sciencesaggressively | (no subject)

Newt's been busy as hell lately, between working on his regular research project at the lab and the drug Lincoln had brought to him a couple weeks ago. He's managed to figure out what compounds make up the drug, thinks he can even replicate it in the next few days if he wants, though Lincoln had said that's not what he wants out of this. Still, Newt's the one tasked with handling the damn thing and his curiosity so often outweighs anything else.

The drug is supposed to make people aggressive, that's what Lincoln had said, but maybe Newt can just... fiddle with it. Maybe he can turn it into a drug that can enhance strength without the violent side effects, it's possible, if he works at it long enough.

Either way, Newt decides he needs a goddamn break so he leaves the lab to head for the nearest cafe for some caffeine he probably doesn't need but is definitely going to drink anyway. The line isn't too long, to his relief, and he rolls up his sleeves as he steps behind a redhead who looks kind of familiar from the back. Mostly because it looks like Marius's head.

"Hey, buddy!" Newt exclaims, clapping a hand down on his friend's shoulder, though he quickly pulls it away once he realizes that it's actually not Marius he's totally just violated. Well, it is, but it isn't. Newt's pretty sure it's Other Newt but hell, can anyone ever really tell in this city? "Oh, shit, sorry. Thought you were someone else. But we've met, right? New Year's Eve, we fought bats together? You're the other Newt. Which is going to sound really weird if you're like, another guy with the same face."

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"Merlin," Newt breathes as Newt shows him his tattoos, beautiful with intricate details. They remind him of dragons, the creatures on his arms. Not any one breed in particular; more like a conglomeration of various aspects of the different breeds found throughout the world. "Those are magnificent. You studied these creatures?"

He is thoroughly impressed. And delighted. Anyone who studies beasts such as the ones Newt has shown him is well worth preserving as a good friend. Newt finds himself practically beaming.

At the mention of the Niffler, he chuckles, shaking his head a bit. "You can," he tells him. "But I must first advise you to hide anything shiny or of value that you own. The Niffler is a bit of a thief." Which is definitely an understatement, but Newt does so have a way with those, he doesn't pay this one any particular mind.

"They're called kaijus," Newt explains, "and they were my whole frickin' live for like, a whole decade. They weren't so pretty in person, though. Destroyed cities, killed a lot of people."

He thinks of Chuck, of how different their opinions are on the kaiju. Sometimes, Newt thinks Chuck wants to punch his teeth out for still being so fascinated by them, for permanently inking their images onto his body. A lot of people had felt that way, he knows, in and out of the 'Dome. What they'd failed to understand is that his tattoos are less of a shrine, more of a reminder of what he'd dedicated his life to for so long. No matter which way he spins it, the kaiju had existed for almost a third of his lifetime, he'd lived and breathed them. There's no ignoring that, or the fact that somewhere in the back of his head, Newt suspects there might still be a lingering connection because of the Drift.

"But uh, yeah, they were pretty awesome, just biologically. Their blood was actually toxic, and they operated as a hive mind, it's all super cool. My biggest regret about being in Darrow is not having all my research here with me."

He bounces a little in his seat at Other Newt's description of the Niffler, even as he pats his back pocket to make sure his phone is securely tucked into his sufficiently tight jeans. "Dude, okay, let him at me."

"That is unfortunate," Newt says of all the damage these creatures are apparently capable of, shaking his head. "Still, that is quite something, to dedicate a decade of your life to these kaiju."

This Newt's world sounds entirely more dangerous than even his own, just by the sound of the kaiju. Newt wonders at how the people in Newt's world survived. He can also guess, from his own experiences, of how people might come to view those that study these creatures, and he admires Newt all the more for his dedication.

"And a hive mind?" Newt blinks, even more curious now. "Merlin. I've never seen such a thing in such large creatures before. That must have been fascinating."

He nods, before bringing his suitcase to the front of his knees. Cautiously, he opens it, and a loud, gurgling noise rushes through. "Dougal, no. We've been through this. You can't come out just yet. Merlin knows that's the last thing I need, you running invisible throughout Darrow."

Once Dougal is settled, Newt reaches in and quickly grabs the Niffler, pulling him out before shutting the suitcase tight.

"One Niffler, as requested," he says, holding the squirming creature in his arms to show to Newt.

"It was worth every second," Newt says. He's not bullshitting, working at the 'Dome had given his life the kind of meaning he hadn't even known he was looking for and look where he'd ended up: saving the goddamn world. Had he stuck around after the Breach had closed rather than ending up here, there's no telling what kind of super rock star life he'd be leading right now.

Granted, in that alternate version of Darrow Barry had opened up on accident not too long ago, he'd been a rock star there, too. From what he'd gathered, he'd been a real piece of shit, though Newt doesn't need that example to know he's got it made here in Darrow. He's fulfilled in a completely different way, and he's happy.

All of those thoughts get pushed immediately to the side once Other Newt starts fiddling with his suitcase, whispering things to something Newt can't see yet, and he cranes his neck just to try to get a better look. Glancing around them, he's relieved to find that nobody seems to be paying any attention to them and when he looks back at Other Newt, his eyes widen in awe at the little thing wriggling in the guy's hands.

"Holy shit." The thing, the Niffler, kind of looks like a platypus-mole hybrid, and it stares at him with black, beady, curious eyes. It looks innocent enough, Newt thinks, but then it reaches out for the shiny, silver spoon on the table and is only unsuccessful in grabbing it because Other Newt is holding it back. "So he's kind of a little klepto, huh? That's freakin' awesome!"