[ he watches newt move and speak in the dim lighting as if in a trance, like this is a dream, and he's torn between jerking himself away from him and reaching out to touch him. as much as he wants this to be true, wants newt to miraculously be alive and well and safe, and have the one back home be the prop from WICKED, too many times he's been fooled by them. always, these days, he's just waiting for the other shoe to drop. ]
How are you here?
[ thomas mumbles out, eyes still following newt as he goes about unbuckling him and picking up his pack, dazed, but unable to take his eyes from his face. it this is something wicked's done, they chose well if they wanted to throw him. eventually, his comes to his senses, and realizes newt has a hand out for him, asking a question, to which he eventually nods, after a moment of blinking. ]
Yeah. I'm good.
[ he's almost hesitant to take the hand offered, half afraid this'll all crumble if he touches him, and not really sure if he'd rather it did, or didn't, and let him take the ignorant bliss. either way, he takes the help a moment later, dragging himself up out of his chair with a hiss of pain, being suddenly reminded of the slash across his back from the griever blade, as the dried blood over the wound starts to crack with the stretch. it's a stumbling mix of steps trying to get over the others in the shuttle, and all the debris, thomas's eyes skimming around and trying to take details in, and once the light from outside his him, he's squinting back against it, holding a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, until his eyes adjust, and he can get a proper look at the area.
the forest, the desert, the ruins in the distance, and the shuttle... what the fuck, the shuttle? it makes no sense. even for WICKED, it makes no freaking sense. ]
:'D goodbye world
How are you here?
[ thomas mumbles out, eyes still following newt as he goes about unbuckling him and picking up his pack, dazed, but unable to take his eyes from his face. it this is something wicked's done, they chose well if they wanted to throw him. eventually, his comes to his senses, and realizes newt has a hand out for him, asking a question, to which he eventually nods, after a moment of blinking. ]
Yeah. I'm good.
[ he's almost hesitant to take the hand offered, half afraid this'll all crumble if he touches him, and not really sure if he'd rather it did, or didn't, and let him take the ignorant bliss. either way, he takes the help a moment later, dragging himself up out of his chair with a hiss of pain, being suddenly reminded of the slash across his back from the griever blade, as the dried blood over the wound starts to crack with the stretch. it's a stumbling mix of steps trying to get over the others in the shuttle, and all the debris, thomas's eyes skimming around and trying to take details in, and once the light from outside his him, he's squinting back against it, holding a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, until his eyes adjust, and he can get a proper look at the area.
the forest, the desert, the ruins in the distance, and the shuttle... what the fuck, the shuttle? it makes no sense. even for WICKED, it makes no freaking sense. ]
What the hell is this?