Dr. Newton Geiszler (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
completelycrazy) wrote2019-10-31 04:22 am
completelycrazy) wrote2019-10-31 04:22 am
Entry tags:
in the night: ic inbox
@rockstar
Text me or whatever.
@rockstar
Text me or whatever.
@rockstar
Text me or whatever.
@rockstar
Text me or whatever.
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I guess it'd be pretty cool to meet another version of myself. And it'd be less weird if the other me was a woman, I think.
[Staring down a literal clone of himself sounds trippy.]
How'd you figure out the music worked? You play him opera?
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[That's wry, in her own quiet way.]
But classical music soothes me, and I assumed that soothing would carry across universes. But, as we soon discovered, a middle c is the same no matter what world you're from. He was far more coherent when music played; it wasn't a difficult association to notice.
And after that . . . I suspect we listened to more music in three months than I did in all my life.
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[Good for her, staking a claim like that. A book is a good idea. He should write—ah, well, never mind.
He can't believe this is coming out of the same woman that just staunchly told him sentimentality was for the birds in matters like this. Kinda seems like she's disproving her own theory here, but she has to know that. He won't rub it in.]
And you listened to all that music because he needed it? Or just 'cause?
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Both. It wasn't as if either of us disliked it, although we found he had more patience for vaudeville than I did. I don't suppose your music has anything like that, does it?
[This is honest curiosity, not a weird way to ask him to switch off Arcade Fire.]
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Dunno about vaudeville, but, uh...
[Time to just mash shuffle until he settles on a song he feels like listening to. LCD Soundsystem is good "snowed in" music.
He's quiet for a long moment, half listening to the song and half wondering if it'd be rude to press. Probably not, right? She brought all this up. If it's a misstep, he has all night to make up for it.]
So what happened to him?
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Rosalind says nothing for a long few seconds, but it isn't angry silence. Surprisingly, nor is it full of grief. It's just quiet, as she presses her lips together and realizes she's not on the verge of tears, not at all. Six months is a long time, and what was once a bloody open wound has since neatly scarred over.]
He died, just as I did. We had . . . we were trying to see if we could fix something, a grave misstep we'd made, and save our world all in one fell swoop. I was against it, I thought we ought to just escape and cut our losses, but he was desperate to.
Unfortunately, we weren't subtle enough-- or so I assume. Our machine-- the very machine we're replicating now-- exploded. I awoke here.
[She glances over at him.]
He did not.
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Sorry, I don't mean—something I invented killed me, too. Talk about the ultimate betrayal, huh?
[It's still not funny, but he's hit his limit on being pissed about it. Or just, like, buried it for now, but same thing.
Anyway, someday he'll ask her a thousand questions about all the differences between her and Robert, since that sounds downright fascinating on the biological front... or the quantum physics front? Psychological? Not sure—either way, it's wild stuff.]
But, uh, sorry about your... Robert. It sounds like you guys were close.
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But ah . . .]
. . . yes. We were.
[. . .]
He was, for all intents and purposes, my husband.
[She grimaces. She's regretting glancing over at him, but turning away now would look ridiculous.]
Don't overreact.
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[Another automatic response. He can't help it. It's not a judgmental sound, at least—it's more that he was not expecting this turn. His mind hadn't fully moved on from the "Spy vs. Spy" prospect. No wonder she got all open your mind about your options in encountering a double.
And then it's almost fine? But her mouth twitches and she watches him so intently... It's like they're staying up late on a school night and she's just confided in him who she's asking to prom. But, nope, just married to her—oh holy shit was she sleeping w—anyway, it's just a funny thing, is all. He does his best to bite back a smile.]
No, I mean, that's awesome. Really. Good for you, marrying yourself.
[It's said with all the affection of a man who would absolutely marry himself, like, are you kidding? What a deal.]
I bet he was amazing to have around the lab. I'd kill for a clone husband.
[All of this is a bit lighthearted considering she's just told him, in so many words, that her husband is both dead and not here. That's a bummer thing, but... Eh. It's hard to find things to laugh about these days.]
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But then, of course he is. He's a genius. Of course he can consider all the wonders of the relationship instead of the inherent oddity of it.]
He was, both in the lab and out.
[Her voice is far warmer.]
It certainly made building that a great deal easier, save for when we disagreed.
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[He reaches for the dregs of the blanket pile, dragging the last couple of blankets over to their nest. It seems like it's getting colder in here... Hm.
He offers her the blankets, willing to hand them both over if she wants them. He'll survive.]
You warm enough?
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Still: she hesitates for a long moment. It's slightly insulting, but only slightly.]
Come on. It's foolish for us not to share resources.
[On to the cot they go. Presumably the pieces of the USB are swept up and left on a table somewhere. It doesn't matter. The cot's immediately warmer, because she at least didn't skimp on the mattress. There's some fairly nice sheets there for a cot in a lab. And it's against a wall, which means it's easy to settle in. It's slightly closer to Newt, because body heat, and she's cold enough not to care anymore.]
And quite a few things. He was far more optimistic than I am, which meant he was always desperately searching for a silver lining where I found only thundercloud. He enjoyed frivolity. Not to an absurd degree, he wasn't an idiot, but he enjoyed . . . oh, lightheartedness, I suppose.
[Not unlike Newt, really: he jokes a great deal, but he also does his work well enough that she puts up with it. Although Robert, Rosalind thinks, would not enjoy Godzilla films. But whatever.]
In any case: things along that nature, along with a few odd differences in opinion: I enjoy sweets slightly more than him, he enjoyed sports slightly more than I. And so on.
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The cot is significantly more comfortable than the ground, though. No wonder she's cool with staying here overnight. He didn't really take her for the "camping" type. This makes more sense.
He settles back against the wall, laying out the last couple of blankets over both of their laps as Rosalind tells him about Robert.]
So, what, did his enjoyment of frivolity throw you off your game or something?
[...]
If this is some subtle way of coming after me for the thing with the tubing, then again, you heard the sounds they make when you wiggle 'em. I'll glue it all back together tomorrow.
[He waves it off, because no really, tell him more about Robert, this brilliant genius partner of hers that would've totally backed him on the Tube Man Group Wire Loom Organ, just saying.
But yeah go on.]
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[That's tartly said, but she's grateful for it. It's much easier to bicker with Newt than it is to think on Robert and his mannerisms, even if it's only for a moment. Her legs cross carefully under her, her head tipping back as she stares at the newly patched roof.]
Understand: the thing we were building was our first official version. The thing I'd built to get him to cross over was barely functional. This was to be our pride and joy, as I reminded him, but he was . . .
I suppose he was simply enormously pleased we were together. And that made him more inclined to play than work.
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He glances over at the Lutece device—or the third iteration of it, by the sound of it. It also sounds like Robert doesn't deserve half credit, but maybe that's just Newt's bias. Rosalind built a prototype that may have been barely functional, but it was functional enough, and fine-tuning thereafter doesn't really count. Hell, he's suggested a ton of his own tweaks, but that doesn't make this project his. Invaluable as his help may be on the mechanical front, the science is all Rosalind. Mostly because his specialty is biology and engineering, not quantum physics, but still. This is hers.
Which... makes him feel some kinda way. Rosalind's using her expertise to help people. He's glad to help with it, but she could do this without him. He's not necessary to any of this.]
That sounds about right. You're the one that invented the thing in the first place, aren't you? You can say it belonged to the both of you all you want, but he walked into a project that was already off the ground.
[He shrugs, turning his lantern over his in hands, watching the spiral of iron particles twist in slow motion.]
Of course he was just in on it to hang out with you. Duh, Ros, c'mon.
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Don't be foolish.
[Well, there's a lot of tactful ways, and then there's this. Rosalind sighs as she sits up, reaching for a nearby packet of cigarettes and a match.]
Do I appear to be the sort of person who gives out credit where it isn't due? If I claim we both worked on it, Dr. Geiszler, then we both worked on it.
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So what? Working on something doesn't automatically mean he gets to stake a claim on it. It definitely doesn't automatically mean he'd want to stake a claim on it.
[Never mind that Newt has literally no context for this level of investment, but, whatever. It's the principle. He huffs, shrinking back into his hood.]
I'm just saying, that's probably where his priorities differed from yours. And don't call me that.
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[She'd said it before, she realizes belatedly-- and even then, only because she takes a breath to insist that she always calls him Dr. Geiszler.]
My point, Newt, is that you're not--
[It doesn't matter, and she's terrible at this in any case. They'll debut the project soon enough, and his name will be attached to it. It's Rosalind's invention, yes, of course it is, literally no one would deny that, but he helped. He's suggested several improvements. She won't shaft him out of this for her ego's sake.]
Why Newt, anyway? Or rather: why Newton? Was one of your parents scientists, or was it just happy coincidence?
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...What? No, they—stop saying it like that—my dad's into astronomy, and do I really need to explain why I go by Newt instead of Newton?
[...]
Why?
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[It's slightly defensive.]
I'm taking an interest. That's what people do.
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My dad works on pianos. My mother's an opera singer, but she's out of the picture. I grew up building crap in my uncle's workshop, 'cause he's an engineer, so that's why I pursued science. Almost went with music instead, but I figured I could do that as a hobby. Can't really go the science route as a fun side thing.
[Yes, here they are. Two people. Having a casual conversation, like people do.]
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What can you play?
[Oh, god, she's genuinely interested. That rarely happened. Sometimes she'll ask people questions just to pass the time, sure, but this isn't that. Huh. She leans back and sucks hard on her cigarette, glancing over at him.]
I was rather pressured into learning piano as a child, not to mention how to sing. But I never enjoyed either enough to call them hobbies.
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[It's very arrogant, yes, but it's also basically true. He knows enough about music to get by with just about anything you could throw at him.]
But, like, well enough that I could pick it up now and play something from memory? Guitar and keyboard. I'm alright at drums and bass, too.
[There's an English word he can never spell correctly. Base, bass, and then bass like the fish. What a dumb language.]
Have you been over to that rec center in the village? They've got a piano. It's a piece of shit, but it's a piano.
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[Does Ros even know what a bass is? We're going to say yes, because I don't feel like looking up when those were invented, and anyway Bioshock is nothing if not Anachronism: The Series.]
Oh, yes. The man I live with, Javert, does weekly training sessions there. I accompany him, and, most often, get tutored by him.
[Which means she can fight with a sword, in the loosest possible sense of fight.]
You ought to join us. It's something to do, at any rate.
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Tutored, like, he's teaching you how to fight? Oh my god, awesome.
[He absolutely wants to be part of this now. Congrats, Ros, now you've got this guy in your gym class.]
What's he teaching you? Can you kill a man with one finger yet?
[Oh I forgot they were listening to music so this is playing now, shuffle's still on, whoo.]
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