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31_days2014-05-03 01:12 pm
bane-6.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2014-05-03 01:12 pm
[May 3] [Pacific Rim] Old Times
Title: Old Times
Day/Theme: 3. luftmensch ("one who lives on air", an impractical dreamer with no business sense)
Series: Pacific Rim
Character/Pairing: Hermann/Newt
Rating:
Part 3
The remains of four of the Manticore pack had been shipped in for study. The last survivor was actively being hunted with helicopters somewhere east of Norilsk. They were trying to steer it away from Krasnoyarsk Krai. One of the dead ones had had its legs shot out from under it by the tanks and then been run over a few times. Its blood had ruined the tank treads. One had been blasted with missile launcher, but had still put up a fight when they went into finish it. They had crippled another tank running over it as well. The other two had been firebombed and then shot with missiles. One of them had still enough juice to kill one of the lab workers with a stab of the poison tail to the throat. There wasn't a lot for Newt to work with, but he got to it.
All four of them were riddled with holes, but the bullets hadn't gotten very deep. The blue-gray hides were four inches thick and tough as tires, and underneath was a foot-deep layer of something like blubber that all the bullets were trapped in. Not one shot had made it into the internal organs as far as he could tell. It had also kept the organs from being cooked. The ones on the footage had had six legs, but the bodies were so mangled it was hard to tell how they had fit together. The acidic blood had been neutralized and the familiar sting of the chemicals went straight up Newt's nose.
"I had hoped I would never smell that again," Hermann sighed. Newt reached over and flipped on the fan. He unpacked all the samples and was hard at work for hours. The smaller scale made it easier to work with. Hermann was still going over the reports in other parts of the world until new information on the Breach in Norilsk came in. Three hours later, Newt finally spoke.
"The poison is produced by the choroid plexus," he said without looking up. "It's stored in the spinal fluid and kept in these pockets along the spine, see? It looks like insect segments, but it isn't." He held up a chunk of tail that was still intact to show the scorpion-like bulges. "Everyone of these holds about 8 ounces of venom. It's like toothpaste. The one nearest the tail is the load that gets shot." He aimed the tail into a jar and used a clamp to twist a nerve in the piece of brain at the other end. Pale yellow venom squirted out of the barb. "See? Then the empty pocket will be filled by the next one and so on."
"That's horrific." Hermann thought about the people on the news. Their scar tissue opening and blood running from their orifices,
"Kinda the point, you know?" Newt sealed up the jar and started on the next one. "They want us dead."
Hermann watched him empty the poison points and then break down the muscle structure of one of the firebombed ones. He had to put it back together first. He was aware of Hermann watching, but didn't respond until he had what was left of the skeletal structure set up.
"What?" he finally asked.
"I was afraid we'd feel it when they were killed," Hermann admitted. "I'm aware of the last one out there somewhere, but the link is weak enough that I don't know any details."
"Lights going out," Newt agreed. He stepped back to pull some tendons aside to see how the second set of front legs connected. "I could feel them there and then I couldn't."
"No pain." Hermann asked, still watching him.
"Nope."
"You're enjoying this now."
"I knew I would. Once the shock wore off. It's just a relief, you know? Like bursting a boil so it can finally get better. Things are happening so I can do something about it. Before? Not knowing enough to act on? I couldn't breathe like that. And I have to breathe to live." Newt shrugged, tried to smile, and risked a heartbeat of eye contact before looking back to the remains.
"It's not going to be like last time." Hermann's voice was soft and careful. "You understand that?"
"Don't pick a fight now that I'm feeling back to normal." Newt just sounded exasperated.
"Normal," echoed Hermann, almost sadly, and that was all it took. When the Marshall came in to tell them that the fifth Manticore had gone to ground, they were both red-faced and screaming.
"You can not just breeze through this as if there aren't consequences-"
"Do you think I don't KNOW WHAT'S AT STAKE HERE, I-"
"Just like old times, boys?" Henson asked, but they didn't even hear him.
"It was TOO CLOSE LAST TIME-"
"AND IT WORKED! IT WORKED LAST TIME! IT-"
"AND THERE IS TOO MUCH TO LOSE AND I WILL NOT-"
"SHUT UP, SHUT UP, I KNOW. OK, I KNOW-"
"Gentlemen!" Henson barked. Gottlieb actually held up a finger at him to tell him to wait. He turned on heel and the slam of the door behind him finally made both of them look up to see him gone.
Day/Theme: 3. luftmensch ("one who lives on air", an impractical dreamer with no business sense)
Series: Pacific Rim
Character/Pairing: Hermann/Newt
Rating:
Part 3
The remains of four of the Manticore pack had been shipped in for study. The last survivor was actively being hunted with helicopters somewhere east of Norilsk. They were trying to steer it away from Krasnoyarsk Krai. One of the dead ones had had its legs shot out from under it by the tanks and then been run over a few times. Its blood had ruined the tank treads. One had been blasted with missile launcher, but had still put up a fight when they went into finish it. They had crippled another tank running over it as well. The other two had been firebombed and then shot with missiles. One of them had still enough juice to kill one of the lab workers with a stab of the poison tail to the throat. There wasn't a lot for Newt to work with, but he got to it.
All four of them were riddled with holes, but the bullets hadn't gotten very deep. The blue-gray hides were four inches thick and tough as tires, and underneath was a foot-deep layer of something like blubber that all the bullets were trapped in. Not one shot had made it into the internal organs as far as he could tell. It had also kept the organs from being cooked. The ones on the footage had had six legs, but the bodies were so mangled it was hard to tell how they had fit together. The acidic blood had been neutralized and the familiar sting of the chemicals went straight up Newt's nose.
"I had hoped I would never smell that again," Hermann sighed. Newt reached over and flipped on the fan. He unpacked all the samples and was hard at work for hours. The smaller scale made it easier to work with. Hermann was still going over the reports in other parts of the world until new information on the Breach in Norilsk came in. Three hours later, Newt finally spoke.
"The poison is produced by the choroid plexus," he said without looking up. "It's stored in the spinal fluid and kept in these pockets along the spine, see? It looks like insect segments, but it isn't." He held up a chunk of tail that was still intact to show the scorpion-like bulges. "Everyone of these holds about 8 ounces of venom. It's like toothpaste. The one nearest the tail is the load that gets shot." He aimed the tail into a jar and used a clamp to twist a nerve in the piece of brain at the other end. Pale yellow venom squirted out of the barb. "See? Then the empty pocket will be filled by the next one and so on."
"That's horrific." Hermann thought about the people on the news. Their scar tissue opening and blood running from their orifices,
"Kinda the point, you know?" Newt sealed up the jar and started on the next one. "They want us dead."
Hermann watched him empty the poison points and then break down the muscle structure of one of the firebombed ones. He had to put it back together first. He was aware of Hermann watching, but didn't respond until he had what was left of the skeletal structure set up.
"What?" he finally asked.
"I was afraid we'd feel it when they were killed," Hermann admitted. "I'm aware of the last one out there somewhere, but the link is weak enough that I don't know any details."
"Lights going out," Newt agreed. He stepped back to pull some tendons aside to see how the second set of front legs connected. "I could feel them there and then I couldn't."
"No pain." Hermann asked, still watching him.
"Nope."
"You're enjoying this now."
"I knew I would. Once the shock wore off. It's just a relief, you know? Like bursting a boil so it can finally get better. Things are happening so I can do something about it. Before? Not knowing enough to act on? I couldn't breathe like that. And I have to breathe to live." Newt shrugged, tried to smile, and risked a heartbeat of eye contact before looking back to the remains.
"It's not going to be like last time." Hermann's voice was soft and careful. "You understand that?"
"Don't pick a fight now that I'm feeling back to normal." Newt just sounded exasperated.
"Normal," echoed Hermann, almost sadly, and that was all it took. When the Marshall came in to tell them that the fifth Manticore had gone to ground, they were both red-faced and screaming.
"You can not just breeze through this as if there aren't consequences-"
"Do you think I don't KNOW WHAT'S AT STAKE HERE, I-"
"Just like old times, boys?" Henson asked, but they didn't even hear him.
"It was TOO CLOSE LAST TIME-"
"AND IT WORKED! IT WORKED LAST TIME! IT-"
"AND THERE IS TOO MUCH TO LOSE AND I WILL NOT-"
"SHUT UP, SHUT UP, I KNOW. OK, I KNOW-"
"Gentlemen!" Henson barked. Gottlieb actually held up a finger at him to tell him to wait. He turned on heel and the slam of the door behind him finally made both of them look up to see him gone.