Disclaimer: Refer to first chapter.

Canon complaint but not canon, as per usual.

Newt was not the loud child amongst the WICKED children, nor the strongest and most definitely not most well-liked, but he was best at something. Newt was the Observer, watching carefully and calculating. Newt knew who would fall on their face in a few minutes, which child was heading for embarrassment and who would be picking on Newt within the next ten minutes. On top of being the Observer, Newt was also among the nicest children amongst the WICKED children, though there was not much contest for him. Each time on of the hundred-or-so bullies fell on their face during a game of full-tackle basketball, Newt helped them up. Each time one of them was embarrassed about something stupid, Newt shot them a sympathetic and reassuring smile. Of course, he was almost always ignored for the good deeds he did for the others, but he did not care. So long as he was helping, Newt was happy- ish. He could never be truly happy at the WICKED Headquarters. Newt had been bullied his entire life and had not even been allowed to keep a photo of his Greenland Dog when he moved to the WICKED Headquarters. He had really loved the large, golden-brown and white dog who had been his protector in the north of Canada where his family had lived after leaving England, going as far as to name her Volpur, a variant of the Icelandic word for puppy.

Closing his eyes sadly, Newt pictured Volpur; her large brown eyes, woolly triangle ears and tail wrapped around her nose. He leaned back against the wall next to his bed, trying to relax despite the fact that he had been thrown into a new roommate. Newt normally hated new people, though he had become slightly more open since he had met his dear friend Thomas, the small, sweet boy who never stopped sprouting facts. Newt enjoyed the evenings he was able to sneak away to meet up with Thomas, normally talking about the people they interacted with or their past lives. They weren't long interactions, certainly not, but Newt enjoyed speaking to someone who didn't judge him simply because he had an accent. Of all the reasons to dislike someone, having an accent was a very bad reason indeed.

Newt really hoped that his latest roommate, a boy allegedly named Minho, would be better than his previous ones. First had been a guy called Jackson, who wasn't immune like Newt, and was bitter about being non-immune and basically sentenced to death amongst hoards of children who were immune. Newt, not caring for the fact that he wasn't immune, had not gotten along well with the other boy. Then had come a boy known as Siggy who insisted upon being called Frypan since he liked to cook so much. That had been an alright pairing, though they eventually switched Newt out for a kid named Clint so that Newt was with a boy called Jeff with whom Newt constantly argued with, causing for Jeff to be switched for this roommate, Minho.

At the sound of the door to his small room creaking open, Newt opened his eyes, looking up to see the person who must have been his new roommate. Vaguely recognizing him, Newt searched his memory for where he had seen Minho from before. Ah, that was it. Minho was the chatter-box of the WICKED children. He was the one who spoke to pretty much everyone, Newt not being an exception and having spoken to him a few times before, though no more than just a quick 'hi' each time.

Minho slipped in, closing the door behind him, his backpack of belongings sliding from his shoulder. "Hello," Minho greeted calmly. "You're Newt, right? The Brit?"

"Right," Newt mumbled glumly. "The Brit. That's all I am." He watched his new roommate with dark, guarded eyes. He was always weary of new people, no matter how nice they seemed. Unless they were Thomas. The small boy seemed to be the exception to everything, especially the normal.

The other boy flinched slightly. "Sorry," he apologized though didn't seem too sincere about it. Minho plopped down on the other cot in the room, his backpack dropping beside him as Minho began to pull out his few belongings, none of them from his old life. It was a meager lot, just two pairs of plain cargo pants in a drab grey colour and two shirts in a simple blue. He had plain white socks as well. "You know?" He said suddenly. "You have a good aura, Newt."

Newt could have sworn he did a double take. "Wait, seriously? Auras? I didn't know anyone believed in that stuff."

Minho grinned. "I believe that everyone has a destiny that is hinted at by their aura, the representation of who they are. Yours is good. Comprende?"

"Oui," Newt said, absently switching languages. "Err, yes." He crossed is arms over his chest, watching the other boy wearily. "What's my aura?"

Regarding Newt cheerfully, Minho studied him. "Imagine an aura is a human eye. There's the iris of colour and the pupil. The aura takes the place of the iris. The iris of your aura is mostly deep blue, the really bright one. There are... three rings of colour. The first, closest to the pupil, you, is dark blue. Following that is a mixture of beige and ivory. The final ring is... orange?"

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" Newt demanded.

In response Minho laughed. "You normally a calm person. You're loyal and a good person to trust. Confidence is one of your strong points and you would never lie unless there's a life threatening situation. You're good with technology and love order. The first ring shows that you're knowledgeable and serious most of the time. The beige and ivory flecks symbolize unity, quiet and calm. Finally, the orange I don't quite understand. Energetic, enthusiastic, warm and filled with humour. No offense, shank, but I just don't understand."

Newt cracked a small smile. "That does kind of fit. Back home, it was the same thing each day, very orderly. I never left anyone behind and haven't lied in years. I was very confident before I met some of the idiots here. I believe in unified forces and joking around but still keepin' it serious. I have controlled energy. I could be off hunting for a day or two and come home just fine. As for humour, that one just has to be uncovered."

Grinning, Minho slapped his new roommates back. "I think we'll get on just fine, shank."

I really like colour symbolism, don't I. As usual, please drop a review with an idea for the next chapter since I have no ideas. I'll take anything!