[ There's a long moment where Newt simply watches him, wishing nothing more than to be able to know what he's thinking. ] The more ya keep talking about what happened to you the more I feel like I'm jacked in the head. [ It's a terrifying feeling, and it's quick to bring darker thoughts to his mind, ones that he tries to push away. There's no way he's gone bonkers, right?
The thoughts make him even more sure that giving Thomas the knife was the right choice, maybe it was safer for both of them with him. ] You can't always have the answers to everything. This is probably another one of their tests. [ He's fairly certain however, that he wants off this ride - he's so tired of being a lab rat for a bunch of assholes. ] They can make us do stuff? Get into our heads? [ The thought makes him feel utterly violated to his core.
For all he's learning, he really wishes Thomas would just stop talking but morbid curiosity keeps him from voicing that - or maybe it's WCKD keeping him from voicing it? Already he's trying to reassess everything he's ever done before, decide if it was him or not. If they could control him and make him do things... He wonders about Alby, and about climbing that ivy, about everything he'd done.
God, he needs to sit, or walk, or. He needs air, even though he's surrounded by it. He'd been so adamant about getting information that now that he has it he's not sure it was a good idea to ask for it. He's moving without really thinking about it, stepping away and past Thomas, not really sure where he's going, just. Pulling himself away from this for a moment. He's not trying to escape from Tommy as much as find a comfortable place to sit down, give his leg a break, drink some water. The teenager just needs a moment to think without more information being dumped on him.
What he doesn't expect is for one of the bushes he passes to rustle far too animatedly and then something to reach out and snag onto his ankle, sending him to the ground with a loud "oomph." When he sees what's got him, he lets out a worried cry of "oh" and tries to yank his ankle free from the death grip on it. Unfortunately for him, the thing that once resembled a human is using the grip to pull itself towards him, mouth hanging open like it's planning on making him a main course.
Its skin was far too pale and painted with thick dark veins and what looked like healing injuries. Its lips seemed to have been worn away, causing an unending stream of saliva to pour down its face and give Newt too much of a view of its teeth.
Fear wells up in him as he kicks at it with his free foot, boot hitting the thing's face but seeming to do nothing other than give it something else to grab onto to pull itself towards him. It's emaciated, but far stronger than Newt thinks it should be, maybe it's because it's not reacting to pain, kicking it in the face should have done something. Bloodshot eyes stay on him and do nothing to stop him from trying to squirm backwards and away.
Already, he's looking for a rock or something to attack it with, but before he can even try that course of action, it lunges forward with a surprising jolt of energy, like it's fully awakened from whatever cat nap it was taking and is on top of Newt before he can do anything other than shove an arm up to keep it from leaning down and biting into him.
No, no, no. He saw what happened to Winston. The drool that dribbles down from it onto the front of his already disgusting shirt makes his fear shift into complete terror. Why wouldn't there be cranks around? ]
no subject
The thoughts make him even more sure that giving Thomas the knife was the right choice, maybe it was safer for both of them with him. ] You can't always have the answers to everything. This is probably another one of their tests. [ He's fairly certain however, that he wants off this ride - he's so tired of being a lab rat for a bunch of assholes. ] They can make us do stuff? Get into our heads? [ The thought makes him feel utterly violated to his core.
For all he's learning, he really wishes Thomas would just stop talking but morbid curiosity keeps him from voicing that - or maybe it's WCKD keeping him from voicing it? Already he's trying to reassess everything he's ever done before, decide if it was him or not. If they could control him and make him do things... He wonders about Alby, and about climbing that ivy, about everything he'd done.
God, he needs to sit, or walk, or. He needs air, even though he's surrounded by it. He'd been so adamant about getting information that now that he has it he's not sure it was a good idea to ask for it. He's moving without really thinking about it, stepping away and past Thomas, not really sure where he's going, just. Pulling himself away from this for a moment. He's not trying to escape from Tommy as much as find a comfortable place to sit down, give his leg a break, drink some water. The teenager just needs a moment to think without more information being dumped on him.
What he doesn't expect is for one of the bushes he passes to rustle far too animatedly and then something to reach out and snag onto his ankle, sending him to the ground with a loud "oomph." When he sees what's got him, he lets out a worried cry of "oh" and tries to yank his ankle free from the death grip on it. Unfortunately for him, the thing that once resembled a human is using the grip to pull itself towards him, mouth hanging open like it's planning on making him a main course.
Its skin was far too pale and painted with thick dark veins and what looked like healing injuries. Its lips seemed to have been worn away, causing an unending stream of saliva to pour down its face and give Newt too much of a view of its teeth.
Fear wells up in him as he kicks at it with his free foot, boot hitting the thing's face but seeming to do nothing other than give it something else to grab onto to pull itself towards him. It's emaciated, but far stronger than Newt thinks it should be, maybe it's because it's not reacting to pain, kicking it in the face should have done something. Bloodshot eyes stay on him and do nothing to stop him from trying to squirm backwards and away.
Already, he's looking for a rock or something to attack it with, but before he can even try that course of action, it lunges forward with a surprising jolt of energy, like it's fully awakened from whatever cat nap it was taking and is on top of Newt before he can do anything other than shove an arm up to keep it from leaning down and biting into him.
No, no, no. He saw what happened to Winston. The drool that dribbles down from it onto the front of his already disgusting shirt makes his fear shift into complete terror. Why wouldn't there be cranks around? ]