newtralize | Deerington Inbox

[The arrangement had been somewhat odd at first. Strange. A little awkward even. For him to be a somewhat reassuring figure to Percival was a strange thing because he wouldn't expect the other needing it. No, that wasn't quite right. He was sure that the other needed some sort of comfort, but he wouldn't have thought that they would get it from him. Newt wasn't exactly a people person, but the auror seemed to sleep better and he wasn't about to deny a good night's rest because he's as awkward as awkward comes.

Newt's hours were always inconsistent. Odd. They always changed, though he had become more active at night due to circumstances. He had adapted to the vampirism, though it was a bit of touch and go at times. Mostly when it came to eating. Animal blood only got him so far and Newt was somewhat reluctant still about feeding off others.

At least Newt being a vampire wasn't much of a well kept secret or perhaps it would be frightening to find the man slumped in the chair. No vital signs of any kind, but that was expected because Newt wasn't technically alive.

It seemed Newt had dozed off in his chair. Quill still clutched in his right and ink slightly smeared on parchment with Newt resting his head on the table. Probably not an unfamiliar sight to Percival, who was also prone to overworking. While Newt was usually mindful of his time and health (he had to be), sometimes it would slip and Deerington never lacked something to keep him busy with.

For now, he seems to be at peace and asleep to the world around him. He shifts a little when the other calls his name out, but doesn't awaken. Well, at least he's definitely not dead.]

[ Percival hates silence anymore. Hates the noise his mind fills with it instead, and how he immediately jumps to the worst without reason. He needs something to ground him, to chase away the darkness that still latches itself to him. It's why he thinks this arrangement works so well—Newt more often than not up at night meant Percival didn't have to be alone with his thoughts when they were at their worst. So the other asleep at his desk presents a new challenge he hadn't needed to deal with before.

Of course he tries telling himself it's fine; it's no different. Newt is still here, just asleep. That it's nothing to worry about. But it doesn't stop any anxiety from bubbling up that he's alone despite all that, that with the other wizard asleep now terrible things can happen. No, it didn't make any sense for Percival to need someone else to reassure him and for that someone to be filled with their own uneases, but torture was a dizzying thing like that. In contrast Newt is a calming force; gentle and caring. Things he had severely lacked as of late.

Through his exhaustion he watches the younger Scamander in his chair, heartened at least to see him move at the sound of his name. Percival thinks first of waking him up, telling him to get some rest; an immediate reaction. But he has been there before, even if it feels like a distant memory, and he recalls he wishes he'd just been left to sleep. And, well. He was in Newt's bed. The next idea to find him doesn't even faze him: maybe being close would do well enough to stave off his thoughts. It worked during the war.

He can deal with the quill after, for now he has a much loftier task on his hands: not drop Newt on his face while dragging him into bed. He deserved a decent rest like everyone else, after all. So Percival starts by reaching out for his sleeve and pulling to see just how much effort this was going to take. ]

[The Brit was still on the thinner side (and it was unlikely it'll ever get better in Deerington), but the man still weighed over 100 pounds and was basically a deadweight. And he truly was one with how he seems to not move much when the other pulls at his sleeve. If anything, he kind of tugs his sleeve away. A quiet murmur, but still very much asleep.

Percival really has his work cut out for him.

He's probably going to have to get crafty to get Newt into bed. Good luck.

At least his desk is right next to the bed and not across the room somewhere.]

[ Considering Percival could still hardly make his way down or up the stairs without getting winded—yes, this was going to be an undertaking. And with his magic still unreliable he can't count on that to get him over.

He huffs, lolling his head as he takes his hand back.

Fine.

Pushing covers aside he scoots more to the edge of the bed and uses the side of the table to stabilize himself while his other hand reaches for Newt again. It's gentle, his hold, wrapped under the magizoologist's arm, enough to give him some leverage.

And he pulls again, careful and slow, trying to get Newt to lean a little more to the side. Step one of many unknown steps. ]

[Newt, in the end, was a light sleeper. The other's attempts were a good attempt, but Newt stirs a bit before lifting his head to look at the other.]

...Percival?

[The man probably isn't quite so awake. Awake enough to be conscious, but that's probably the extent of it. At the very least, he could probably convince Newt to get into bed. The other seemed like he could do with getting into bed proper with how he rubs at his eyes a bit and looks about ready to doze off again.]

[ Ah, hell.

Percival freezes, swallowing down his worry. Why was it even there to begin with? The thought doesn't win out as much as the realization he's still holding on to Newt's arm.

It makes for a good lead, anyway. ]

You're falling asleep at your desk, [ He starts softly to not rouse him more. ] Come to bed before you—[ Well he's heard tale from Theseus the odd places Newt's fallen asleep at. And he knows a thing or two about the aches that brings. ] Inconvenience yourself further. [ A vamp or not, he still needed rest. Clearly. ] There's plenty of room.

[ There wasn't, but if Newt was going to sleep too, well—Percival would rather him nearer than the chair. ]

[Newt's gaze is unfocused and he looked like he was all about to just fall asleep again. Waking up is a bit of an arduous affair at times. Who would think that a vampire might suffer from low blood sugar. Then again, Newt seemed to try and space out his meals.]

Ah... [He stares at the other for a moment longer as though he was really processing what the other was saying. Eventually he kind of haphazardly gets up from his chair only to kind of flop onto the bed with the other. He is beauty and grace.

Newt was cold to the touch, which is unsurprising. What was more surprising is probably how the man cuddles up to the other in his half asleep stupor; seeking warmth from the other.

Was this near enough for Percival?]

[ Percival might have a few more sleepy cogs turning in his attempt to get Newt to crash into bed but he certainly didn't have enough to recognize he should move when he gets up from the chair. He beauty, he's grace, he'll knock the wind out of your damn chest.

For someone who doesn't weigh soaking wet what Newt does, it takes him a second to get some air back in his lungs and it's exacerbated by the cold seeping into him—sharp and entirely distracting. Much like the way Newt settles up against him. It gives Percival pause, halting his reshuffling of blankets.

With a few quick blinks he continues, covering them both before slowly readjusting himself in this self-imposed cramped mess. ]

There, [ Is the low murmur. ] Now you won't wake up with ink and paper stuck to your face.

[Newt lets out a sleepy chuckle at that.] Ink and paper isn't that bad. I once woke up in a tree and I can't say I made the landing very well.

[Although, that wasn't entirely his fault. He was just stuck in a tree for quite awhile and might have dozed off. The troubles of being a magizoologist in the field.

He happily settles down a bit; curled up against the other. Newt somehow manages to make himself smaller than he seems, though the bed is too small for them to not end up slightly tangled together. If Newt were more awake, he'd probably be embarrassed with the intimacy of the whole ordeal. For now though, he's blissfully too sleepy to realize it.]

[ Though he hadn't been able to be particular about his surroundings as of late, with the small bit of home life he's already had the habits are creeping back in. Percival wants to fix the bedding, the pillows, make Newt feel comfortable like he has for him here.

The warmth is starting to spread though, that pinch behind his eyes working back up to make him tired and want to rest. The way Newt curls more only adds to the safety of it; a memory of familiarity from a foxhole that soothed similar demons.

The laugh at the idea of Newt slipping in a tree (and slipping out of it, admittedly) is gentle as he gives in and rests his slight weight into the bed, finding a way to settle into their gaggle of limbs. ] I might prefer a tree over the words "henceforth to be banned" stained on my face. In reverse. For most of the day.

[ At least no one would see him fall out of the tree. A silver lining. ]

I suppose it would be hard to exude an aura of authority when you've got ink on your face. I can't say that mine would say anything of that nature. Perhaps more like the mating rituals of an erumpent or the dietary restrictions of a swooping evil. [Can't really save face if you've got the particulars of magic rhino intercourse on your face. Literally.]

I wouldn't recommend falling out of a tree deep in a rainforest though. It isn't a comfortable landing at all. [He offers a sleepy smile. He has grown somewhat comfortable with Percival's company. A little awkward at first, but an awkwardness he was happy to get over if it gave the other peace of mind in any capacity.

Now he doesn't quite mind so much at all.]

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