completelycrazy | in the night: ic inbox

Stop that.

[It's a reflex to speak out loud.

The highlights are fine; the freckles less so, and she wrinkles her nose, erasing them the moment he draws them. The smile is next, but she switches tactics: instead drawing a more formal look on her initial drawing, a slight frown she's never seen him wear. Solemn. Dignified. It's a stick expression with a lot to say for itself.]

[Oh, she's not a fan of her freckles. Noted. That's a bummer, though. They're cute.

But then she defaces his stick figure, and there's a moment where he's actually annoyed. He has not been that sulky lately, if that's what she's trying to imply—before he realizes that it isn't. Of course it isn't.

He points at her dumb dignified stick figure of him and gives her an exaggerated frown. Is he mimicking her drawing or giving her his opinion of it? Both, probably.]

[Of course it isn't, but there's a split second where Rosalind looks at him with a faint frown, unsure why his mouth had gone pinched for a moment. It's not that she's so overcome with worry for his feelings, but at the same time, she likes being an irritant only when she intends.

But it barely lasts, and then they're moving on. What else . . . why not that kaiju? Mutavore, the name and the creature it belongs to still vivid in her mind. It's inaccurate, of course, but it's somewhat amusing to try and see how much she can get right.]

[Oh! He recognizes the kaiju instantly—she's got the spirit of it down, with its weird boomerang head and hunchy stance. Every so often, he chimes in helpfully, correcting bone structure and adjusting the mass. He doesn't take over so much as offer insight, like Clippy, but like, not so smug.

But, huh, the way she sketches the tail gets him thinking. He reaches over her to grab for her tablet (so as not to interrupt her drawing) to type up a little crash course on kaiju biology.]

The lower half looks kinda like Knifehead, this other kaiju. Neat thing! They're all clones! They're grown by this other more advanced alien species, so different bits of them are grown and stitched together, like Frankenstein. You're like designing your own kaiju.

[She squints at him for a moment, a nonverbal . . . hm, not disagreement, because she trusts his opinion, but more bafflement at that possibility. Organ donation isn't a thing in her time; she can't imagine how a creature doesn't go into shock when a liver or a lung is forcibly inserted into it.

Then again: she can't imagine how they bring the things to life.

She gestures with two fingers-- go on, keep talking-- as she continues seeing how much of the kaiju she can remember drawing. And once she runs out of details, she continues on, adding her own in orange, little corrections to Mutavore's design.]

[He notes the squint, and he can all but read her mind, given how many times they've had this conversation before: so much of her knowledge of his field is sorely outdated. Through no fault of her own, of course, and she can still run circles around him when it comes to physics—whatever, point is! He gets to teach her something, and that's maybe his favorite thing to do these days.

This would be so much easier if he could talk, unlike so much of the other ground they've covered today. He makes it work, though, alternating between typing up explanations and eventually moving onto drawing his own versions of the kaiju. They're diagrams at first, anatomical models, but before long they dip into cartoonier doodles. They still get his point across.

He can't be sure how long they spend like this, Newt rambling about his past five years of research and Rosalind casually listening and critiquing kaiju designs, because Rosalind Lutece is certainly not the type to passively absorb knowledge, no. In any case, eventually Newt will realize the thumping at his back has faded, the parade having long since moved on...

But he'll wait until Rosalind points it out before getting up. He's in no hurry to get back.]

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