groupiedrifter | Inbox for ximilia.

Whoawhoawhoa, I didn't mean going off and trying to do work!

[He rubs a hand over his face. God, is this what it's like to deal with him?

He hates it, thanks.]

God, they got you good, didn't they?

You sure you didn't just decide to snap and drink the whole liquor cabinet?

[That was a joke, Hermann.]

Edited 2021-08-04 22:48 (UTC)

[Hmph.]

Wouldn’t you like to know?

[Not even a millisecond later.]

I’ll have you know that I drink within the comfort of my quarters. In moderation. It’s far easier to tuck myself in without having to stub a toe.

[He huffs a breath, but it sounds more amused than anything.]

... Laaaame.

Nobody should drink alone, Herm. Only depressed people drink alone.

You should invite me next time. I'd be on my best behavior, I swear.

[He's not even sure he'd have said something like that, even just three months ago. Tensions had been like the most tightly round rubber band, then; the highest of their frustrations, the weights on their shoulders and the urgency of their work making it even easier to yell and shout and function too naturally in annoyed silence, all cultivated over a long, strained arc of five years of baggage.

The drifting together — the events of home, just before their arrival and the saving of the world, maybe it lifted a little bit of it. Changed things. He'd always drifted close to Hermann, always had that quiet, festering wound he'd patched up with mocking and intentionally disrupting and secretly caring about, but it's — complicated. Always has been, maybe always will be. Hermann drifted close right back, and, well.

Maybe Newton is a little alarmed at how little their neural handshake had truly changed for him, personally. Maybe that's just the hopeless, idiotic person in him.

(And heck, there'd be someone there to test-taste the liquor for truth serum, instead of you, you jerk-off.)]

Please! You’d be embarrassed over how easy it is for me to be sozzled. [A pause.] Or would I be embarrassed? Bugger me.

No, I think the status quo would be…most appropriate. Big rockstar getting into all sorts of shenanigans. I think I can…huddle about for a bit longer.

[Just like their previous conversation, no matter how determined Hermann is to continue his work with the PPDC, he knows Newton wants to continue with his life. Their imperfect friendship may drift apart, but at least he’s got those letters tucked away in his desk. Those silly, brilliant letters filled to the brim with remarkable insight and goofy imagery.

Using his left arm to shift his weight against the wall, he (ever so clumsily) gets out of bed.

No matter how far Newton drifts apart. He knows, deep down, that he’ll wait. Even if that means getting into trouble of his own accord.]

[Newton probably looks like a crazy person, sitting in the middle of a pathway outside, legs crossed. But it's better than the occasional time he could be found laying splayed on the floor of the lab, staring at the ceiling for some sort of answer to a perplexing scientific conundrum in his work.

(He'll never forget lying on the floor and yelling something rude and offensive to the door opening, assuming it to be one Doctor Gottlieb, only for the Marshall's stern voice to respond; oh, what a nightmare situation that had been for him, even if Hermann probably loved it-)

Ugh, he keeps having weird memories that get him all fond of the PPDC.

So why does he feel like he should leave? He doesn't want to leave. Maybe before, when their tempers were so heated it could melt the metal floors of the Shatterdome. Maybe he thought his services could be better used outside of the K-Science Lab, once the war was over. He did do a lot of good in other fields. He was capable. He was worth having in someone's graces.

But he loves that lab. He loves working in it.

(You want to leave. You can't stay there anymore; you have bigger things to do. Hermann doesn't need you around to complete his work. You can move on. You-)

But... No. No, he does! He really does. God, he's always been so indecisive.]

Hey, don't count me out immediately. I'm sure there's a lot of finishing touches to put on all our stuff. And we can't just assume everything's good just yet, even if we stopped the clock; it's better to be safe than sorry. Who says I can't be a rockstar from the Shatterdome, anyway?

So — you'll, uh. Probably have me around in the lab a while longer.

Sorry 'bout that.

[One foot after the other. With no glasses or cane to walk about his temporary hospital room, a simple task such as finding a pen and paper becomes far more daunting.

For God’s sake! This is preposterous. You should be resting.

But no, no — He needs…He needs to keep his mind occupied. Even if he looks like a lost house cat. Hermann focuses on Newton’s words. Every syllable was comforting to hear. But for Newton to admit that he wants to stay with the PPDC, well—

Hermann juts his jaw out slightly further, his front teeth bite down at the bottom lip. He’s trying to stifle the smile growing on his face. By Jove, maybe they will have a second chance after all! Oh, how Hermann yearns for Newton and him to be working together. As a proper team. No longer tied by the stresses of deadlines and countless Kaiju attacks.

How wonderful would that be…]

I told you already, you silly, silly man! There's no chance in hell that I would rid of your space so easily. I know of every nook, cranny and stain that goes around in that remarkable sty of yours. Who else do you think was going into your cabinets to snatch those awful stashes of sweets?

[Newton laughs softly, the sound almost surprised, but most certainly exasperated. This stupid conversation is making him all sentimental and relieved and warm, so he tries to play it off with:]

Careful, Dr. Gottlieb. You almost sound like you like my company.

The 'dome would think you're either dying or going senile with talk like that.

To hell with them. They never responded to my previous grievances.

[He stops mid-step. Partially because he’s feeling nauseated again, but he also needs to get this out so that it’s crystal clear to Newton.]

You are as vulgar, crass, and terribly unorganized as they come, Newton, but…you are brilliant and ever the clever bastard. I’ve tolerated your company for quite a while.

Yeah, the Marshall must've had a drawer just for your reports, huh? Dramatic asshole.

[His smile softens into something a little sadder. Pentecost is dead... A hell of a lot of good people have come and gone in the War. But hey, they survived, didn't they? It's a miracle, thinking back on that last home stretch.]

That's just the post-war high talking. [... Only he's been hit with truth serum. It's hard not to get a little flustered.] The tolerating goes both ways; I only work with the best. Obviously.

So sit down and stop digging around for something to write with, you predictable curmudgeon.

[He stole that word from you. It's his now. Drift bleed isn't even necessary.]

I can assure you I wasn’t —

[Oh, and there goes Hermann, emptying half his stomach next to the wall. Any and all sentiments/remarks have been thrown out the window along with a spot of orange he had this morning.]

Augh! Verdammter Scheiß!

... You know, you really need to stop interrupting our nice moments with hurling, Hermann.

It kills the mood something fierce.

[HARDY HAAAAR.

There's a pause. Maybe a touch worried, as is his new role his night.]

You alright?

Of course I’m not alright!

[He honestly can’t tell if that helped him feel better or worse. Already too far away from the bed and now left with a mess on the floor, Hermann is in a real dilemma.

Someone is determined to lock himself away at medical bay when this all finally blows over.]

I’m miserable! And I can’t get any shut-eye until this drug [Really rolling that R there.] exits my system like some unwanted guest. So excuse me if I’m not at my best to be sappy at this ungodly hour.

Okay, okay! I was just kidding! Sheesh.

[A pause.]

Should I call someone to come hang out with you? Yzak or Clara?

[Hermann, I know you hate the concept, but you might... need... a babysitter.]

[If Newton can see how absolutely wretched Hermann looks right about now. Not only does he need a babysitter, but he also requires a bundle of blankets and a room as cold as the Antarctic to lull his grouchiness.

His cheeks run much warmer and flush than they are now. The mere mention of having either Yzak or Clara to keep him company makes him feel absolutely silly. No matter how much truth serum you toss into his gob, the fact of the matter is that he will always (and forever will be) embarrassed by such a suggestion.

‘You really ought not to burden others with your troubles, Hermann. You’re a prodigy. Not a weak-bellied bunny rabbit.’]

No. What I need to do is to shut up and get myself sorted.

[He sighs. Dammit. He needs to clean up after himself.]

Right. Okay.

But if our roles were reversed, would you want me to shut up and get myself sorted, all alone, poisoned with a broken arm?

[It only seems fair, to point out what he's confident is gonna be a big double standard, you little shit.]

In the condition that I’m not being looked after. Which I am, but I don’t intend to put the others through the trouble of being my personal nurse.

[It only becomes a double-standard if you don’t swap things around. Gotta cover that denial somehow.]

The sooner I get myself tidied, the sooner I can rest again.

I'm gonna remember that quote, Hermman. 'I don’t intend to put the others through the trouble of being my personal nurse.' I'll use it, and you can't say shit about it. Just for the record.

[He sighs, and relents.]

Alright. Tidied, then rest. If you get any worse with this serum crap, you let me know, okay?

Otherwise, I'll bomb Clara and Yzak with inquiries.

Yes, yes! Fine. I will keep you prompted about my symptoms.

Now, if you’ll excuse me…

[He desperately needs to secure a mop before Yzak and Clara find out he’s been breaking his rest regimine.]

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cw: vomitting / god why does it always come down this in these sentimental threads???

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