groupiedrifter | Inbox for ximilia.

[Anyway! He shimmies his little tuckus across the couch, still clutching the bottle in his hands. What's the big deal? They totally practically cuddled at the foot of his bed watching Titanic while Hermann ate tofu-based chinese in a frumpy sweater-vest. There's nothing gayer than that sentence. So. Chill, Newton.

(But Herm's drunk and you're tipsy, Newton, and he's throwing signals that probably aren't signals, also he's looking cute, which is terrible, really, just fucking tragic, because it was much easier to play the usual part when Hermann looked like a librarian that got hit with a shrink ray that didn't actually shrink their clothes-)

He snort-huffs. His face is red from the high-end liquor tonight, is all.]

A salamander! C'mon, that's not even original!

[UGH, fuck it, fuck it! He slumps down more comfortably into the cushions, relaxing his shoulders even as he feels Hermann's arm inadvertently touch them along the backside of the seat. They bump a knee a-piece. Why is he letting nerves get him all worked up, anyway? If this is the only time in history Hermann drinks to the point of vibing and having fun, he's not about to miss out on it! Suck it, weird shyness! Get bent!

He says, more playfully:]

Gotta admit, though, I don't know if I've ever seen you relax this much.

Nobody spiked your wine with happy pills, did they?

No! [Hic.] I checked. I always check.

[A little of his own anxiety creeps up, but that comes with the territory Hermann has landed himself on.]

But Mr. Becket said something awfully insightful earlier this evening. I — Well, rather, we should have an excuse to be kind to ourselves.

[This time, when he looks at Newton, there is an ounce of sobriety in his eyes.]

…We never celebrated Operation Pitfall. We were cramped up inside a tiny lab all those years, bickering and yelling like a couple of caged animals and what’d we do? Fall face-first into the next sleuth of problems.

[He takes another sip.]

So this is my way of saying, sod it! You deserve something a little nice, Doctor Gottlieb.

Edited (fuckin what is wording dawg ) 2021-09-28 04:03 (UTC)

[His expression falls a little, at the mention of Operation Pitfall. They weren't really able to do much of anything, huh? They practically returned, cheered, and then came down from that high to the realization that they'd nearly lost all their Jaeger pilots — the marshal. Even after years of losing people to things like radiation and kaiju destruction and being ripped right out of jaegers, there's this horrible rock bottom where they lose their best and brightest in a trip to fucking Hong Kong. Chuck was just a kid — hell, the Wei Tang brothers weren't out of their twenties! — and the Russians were nice to him when a lot of people struggled to be, and he loved Stacker Pentecost like they all loved him and looked up to him.

The overbearing relief that came from Raleigh and Mako getting out was palpable. Hilariously, he hadn't even felt relief at first for the saving of all of mankind at first. His knee-jerk thought was, ohthankgod, Mako's okay, because Mako's one of their best. Then the reality and gravity of what had happened hit him like a bag of hammers to the face, and he'd ended up dragging Hermann into a stunned embrace like he was stuck in some crazy-awesome dream and had to enjoy it while he could.

... Ha.]

Right. Man, I've been telling you we deserve nice things for years, but I'm glad you finally got with the times. [He grins, giving Hermann a little punch to the shoulder.] You deserve something a little nice, Doctor Gottlieb. Here's to Rrraleigh Becket not exploding on another planet! And to the saving of the world! And to us being science rockstars who totally carried the science department on our backs! The physical therapy our spines need'll never be enough.

[He holds up the bottle like it's a glass, as you'd expect.]

... And obviously, here's to us arguing at least three times a day every day, like a healthy serving of fruits and vegetables.

[His front teeth clamp against his bottom lip. Hermann rarely laughs or even lets out a tiny giggle. But when you combine a copious amount of beverages and with Newton play punching him on the arm, Hermann suddenly becomes a giddy little thing.]

Mm, yes, yes!

[He throws an arm around Newt’s shoulder and raises his own glass.]

To our countless hours of squabbling and pulling off with the impossible, with only a budget of a cracker and a dirty dishrag.

[Newt doesn't need to be all that drunk to bark a laugh or two, slapping his hand on his knee and leaning back as he goes. There's a secure weight around his shoulders, and a bottle of good pinot-whatever, and Hermann looks happy. This is what they should've gotten to do after the end of the world got cancelled. They should've been able to cry about their teammates and laugh about their victory and get so smashed that they can barely think the next morning!

He grins over at Hermann, feeling confident. So fucking confident and sure.]

And if this whole regret-repair thing works, out, we'll have even more to celebrate; less causalities, more time to be happy in a kaiju-free world, dude! Fuck, just imagine the things we can still make better; we'll be big damn heroes, and people won't even believe us, but we'll know!

[He takes another big swig.

(Wait, maybe he's more tipsy than he thought.)

He drags his sleeve across his mouth again, beaming at Hermann.]

And then we'll go visit my dad's place in Germany! Vacation! And I bet we won't have to ration stuff anymore, so we can start buying all the stupidly expensive chocolate we want!

That sounds absolutely lovely, Newt.

[Letting go of his grip on Newton’s shoulder, Hermann shimmies back to his little corner.

There is plenty to be worried about, so much so that you need an entire chart to map out where things can go south. If Lars were here, Hermann would catch an earful on how this is “unbecoming behaviour”. With an elbow propped up on the arm of the sofa, he leans his head against his hand.

I'm in outer space and you're not, father. So...Ha!

Hermann hums happily to himself as he licks his lips.]

All the chocolate and noodles we want… [A beat.] I can actually read for pleasure for once in my bloody life.

And I can have a band again! And go crowd-surfing!

[Ah, yes, there's that strange juxtaposition between the two of them.

But then, he considers carefully — ]

My uncle would love to actually go out and enjoy some fishing again, too. And if you don't like fishing, you could always read while we fish. We'll get a boat with lots of space, not just one of those two-man fishing boats! Point is, you would love Uncle Illia's brain. You know a little about him from the letters back then and all, but — yeah, you could talk to him for hours and it just feel like minutes, sometimes. And, y'know. I wouldn't be anything like the person I am without him.

[His smile fades a little, into something more wistful. He runs his thumb along the rounded glass near the neck of the bottle.]

Man, I miss seeing him. Like... in person. He gives these big, warm hugs, y'know? Like you're hugging a bear. I mean, I think you do actually know, if you remember...

[The drifting. The little glimpses, anyway. Newt certainly remembers the sense of isolation and unhappiness in the glimpses he's seen of Hermann's childhood; Newton's had it's share of the occasional bully, and teachers sending him to detention, and getting grounded (rebellious from the get-go, as one anticipates)... but he always got hugs. And he always got told he was loved. No matter what. He learned it was important to say how you felt, because everything's temporary.

That was important.

He feels a little knot in his throat, practically hearing his father say all those things. Newton, you're doing amazing things for the PPDC. Don't forget I love you and your big brain. Newton, you're just tired; it'll be better in the morning, you'll see. You know we love you. Newton! If we all survive to the end of 2025, invite Hermann for Christmas! Love you!]

I'm gonna text him, first thing back. He'll be so pumped.

[Ah-ha, yes. There goes chatty drunk Newton again, going at a thousand words per minute. As Hermann follows along, he takes a moment to scratch under his chin and polish off the rest of his drink.

The mere mention of a hug made him recall those small snippets he can gather with Newton and his father. A very wholesome and genuine relationship between a parent and their child. Part of him is almost envious that Newton has that in his life. Hermann can recall all those times he was teased at the Jaeger Academy for not being “cuddled enough” and maybe that was true. Besides, no one wants a cuddle from this bag of bones and skin. He made peace with that fact a long time ago.]

Mm-hm…You’ll be plenty occupied.

[Sinking further into the sofa, feeling the warmth of the booze spread across his belly, he takes in a relaxed breath.]

I’ll be sure to follow along — [He pops off the button of his shirt collar.] when I can. In the meantime, while we’re still stuck out [Swirling his empty glass mid-air.] here, I’d like to try something a little different.

Edited 2021-09-30 04:39 (UTC)

[Something a little different? Something a little different! His mind snares on that bit, as he stares for a long moment, eyes flicking up and down at the way Hermann sinks into the couch. Something different????? He holds the wine bottle to his chest a little more, torn between clumsily refilling the man's glass (don't, he thinks, you'll end up looking uncool, you are definitely drunker than you thought) and ogling uselessly.

Something a little different! His gaze twitches back to the popped button on Hermann's shirt. It reminds him of the time the cooler had busted in the lab and the man had so scandalously removed his awfully frumpy sweater vest and undid two entire buttons. Newton had such a hard time focusing, he instated an argument so Hermann would keep his back turned and Newt didn't have to see his clavicle. Like he was a fucking 1600's Puritan afraid of the sinful touch of ye ol' Satan himself. All hail Black Phillip!

(The hypocrisy of him working that day in his sleezy tank top was not lost on him.)

He thinks of text messages he still looks at on his cellphone. Newton, keep up the good work! Love always from Uncle Illia. It was important to say how you felt, because everything's temporary. All those frustrating tween years where he would fight with his family. All those frustrating moments of texting he loved them, because he had been taught it was bad luck to not say it, even when you're in the throes of anger. It's so important to say how you feel. Ha! HA!

(He's drunk, this is a terrible thing, he shouldn't be here, he could say something really stupid.)

All of this, and for what? For him to say, laughing a bit more forcefully, tugging on his collar where he's slumped and pink-faced and absolutely 100% drunk:]

Oh, yeah? Different, huh?

[Apparently, the thought is so silly in Hermann’s head it leaves him in a fit of giggles. So hard, in fact, that he snorts in between.]

I’m sorry, Newton. It’s just…It’s just that I didn’t dare entertain such a thought when we first worked together.

[Perhaps a byproduct of their kaiju-drift, but he doesn’t bother asking Newt to refill his glass. Rather, he reaches and grabs the bottle and takes the most ginger of swigs.]

Mmpf! [He sets the bottle down on top of his thigh and nods in content.] Ah, but I think now that I’ve gotten into that thick head of yours, that I try a hand at assisting with your research. There are plenty of applications in my field to explore. I figure it’ll be worth getting a tad messy over.

[He bites his lip so he doesn't say something stupid, just living in the moment. This kind of doesn't feel real, after years of stressful bickering and deadlines; even their pleasant moments were more... easy silences (which Newton enjoyed; even he can enjoy the quiet!), or overzealous scientific discussion — but, y'know, they didn't drink much, they didn't have a lot of 'parties', they didn't dress up and go out and share bottles of wine, and -

He watches Hermann take said bottle, his fingers hovering there where Hermann had left them empty and wineless. Entertain a thought? What thought? In Newt's thick head? Should he be panicking right now? What is this? No, no, you're just letting your thoughts get ahead of you! You're always thinking too fast. Calm down, calm down. Just what did Hermann see in that short, bloated drift they'd swam through though, just before the hivemind's memories poured over them?

Hermann eases the burden of his overworked, intoxicated mind, and he breathes out.

In disappointment? In relief? Quiet shock? All of it, probably.

After a moment, the full weight of it hits him, and he beams at him.]

Whaaat?

Am I having a stroke? Hermann Gottlieb is considering my research?

And being messy! Dude, who are you?

Yes, well, you’ve made considerable leaps in your work. I couldn’t help but think back to that marvellous paper you did on polyneuropathy. The time seems right as any to take a crack at a few theories.

[His hands are already full. Good heavens, he’s drinking pinot noir out of the bottle and enjoying it. What’s next? Eating a slice of pizza with no cutlery? Such unbecoming and crude behaviour, Mr. Gottlieb.

Hermann tries to give Newton a reassuring nudge using the knuckles of his wine-occupied hand.]

I’d say if we really put our heads together, we can do something remarkable other than washing away some old regrets.

... You really liked my polyneuropathy work? The nerve conduction studies?

[He looks goddamn teary at that, you bastard. He's even got his hand over his heart.]

Dude. Dude. Did I ever tell you you're my favorite?

I could die from an intracranial aneurysm happily right now. I mean, please don't let me die from an intracranial aneurysm! But I just. Wow. Herm, you're so cool. I love — [His tongue feels heavy, words don't quite form, the brain thinks but the mouth doesn't speak. Ugh, booze.] — your... your old presentation about the importance of NASA STEM opportunities for gifted kids. Your editorials totally blew their socks off back then; I bet you a whole-ass orb they wouldn't have funded it without your involvement.

[IT WAS ESPECIALLY CUTE BECAUSE YOU FUCKING CARED, BRO]

Edited 2021-10-01 07:49 (UTC)

That old thing? Believe me, it was nothing significant. My colleagues made far more compelling arguments than those editorials alone. I figured I'd take a crack at making some sort of contribution.

[Granted, it was a subject that hit a little too close to home. He didn’t want to sit idly by and allow for the budget to be cut in half.]

But yes, I thoroughly enjoyed those studies. A little on the brash side, but that’s always been your MO in these sorts of ventures. You have a way of pushing the envelope further against what’s considered to be the standard.

[But that's one of the reasons he loved it, man. Every Gottlieb paper is one composed of dedication and passion, but you could feel the sincerity in that STEM editorial. Maybe that's something Hermann just does better at; Newton can't help but sound overzealous in everything he writes because that's just how it punches out of him, but... it can... probably get grating to his colleagues. Maybe. Like a few of them. Succinctness is Herm's specialty.]

Actually, uh.

I was thinking — about branching out more with robotics. That is, I have worked with robotics before, but I mean... coding beyond the usual. More dynamic engineering than just biomedical technology. [He smiles, a bit lopsidedly.] That's why I've been working on some stuff for Viv! Like, some arms for her to use around the ship. Stark's helping me with the hover tech, but I thought maybe... you could help me out with the programming, since that's not really something I do as much?

[Maybe he's been getting a little more into robots, too.

And tea. But the robots are better.]

Edited 2021-10-02 02:27 (UTC)

Right… You’ve mentioned that in passing before.

[Something Hermann had to come to terms with is how most of everyone on the crew excelled in their respective fields in the sciences. And one can only get so far with abstract mathematics and a 21st century understanding of modern computer programming and engineering.

Every day is more intense than the next, having to get a better grasp of new coding and workarounds. Not that he’s admitted this to Newton out loud, but there isn’t much time for him to go off and be social when there are dozens of more subject matters to keep up. He can't do both. That’s not how his brain is wired.

He needs to take advantage of these moments. Or else he’d up to his neck in theorems and schematics.]

Yes. I suppose if the other engineers are too busy, I’d be more than happy to help with your project.

Then it's settled. You and me, we're gonna finish up that programming when we get back; I bet Viveca'll be crazy excited. [He jabs at Hermann with a teasing elbow.] Pffft. Because of course I want you to help. Has there been anyone else more qualified to help a genius like me? You know me best! Drift compatible, baby!

[Yeah. Yeah! The two of them together. Totally unstoppable. Look what they were able to do together? Help save the world. They've got the world at their fingertips; the war's over, and if they play their cards right, they'll end it even sooner than that...! And after that, they can do all that stuff. Visit the family, brush up on new scientific hobbies, help post-war clean-up with the PPDC as some of their brightest and best — drink more wine.

Haaa. Drink more. He really shouldn't be allowed to drink more. But this is nice. This is perfect. Some part of him is emboldened by the alcohol and Hermann's own eagerness, and he doesn't look before he leaps, just does what he usually does, that same ol' impulsive Newton Geiszler. Newton says:]

Hermann, I —

[Newt stops, teeth clacking together as he cuts himself off. His expression dims as he turns his gaze away and aims it somewhere far off. One second. Two. And then liveliness pours back into his expression, and he snorts, shaking his head as he gets up and sets the drink in Hermann's hands. Auto-piloting himself, he grunts, pushes up onto his feet and stands straight. The little helix-shaped charm on his belt loop sways as he goes.]

Man, sorry; I just remembered I was supposed to meet up with one of the family. Planning some big gigs at one of those jazzy clubs down the street. You know me, always running late to things I've totally forgotten, right?

[He adjusts his tie a bit. It was crooked; can't have it looking so crooked, not very professional for a Lionetta meet-up he's completely made up just now. His hands move, but he feels kind of weird and fluttery as he smooths his tie. Man, he's drunk. Right? These are just — little white lies to get out of here before he blurts something he's going to regret.]

Last thing I need to do is piss off the Lionetta.

... Besides. You should be going to bed before you seriously regret your morning.

Edited 2021-10-02 09:22 (UTC)

[It takes Hermann a second to realize Newton is on his feet, confused by the sudden change in plans. Did he miss something? He could have sworn Newton was about to say something to him. It was difficult to tell, what with how the wine was making him feel less in control. Mouth left slightly agape as he attempts to sit close to the edge of the couch seat.]

Oh, well… That’s alright. No need to apologize, Newt. We’re still under a tight schedule.

[Hermann rests both the glass and bottle on top of the coffee table. It was a pleasant break while it lasted. As much as he wants to ride the trajectory of his buzz, his friend is ready to take off into the next venture. Not that this is any much of a surprise or new for Hermann. He spent years indulging in leisure on his lonesome. He can recall the sound his oxford's made within the hollow corridors of the Shatterdome. Surely, he can do it again by venturing into the foreign streets of a distant planet.

He offers Newt a warm, lopsided grin and nods.]

But thank you again for the company. It was exactly the thing I needed.

[I don't wanna go, he thinks. He thinks he thinks? Why am I leaving? I wanna stay with Hermann.

A little snowball, rolling down a white hill. That's what this is. Newton just doesn't realize it.

Nonono, he needs to go get some sleep, is what he needs. His head's hurting a little, anyway, and that usually means a nosebleed is imminent, and he doesn't want to get into an argument about these kinds of things while Hermann's in such a nice mood. That was a good break, they had a nice talk, it's enough. Besides, he thinks he thinks, Hermann'll get sick of you sooner than later. Better to burn out than fade away. Immortal words of Def Leppard, second only to Gunter gleiben glauchen globen, which always tickled him as a German kid, because he means literally fucking nothing.]

When we get back home, we'll kick up our feet and watch another movie.

Maybe pilfer some of this pinot noir, if we get a chance.

[He smiles a bit more softly despite the buzzing in his head, walks backwards down the hall as he talks.

Hey, you're pretty cute, he knows he thinks (drunkenly, but he'd think it sober, too).]

Just don't go getting into trouble while I'm out, dude. Save that kind of thing for me. There's a status quo to keep!

[With that put out there proper, Newt turns and starts away, shucking off his jacket to drape over his arm as he goes. He feels a little stiff, maybe a little tired, and it occurs to him maybe it was just all of the dancing and festivities they'd been wrapped up in tonight. Duh. Why wouldn't he want to sleep? It's one of the few things that could even get him to bed at a time like this...! He retreats to his room, narrowly manages to kick his way-too-fancy shoes off onto the floor, and passes out hard.

And then he wakes up.

Or, well. He wakes up in a dream. Again. He's sitting on the floor of a white, never-ending space, the blue veins pulsing under the ground alerting a weary Newton to where he is again. It feels like skin, the soft floor beneath him. Warm. It makes his stomach twist, and he folds his arms and bunches up defensively where he's settled.]

Really? That's the human you're so infatuated with?

[The prescursors lean over him, beady eyes and unnatural voices full of judgement. Newton presses the balls of his palms against his temples and pushes hard, trying to ease the ache. Right, right. He's here again. Back in his dreams — dreams he won't remember. He tries so hard to remember, repeats over and over to wake up wake up wake up don't forget don't forget this time-]

Shut up. What do you know about anything? You just destroy stuff. You don't get it.

You destroy plenty yourself. Humanity as a whole, and you as a singular.

Spare me the dramatic 'humans are soooo evil' lecture. [He snaps his gaze up, waving his hands at the air in offense.] There's more good in humanity's pinky than there is in your whole boring body. You guys are just a bunch of soulless, awful killing machines! Oh, wait, you don't even do that right; you just send a bunch of indoctrinated monster clones to do that for you!

... He won't reciprocate your feelings, you know. [Newt's mouth snaps shut. They say:] We've seen your memories. We've seen your disputes. How he looks at you with such contempt, the moment you start spewing talk of projects... It's a miracle you were able to 'drift' together for even a short time. You're incongruent. Incompatible. Does he even know how many people you've loved before? How many of those relationships have crumbled because of your lack of control? What a horrible mistake it would have been, to allow your intoxicated brain to convey those nauseating thoughts you'd had.

[Newton sits with his arms around his knees, looking down at the floor. His voice is smaller than usual. Subdued.]

... Is that what this is for you? Control? Is that why you made me leave him there?

We don't have time for you to complicate things by ruining your tumultuous relationship with your feelings, Newton. We want the orb, not petty human dramas. [They lean in until their large face is inches from his; together as one, they make up a wall of hundreds of black, shark-like eyes.] You're already a volatile little thing. You're emotional and illogical. It would not work out.

[He tries to look at them, but it's too much. It does something primitive in him. Makes him look down and away.]

You don't-

He would be indifferent to your feelings at best. Disgusted at worst. Look at you. Look at what the world saw — an insignificant little joke of a man. Do you really think any of them truly like you? They like your body when they give in to those animal urges. They like your brain when it can be used to solve a problem that they need solved. What else do you think they want? Your ramblings? Your loud, awful music? Your obnoxious voice? None of them ever took you seriously, and none of them ever will. They're all just stuck with you and are making the most of it.

[Newt's red and shamefaced, but he looks up finally, brows furrowed and eyes glowering.]

... You're wrong. You're wrong. We're friends! We're a team! And not just some hivemind who hides off on some planet — we don't force each other to be one person, and we don't hide when we need each other. We're all different, and that makes it work; that makes us better than you!

... You would be wise to listen to us. Sooner or later, you'll be abandoned to die. They won't risk themselves for you. That's just in their nature.

Then you wouldn't get your stupid orbs, huh? What a shame. [He looks down, gaze shifting nervously across the veins that pulse in the floor. His mind races, and he whispers, sure of himself:] Hermann won't abandon me.

Mmm. Hermann is a very hard worker. Loyal to rational thought and his causes. It's a shame it wasn't him that drifted with us first. A mind like that, so neat and orderly... so much more invested in logic and caution. We remember his processes enough; all cleaner than yours, so much more regulated, without all your reckless abandon.

But then again... perhaps it was for the best. A mind in as much disarray as yours is easier to manipulate.

[His hands feel funny again. Like they had when he'd left Hermann alone at that couch, after they'd drank that wine. He unhooks them from his legs and looks down at his pale palms, horrified when he realizes that blue, glowing arteries begin to unfurl under his skin like vines. A panicked yell escapes him before his eyes snap back open —

And he's in his bed, in the Lionetta's headquarters.

A red, rose-shaped stain has formed on the pillow where his nose drips, and he swallows down the taste of blood.

... Just another restless night, he supposes.

Maybe he was dreaming that kind of dream everyone has.

The kind where you're just — freefalling.]

Edited 2021-10-03 22:40 (UTC)

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cw: emotional manipulation??? aka a precursor dream