completelycrazy | in the night: ic inbox

You're given the ability to have an unlimited supply of a single thing for the rest of your life. What do you pick?

[Insomnia's a bitch, even when you're technically dead and thus really oughtn't need sleep. And bothering Newt is always a pleasant way to pass the time.]

More life.

[Uh huh, he's real pleasant. He's mostly just buying time to think of a real answer, though. It's a good question.]

[teddy voice INSTANT regret— no, no, not really. But she swings one leg out, her foot rapping sharply against the wooden floor just once. Newt's been rooming beneath her these past few weeks, and that has its ups and downs— but it does mean she has a handy way of communicating with him nonverbally.]

That isn't a proper answer. Try again.

[He scoffs and chucks a screwdriver at the ceiling. He's got a whole collection of them splayed out on his floor, along with some other tools and the various innards of the snowblower that he's taking apart.]

Calm down, I'm thinking.

Define "single thing". Like if I say comic books do I get different editions or is it just an infinite amount of the same one over and over again?

[She does love the toolbox ceiling, she has to admit. It's amusing, and there's a secret kind of pleasure that comes from seeing them and knowing he's thrown them up there to communicate with her.]

No, no. No questions. You make your guess and you find out afterwards, that's how life works. Would it really be comic books? I didn't know you read them.

No questions means this is destined to be a monkey's paw situation. If there wasn't fine print, I'd be allowed to know.

Probably not comic books though. That was just an example. Maybe some kind of food. Think about how awesome it would be if I could conjure ramen out of thin air. OR endless dumplings.

If I were still alive I'd just say money. That's basically wishing for more wishes.

Ramen is a good answer— at least from what you've told me of it. As are dumplings, though those, fortunately, I managed to try once before dying.

[Though now she wants dumplings. Or . . . something. It's too late to eat, but still she sits up, vaguely fixated on the notion now. Can she make dumplings? Well, can she? It can't be that hard, probably. Maybe. Hm.]

But money is useful, and you're not wrong. A great deal in my life would have been different if I could have simply funded myself from the start.

What about . . . I don't know. Musical instruments? How often do you run through them?

You've never had ramen? Wow Lutece you really wasted your life huh.

[He mentally jots that down for later, though. He could probably scrounge up enough stuff to make ramen himself, or at least an approximation of it.]

Instruments would be sick but only if I could keep the category broad. I don't need ten thousand copies of the same keyboard. Instruments last forever if you take care of em but it would be cool to magic up some weird new ones like hmmm I feel like learning the hurdy gurdy today.

[There's a pause.]

I'd sell a kidney for a piano around here.

And you've never had Turkish delight. We've both suffered.

[Has he? Probably not, not with his world being the mess it was. That was a luxury even in Columbia. God, especially in Columbia, but anyway.]

Dare I ask what a hurdy gurdy even is?

But a piano would be nice, yes. It's maddening not having music— your little device is nice enough, but it's one thing to listen. Quite another to play it yourself.

Did you have a favorite instrument?

[They're getting away from the spirit of the game, but whatever, she's curious.]

[He does not even know what a Turkish delight is, so! Moving on.]

It's like a cross between a violin and a piano. Like the keytar of violins lol but you put it on your lap and there's a handcrank and it's got buttons.

[He sends over a slapdash drawing of one. He's drawn it by memory and he's not exactly a hurdy gurdy expert, but she'll get the idea.]

Go build us one, Lutece. You're always bragging about how smart you are. Here's your chance to show off!

[But, hm, good question.]

Probably keyboard. Piano, same thing. It's the one I'm best at and it's a versatile as hell.

So chop chop on that construction project.

Bold instructions from a man who once confessed he made a milking machine. Only talented in a certain area of engineering, are we?

If you took my 20 min lecture as a "confession" then you CLEARLY missed the point.

The name was a JOKE. It's FUNNY, it's FUNNY that the leading Kaiju expert will name critically important technology "the milking machine" and the scientific community just has to deal with that.

They all gotta live in a world where me and my MiLkInG mAcHiNe are the only things standing between them and the LITERAL apocalypse.

Do you know how many high ranking govt officials have had to say "milking machine" to my face? How many times some idiot's had to introduce my lecture at a conference and say "milking machine" like four times in front of hundreds of people??? And then those hundreds of people have had to listen to me talk very seriously about the milking machine for a whole hour???????

Way more than all the times I got mocked and written off for being "eccentric" I'll tell you that!

I won an award for it. Back home I've got a plaque with the words "milking machine" engraved on it.

ENGRAVED.

Hermann has work in a lab with my engraved milking machine accomplishments are hung up on the wall and there's nothing he can do about it because it's on my side of the line. He has to look at it every day.

And sometimes I scoot the milking machine over to his side and then he has to ask me to move it back and he has to address it by its proper name.

I'm a goddamn genius.

[The floors are thin in the inn, but still, Rosalind is a quiet woman. And yet as Newt furiously writes all that out, it might just be possible for him to hear the sound of Rosalind laughing softly. It's surely not meant to be overheard, and nor is it mocking— god, no. Just the opposite, in fact. It's endeared, and all the more so because she so perfectly understands where he's coming from. Hasn't she felt the same in the past? Oh, not that her methods are ever so crude, but god knows she's indulged in some petty poison that will wear down others for years to come. And god, Robert had always—

But she doesn't think about Robert anymore.

The point is: she's laughing. And when the writing finally ceases, she draws a small circle around his hurdy-gurdy doodle, for no other reason than to acknowledge it. It's really quite well done.]

What you are is a menace, Dr. Geiszler, and I would have given a great deal of money to see the kind of havoc you would have wrecked in Columbia. But a menacing genius, indeed.

Work with me, and I'll see what I can do when it comes to your mad instrument. But I'm not naming it something so vulgar if we manage to actually make some kind of bastardized version.

And you still haven't answered my question properly. Though I suppose you've broken the ice insofar as this silly little book I found suggests, so you've fulfilled the technical requirements spectacularly.

[He's so caught up in his tirade that he only hears the soft laughing for a brief moment—and then it's over, and he can't be sure that he's heard it at all. They've only known each other for a handful of weeks, but he's already picked up that she's not the giggly type.

She's also not the type to give credit unless it's truly earned, and even that's a crapshoot sometimes, depending on how petty she's feeling. He can't help but puff up at the compliment.]

A menacing genius huh? I'll take it. I'm saving that message and I'm going to build an electric guitar and then I'll cite the genius thing when you complain about me annoying you at all hours.

[If he didn't respond to compliments with threats like that then he'd probably have more friends, but so it goes.]

Soooooo hold on you went and found a book so you could ice breaker me? Aww.

[Surely that's not what happened, but she's still reading a book about how to talk to people. Is he supposed to just let that slide by without poking fun? Please.]

That's very flattering but you could've just asked for my help with whatever you're up to. And I know you're not sliding into my DMs because you want to build a hurdy gurdy.

Play a guitar at all hours of the night— don't be petty, you know what I mean— and see how fast I revoke that praise. A genius is select areas, and making good and sensible choices in the afterlife will not be one of them.

And don't flatter yourself. The entire issue is, frankly, that you're easy to talk to, unlike most people here.

If you must know, while my intelligence is a formidable thing that spans several areas, I'm aware that socialization is an area in which I am [dot dot dot, the ink soaking into the parchment for a few seconds too long] lacking. And while talking to you is always rather easy, it isn't always for others. There are things I miss, or times in which I am too blunt, or too straightforward, or so on. And given the very nature of this place seems to rely upon cooperation and general goodwill . . .

Well. I thought a book could help. And it does seem to be working. We've having a lively conversation already.

[It is a compliment. It truly is. She finds him so much easier to be around than anyone else save perhaps Javert, and that's no easy feat. But it works with the two of them.]

Unfortunately, while the book is chock-full of witty little icebreakers, it fails to elaborate on the nuances of how to get along with people without outright lying or pandering to them.

Edited 2023-11-08 05:58 (UTC)

[Huh. That's an awful lot of soul-baring by Rosalind's standards. Newt abandons his snowblower disassembly and settles at his desk, propping up his feet as he leans back to balance on the chair's back legs.]

Blunt and straightforward is the right way to be. Don't water yourself down just to play nice with idiots.

[He says it more out of spite for his own experiences than because he's missing her point. She's right, really. It pays to be likeable sometimes, especially around here. The community is too small and too self-reliant to risk being ostracized.]

You know what your problem is? You're too stuffy. That's how you get around the lying and pandering. You have to loosen up. People will like you more if you're willing to, say, text them at random to ask weird icebreaker questions.

[As she already pointed out, it's working! Though maybe he's a bad baseline. He's always liked Rosalind, always found her plenty engaging despite all that stuffiness. She's authentic, and that's all she really needs to be.

And she hasn't outright chased him off yet, so that's a plus.]

You have to WANT to socialize too. People can tell when you're just being nice because you have an agenda. I mean look at me assuming you want something from me and that's why you're hitting me up.

(And technically you're using me as a socialization guinea pig so I was RIGHT.)

I was being kind in not labeling you a guinea pig. I see the error of my ways now.

Anyway, there has to be a way around wanting to socialize. If I did as I pleased, I wouldn't talk to anyone save you and Hermann and Javert, but I'm also aware that's not practical. What do you do here? You can't possibly want to talk to everyone, you're too smart for that, and too many too dull.

Though I suppose loosening up wouldn't hurt either. At least a little.

I don't want to talk to EVERYONE but I do like talking to people generally speaking. Hmmmm OK I take it back. You have 2 problems: Too stuffy and too narrow a definition of intelligence.

We're the smartest people in town. That's a given. But other people have a ton of knowledge that we don't.

Like Fenris was teaching me how to swordfight the other day. I went drinking with Katy and Haymitch and Katy and I showed him how to shotgun properly cause he's a liquor guy. Miss Lighthouse Keeper knows a lot about this place and has some cool stories about the forest spirits. I have a theory that she never sleeps since she'll answer my texts pretty much immediately no matter what time it is.

Yeah I don't get to talk to most people about the high level stuff we can talk about but I don't want that to be the only topic of conversation ever. That would get so old.

I mean you like Javert right? But there's no way he's on the same level as us. You like him anyway don't you? Channel that!

[There's a very soft groan from upstairs.]

He's sensible. Most aren't. It makes a difference. And I beg to differ. Nearly all Robert and I ever spoke of was so-called high level stuff.

But I take your point. And I'll . . . try. I suppose. Perhaps. At least swordfighting seems useful; he's a good man to bribe along on an expedition, I know that.

What do you mean by shotgunning?

[Newt sighs. Well, it's a step forward on her part, at least. He'll take it. This is gonna be a "baby steps" kind of thing.

Which apparently means he's committed to the challenge of socializing Rosalind. That'll make for an interesting project.]

OK so think of social interactions as business transactions then if it helps you. Whether that's wanting to learn "useful" stuff like swordfighting or just for pure entertainment. People don't have to be geniuses to make interesting conversation.

The thought of you swordfighting is pretty awesome though. If you actually take lessons from him PLEASE let me watch.

Shotgunning is when you drink a whole can of beer in like 5 seconds. There's a trick to it.

[God, the thing of it is: it does actually help her to think of it that way. It's not a very nice way to think about things, but on the other hand, if it gets the job done . . .]

Don't take this the wrong way, for I'm not arguing with you. I'll give it as valiant an effort as I can stand. But for someone whose intellect matches mine, you have remarkably more patience with the average person than I ever would have expected.

What's the trick?

Edited 2023-11-11 05:39 (UTC)

Well I'm multifaceted.

In some ways it's nice to be an average person. The thing about being better than everyone else is that it puts you on an island. You've got your ego to keep you company and that's nice and all but what's better is if you can walk among the masses and still get the respect and praise you deserve.

[Newt has yet to balance those two things, but that's the ideal in his mind: Extremely impressive and one-of-a-kind in such a way that he still fits in. Those things might be mutually exclusive, but he's accomplished the impossible before.]

The trick is you punch a hole in a certain spot on the can and then you can suck it down really fast. You wanna learn? We'll go to that bar downtown tomorrow. Solve two problems at once lol.

[There's a pause.]

If we're doing it at the bar, I'm not promising I'll attempt the skill myself. But I'll watch, and practice it privately.

[It's too guarded, she knows, for she frowns at the notebook after she writes that. Then all at once she crosses it out, a swift line drawn through the words as she amends:]

If you teach me to make a fool of myself, I'll ensure you regret it. And I will pick out the beer; I don't trust the spirit who hands them out. He means well, I suppose, but that matters little if I end up inadvertently attempting to chug apple juice.

[Another pause.]

What is it like? When you act average. Or . . . fit in, I suppose. Is it enjoyable?

[That's such an imprecise question, but she doesn't quite know how to say what she's thinking. Are you happier like that? Is it easier? She'll never regret her intelligence, not even for an instant— but it would be a lie to say she'd never looked upon others with a certain shade of envy. Happiness seemed to come easily to the (white, rich) people of Columbia, so stupidly oblivious they couldn't conceive of despair.]

OK all jokes aside: You're gonna feel like you're making a fool of yourself. Chugging beer is always messy and like low class or whatever. There's no getting around that.

The thing about normies is that they're too dumb to appreciate just how far above them we are. They can't even comprehend our greatest accomplishments.

You'll impress a hell of a lot more people if you're willing to be impressive in ways they can understand.

So I'm telling you now, you're gonna doubt me, but I promise you're gonna look really cool. You just have to trust me.

[He's talking about more than just shotgunning a beer now. But she's blown this up into a conversation about fitting in with the riff-raff, and if he's being honest, he'd love to see her let down her hair a bit. She doesn't seem like a person who has a lot of fun, and that's just a shame.]

People are surprised when I say this but I prefer to fit in.

Kind of. More like I wish everyone else was as cool and interesting as me so I didn't stick out so much in a weird way.

My problem is I'm too in the middle you know? Way above average but I don't fit the mold for most of the scientific community either. No one normal can keep up with me but my peers don't take me seriously.

Don't get me wrong I have no interest in conforming and I like being unique. But it sucks to be swimming upstream in every part of life all the time.

Acting "average" is a nice break from that. Like if I'm at a concert then I'm with a bunch of people who like the same stuff as me. Everyone's focused on that so me having more degrees than everyone else in the room combined isn't as annoying for me.

It makes sense. Admittedly, I understand the theory more than the practice, but . . . that does make sense, especially in a crowd. Especially if it's a communal activity where you don't need to speak.

[Her tone is more thoughtful than it reads. Part of the reason she likes Newt is that he truly does understand her; sentences like they can't even comprehend our greatest accomplishments is a mere fact, and it's more of a relief than she realizes to have someone else say it. But ah . . . as to his point, well. She's never attended the kinds of concerts he's described, and now she never will— but that does sound appealing. If you don't have to hear everyone's idiotic opinions, if you can focus on something extraordinary, if you can settle your hackles and blend in . . .

Well. No use in lamenting things she cannot change. A different line of thought, then:]

If I didn't trust you, Newt, I wouldn't agree to any of this. Keep that in mind, even if I do doubt.

[Newt, and the trick with always being formal is that it really does count when she's not. Anyway! Moving on, though! Can't linger!]

Did you ever try and conform? To gain respect from your scientific peers, I mean. Or were you always set on being rebellious.

Edited 2023-11-13 03:24 (UTC)

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