody look even passably human at this late time of the night? Peter doesn't think so. Jim Kirk, maybe, but the man would look good in anything, any day and hour of the week. Once that the shock is over and he manages to give Newt a proper look, the familiar signs of exhaustion and lack of sleep are all too clear. It's strange, seeing Newt this quiet as opposed to his chipper usual self.

Those fresh blood spots in his tank top are also frankly worrying, and Peter finds himself crossing the distance between them even before it registers that his feet have started moving. He's also cupping Newt's cheek with his left hand to give his eyes and nose a better look. Apparently, Peter once again missed the memo on personal space. ]

I got my beauty sleep interrupted. [ Is the only explanation he gives, and he's aware that the joke is lame and probably falls flat. ] Did someone punch you again?

[ You can't distract him if there's BLOOD, you, fool. ]

Did you and Hermann have an argument? Because it looks like that cane of his could do a lot of damage to someone unsuspecting...

II

[morethan084]

[Daisy also spent the first few days not doing much at all besides trying not to move much. Her arms are a mess after using her powers to help keep the building upright.

Actually, her arms are the reason she's heading the lab. To speak with Newt, see if he's gotten anywhere with her gauntlets. She half expects for him to not be there, but then she hears music blasting and the sound of a cat dying. No. No that's just Newton singing.

Daisy stands at the entrance for a moment, her smile growing.]

Practicing for American Idol?

[groupiedrifter]

[fdkjflkjf — OH!

(There's really no better way to write that out, it explains it all.)

He turns around and reddens a little in the cheeks, but you know what? Nah, he's gonna own it, he knows very much that he's never been a hand-chosen singer from heaven with the voice of an angel, okay? The sounds of drowning alley cat vibrato here, front and center!]

American Idol? The show that'll never die? You know they didn't even hiatus when aliens invaded our planet the first time? The dedication to singing bad covers of old rock songs is that strong.

[He teases, he teases. Anyway!

He wanders over, simultaneously small and big in presence.]

... How is it every time I see you, I wanna push you back into an infirmary?

[morethan084]

I wouldn't be surprised if they just started bringing on aliens as contestants.

[Smiling at his joke, Daisy moves to lean against one of the tables. Lifting her braced arms to look at them before rolling her eyes at his concern. Even still, it's sweet.]

You get used to it.

[Her being injured that is. If she goes a week without needing stitches or bruises, it's a slow week.]

I actually came in here to see how you were doing.

[Talking about her gauntlets could wait.]

III

[laviny]

[Yelena enters the lab mostly out of curiosity. Since getting back to the station she’s been looking for ways to distract herself from the fact that Natasha is gone, and checking out the lab is another way to do that.

The scene she walks in on is vaguely creepy, with the quiet music, human tissue and Newt muttering to himself. She glances at his phone and speaks.]

You know, your phone is about to die.

[groupiedrifter]

[He leans back to look at the phone nearby, and then makes a 'psht!' noise.]

4%? C'mon, 4% can go a long way!

I bet this old thing can go another full thirty minutes, easy.

[He turns toward her fully after his inspection, though, looking a little more friendly than the initial atmosphere permitted. As it turns out, labs are just not the most friendly areas ever; it's why Newt tends to spice it up with action figures and dumb doodles and music. He'll get it looking fun sooner or later!]

Hey! You're Miss American Pie, right?

III

[arc_reactor]

( Tony feels a bit like he's playing catch-up, taking in all the places he hadn't had a chance to visit while he was mostly bed-bound and recovering from, well, severe burns in need of skin grafts.

The lab actually isn't one of those unseen places. It's known and familiar in a way that's a bit more comfortable than the rest of the station, and he gravitates easily toward Newt, interested. )

Working hard, or hardly working?

( Across the room he spies what must have been Shuri's workstation, littered with various weapons in various states of completion. He'll need to tidy that up, to the tune of variously unsettled feelings– first Natasha, then Steve, now Shuri, who else will they lose next? –and start setting up his own projects. In the meantime, he'll lean aside to study that tissue sample, not at all disturbed by its presence. Totally normal science stuff, yep. )

[groupiedrifter]

[Right! Skin grafts! Sometimes we all just need a little grafting! Newt slides over the top paper, letting Tony run his eyes over notes that are clearly in relation to developing a regenerative tissue system for skin transplants. Tony's a smart lad, he'll get some of Mr. Fellow MIT's chicken scratch.]

Little bit of both!

Will you please eat the rest of these carrots, so I don't eat anymore?

I'm already horrified I've resorted to this, honestly.

1!!!

[callada]

[Mere hours since he got cleaned up, patched up, and changed, Rosinante finds himself right back in trouble.

There's no time to react to prevent something so utterly unexpected, and when Newt's fist hits its target he reacts with a completely undignified squawk of pain and loses his balance completely, hitting the floor in a heap. He scoots back with one hand held out for mercy and the other between his legs, and when he sees it was Newt who was responsible, his budding anger and shock tempers a little.

Yeah, okay, he's still pissed, but also he knows he deserved it. He doesn't even try to get up just yet.]

... Hey. Um. [Some greeting, huh? His brain isn't exactly doing its best with words right now, though.]

You really pack a punch, huh.

[groupiedrifter]

[Newton stands there stewing properly, his fists shaking a little at his sides with indignation. He was ready for this goddamn moment to speak his mind, and regardless of where it leads him, and he breathes in before he says scathingly:]

Fuck you, dude. You ditched me.

I could have died there, and you just walked away!

You looked right at me and you listened to be call for you, and you walked away!

ii.

[firstroar]

[it might be on a repeat playing of that song when Newton's visited by a ghost. something of a ghost, anyway, but not an unfamiliar one. this might become a repeat haunting, should Blue not be able to manage physical mobility much more.

fortunate that of all the people on this vessel, Newt is one who would welcome it. perhaps Blue ought to announce himself in some way, to remark that he's glad the peculiar man was safe - more than safe, obviously: he's downright industrious in this moment! it's like watching a little mini factory of abstract ideas all getting sorted and siphoned into something outwardly efficient, even when the muda was still swirling about in odd swirls and melodies.

the Mu opts to not interrupt, and instead just..."sit"? mimic it, anyway. sitting somewhere in Newt's peripheral - something to be acknowledged in an organic lapse of focus or changing of gears. after all, he may be glowing? but that glow isn't one that leaves reflections on metallic surfaces - just the surfaces of one's own capacity to recognize it's there.

honestly, the gentlest way to make his presence known is simply to convey a subtle sense of presence, and that will only work when Newt's half-a mind to sense it.

until then, Blue observes. listens. wonders. tries to reconcile the ingenuity at play with...the fact that not all robotics are destined to be an evil to society...

(that part's a little hard)]

[groupiedrifter]

[Newton is really really into his song, bro. He might as well be wearing headphones with his eyes closed, for all the notice he's given to the floaty specter in his lab. It's when he whirls in a circle where he stands, some kind of fast dance move that he performs with the sweeping energy of a man who has done it hundreds of times before —

And then he startles backwards with an AAH!, one hand on the edge of the table, the other over his heart.]

Holy shit, Blue!

You snuck up on me!

[... It appears that if a serial killer were to be released on board, Newton would die in the first five minutes, even if the killer was practically standing next to him for the initial four minutes and thirty seconds prior to his demise.]

IV

[hatejakku]

[ Finn was having a perfectly lovely evening. Sort of. Actually, he was just wandering around the station. Falling asleep is kind of weird these days, and he feels like he's stuffed with more pent up energy than he had been during the mission.

It's this whole seeing again thing. It's been crazy.

Finn's been padding around the dark, quiet station, observing it all in a different lightning, feeling like its a totally new perspective. Never mind that he's seen the place like this before many times, but he didn't take a moment to enjoy it. And besides, maybe it's the experience of not seeing or something about the Force, but he can navigate through the dark a whole lot better now.

So, yeah, he's got no better excuse. Finn's been walking around barefoot in sweat pants and a baggy shirt, taking in the... scenery? But anyway, he makes a beeline to wherever he's hearing noise come from and stops dead in the doorway.

That's-

Hm.

Instead of responding, Finn quickly shuffles forward and looks Newt up and down. Look, he's not here to judge or make assumptions about gender or whatever, but he knows Newton's smart-mouth and he definitely knows what this scene looks like. IE, someone handling something on their own to prevent worrying their friends. Finn's familiar with the concept. ]

You're not hurt? You promise?

[ Would you LIE to him, Newton? Look at this face. ]

[groupiedrifter]

[Newton looks at that face, and honestly, it's not like he's a great liar...

... but he's gonna damn well try anyway.

And also instantly become defensive in the process.]

Do I look hurt, Finn? C'mon, man, Sabriel already cleared me. I'm the pinnacle of good health. [He shoves the sheets away into the washer. Now that Finn blissfully has his sight back, he can see the few blood drops on Newton's sleeping shirt, round and still rather bright on the fabric, just before Newton drags the shirt off and throws it in, too, as he looks for the bleach. The tattoos are bright and bold under fluorescent lighting and when his back is to the man, the tattoo of So-Yeon floats in a sea of freckles.] What're you doing up right now, anyway? Kinda lonely to be wandering around when everyone else is asleep, unless you needed a walk to clear your head?

iv

[winscenario]

[ It's too bad for Newt that the laundry area is a public place, which means just anyone can walk in with little to no warning. This time that just so happens to be Jim, coming in to grab the clothes he left to wash and dry a couple hours ago, smiling at first when he recognizes the guy struggling with some sheets.

Strange hour to be taking care of bedding, he thinks, but before he can say it out loud, he comes closer and realizes why Newt's doing it in the dead of night. Well, of the night cycle, whatever.

The smile fades quickly, replaced with a concerned frown as he grabs for the sheets. ]

What happened? And don't give me shit, Newton. [ OR ELSE. ]

[groupiedrifter]

[Newt feels a warm spike of indignation as he jerks the blankets back and away before Kirk can grab the sheets; some part of it is him. Some part of it is not him. Either way, his face goes hot, and he huffs defensively:]

Dude, back up!

I was healed from the last mission, okay? This isn't me dramatically bleeding to death from something; I just got a nosebleed in the middle of the night. You've never had some irritated capillaries in your nose before?

Jeez, I get people are tense from the last mission, but it's fine.

IV

[coordination]

[ It must be a night for bad vibes, because rather than just spending a late night up reading with some tea, Yzak is going for a walk through the station himself. He looks perfectly awake, but in that "definitely was just sleeping and isn't very happy to be" way. By now the couple of discolored marks on his face from some scuffling with SOMEONE (Athrun) during the heist are pretty much gone, too. But even those weren't too bad to begin with.

He catches Newt slink by on the way back to his room, and while he'd usually ignore it, the sneakiness seems the tiniest bit suspect. Enough to be curious about it - and what he has bundled in his arms.

So he changes course to take a peek into the laundry room, and when Newt notices him and speaks, he just replies. ]

Newton, what the fuck is all this?

[ Because obviously the excuse is bullshit. And uh, blood is pretty much always concerning. ]

[groupiedrifter]

[He sighs, rolling his eyes to the heavens. What did he do to deserve this fate? Ugh, he just wanted to get rid of some evidence in peace. Can anyone ever do anything in peace around here? He's gonna just burn his blankets in a bucket next time. Totally a normal alternative.]

They're blankets, Yzak.

You use them to sleep on because they're soft and help trap body heat when it's cold.

[You get the Smartass Reply, because you're a salty little man.]

iii

[attackbrows]

[Twenty-seven brains. Twenty-seven brains and not a singular synapse can satiate the sheer boredom the Doctor is trying to endure. The whiteboard behind him is filled to the brim with various equations, notated by a language that is clearly not from Earth. He tried tinkering with various bits and bobs of machinery. He’s quite good at that. Very good, in fact. His younger self usually goes for the unruly contraptions; all created out of broomsticks, candy wrappers, and hyper-positronic circuitry. It all has to be like some elaborate Rube Goldberg doohickey or else he isn’t trying hard enough. The Doctor (this version. with his feet kicked up on top of the workstation) opts for a little sophistication in his designs.

Dimensional Studies is where it’s at, baby. This pièce de résistance sitting on top of the workstation can best be described as: So I watched Ghostbusters last night and I have some thoughts. A device he’s crafted before when he was but a simple caretaker trying to lure in an alien hell-bent on destroying every single living thing on Earth. Y'know? Typical things you do on a Thursday.

But that’s all done now. He’s bored again.

The Doctor has moved on to a new project: paper airplanes. It’s been a while since the Doctor has made one. He’s a little rusty, but he thinks he’s got the right aerodynamics set-up for this bad boy. Now to test it by beaming it straight at Newton’s simplistic, bug-eyed human face.]

1/2

[groupiedrifter]

[The offense that Newton feels in this moment!!! Immeasurable!!! Don't you use his own tactics against him, you old bastard! He hasn't even bothered you about the doo-hickey you're making right now, Doc! That has to count for something, when it comes to what people expect of Newton Geiszler.

But now you've gone and done it.

The airplane hits him in the forehead, and upon this sudden attack, he does what only seems logical.]

[groupiedrifter]

HYAH!!!

[He throws a baby carrot at the Doctor's stupid scowly alien face.]

iv.

[petsthedog]

[The ironic thing about Newt's reaction is that Shinjiro wouldn't have questioned him about the blankets, honestly. Even as someone who certainly is not immune to fussing, he is very empathetic to not wanting people in your goddamn business for every little thing. Newt appears to be more or less fine, which means whatever's going on with his blankets are really none of his business.

Still. He quirks a brow at the excuse.]

You're a shit liar.

[Stated blandly, without judgment despite the words. But instead of pressing the matter, he simply adds:]

Helps with the stains if you soak 'em in cold water overnight first.

[groupiedrifter]

[Newt, of course, scoffs in response.]

You're a shit conversationalist, so we're even. [... Still. Glancing from Shinjiro to the sheets in his hands, he purses his lips, thoughtful.] I knew that. C'mon, I'm a scientist with six PhD's.

[He didn't consider that even remotely, though. Into the washer these go!]

Kind of concerning to start with that, though. You're not secretly a full-on serial killer, are you? Because that'd make running into you in a laundry room super awkward; this is a prime place to get murdered by a space-faring serial killer.