Newt Geiszler | Pacific Rim (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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ximilialog2021-10-17 01:27 am
groupiedrifter) wrote in ximilialog2021-10-17 01:27 am
[OPEN] who doesn't like neon trees?
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:
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!]
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:
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!]
no subject
Blue looks at him with a shade of concern as he puzzles over this man. while he's still trying to figure it out, he can at least offer some little assurance:] I...understand what you are saying. [he just doesn't understand wholly why he'd care that much to say so, or if it's just a natural sort of thing he'd say to anyone in such a conversation.]
And...I will mind myself. You don't have to worry about that sort of thing, Newt.
no subject
Oh, dude, I worry all the time. People don't always understand, but for someone like me, I can get kind of obsessive about literally anything — that definitely includes worrying. You get one thought going, and then that thought kind of gets a life of its own.
[Like how thinking about how your mother abandoned you somehow leads to you thinking maybe everyone else wants to get rid of you, too. Like how one person saying you talk too much evolves into nobody cares what you say. Like how being behind in a deadline is I'm dooming the entire world because I can't finish this fucking kaiju biopsy. It's an illogical, preposterous mystery of a complex overtaxed brain that has trouble finding leisure in its thoughts.]
Point is, I'm gonna worry anyway, so let me have the honors of worrying about you, too!
It's a habit I'm developing for everyone on this ship.
no subject
And...will you know to avoid...getting overwhelmed, yourself?
no subject
no subject
I've got all kinds of people here who'll keep me in check, too, right?
no subject
anyway, with a gentle nod:] I understand. You have...a lot of connections here, don't you.
no subject
... Yeah, I guess I do. I'm not super used to that, honestly.
I mean! It's not that I didn't have a team and stuff back home! It's just... we didn't really work together a whole lot. And I guess more people here seem to tolerate me than back home, so that's pretty awesome.
no subject
no subject
Shifting a little where he stands, he admits:]
In some ways, yeah.
It feels like everyone likes me here more than they did in my world. They put up with me more. Or they get me more. I don't know which yet, honestly, but... it's kinda nice either way.
[He's always an emotional sort of guy, always too invested in his sciences, always prone to outbursts or anger. He says the wrong things a lot, or his appearance is off-putting to his science colleagues, or people get pissed that he speaks his mind. He's loud, and he's self-conscious about his vocal fry, and he knows he's overly-passionate sometimes when people would really rather he not.
Anyway. People seem to still want to be around him here.
... He thinks.
He's not sure.
(Maybe they just hang around you because they don't have as many options.)]
no subject
Would it help if I could tell you? If I looked and saw those feelings for you. [it'd be no more sneaky than overhearing conversation...right?
...maybe Blue's sense of privacy is a little skewed when he's less afraid of being killed for sensing things.]
no subject
Honestly, yeah, and for a moment he considers ignoring the little Jiminy Cricket voice in his head that says that's a horrible idea. But... dammit. With a sigh, he shakes his head.]
Y'know, that'd be awesome, but — man, Blue, you can't do that.
It's, like... It's important that people have privacy to their feelings, you know? If people feeling safe in their thoughts about me means I'm self-conscious and worried about what's in their heads, that's just how it's gotta be. Humans have to have that space to keep their thoughts to themselves.
no subject
[Blue doesn't understand, and it shows. even as just a projection of himself, the confusion is strong enough to play on the expression he conveys.]
Knowing your thoughts...doesn't...rob you of your safety, Newt. Or theirs their own...Why...would it?
[why do humans hate to know each other's hearts? even without a machine telling them to avoid it...]
no subject
Well, it's just... people want to feel safe in their own bodies, you know? If they feel like someone can just pop in without their knowing, they won't feel safe in it anymore. And if you can't feel safe in your own skin, how're you gonna feel safe anywhere? You get what I mean?
Not just that, but there are people on the ship who could've had their heads messed with by bad people. It doesn't make you bad, but just imagine how it'd feel for them, if they knew I learned their thoughts or feelings without them offering it. It'd feel invasive and scary, maybe a trigger for old memories.
Does that... make sense?
[He scratches at his hairline, sighing.]
Man, I don't know if I'm explaining any of this right. Sorry, dude.
no subject
Blue looks conflicted. his entire childhood is gone thanks to 'invasive and scary' machinery, but that's just it - machinery. not a person with a conscience.
but this is...what people fear, right? of him and his kind. and as empathetic as he is, he cannot shake away how the hundreds of years holding fast to his own has sculpted him and nurtured his own nature to be connected by the heart and mind. the very idea of being isolated and absent from anyone is what scares him, almost a direct inverse of what Newt suggests could be the same for others.
and it hurts...not understanding. not being understood. or rather, understanding and knowing there's a divide that can't be crossed.]
I cannot know I am wrong...if I am not shown...I am wrong.
I really...can't ask for Mu things...from humans. Even when...I must do as humans do to be safe.
[so that others are safe. and alone? alone in their own heads.
no wonder there's so much suffering; his own loneliness here is like a millstone laid upon his chest, slowly pressing and crushing. but to never be nothing but alone in one's own head is...a lot.]
no subject
Like...!
[Okay, he can't sit still. He hops up to sit on the lab counter instead, and as he gestures, his face brightens a little.]
Like if there's an alien race that says hello punching each other on the arms. That's not wrong in their culture, but for other cultures, that might be a sign of disrespect, right? So it's not that they're needing to be taught they're wrong and bad for having that way of greeting, it's just being wary of people who don't perform that greeting on their planet. Boundaries!
How you work, it's not anything to be ashamed of or anything. It's just knowing that it's important to know how other people work, too.
[He's trying really hard, bro. ;;
... Clearing his throat, he glances away.]
Uuuuh. And maybe, honestly, I'm kind of bad at it, too. I mean, I can relate to... not exactly respecting how other people work. It's not just a Mu thing. It's definitely something humans struggle with a lot, too. Like, a lot.
no subject
he supposes Newt just wants him to be silent.
his eyes close.]
I won't convey the things I sense, then. Regarding you.
no subject
Just from other people. Other people's thoughts about me. That can be left unsaid.
[He shrugs, offers a small smile.]
But hey, I don't mind if you do a lookie-loo in my head. I kinda think that's really neat, you know? Helps me not be as big of a liar about my feelings or thoughts or whatever you're sensing... If you're worried about what I think about you, or anything like that!
'Cus I don't think there's anything wrong with you. Seriously.
[His mind catches a thought by the tail and drags it along, presents it straight from his brain, no filter:]
... Honestly, I think humans are probably way underdeveloped compared to you. We're just not ready for that kind of openness and ability to read one another. Big ol' ape brains! We run off pretty antiquated systems!
no subject
his head tilts a little at the suggestion.]
Neither was I, but...does readiness really matter? When it comes to change.
no subject
[He cocks his head to the side, eyebrows raised.]
Sounds like you just shoved into something, yourself. Something totally unfair.
no subject
he just shoved into something...himself? what, his own genes?]
What do you mean, Newt?
no subject
[He imagines it's been a lot for Blue to process, anyway.]
no subject
I suppose, but...we all were, weren't we. I can't really...blame you or anyone else for...being the way you are.
No more than you could blame me for the way I am.
[he pauses, pondering, giving Newt a more thoughtful look.]
No... From the moment I found myself here...People have reached out their hands to help me, not hurt. Even if...I'm not used to it...I'd like to be.
no subject
Dude, that's so sweet. If you weren't non corporeal right now, I'd totally hug you.
[Maybe that's a relief to Blue. But he gives very good hugs, he swears.]
Let's just keep helping each other, then! Try our best to understand each other and be there when we can; all that mushy stuff. I'll totally help you out any time you need it!
no subject
And I you, if I can. Yes. And I will...try not to frighten you as I did. Next time.