Dr. Newton Geiszler (
sciencesaggressively) wrote2013-10-17 04:06 pm
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wanted: awesome bro
To anyone he's passing by on the sidewalk, it might look like Newt's in terrible distress. He's practically running, weaving in and out of the crowd and trying to avoid any sort of bodily contact, and he's pretty much out of breath, so he thinks he should really try to get in shape or something because damn, this is kind of embarrassing. But he can worry about that after he gets to Chuck's--and he hopes Chuck's home because it's possible that Newt might have dialed his number, hung up after the first ring, and took it as an invitation to knock on his door instead.
So here he is, knocking like his life depends on it and it kind of does a little, okay, he thinks it's entirely possible that he's having something like a heart attack right now from a combination of nerves and excitement and nerves.
"Chuck," he shouts, pounding harder on the door and giving zero shits about whether anyone else in this building can hear him. "Chuck, I need your help, open up!"
So here he is, knocking like his life depends on it and it kind of does a little, okay, he thinks it's entirely possible that he's having something like a heart attack right now from a combination of nerves and excitement and nerves.
"Chuck," he shouts, pounding harder on the door and giving zero shits about whether anyone else in this building can hear him. "Chuck, I need your help, open up!"
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"What? What is it?" he asks, then glances around the hallway. There's no one else there, save for a middle-aged woman across the hall who's glaring daggers at both of them. He's half-tempted to shoot some barb in her direction about how he's sorry they've interrupted her soap opera watching, or whatever mundane task it is that people around here do, but there are far more pressing concerns at hand. "Newt, what's going on?"
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He puts a hand on the doorframe and leans forward a little to take a few deep breaths before taking off his glasses and tucking them in his shirt pocket so he doesn't have to very clearly see the look of judgment that he's certain will be coming his way in about two seconds.
"I met a girl." He hopes his huge smile will be enough to make Chuck remember that they're awesome bros now.
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"Did you now?" he asks, brow raised, stepping aside so he can let Newt into the apartment instead of continuing to hang around in the doorway. "And that's why you were banging on my door, yelling for help?" Briefly, he wonders if he ought to be flattered, but mostly, he's just fucking confused.
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"Yeah, dude, I've got like, problems." He tugs at his tie. "This is the only set of clothes I own. I've washed this like twice, she's going to think I'm gross. I offered to cook for her. I offered to watch her dog." Oh, man, now that he's listing all these things, he's feeling like a major idiot. "It's been like a hundred years since I've been a date, I'm thisclose to having a meltdown. But she's so pretty and easy to talk to and dude, she digs tattoos, how cool is that? So cool."
He plops down on a chair and lets his head fall back. "Help. Me."
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Then again, it might just be the only reaction he knows how to have when he's sure he wouldn't be any better off if their positions were reversed, and doesn't take well to that sort of self-consciousness.
"Well, first of all, you might want to think about buying some more clothes," he says, brow arched. "You keep wearing the same thing, she's bound to notice eventually. Second —" he cuts himself off, mouth twisting in obvious confusion. He still doesn't have the first idea why Newt is here at all, let alone how to help him, but the latter is an admittance he hasn't quite worked up to yet. "Do you even know how to cook?"
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And here's the light bulb. "You have to take me shopping. I mean, I know neither of us are like, red carpet fashionista kings but I swear, I will just go to the pants and shirt store and pick the exact same thing I'm already wearing, I need somebody to slap me on the wrist and tell me no."
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Besides, though he isn't entirely sure how or why, Newt might just be the closest thing he has to a friend here, and is definitely the only person who gets what it was like before. In a place like this, having lost everything he knew, Chuck thinks that counts for something. Or maybe that's what dying does to a man. "Well, I think I can manage to slap your wrist and tell you no, but that might be about all I'm good for."
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"That's fine, just don't let me like, buy a shirt with a clown on it or something. Not that I would? But you never know what could happen."
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He can't really say no, after all, when Newt puts it like that. Though he's pretty damn far from the sentimental sort, it's kind of striking to realize that he's right, that at some point — probably around their second or third drink the night Newt showed up here — they became friends. Granted, he's hardly some kind of authority on what friends do or should do or whatever past grade school, having had very few in the years since then, but that, he thinks, isn't really the point. It just means a lot, having someone else from home here, someone who understands the kind of life he left behind, and who hasn't seemed to be all concerned about his emotional state where having died is concerned. He might never admit as much, of course, but it's true even so. He hasn't really got anyone else here, not even his dog anymore.
"Well, if it means avoiding clown shirts, then I guess I really had better go with you," he says with a shrug, all non-committal. "Just know that I might take you up on those motivational speeches." He doesn't actually need them, but it would be pretty funny to see Newt give them.
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Newt drums on his knees to celebrate this little victory and hops up , shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. "Okay, let's go! Go, go, go! We can put up a little something for you, too, huh, buddy? A pair of pants that aren't like cargos, maybe some protein shake powder." He slowly backs up, making his way to the door in an attempt to get Chuck up off his ass for this very important mission. "And for the record, my motivational speeches are immaculate. Very inspirational, very zen."
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He holds the door open, and Chuck looks so excited which is completely false, he doesn't look all that excited at all, but Newt's got enough excitement for both of them. "What would you do for someone if you were on a date? Speaking of which, we should totally find you one, it'll be fun, I promise. Well, I can't promise, but it'll be something."
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"Make sure to get her off at least once," he says with a shrug of one shoulder, not entirely convinced that it would have to be any more complicated than that. "And, hey, if you swing by with a twelve-pack, you can do all the rambling you want." He really, really doesn't want to hear about Newt's potential sexual exploits, but with enough to drink, he imagines he could tune out just about anything. For that matter, he doubts he'd be able to stop Newt from saying whatever the hell he wants to, anyway.
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"I'm all turned around now, man," he complains as they make their way out of the building. "Should I like, I don't know, buy condoms or something? Does that just make it look like I was planning on there to be sexual exploits all along? Or does it make me look responsible? Goddammit, Chuck, goddamn you!" He gives Chuck a soft punch and a small smile to show he's not actually pissed, but yeah, there's definitely a little bit of anxiety that hadn't been there before rooted deep inside his chest. "Just for that, I'm bringing the twelve-pack, but I'm not saving any of it for you."
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"Look at it this way," he says, trying his best to sound actually knowledgeable, hoping Newt doesn't see through it. "If you do, and you don't wind up sleeping with her, then she won't know the difference. And if you do wind up sleeping with her, then you'll be ready and that's all she'll care about. It's win-win." One corner of his mouth pulls higher, brow raising. "And don't think you could stop me from taking what I want of that twelve-pack."