Although Newt had told Thomas he would need all the sleep he could get, the noiret found it nigh impossible to actually drift off. He had sat in the homestead for a time, before grabbing one of the laid out sleeping bags, quickly stuffing it under his arm and heading back out into the night. A few moments later, he was laying in the soft sleeping bag on a patch of grass near the gardens, something he hadn't even noticed before on his initial glance around the compound.
For what felt like the millionth time since his arrival, he wondered just where they were, the climate seeming too artificially consistent to allow for logical analysis. Even if he could have narrowed down a list of candidates though, his mind was having a hard time grasping the names of places, or remembering countries or rulers. He could occasionally picture an odd landmark, but he couldn't imagine what it actually was or its significance to any location; and even if he could, it would hardly help when they had no means of seeing past the tall walls surrounding them. Eventually he sighed, giving up for the night. At least wherever they were, it was warm.
He lay on his back, his arms folded behind his head as he stared up at the stars and listened to the lingering sounds of the bonfire party. He supposed it was rude of the guest of honor to have left his own party before the end, but Newt had seemed to understand his reluctance to return after their discussion. Sleep felt miles away, his mind whirling with the information that Newt had allowed him. It had been an endless, and strange, day. He wondered again what so many, so young people could have possibly done to warrant ending up in such a hopeless and despairing place.
Yet, the boys all worked hard here. They cared for the animals, the land, what little workable soil there was between the large concrete slabs. It was all so... weird. He could remember the little things about life; clothing, speech, how to eat and walk. Yet any details were gone, obscured as if behind a half metre of muddy water. More than anything perhaps, he felt sad.
"Well, this sure ain't where I buggin' left you." Came an amused jibe. Thomas grinned cheekily, tilting his head back to look upside-down at the blond with his arms folded over his chest. "Pretty sure I said you needed to goto bloody sleep," Newt added, walking around Thomas in order to flop down beside him.
"Couldn't sleep." Thomas said, turning his head from Newt's amused glare in order to look back at the stars. "Can't shut off," he joked, tapping the side of his head. The two of them remained silent for a time, each lost to their own thoughts as they observed the lightly twinkling stars above them. Thomas stole glances at the other boy every so often, his seeming to drift without his awareness until he was examining some other small detail about the blond. How his hands had graceful, musical fingers. How long his legs were, which brought to mind the other boys limp, and questions of how he might have gotten it.
Thomas was suddenly struck with the realization that he knew nothing about himself. He almost gasped, at the force with which he was struck by panic. The thought that if he didn't even know what he himself looked like, then he was somehow robbed of something even deeper than his past. "I can hear ya bloody head workin' from here," Newt said quietly, and Thomas looked over to find the boy laying on his side, his head propped by his elbow as he watched Thomas's internal struggle. "What's buggin' ya?"
"Newt," he began, but though he opened his mouth, he could get no other words out. He hesitated a moment longer, frustration eating away at he shook his head, and tried to put into words the emptiness that he felt about himself. "What- How- ...what do I..." He gave up, biting his lip as the words continued to stick in his throat like glue. He scrubbed his eyes quickly, hating himself for the burning sensation that still stung them even after he'd finished and lowered his arm again.
Newt's eyes scanned over him, a thoughtful look in his eyes as he examined Thomas up and down. "I'd say ya're around sixteen," he said, and Thomas felt all his breath rush from him as the words sank in. Sixteen years of his life, stolen by people he couldn't remember for reasons he didn't even know if he originally knew. His head hurt at the thought, and he rapidly pushed it away, looking at Newt as the boy shifted and continued. "Brown eyes, light, like hazelnuts." Thomas felt his cheeks burn with heat again, and hoped the other boy wasn't looking quite close enough to notice. "Ya got black hair, and when standing I'd say ya're about one metre seventy five, in case ya're wonderin'."
Thomas sucked in a deep breath, the information about himself igniting curiosity, a swell of happiness; and an overwhelming sadness, all at once. He couldn't pick any one emotion, his heart racing as his breathing began to come faster. "Ugly as bloody fried liver on a stick." Thomas barked a surprised laugh, his eyes turning back to Newt as his eyes widened. The huge grin on the blond's face spoke of his intentions, and Thomas felt a little better for the blond's attempt to ease his surge of panic. "Ok, ok, so maybe there'd be some call ya hot; but hey, all opinion. All that matters is your own bloody opinion on ya'self."
Thomas couldn't stop the words leaving his mouth if he tried. "Which do you think?" He asked, immediately filled with horror from his outburst. Newt laughed, the sound loud and honest, as he rolled closer beside him, his eyes sparkling as his mouth hovered only a short distance away. Thomas heard his heart speed up against his ribs, and hopelessly hoped the other boy didn't notice his flaming face from such proximity.
"Ask me again when ya done as ya buggin' told and been to bloody sleep." Newt said quietly, hovering a moment longer before he pushed to his feet. "Hey Chuckie, keep an eye on the Greenie for the night, bloody knock him out if ya have to, bloody make him sleep." Newt winked before walking away, as Chuck hopped down beside Thomas on the ground, his own sleeping bag already wrapped around him. Thomas tilted upwards slightly, watching Newt depart and catching the blond glance back before turning the corner around the homestead.
He grinned to himself, a small and hidden thing which he was certain Chuck couldn't possibly see, as he returned to lying on his back. The special warmth again bubbled in his chest, spreading throughout his body and making it even more difficult to believe he would ever get to sleep. He couldn't help but offer small thanks that whoever the shanks who had stuffed them all here were, they had thought to include someone so calm and calming, as Newt. He immediately felt flooded with guilt for the thought, his emotions battling and churning within him as he contemplated that he took pleasure from anyone being stuck in this awful and confusing place.
"Well Greenie, you survived first day!" Chuck said, interrupting Thomas's now chaotic thoughts. Thomas felt a rush of gratitude towards the chubby boy, and promised himself he would try to be nicer to the boy in the future.
"Barely," he said, trying hard not to let his thoughts drift back towards Newt. "I think Gally would've happily kicked my ass today if he got the chance, Alby too probably." He frowned, scolding himself when he wanted to add that it was only due to Newt's interventions both times that he had gotten away with only a tongue lashing at most.
"Well, Gally's kind of a... shank..." Chuck said, seeming uncomfortable with the word. The boy immediately shook off his discomfort and leaned on an elbow, looking over at Thomas with kindness and excitement. "You'll learn a lot in the next couple days, start getting used to things. Good that?"
"Um," Thomas said uncertainly, biting his tongue briefly before continuing. "Yeah... good that, I guess..." He added slowly. He was silent for a moment, before he couldn't stand not knowing any longer. "Where'd all these weird words and phrases come from, anyway?" He couldn't shake the feeling that they had taken some strange other language, and melded it with his own.
Chuck flopped back to the ground with a heavy flump, "I don't know. I've only been here a month, remember?" Thomas frowned at the petulant tone, wondering if the boy knew more than he was willing to tell. The kid was quirky, funny, and he seemed pretty innocent, but Thomas knew already he was capable of concealing things if he felt like it. Although language creation seemed a stupid thing to lie over. Ultimately Thomas decided he was just as mysterious as everyone and everything else in the Glade.
The minutes stretched past, and Thomas slowly felt the long and unusual day finally catch up to him, the leaded edge of sleep just brushing across his mind. But, like a fist had suddenly shoved through his head and grabbed his mind in a tight grip, a thought popped in which he couldn't shake. He hadn't expected, and wasn't entirely sure where it had come from. Suddenly, the Glade; the walls, the maze, even the boys all seemed familiar. Comfortable.
A warmth of calmness spread through his chest, for the first time from something other than a certain blond's reassurances. For the first time since he had arrived, he didn't feel like the Glade was the worst place in the universe that he could be, like it wasn't a prison; only a puzzle. He stilled, felt his eyes widen and his breathing stutter to a halt. He desperate tried to pinpoint what had changed, what could have happened to instill such a certainty into his heart. Ironically, the thought that things might be ok; made him feel slightly uneasy.
Although he didn't quite understand how, he knew what he needed to do. He didn't get it. Didn't understand it any further than the certainty of knowing it was right. The feeling, the epiphany, was a strange one; both foreign and familiar at the same time. But still, it just felt right.
"I want to be one of those guys that goes out there," he said aloud, not even aware if Chuck was awake or if he was just talking to himself. "Inside the Maze."
"Huh?" Chuck replied, and Thomas could hear the tinge of annoyance in the other boys voice.
"Runner," Thomas said, wishing he could understand where the clear certainty of his words was coming from. "Whatever they're doing out there, I want in."
Chuck was silent for a long moment before he finally replied. "You don't even know what you're talking about," he grumbled, rolling over in his sleeping bag. "Do what Newt said, go to sleep, Greenie."
Thomas felt a surge of confidence, boosted by a small swell of irritation that the chubby boy would shoot him down so quickly, even if it was true that he really didn't know what he was talking about. "I want to be a runner."
Chuck turned and got back up on his elbow, his face twisted with frustration for the first time Thomas could remember. "You can forget that little thought right now." He said, far more forcefully than Thomas would have thought possible for the younger boy. He wondered at the boy's reaction, his brow furrowing as he pressed on.
"Don't try to-"
"Thomas. Newbie. My new friend. Forget it." Chuck said, jabbing a pudgy finger roughly into Thomas's sleeping bag.
"I'll tell Alby tomorrow." Thomas said stubbornly, thinking he may well have gone insane; seeing as he was so unreasonably determined to be a runner, even though he really did have no idea what that meant.
Chuck glared at him for a moment longer, before his shoulders drooped, rolling onto his back as he huffed a dry chuckle. "You're a piece of klunk. Go to sleep."
But Thomas couldn't quit, his mind churning, his head pounding and his heart racing; his whole body telling him there was something so obvious that he was missing in this puzzle. "Something out there... it feels, familiar."
"Go... to... sleep."
Then it hit Thomas. His breath whooshed from his lungs, his heart seemed to pause mid-beat and the fire in his veins seemed to turn to ice. A few of the pieces finally fell into place, and though he couldn't tell what the ultimate picture was yet, it gave him a clear enough understanding of what he was feeling. His next words almost seemed to be coming from somewhere else, he had no control over them. "Chuck, I... I think I've been here before."
He heard the boy sit up, heard the sharp intake of a breath. But Thomas knew there was nothing further to be said. He rolled over, turning his back to the other boy and refusing to say another word. He didn't dare risk the new sense of being encouraged, or risk eradicating the reassuring calm that filled his heart. Sleep came much easier than he expected after that, and as he finally drifted into darkness, he had the entirely inappropriate and out of place thought; that Newt had very pretty eyes.
He felt like he had only closed his eyes for half a minute, before someone was shaking him awake. Cold fear washed over him, visions of being shoved back into the box while he slept only to wake up in the dark again, alone and confused once more. His eyes snapped open to see a too-close face staring down at him, everything around him still shadowed by the darkness of early morning. He opened his mouth to speak, but a warm hand pressed gently over it, keeping it shut. He expected to feel panicked, and was surprised he didn't; until he saw who it was.
"Shh, Tommy." Newt said quietly, a slow lopsided smile blooming across his face. "Don't wanna be wakin' Chuckie now, do we?" Though Thomas was startled, any traces of alarm melted away completely. He couldn't help feeling curious, wondering what the guy who seemed to be second in command would want with him. He doubted he had anything more to tell him that he couldn't have said the night before. Thomas nodded, his hand coming to gently remove Newt's from his mouth, while trying to say that he understood with his eyes at the same time. Newt grinned, a flash of teeth showing briefly before he leaned back on his heels.
"Come on, Greenie," the tall boy whispered, as he stood. He reached down and offered his hand, which Thomas took willingly, allowing the other boy to help him to his feet. The blond was so strong, it felt like he could have easily ripped Thomas's arm off if he had wanted to, though he clearly didn't as he was gentle as he pulled the noiret up beside him. Thomas wasn't about to admit that he found the thought thrilling. "Supposed to show ya somethin' before the wake up." Newt explained softly, his head tilting in a way which told Thomas to follow the blond, which he did without thought when the other boy turned and began to walk away.
"Ok." Thomas immediately replied, any lingering haze of sleep vanishing as he leaned down and slipped into his shoes. "Where are we going?" He whispered as he straightened, quickly catching up to Newt.
"Just follow me, Greenie, and keep up." Thomas frowned, irritated for no good reason he could settle on that he was back to being called 'Greenie'. He grumbled internally, thinking of ways he might be able to get the blond to return to calling him 'Tommy,' much preferring the sound of his first nickname from the other boy. Newt led the way both quickly and carefully, avoiding the other boys sleeping outside with a practiced ease which Thomas was yet to acquire; as he almost tripped several times. He stepped on someone's hand, earning a sharp cry of pain, then a punch in the calf in return.
"Sorry," he whispered, ignoring a dirty look from Newt. He hoped the heat in his cheeks didn't show.
Once they left the lawn area and stepped back onto the hard grey stone of the courtyard floor, Newt broke into a run, heading for the western wall. Thomas hesitated at first, wondering why he might need to run when there was nowhere he could really go, but he quickly snapped himself out of it and followed after the tall boy. He didn't stop, until Newt did, beside the massive wall towering above them like a skyscraper; an image which floated to the top of his murky puddle of a memory for a moment, before sinking deep once more.
"What are those?" He whispered, pointing to some small red lights he noticed scattered about the walls face, moving, stopping, turning off and on.
Newt stood slightly ahead of him, in front of a thick curtain of ivy on the wall. The blond glanced back at him, raising a brow as if in question. "What did I buggin' say last night, Greenie?" He sighed wearily, though his lips curled slightly, alleviating the scolding. "When you bloody need to know, ya'll know."
"Well, its kinda stupid to send me someplace nothing makes sense and then not answer any of my questions," Thomas paused, surprised at himself. "Shank," he added with a grin, throwing all the sarcasm he could into the single syllable.
Newt barked a loud laugh, slamming his hand over his mouth quickly and glancing around the Glade as he quickly got himself under control again. He leveled a playful glare at Thomas, his eyes full of mirth and mischief, before he faced the curtain again. "I like you, Greenie. Now buggin' shut it and let me show ya somethin'." Thomas felt the confusing glitch of emotions in his chest. He felt pleased that he was able to have the sense of camaraderie he did with the blond, that the other boy was proving to be someone he couldn't imagine life in the Glade without. At the same time, he felt the grinding screech of frustration, at being called 'Greenie,' as opposed to 'Tommy'.
Newt drew his attention from his internal dilemma's, stepping forward to dig his hands deep into the ivy, dragging several of the thick vines away from the wall. Beneath the curtain, further hidden by a thick layer of dust, was what could only be described; as a window. Thomas shivered, the glass appearing as if it had been painted black in the darkness.
"What're we looking for, exactly?" Thomas asked, his eyes flicking between Newt's expectant expression, and the dark depths of the blackened window.
"Hold ya buggin' undies," Newt laughed quietly, glancing down to flick at Thomas's forehead lightly. "One'll be along soon enough."
Thomas pouted and rubbed at the injured spot, pretending not to notice Newt's smirk as the other boy stood stock still and stared through the window. Thomas dropped his hand with a faint sigh, and watched also. A minute passed, then two. Several more. Thomas began to fidget, he couldn't understand how the blond was able to stand so impeccably still for so long, so utterly patient as he stared into nothing but darkness.
"Holy shuck, ya're really bad at bloody patience ain't ya, Tommy?" Thomas couldn't understand why his heart seemed to float at the return of his nickname, or why it seemed to want to climb out of his throat, or the way his stomach seemed to suddenly go hollow.
"I," he began, but had to clear his throat instead, wildly hoping that his face wasn't turning red again. He felt his hands turn hot and clammy, and he settled them on his hip as nonchalantly as possible. "I just, you know... am a... physical... person..." He stuttered, immediately wincing at the pathetic explanation. Newt rolled his head towards him, an enormous grin on his face and a glint in his eye which said both that he couldn't believe Thomas had actually just said what he did; and that he thought it was hilarious.
"Ya don't buggin' think before ya speak either, do ya?" The blond laughed, stifling the sound as best he could with his free hand. Thomas flushed, but he couldn't find it in himself to be offended by the other boys teasing.
"No, I really don't seem to, do I?" He admitted with a chuckle of his own. He looked at Newt, who shook his head in amusement and turned back to the window, his smile slowly fading as he noticed the change beyond. Thomas stepped closer to the other boy, the backs of their hands brushing, before he, at last, grew perfectly still.
Glimmers of an eerie light shone through the thick window, casting a wavering spectrum of colours across their skin. Thomas raised a hand, examining the display closer to his face, before glancing up at Newt, who still faced the window, staring almost blankly as if lost in thought. The colours blended across his face, making it appear as if he were stood next to a lit swimming pool. Thomas turned back to the window, squinting as he tried to make out what was ahead of them. A thick lump began to form in his throat.
"Out there's the Maze," Newt whispered, eyes wide as if in a trance. "Everythin' we do; our whole life, Greenie, revolves around the Maze. Every lovin' second of every lovin' day, we spend in honor of the Maze, tryin' to solve somethin' that's never shown us it has a bloody solution, ya know? And we wanted to show ya, why it's not to be messed with. Show ya why them buggin' walls close every night. Show ya why you should never, never find ya shank butt out there." Newt stepped back, still holding the vines. He lowered his haunted gaze to Thomas, and gestured for him to step closer. Thomas met his gaze for a second, trying to understand the secrets hidden in the other boys dark eyes, until the other boy looked away and he was forced to step closer to the window.
Even with his nose pressed against the thick glass, it took a moment for him to see what Newt wanted him to see, to look past the grime and dust to the moving object beyond. When he did, his breath was stolen from his throat, as if he'd been punched in the gut. He struggled to catch another.
A large, bulbous that looked roughly the size of a cow, but that had no distinct shape or features; twisted and seethed across the ground in the corridor outside. It climbed the opposite wall, and then leaped at the thick glass with a loud thump. Thomas jerked away from the window, a small shriek escaping him before he could catch himself, but the thing bounced backwards, leaving the glass undamaged.
The creature appeared to be a horrific mix of animal and machine, intelligent enough to know it was being observed. It seemed to know what lay within the Glade, wanted to break through and feast on the human flesh hidden inside. Thomas felt an icy terror blossom in his chest, spreading like a tumor and making it even harder for him to catch his breath.
"What is that thing?" He asked, jerking his chin toward the monstrosity. He rubbed at his stomach, as something shivered in his gut. He wondered if he would ever be able to eat again.
"That my new friend, Tommy, is a Griever." Newt answered, staring at the thing with a detached kind of, morbid fascination. "Nasty bugger, eh? Just be glad the buggin' Griever's only come out at night. Be thankful for these walls."
Thomas swallowed, wondering if he could ever go out there. His desire to become a runner took a major blow, but despite this; he knew with a conviction that almost scared him worse than the Griever's monstrous appearance, he had to do it. Being a runner was what he was destined to do in this place. The certainty was an odd thing to feel, especially considering what he had just seen.
Newt watched the window absently, almost seeming to have forgotten about Thomas, until he started talking again. "Now you know what bloody lurks in the Maze, my friend. Now you know this isn't joke time. You've been sent to the Glade, Greenie," Thomas's heart sank for reasons he couldn't even begin to fathom, the reappearance of 'Greenie,' striking him a harder blow every time Newt reverted back to the slang. "We'll be expectin' ya to survive. To help us do what we've been sent here to do."
"And what's that?" Thomas asked slowly, feeling even more on edge by the emotionless way Newt was talking than from seeing the Griever. He wasn't at all surprised to realize he was terrified of the answer.
Newt turned to look him dead in the eye. The dawn had crept up on them, and Thomas could see every detail of Newt's face. His tightly pressed together lips, the specks of gold hidden in his dark eyes. The occasional darker, slightly redder hair hidden throughout his blond hair. Thomas was pleased nobody could hear his thoughts, when they startled him with the very clear thought that the other boy looked beautiful. Even with the way his skin seemed pulled taught in an effort to control himself, and the way his brow creased. "To find our way out Greenie," Newt said slowly, his eyes full of conviction and even a touch of desperation. "Solve the buggin' Maze, and find our way home."
For a moment, neither said anything further. Thomas met Newt's fierce gaze, until something deep within his eyes seemed to shift, some awareness creeping into them as they roamed over Thomas curiously. Thomas lowered his own eyes to the floor, wondering if now were the time to mention his desires. Something told him it was too soon, that he would only be laughed at and mocked if he tried to mention his wish to be a runner already. He decided to wait, let the dust settle and try in a couple days time.
"C'mon, Tommy," Newt said quietly, bumping his shoulder as he strode past. He paused and looked back over his shoulder, a small grin forming as he made sure Thomas followed him. "Alby will be doin' ya bloody tour soon, and he'll be a total shuck-face if I keep ya too long. But, there's somethin' else I wanna show ya quick like, get me?"
Thomas grinned widely, ducking his head slightly as he followed the blond. "I get ya," he laughed. He followed the blond in silence, lost in his thoughts about becoming a runner, about Griever's and Maze's and about what anyone could possibly achieve from putting a bunch of teenage boys in such an environment; with no discernible goal, reason or end in sight. The whole thing made his head hurt.
To distract himself he watched the surroundings as he walked through the Glade. The sky as it slowly brightened, the walls as their shadow's retreated for another day. The way Newt's slight limp seemed more pronounced today, and made his ass tilt in a curiously fascinating repetitive motion. It had been some minutes before he realized he was walking along in a daze, staring at the ass of the boy ahead of him. He quickly glanced around, glad to find that nobody was around to notice his distraction. He cleared his throat, and scratched at the back of his neck guiltily, firmly re-focusing his eyes on the back of Newt's head.
"Here," Newt said softly, coming to a half beside another of the four walls. Located on the opposite side of the doors, which would soon be opening, the wall was already bathed in early morning sunlight; and Thomas felt something heavy settle in his hollow stomach when his eyes landed on the grey surface. Countless names, carved into the wall, some deeper than others. Some were horizontal, some were vertical. Some were all lower case, some were all capitals. Some were tiny, some were so big they were almost comical. Thomas stepped closer, a hand raising; but not quite daring to actually brush across the stone. "Every buggin' boy who ever came here... so we never forget. So there's always somethin' of them left."
Newt's ominous words poisoned the wonder and awe Thomas felt of the wall, his eyes picking out details for the first time. For all the countless names carved into the rock face, a disconcertingly high amount of them were harshly crossed out. Thomas finally allowed his hand to touch the wall, dragging it softly over one of the crossed out names. It read, 'george,' all in lower case, and was smaller by far than Alby's or Minho's names. He saw Newt's, written almost right before his eyes, and he was tempted to run his hand over it too, but forced his hand away from the wall instead. "What happened to them..?" He asked quietly, gesturing to the crossed out names.
Newt was silent for a long time, seeming to debate the question thoroughly before he shifted his gaze and focused on Thomas's eyes with his own haunted, dark brown eyes. "We weren't always so well organized. Things happened. Lesson's were learned." Newt said slowly, taking Thomas's hand and folding it around a small knife. Thomas bit his lip, the other boys pain clear in his stiff body language. Thomas acted before he could even think.
He slapped his free hand onto Newt's shoulder, startling the taller boy a moment, before his eyes softened, his hand coming to grip Thomas's a moment, before releasing it again. Thomas removed his hand, comfort both given and received from the gesture. He couldn't help but notice his hand still felt warm even after he removed it from the other boys shoulder. He nodded his head silently, before stepping forward and raising the small knife to the hard surface. With his free hand, he softly traced Newt's name, before shifting and beginning his own, only a short ways above it. He told himself it was because Newt was his first friend, and not because he some part of him wanted to always be close to him. He couldn't tell if he believed himself or not.
As he set about the arduous task of carving his name into the hard rock, he thought about all the boys who had done so before him. There was no way to know those that were lost. For all the helpful things this place did seem to be provided with, there were no cameras, and it seemed no mirrors, showers, or such other luxuries. Thomas wondered briefly if half the other boys even knew what they looked like. He wondered if Newt did. He chanced a glance, finding the blond leaning his shoulder against the wall, with his arms and legs both crossed. Watching Thomas's name slowly appear on the wall as so many other's had before him, almost as if he were only just truly, finally arriving in the Glade with this action.
Thomas refocused on his carving, sweat breaking out on his brow as he dragged the knife across the wall in a repetitive motion, pressing it deeper so his mark would remain, even after he may be long gone. He thought about the Grievers, wondered how many of the boys had succumbed to the monstrosities, or how many had been stung; only to return to the homestead for the magical 'serum,' that Chuck had mentioned.
By the time he had finished, the Maze doors had opened. Thomas had paused briefly to watch the runners leave, none of them saying a word before they bolted into the dark corridors outside before the doors had even stopped moving, before he continued in the peaceful silence he and Newt had established while he worked. When he finally stepped back, his name was clearly written on the wall, a short distance below Alby's and a short way above Newt's. He felt a swell of pride, but quickly squashed it down, feeling ridiculous when he wasn't the only person to have done this.
"Nice job, Greenie." Newt commented, lightly clapping a hand on his shoulder. Thomas glanced back, and offered the boy his knife back, handle first. Newt grinned, taking the blade and slotting it into a harness across his chest. "Come on, lets get you back before Alby has a buggin' heart attack." Thomas laughed, not sure why the motion felt so good or so natural, but deciding that for this one moment, he would let go of all the thinking; and just go with it.
The two boys walked back across the compound, Newt making quiet observations and pointing out a few places and faces as they passed them. "That's the Blood House, where the Slicers work. Keeper's a guy called Winston. Nasty bloody stuff. If ya're into blood, you can be a Slicer."
"Nope, not even a little." Thomas said quickly, and Newt laughed at his no doubt slightly horrified expression.
"Well, ya'll have to do a day with each keeper, get a feel for where ya talents lay." Newt said lightly. He pointed to two boys walking over to the homestead. "That's Clint and Jeff, the Med-jacks. They spend most of their time patching up the Slicers, though sometimes we have a few other ailments come up as well." Thomas laughed, his nervousness fading as he listened to Newt talk and explain how the Glade worked.
"We also have the Builders," he said, gesturing towards a group of boys who were eating their breakfast while noisily discussing some adjustments they wanted to make to the homestead. Newt leaned closer and whispered in a mock-conspiratorial tone, "great with their hands, but not a lot going on upstairs..." He tapped the side of his head, flashing Thomas a meaningful look, before he grinned and pulled away, seemingly pleased when Thomas laughed again.
Before long they had gone through most of the people in the Glade, each assigned to their own area to work throughout the day."So what about when it rains, you guys take a day off?" Thomas asked, genuinely curious.
"It never rains." Newt said quietly, looking around the Glade almost sadly. "Three years some of us have been here, and we've had nothing but what you see now. Perfect weather, every day."
Thomas remained silent, his brow furrowing as he tried to puzzle out the implications of such obviously unnatural weather. "Whoever the buggin' shanks put us here are, they give us just enough to survive; but nothin' beyond that. Mice, trapped in a bloody Maze." The bitterness in Newt's tone startled Thomas, and he felt the intense urge to give comfort to the other boy, though he had no idea how to go about it. He settled for a pat to the shoulder, which earned him a dry chuckle and a roll of the eyes. "Ya bloody awful at comfort, Tommy." Newt joked quietly, and Thomas couldn't help but grin at the teasing tone of the other boy, pleased he had at least achieved his goal of lifting the blond's mood. "But cheers, I appreciate it all the bloody same."
"There you are, Greenie," the sharp voice cut across their banter, and Thomas jumped in surprise. Newt snickered at this, before raising his hand in greeting to Alby when the boy stomped over to them. "What took you so damn long, Newt?"
"I took him to the bloody name wall," Newt said, his exasperation clear as he folded his heavily muscled arms over his chest. "What, some buggin' emergency strike?"
Alby narrowed his eyes, glancing between the two with mounting frustration. "You show him anything else, shank?"
Newt shrugged, stepping forward to scuff his friend around the head playfully. "Pointed a few things out as we passed," he admitted, "don't worry though, ya buggin' tour can start now."
"Sounds like you probably did it all in one," Alby sighed, running a hand over his head and throwing the blond a light glare. "Anything I should know?" He asked after a moments pause.
Newt hesitated, glancing at Thomas before shrugging his shoulders. "His name's Thomas." Newt said, before moving to walk away. "And he doesn't bloody like bloo-" He was cut off by a booming, ringing alarm that sounded in all directions. Newt stopped dead, his eyes widening not from fear but surprise and confusion. Alby frowned heavily, staring across the compound to the box.
"What's going on..?" He asked cautiously. Although Newt seemed fairly willing to answer his questions, he knew Alby often reacted with less patience than the blond. He was relived neither boy seemed to think the world was about to end, but even so, Thomas couldn't fight the wave of panic which washed over him.
"That's weird," was all Alby said, his eyes darting around the compound to see the other boys all abandoning their jobs to congregate outside the homestead. A short, skinny kid drenched in mud shouted to Alby.
"What's up with that?" He demanded, for some reason looking towards Thomas, as if he might have something to do with it.
"I don't know," Alby murmured back, though the boy couldn't possibly have heard the reply from such a distance.
Thomas frowned, his chest tightening with concern. "Alby, what's going on?" He finally asked, unable to take it any longer.
"The box, shuck-face, the box!" Was all Alby said, before he set off for the middle of the Glade at a brisk pace which almost looked to Thomas like panic after all.
"What about it?" Thomas called, beginning to follow the boy at a much more cautious pace. He wanted to scream at the other boy for abandoning him, but something told him that the unusual event was a shock to everyone. He turned and spotted Newt limping cautiously alongside him. He trampled down his rising fear, telling himself that the blond wouldn't abandon him like Alby, that he would explain.
Newt glanced over at him, then nodded towards where the other boys were gathering around the box in the middle of the Glade. He was strangely calm in the middle of all the chaos, something Thomas was enormously thankful for, as it helped to soothe his own fraying nerves. "Means a bloody Newbie's comin' up in the box." He paused, watching Thomas as if this should shock the noiret. "Right now..."
"So?" Thomas looked more closely at Newt, and realized suddenly that what he had mistaken for calm, was actually disbelief; maybe even excitement.
"So?" Newt replied, his jaw dropping slightly. "Greenie, we've never had two Newbies show up in the same month, much less two days in a row. First we get you, Mr curious, now a Newbie already?" Newt jostled his shoulder lightly, showing he meant the jibe lightheartedly. Still, as he ran off towards the homestead, Thomas couldn't help but notice his heart seemed to be sinking; as if something had changed the rules these boys had been living by. He shivered, and wrapped his arms around himself. He had the awful sense of foreboding that whatever had happened, was going to change things even worse than a few scrapped routines.
A/N:~ I'm loving writing this, and I'm loving that you all seem to enjoy it so much! Thankyou so much for reading; though I feel I must reiterate - I really don't do a lot here; I'm meshing book and film, so much of it is already there... But still, thankyou.
Please let me know what you think so far; I'll try and update again soon :)
x My love to you all x