Halfway being dragged towards the Med-Jack hut, I turn towards Newt. "I really think you're overreacting," I say to him.
"Better safe than sorry," Newt replies.
"Alright, alright," I reply. "Whatever. As long as I don't have to spend the whole bloody night there just because of a small cut."
He cracks a smile and looks at me.
"What?" I ask. "Is there something on my face or something?"
Laughing, he says, "You used the word bloody. Almost nobody uses that except for me."
I awkwardly rub the back of my head. "Heh. It must have rubbed off or something. I mean, since I've got here, I've practically spent all my time with you."
"Maybe you'll become a copy of me," Newt says jokingly.
I think a little, they speak almost perfectly with his thick accent. "Do you mean like this? Should I also cut my hair shorter and somehow dye it blonde?"
He stops walking and shifts his hands to my shoulders. He holds me at arms length and looks me up and down. "I don't know…" he says. "I think you're a little too short to pull off looking like me."
I pout a little. "Oh come on, I'm not that short," I complain. "I'm only around…" I compare our heights. "...3/4 of a head shorter than you."
"Yeah," Newt scoffs, mocking me. "Not that short."
I put my hands (my right hand is placed so that the cut isn't touching any fabric) on his shoulders to keep balance, and stand on my tippy toes. "I'm not that short when I'm like this," I say, looking straight into his eyes. We lock eyes and just stand there, looking at each other.
After a while, Newt laughs. "No, you're not short when you're like this." He puts his hands on my shoulders and lightly pushes me down. "Now go back to your normal height. Shortie. Now let's go and get your hand looked at."
"Hey!" I yell, indignant, about my new nickname, as I allow myself to be brought to the Med-Jacks.
"What happened?" Jeff asks me questioningly while he cleans my wound. I get what he means. The cut on my hand is quite deep. I shrug a little.
"It got cut by a knife," I reply.
"That's gotta be some knife if the cut is that deep," Clint says from across the room. "The only time we have to take care of cuts this deep, is when a Slicer comes in."
"And even when they do come in, the cut's not usually this bad," Jeff adds on.
"Well…" I start saying. "I might have been distractedly flipping a knife." Jeff stops cleaning my cut and Clint stops rummaging for supplies. They stare at me.
"What?" I ask.
Jeff just shakes his head. "Every time there's a knife involved, someone gets injured. I'm still surprised none of our Slicers have gotten any serious injuries yet," he says as he finishes cleaning my wound. "How did you get a knife anyways?"
"Er… I might have taken it from the supply boxes the day I arrived," I say. Jeff raises an eyebrow, but before he can say anything, Clint walks over holding some bandages.
"I finally found them," Clint announces. "Here," he says, handing them over to Jeff, and goes back to the other side of the room, presumably to find something else. Jeff wraps up my my hand nicely and sends me off. Newt gets up from his chair and comes out with me.
"See, that wasn't so bad," he says.
"I guess not," I reply grudgingly as we walk towards the Homestead.
When we arrive, I get an idea. I run up towards Newt's room and quickly enter. I settle myself down on the sleeping bag, thinking that it would prevent Newt from sleeping on the ground. When he walks in, he sees me on the sleeping bag, sitting cross legged.
"What are you doing?" he asked amusedly.
"I'm sleeping on the ground tonight," I answer.
"I think not," he replies, and moves to lift me onto the bed. I struggle violently, but he refuses to let go. A minute later, I'm sitting pouting on the bed, glaring at Newt.
"Why won't you agree to let me sleep on the ground?" I ask, exasperated.
"Because I won't," is his childish reply. "Just sleep on the bed, Adelynn."
"Well, I'm going to try every night, anyways," I say determinedly. "Good night."
"Good night," he mutters, he speech slightly slurred already.
