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)
ximilialog2021-10-17 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
Yeah, yeah. I'll get some new bedding, mom.
[He rubs at the throbbing, quiet ache in his temples. Go away, he thinks. Stop bothering me. Leave me alone. Is that for Yzak, or the migraine? He's not even sure. But he also knows he's being a dick. Totally, 100% being an asshole. It's a good thing Yzak knows how to be one back.]
no subject
(sorry buddy you bullied Yzak into friendship, now you're stuck with this)
He does look like he wants to say something about the mom comment, but, christ, he thinks when he looks at Newton after that. The way he's sulking almost makes that comment true. And truth be told, he doesn't like seeing anybody he enjoys being around fussed. Especially when that's not how they usually are. ]
Anyway, are you actually looking to get back to sleep? I've got something I picked up on Braccia that could help. Even though supply is limited.
no subject
And of course, he kind of feels bad now for snapping at him so harshly.
Even if Yzak's a pain in his ass. See? You give and you get.]
... You, uh. You don't have to use any of your supplies on me.
[He rubs his arm like a nervous habit, looking kind of. Unwell. Now that he's in the light of the more well-lit hallways, eyes sunken and purplish under the flashy lenses of his glasses. With all the fight drained out of him, he just looks. Uh. Well. Drained.
They're hard at work on his brain.
He glances away.]
I could probably just get up and do some stuff around the lab.
no subject
[ Under the brighter lights, he catches a glance at Newton and-
He frowns.
Wow, he thinks, he really does look dreadfully like shit. And honestly, it takes nearly all of Yzak's will-power to hold his tongue on that. Newt's tired, denyingly defensive and skittish about his own issues even though it's clear they're there. And Yzak ... Yzak's not only just ornery in general when people reject his perfectly good will and concern (certain! Gundam protagonists! back home! terrible!) but he's not exactly thrilled to be awake right now either.
And yet, ]
But Sabriel and I picked up a bunch of things in Braccia. Including a bunch a different teas, but some of them were enchanted slightly to do things like actually put you to sleep - and weird shit like make you speak in song, but obviously I had no interest in something like that one. [ He can't even sing. ]
The actual serving set I borrowed for a couple of nights from her is enchanted, too. And it's ... actually pretty interesting to use.
no subject
... That'd be nice, actually.
The sleep one, not the song one. [... Then, a bit more like his usual self, he says with a gleam in his eye:] I'd probably enjoy the song one, too. But sleep is probably a little more important to focus on.
Hermann's getting me way too invested in tea these days, anyway.
no subject
*lmao sure ]
And Hermann clearly has good taste, so you should be grateful for that. [ Only the highest compliments for his other science dad. ]
Not to mention, in my experience when someone doesn't like tea, it's because it hasn't been prepared properly. That can completely ruin it...!
no subject
Me neither. But like that's gonna stop me.
[Is anyone surprised, really? He'll wear his flaws loudly and pretend those flaws don't dig under his skin. He seems to relax considerably.]
... You should probably drink some, too.
We could all use a little rest after that last mission.
no subject
I mean, I did almost drown, but compared to some other shit I've been through, that's really nothing.
So, come on.
[ He wasn't really planning on having company, but it's not like Yzak's room isn't clean, so he doesn't have any problem with it. ]
no subject
Honestly, that's happened plenty before anyway!
[Newton, you don't need to say that so proudly, dude.]
... Shit, though. Seriously? You almost drowned?
no subject
[ GOD, Newton!
Anyway, Yzak's room is pretty chill and clean and sure enough there's a cute little teaset on a shelf that he's going for, as well as a blend called SleepTEAtime sitting along a few others he had grabbed down there (AnxieTEA Blend, No More NighTEAmearesm TEAlaxation, the Braccia tea-seller liked their puns) and some general, non-bespelled normal blends. ]
And yes. Plenty of the rooms up in that building were traps - one entire one dedicated to watertight seals and a very aggressive pump system. But thanks to Hermann manning the control panels and my newly-acquired magical proficiency, as if something like that could take me down.
no subject
[Oh, yes, remind him of that embarrassing time Newton Geiszler got the jump on him. Whatever, man, he's proud of it! Now that he's not, like, freaked out. He grins at the mention of Hermann, though, like someone who just heard their kid won the spelling bee. It's a better look than the skittish, nervous guy who had been trying to shove bloody sheets in a washer earlier.]
... Good ol' Hermann Gottlieb; the dude's as reliable as they come. [He wanders into the room like he lives there, moving to pick up one of the packs of tea and snickering at the names.] I'm glad you're not sleeping with the fishes, dude. I'd much more prefer drinking tea and having sleepovers with you.
[He looks like he fuckin' needs that sleep.]
no subject
Hermann was invaluable to the success of the mission. That, and I don't intend to sleep with the fishes anytime soon - it would be an embarrassment for me to fall in a situation like that!
[ For all that Yzak could talk about his reason for being alive today and his baggage about that, he does actually enjoying it and intends to stay alive.
When he grabs the teapot and sets it up with the SleepTEAtime blend, it starts to ... heat up itself? No sort of stove or heatsource needed. ]
no subject
[He's joking of course, and honestly, it's nice to be able to joke about it now. It was a pretty grim situation at the time, y'know? Getting kicked around was kind of miserable.
... Newton's eyebrows raise at the teapot that appears to start steaming.]
Speaking of Ti'shaaz... [Don't mind him as he flops backward to lay on your bed, buddy.] Turning into a wizard now, or what?
no subject
And at least someone is getting a laugh out of it. Yzak isn't. Even if he knows full well he's being ribbed and allowing it to happen. His own way of being a good sport. ]
No. That's not me at all. The pot is enchanted to perfectly heat up whatever blend it steeping. Different temperatures and brewing times make all the difference - like I said before, bad preparation like that can ruin it!
The cups stir on their own, too. So whatever you put in it doesn't settle at the bottom. If you put anything in your tea at all.
no subject
[It's cool! Magic, super sci-fi tech, all of that! Super cool!]
... Honestly, I didn't like tea at all until recently.
Hermann's big dumb palate is ruining me!
no subject
Once you find a blend or two you like, it's easier to find others similar to it. Black teas, greens, florals...
[ Once the tea is properly heated to the ~perfect temperature~, Yzak moves to pour it. ]
How long have you two known each other, anyway?
no subject
[Never forget, he is a petulant five-year-old when he wants to be.
At the question, he glances over, one arm laid over his forehead.]
How long? Really long, I guess. Or, uh. Long for friends?
We started out as pen pals in... uhhh. 2013? And then we met in person in 2017 and totally hated each other. Then we ended up at the same lab in 2020. [He seems to be stringing up a timeline in his head, don't mind him.] So I guess including time aboard the station — thirteen years, now?
On and off.
He was such a pain in the asscheek.
no subject
I can't even question something like that, knowing both of your personalities well enough. [ That, and it's familiar. He couldn't stand Athrun when he met him (and arguably still can't half the time when he's interacting with him (but also he's one of his bros and he would die for him)), and he felt absolutely cursed when he first met Dearka as his roommate at the academy. ] But twelve is pretty impressive.
[ He holds one of the teacups out to Newton. ]
Pen pals, though? Really?
no subject
Well, yeah. He was the smartest person I'd seen in forever. I was jumping at the chance to hear more of his thoughts on — just about everything. The kaiju, the projects going on, the engineering programs or the Jaeger program...
Eventually, we just kinda became friends. I still have his box of letters tucked away in my room back on base.
[Like a smitten schoolgirl.
It's totally normal.]
no subject
You sound like a smitten schoolgirl.
I imagine Hermann's own box would be a bit bigger. Given your penchant to go off on tangents.
no subject
I do not. I just appreciate an equally genius brain! Those are harder to come by than you'd think!
[Still flat on his back, he folds his arms, as if that adds anything to his rebuttal. It doesn't.
But anyway.]
... I did like to write a lot. I even bought some pretty awesome stationary paper for it. I kinda miss writing letters, you know? It was almost. Therapeutic. Or something.
no subject
I've never really had a pen pal or written letters like that, though. Our technology doesn't really make it much of a go-to option. So I'll take your word on its merits.
no subject
[He snorts, tucking his hands behind his head.]
Maybe you should make yourself a pen pal on the ship. Sure, it's not very long distance, but it's kind of nice to talk to someone through paper. It definitely got me through some rough times back then. Don't tell Herm I said that, though; he doesn't need that one-up on me.
[He clears his throat, sitting up to drink from that tea cup.]
Or, y'know. You could always go the whole 'diary' route if that's easier.
I sucked at diaries, though. I'm the kinda guy who definitely needs an audience.
[... Mostly because he'd feel intimately lonely.]
no subject
[ NO THANK YOU!! He hates it! ]
Is there really that much of a difference between paper letters and just using these? [ He taps his earpiece. ]
no subject
[Ahhhh, this tea is heavenly. Goddamn you, Hermann, you made him a secret tea fanatic.]
But hey, I won't twist your arm. Even if you're probably bursting at the seems with stress you need to get out in some healthy kinda way like writing.
[:)]
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