amusebox | VOICETEST | THOMAS; MAZE RUNNER (FILM)

VOICETEST | THOMAS; MAZE RUNNER (FILM) | HERE BE SPOILERS! BEWARE!

[ CDC-VERSE; last drop's prompts ]

[ It's all too familiar - he remembers it again, that too blue room, with Teresa's face above him, those words 'Wicked is good'. But there's more added in there, flashes of a room more sterile white, people in coats he knows are lab coats, masks covering their faces. Not all human faces, and Thomas remembers panicking, but he'd been so bleary, so out of it, limbs moving slow and words coming slower. After that, it was the hanger bays, all kinds of bizarre and grand mechanics he's never seen before. While they aren't as monumental as the maze, the complexity is still startling, building the anxiety in him that's already sky rocketing, making his heart pound in his chest. 'CDC' he sees on one of the walls, and the memories start to flood back again. They'd made it out. Lost so many of them, but they were out of the maze. It seemed like the home stretch, but they reached that operations room, with the carnage scattered around and the pungent stink of decay only just beginning to set in.

The blond woman on the screen. She offered him a deal. Thomas goes, only Thomas, and completes this job for them. Joins this Cosmic Demolition thing and apply himself as best he can, fight to survive as he did in the maze, and the rest of the Gladers would be free. They'd be given safe haven, taken back to their families (whose pictures flashed across the screen). All he had to do was work for them. Not WICKED. Another group. But how different could it really be? He wanted, so badly, to tell her no. Not again, never again. But with the others, and Chuck, who he'd promised to get back to his parents, there wasn't another choice. Against the others' protests, he'd agreed. And now, here he is, near hyperventilating as someone in what looks like a very slim space suit shoves a duffle bag into his arms, and starts to push him towards the edge of the hanger dock. Mind catching up with his body, finally, despite the light headed dizziness, Thomas's eyes turn to the direction he's being pushed, and over the edge of the dock. Into the gaping worm hole in the middle of goddamn space. The CDC officer behind him gives him another terse shove at the back of his shoulders, and Thomas is digging his heels in, arms flailing as he tries to keep balance and get the hell away from the space-chasm. ]

No-- nonononono, wait! Wait! [ Panic is screaming in him anew, and it rings so much of when he'd watched Ben be shoved into the maze, exiled from the Glade. He manages to get hands on the CDC worker, clinging to his shoulders, but something along the lines of 'stop whining, recruit' is muttered out before he's bodily shoved over the edge. All he hears for so long is his own hoarse screaming as he falls, and then something like electricity striking all around him when the ship disappears, and all he sees are the luminous colors of the Bridge. It's shortlived, and soon enough, the scenery changes - frigid, icy air stinging at his cheeks like so many needles, and the rush of air past his ears, making his eyes water too much to see anything straight. The screeches of the Shai swarming aren't even heard until he feels himself suddenly flop onto the snow below. Not quite the fatal splatter that he'd been expecting, not that he's complaining.

All he has time for is a pained groan, as the teenager rolls over to his back, wincing at his aching bones, before there's that screeching that he's finally keying into. Coming from directly above him, and closing in fast. It speaks way too much of Grievers, minus the mechanical whir, and adrenaline spikes, eyes snapping open to take in the alien for only a fraction of a second, before he's rolling away and scrambling. So much like the maze, the same blaring fear pounding in his head, but luckily not freezing him. Just run. Survive, run. His worn boots carry him swift across the snow, pretty damn fast for a scrawny kid like Thomas, but he's had experience. He barely recognizes the massive nests as what they are - nests, but he's weaving through them as the Shai above tries its whole projectile vomit thing. Luckily, Thomas isn't hit head on, but some does splatter against the side of a nest and splash a good amount on his right arm. He panics, worried that it might be acid or worse, but instead, it's just gross. Ew comes to mind, inappropriately for the situation, but the alien's gaining on him from what he can hear. Risking a quick glance over his shoulder, he's nearly right on top of him.

He ducks around boulders, skids under over hangings, but there's no where safe enough to hide from this thing. These things. That's about when a large, steel crate slams down into the earth just a couple feet to his right, and Thomas jumps with a surprised SHIT!. He nearly loses his balance, but his attention snaps up from where it came from. The boxes are falling along with the other recruits. And boulders. Wow. Fantastic. That's just perfect.

Actually... it sort of is just perfect. Watching the sky, Thomas checks for the path the other boxes and boulders are taking, where they're likely to fall, trying to work up in his head about when they'll hit the ground. Finding the perfect one - nice and huge too - Thomas makes a mad sprint directly for it, the Shai not picking up on the plan here yet. Well, at least they're stupider than Grievers. At the last second, Thomas dives forward as the steel supply crate rockets downward, hitting the ground rolling to just barely get out of the way, and the crate itself slams into the Shai hot on his tail, making it a gross, vomit-bug pancake. Eat that, snow-freak. He's heaving his breathes, now, though, having to double over for a second, hands on his knees, and lungs and throat feeling on fire. More to himself than anyone else around, he pants, through strained breathing. ]

What the hell is this place?

[ MAZE RUNNER VERSE - pretend Thomas was there longer idk ]

[ It's been a month. Thomas has moved up to runner now, and after that first night Minho and he survived the maze, things have been strained. Gally's been on his ass every five minutes, nit picking everything he does. Side eying him and Teresa like they're the Grievers themselves. There's only been a couple run ins with them during the day of late, but they're never good. They've lost two other runners in the last two weeks. It's getting worse. They all know it is.

He and Minho have been working up a plan, though. Not running it past, Gally, as he seems pretty much obsessed with chaining them all to the Glade, but they have an idea. Maybe an escape. It's their best chance, either way, but they need to right time. Wait until sector 7's scheduled to open, and rally the others to go with. If they can win them over, at least. Either way, until then, it's life in the Glade as per usual. When Thomas isn't running the maze, he's out helping the others. Today, he's putting one of the huts back together from where some of the bamboo broke in. There's another kid off to his left, someone he hasn't looked at to identify yet, but he's a little busy trying to force the bamboo pole into the tight space it needs to fix into. He's known for his speed here, not his strength, so a second later, he's grunting out a request to the kid to his left. ]

Hey-- wanna give me a hand over here?

[ TFLNs ]

I. Can I chase this vodka with an onion?

II. Have you ever looked death in the face and had the urge to shit yourself? I'm in that situation right now.

III. I slept awesome next to you. You're like an electric blanket that I can have morning sex with.

IV. Psycho is an understatement. You were running around the house screaming I'M UNDER THE IMPERIOUS CURSE.

[ MEME LINKS ]

HURT/COMFORT MEME
SICK DAY MEME
INSOMNIA MEME
CRYING MEME
FLUFF MEME

[ PROMPT ME! ]

Just shoot me whatever! You can leave a starter, or give me some pic prompts or an idea or whatever, we'll do stuff. Cool with AUing shit too.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ There had been pain, and he'd thought he was dying. Then it all stopped, and a stranger had come, and he had offered life instead of death, and there had been nowhere else to go. A new world had been promised, a new world where people could live and love and walk outside and see the light, and he had gone with them and then...

And then mayhem. His memories are hazy, but he remembers that they were touching him everywhere, checking him, doing something with needles and then telling him to jump out into the stars and he had never even seen the stars before. He had jumped into colour, and wondered if he had died after all, if this is some kind of heaven and no one ever talks about it because it's too beautiful to be real.

But then he lands, and there's snow beneath him, and Grey knows what snow is. He knows it brings death, and at once he's on his feet. His clothes are all wrong for this - tattered old track pants, sneaker boots that let in the damp, a hooded jacket that's open at the front to show all of the words tattooed on his skin. He can feel the cold biting already, and he knows he should open the bag that dropped with him and do something about it or he'll die, he'll die like they always said, he'll die outside in the snow and why has this happened to him? It was supposed to be better than this!

Insanity comes from behind him. A huge creature, unlike anything Grey has ever seen, but it runs for him and instinct takes over. He flees, getting out of its way. He's faster than it, but it's still coming, and all around there are things and people and they're all falling and there are more of those creatures and all he understands, the only thing in the whole world he understands, is that they will kill him if he doesn't kill them.

A crate falls, and Grey skids to a halt in front of it. Terrified and confused, he looks around for anyone, any face that he knows. Gilliam, Curtis, Tanya, Gilliam, please Gilliam - but they're gone, and he can't have them back. And he can't cry for them now. He sees a boy instead, a boy fighting a creature that's flying. A boulder falls and the creature is gone and the boy is safe. Grey smiles quickly, wildly at him. That's what he should do, isn't it? He should fight. He looks at the boy, and it's as though the boy's action is an order. Grey turns, sees the huge one coming at him. All at once he jumps, smashing his foot into the side of the crate and leaping up, grabbing the creature's shoulders. Catlike, he swings around onto its back and it bucks beneath him, enraged. The knife tied to his waist is in his hand, and without flinching, Grey plunges it down, deep beneath the gaps in the creature's armoured shell. It falls, and Grey bounds off it and makes straight for the boy.

He doesn't speak because he can't speak, he has no voice. He only has the words tattooed to himself, so he grabs the boy's arm and looks at him with wide eyes and a face that asks what we do now. He pulls his right arm out of his open coat and turns it, showing the word 'fight!' written in cursive beneath his elbow. Do we fight? Should Grey fight? Where are we going? What do we do? He'll kill all of them if that's what you want, all of them, only please tell him what to do. Tell him before we both die in the snow. ]

Edited 2014-09-22 20:29 (UTC)

[ With so many people and creatures and things dashing and swooping and careening around, Thomas doesn't notice too much of the guy going jumping around with the other Shai, and doesn't regard him as someone out of the swarm of angry aliens and people with big guns that he should be paying much attention to. That is, until he's bounding straight for him, and Thomas hears the footfalls coming rapidly closer, just before he's on him, as he snaps around to stare at him wide eyed, a look of panic just before Grey attaches himself to Thomas.

Aaaand this is Thomas losing it, because, holy shit who are you and what do you want get the hell off of me everyone i meet tries to kill me. He's immediately struggling, flailing and shoving at the other, trying to make space between, stepping back a good few yards once he gets himself free. The only thing he's had in his hand since the drop was the hilariously crappy stick-spear they'd been using against the Grievers, pathetic, but either way, he's holding it up, crouching a little, ready to defend himself. ]

What's your problem?! What do you want?

[ He's staring at him like he's utterly insane, but notices pretty quickly that the guy is holding out his arm. Uh, weird. Okay. Scooting cautiously a bit closer, Thomas cranes his neck a little to see what he's pointing at. "Fight"? What's that supposed to mean? He wants to fight? Now? Slowly, lips parted with a kind of disbelief, the runner is shaking his head. ]

Now's not really the time. I don't want to fight you.

[ What.

What?

There's a rapid shake of Grey's head, because that's not what he meant. His eyes roll with frustration. On the Train everyone had been used to him. Everyone had known, he'd not had a problem making himself understood. And he had been used to all of them and he'd never in his life been away from them before, and now there's no one to tell him what to do or where to go. There's strangers everywhere.

But this boy can fight. This boy can help. Grey can protect him, if he would just understand. He holds his hand out, shaking his head, and then points to the creatures. They're coming again, more of them, more of the flying ones, and his hand tightens around the knife. He edges closer to the boy, despite how he'd reacted, because while he's not familiar he's at least still human. Surely they should stay together? He turns his arm again - past the words 'Die" and 'Surrender' and to the word 'Please'. Please.

Dark eyes look plaintively at the boy. Don't leave me.

He turns, ready to fight them. The one closest to him starts throwing up, which isn't expected, but it doesn't bother Grey at all. He's had worse than that. He meets it head on, all the same, knife flashing and searching for the quickest kill. ]

[ He's completely baffled by this person. So much more bizarre than anyone he'd met before in the Glade, and they don't exactly seem normal. Not that Thomas remembers ever having met someone before them, aside from his brief flashes of Teresa. But he seems genuinely bizarre. The wooden spear lowers some as the man seems to trying to correct him on the assumption, eyes rolling. Wow, don't roll your eyes at him like he's the crazy person here. ]

Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn't pounce people on a battlefield if you just wanna make friends.

[ He mutteres loud enough for the other to hear, as he makes his way cautiously closer to where Thomas stands, still eying his warily, but only holding his spear close by, instead of pointed. As his arm is held out, the teenager blinks down at it, studying, and that unsuppressable curiousity is spiking again - wanting to know why he has these, why he uses them instead of talking. Maybe he's mute, maybe he was raised like this. And all the more interesting when he stops at 'Please.'

Furrowing his brow, Thomas looks up to question the man again, but then sees the expression on his face, reflected in his eyes. Who is he, and what the hell happened to him? Thomas's lips move, trying to think of how to go forward with this, but the man is dashing off again. Christ, just stay in one place for a second. There's a Shai swooping in, and he watches dumbly as Grey just... throws himself at it, viciously but efficiently taking it out. Okay, that's great, but not awesome for the long term. Now, filled a little with an urge to protect this weirdo from the look he'd given him alone ('Please'), Thomas runs forward, as soon as the Shai stops moving under Grey's blade, and he hooks a hand around the other's bicep, tugging him hard in the opposite direct. ] Don't fight - run! There's too many!

[ Fighting is normal. Grey knows how to do that, he's trained all his life to do that. It doesn't matter how many - he would just keep going, until he couldn't anymore, like on the Train. He'd thought he was dead there. The man had offered him another chance, but it's always the same, isn't it? There's never really any stop to this. These things aren't human guards, they're more animal than that. Less ruthless. But it doesn't matter, none of it matter's, he'll just keep -

What?

A hand on his arm. Run, the boy says. And just like that, Grey does. Leave this fight. Maybe there's another one, or maybe the boy has finally decided he knows where he's going. Anyway, Grey obeys. He's glad to have someone to call the shots.

Grey's fast. He's always been fast, and he's poorly fed so he's lightweight, too. He moves quick, and stays close to the boy, who he's determined not to lose. They're in this together now.

Except where is safe? Where can they hide, is there anywhere to hide? Grey throws himself to the side, suddenly, as a boulder thunders between them. Panicked, he dashes back to the boy again, tugs at his arm, and holds his hands out as if to ask, what can we do? He pulls down the sleeve of his coat and holds out another word - 'Where?' Still written in cursive. Where are they going?

Then he's pushing the boy's arm, trying to get his attention and point at another group of Shai incoming from above. If they're not careful, they'll get trapped here. ]

[ He doesn't know where he's going, but neither did he in the maze that night they were locked in. Of course, that meant he had to do a lot of nearly getting killed while he tried to manuever his way out of a dead end. These aren't as bad as Grievers. They don't have freaky death tails. Just vomit.

Luckily for them, this area is more highly, mountainous, and dotted everywhere with the massive Shai nests. There's usually always somewhere to duck and weave, and Thomas spends a lot of the time running with a hand on Grey's arm, shoving or pulling him one way or another, as he checks back over his shoulder for the pursuing aliens. He spots the word the mute boy shows him - where. Well. That is a question isn't it. ] Working on it!

[ He spots the oncoming group headed for them, and he's quick to push the other to the side, splitting between the two groups to have both tracked behind them. Still running, and wishing he didn't have the stupid duffle bag to deal with, and whatever's banging around on his back-- Wait a second. Reaching back, Thomas's hands touch the Gauss assault rifle he'd apparently had sent down with him, and he drags it over a shoulder to examine. Yes. Holding it out so Grey can see, he's yelling out a question. ]

Are you good with this? [ Thomas knows what a gun is. Doesn't ever remember holding one, and has only seen handguns scattered around the WICKED labs, next to bodies. But he must have at least known how they operate before, because he does remember now. He's just not really sure this is the best time to test how good his aim is. ]

[ A gun. A big gun, but unmistakeably a gun. For a moment Grey is frozen, staring at it, while images flash through his head – the guards that always carried them, the sound they make, the way Curtis had lifted one and known what to do with it, the one that had been pointed at Gilliam’s head and he hadn’t been able to watch but there hadn’t been a way not to hear –

He blinks, pain showing clearly in his eyes which are big and expressive, and threatening something wet and awful and distracting which he brushes away with the back of one hand. It feels like it only just happened. It did only just happen. Gilliam had been gone and then everyone had been gone and there was only Curtis and saving him was the only thing left and Grey doesn’t even know if he managed that because then there had been pain and a knife making wounds that he’s not carrying anymore, and now he’s here and there’s no Curtis or Gilliam. There’s only this boy, whose name he doesn’t know and whose face he’s never seen but the boy is in charge now. Because there isn’t anyone else to be the leader and it can’t be Grey.

He shakes his head, a short but definite gesture. No, he can’t use that. No one ever taught him how, they didn’t have guns. Only the guards had guns, but he had seen them used. So he shifts forward, eyes darting all over the weapon until he sees the part that turns the safety off. He does that, turns it off, and then presses the gun gently back towards the boy. Grey’s eyes lift, and there’s a set about his jaw and determination on his face. He steps back and pulls out his knife, flipping it in his hand. He’s using this, this is what he’s good at. He doesn’t need a gun. Grey has always been the weapon.

Knowing that, he turns, eyes on the Shai. He lifts his arm to turn it and show the boy two words, one after the other: ‘fight’ and ‘surrender’. They’re the only options he can see – in truth, the only options he’s ever known in his whole life. He’ll do what the boy does, either way. ]

[ Even with both boys sprinting at full force, it's easy for Thomas to notice the reaction that Grey has. He has a raw sort of honesty in his expression, and perhaps that comes from his physicality being his only source of communication. There's a mad curiousity burning in him, even now, not only about Grey and how peculiar he is, but also this place, the Shai, how he even got from a giant pink blob in space to the surface of the goddamn arctic without splattering or some other sort of fatality.

Regardless, Thomas accepts the gun back as it's pushed back into his hands, not about to put up an argument when the other looked so terrified just at the sight of it. ] Yeah. I got it.

[ Huffed out between breathes. It seemed, after so much running through the maze, with Minho being the one he had to keep up with, he'd gotten fairly well adjusted to this kind of steady exertion. His eyes dash around the hills, nests, caves and both forested and rocky terrain. It's not nearly so hard as the maze was to find nitches to fit into - all straight walls and ivy alone. Spotting a place that seems perfect, he jerks his head to the side, about to inform Grey, but, wow, what are you going on about again here? Fight or Surrender? No. It's Fight or Die. It always has been. Remember. Survive. Run. Letting out a huff, Thomas rolls his eyes. ] I know, I know, we're getting there - slim it.

[ Which, of course, by Glader standards, means 'calm your shit', but he ought to know Grey won't really get that. For that split second, it feels like a blackhole forming in Thomas's chest, making the whole of him implode, going concave, with how achingly he misses his friends. Minho, Newt, Chuck, Teresa. The half of them that never made it out - that he lost. That he failed. His breathing hitches a moment, pace picking up to something more desperate. He won't let the same happen to this boy.

Ignoring the knife Grey had pulled out, Thomas is shoving the long pole he'd had in his hand - the spears the Gladers had used to fight off the Grievers as they made their desperate break for the exit of the maze. Getting close to anything like what's after them now is a stupid idea. There's a tall but narrow crack in the side of one of the mountains they're dashing along the foot of. The ice and rock are splintered, making something like an alcove or maybe a cave - it'd be nice if it went farther in, but not necessary. Thomas pulls ahead, angled straight for the crack in the rock. Same as how they'd held off the Grievers until Chuck and Teresa got the door open. Channel them. Let nothing past. Granted, all they had was sharp sticks, then. An assualt rifle will make this a hell of a lot easier. ] You hold that thing out and stand back! Don't let any pass through!

[ He calls over his shoulder and he turns his shoulders, narrowing himself to slip last the rough edges, and as soon as he's a couple yards in, Thomas is turning back, raising the rifle, and opening fire at the pursuing aliens, too dumb to realize they're too big to follow a couple teenagers into a slim cave. ]

[ It's a small space, but that's all right. Grey has spent his whole life in small spaces. He'll do better here than he would outside, where the ground stretches on for so long. There's an unconscious side of him that's glad he was sent into this, and not just into the snow. He'd have been overwhelmed with the size and the space and the light, and as it is he doesn't have time to concentrate on any of that.

There's only fighting, and this one boy to protect.

He had palmed his knife, but he takes the spear as soon as it's shoved at him, and at the order to not let them pass, he nods. Firm, resolute. He'll not let them through.

He sees it, though. He sees the shadow that crosses the boy's face while he's handing it over. Something's troubling him, hurting him. Grey knows how to read people's faces. For years he'd sat at Gilliam's side, watching for any sign of discomfort or need, and he had brought whatever the old man needed, whatever he wanted, even the things he didn't think to ask for. He sees a shadow of pain and he wants to fix it.

No time, no time for that. He knows they're coming, he can hear them, and there's nowhere else to run. So Grey doesn't try to draw an answer out of the boy. He just puts his hand on his shoulder and squeezes it, once, and looks at him very clearly while he nods. I'll get you out, I'll keep you safe.

His knife has been slid away, kept secure within the bindings of a rope around Grey's waist. He's never used a spear before, but he's used lengths of metal like staffs, and that's how he holds this thing. And when the creatures come close, he doesn't waste time.

His movements are fluid and quick, and he goes for the quickest kills. A stab in the chest, a slash across a neck or (often) a striking blow to the head, with the end of the staff. They don't matter to him, these things, but the boy does, and even while he fights, Grey keeps turning and looking to make sure he's still safe. ]

[ so, apparently, giving the mute guy the spear was a good idea. he handles it well and doesn't just keep the Shai back, but deals a good amount of damage in the mean time. thomas is having less graceful luck with the rifle, never having used one of these before in his memory, but if there's nothing else thomas does well, it's adapting and learning fast. he gets a handle after a while, and it does help that the Shai are so close to them.

a week ago, this might have terrified him. not now. not after the night in the maze, and not after the final break to the exit. the Shai are not Grievers. No where near it. vomit spouting aside, but that's really just gross. it takes a long while to get through all of them, corpses scattering the ground in front of the passage, looking pretty disgusting, but eventually, the crowd thins, and they're far enough out of the nest area that they aren't attracting more. for the moment, at least.

Once they've all fallen, and the two pause, waiting for more, thomas finally lowers the gun, breathing hard, and looks to Grey, before waving a hand, motioning for him to go farther back into the crevice. they'll be safer out of sight, take a little time to rest. and thomas wants to go through this bag. plopping down on the ground, he's unzipping the pack, looking up at Grey inquisitively. ] Thanks for the help.

What's your name?

[ The firing gun sets all Grey's nerves on edge. That's always the sound of the guards. They'd lived in fear of guns, in the Tail. His instinct is to find cover, but he can't.

He makes himself fight on, concentrates on the creatures and on putting them down. There's blood and vomit everywhere, and he can feel fresh wounds - their claws ripping at his arms. A blow that splits his eyebrow again. He doesn't care. He'll live. This time, he'll live, and help the boy.

And then the gun does what guns always do, and the last of the creatures drops.

Not the last of them. There's more out there, he knows, he can hear them. But for the moment, they have peace, and Grey retreats into the darker, warmer, tighter space of the crevice.

And in here, the slight squint leaves his eyes. He crouches instinctively, half-sitting but not quite willing to relax. The place is still strange. Thomas is doing things with his bag and Grey lets him. He brushes the spear clean instead, making sure it's ready for when they need it again. He wipes blood away from his eye and looks up at the boy. Then he shrugs out of his sleeve, bearing his right arm, and showing one word that's bigger than the rest.

Grey.

That's his name. The word that means him.

Then with a little smile, he nods encouragement at Thomas, asking for his name in return. ]

[ thomas has always been more on the side of observant when it comes to others, and its hard to miss how much the rifle shots are bothering him. still, they don't have a choice at the moment. if thomas stopped being involved in everything that gave him trauma, well, he'd be pretty well dead right now. ]

Thomas. [ he nods, giving a tight smile ] Sorry about the gun. I'll try not to use it much.

[ but if they have to, they have to. he's not risking either of their lives on discomfort alone. granted, he does feel bad about it, bringing up stuff that does that to someone is never alright, and there's plenty that could have been here that might have done the same to Thomas. still, you have to keep going.

for a moment, thomas is digging around in his bag, taking a few things out, examining them, and setting them aside. eventually, he gets to the winter coat, and oh thank freaking god. the glade ever had snow, or even rain - never needed heavy coats. his thin shirt and simple cargo pants had had him freezing through that whole run. at least the leather of his runner gear kept his chest mildly insulated. lifting up the coat, he raises it to Grey, indicating he should dig for the one in his own bag, put something warm on.

after he pulls it on, he's still observing the other, looking at the tattoos covering his skin. eventually, curiousity is too strong for him to resist - always had been with thomas. there's so much about this boy that's interesting; his fighting skills, being mute, the tattoos, 'die' and 'kill' included, his fear of firearms. he starts simple, hoping he's not being too tactless with it. ]

That the only way you can talk?

[ He has moved close to Thomas, by instinct. He very much wants to stay with him, and additionally, he's not very keen on going out there again. The crevice is a meagre shelter, but it's still shelter. His eyes flick up to Thomas' when he apologises, and Grey quickly shakes his head. No, don't be sorry for that. Now we have the guns, and the trauma can belong to those creatures. It'll probably always set his nerves on fire, but thats all right, so long as the gun is in Thomas' hand. So long as it's not pointed at either one of them.

He won't let someone else die like that. Not like that.

Prompted by Thomas, he takes the bag off, and opens it. An uncertain glance is shot at the other boy, because he's not sure that this is really his. Everything Grey owns is on him, right now. There's another gun in the bag, and he sets that quickly aside. There are other things, too - bars wrapped in plastic, which he looks at curiously, and then sets aside as well. The coat is at the bottom. It's big, puffy.

So much warmer than Grey's old orange one. He takes that off completely now, and stuffs it into the bag. He's about to put the big one on, but the other question makes him stop. He regards Thomas for a moment, wondering what to say. How to explain.

Then he just shrugs. He holds out his bare arms, to show different words written in cursive all around them. Useful words, like please. The pair of surrender and die, his name. The spiral of words on his left bicep, all in handwriting, like someone has drawn freely on his skin and made a canvas out of him. Because thats exactly what happened. He gives Thomas a little smile - apologetic, almost embarrassed - and then a quick nod. He can't speak, he's sorry.

But he's curious about Thomas, too. All he knows is that he's not from the Train, unless he's from the front - and he doesn't look like he's from the front. So Grey looks around, lifts the spear again, and offers it back to Thomas with his eyebrows raised. What is it, where did you get it? He turns his arm to show the words what and where, one after the other. And on where, he lingers, and looks intently at the other boy. Where are you from? Let me know who you are. ]

[ it's bizarre, how the boy has something that just seems... innocent, childlike to him. then again, what does thomas know about being childlike? if blurred memories serve true, he was designing a nightmare of a maze, for the most horrid, inhumane experiment in the history of mankind at 16. he wouldn't know innocent if it kicked him in the face.

still, he watches how Grey moves, how he sits more like a perched animal than a man. He'd seen him fight, and he'd been skilled and sharp, but with an instinctual kind of brutality. Doesn't miss that he seems to scoot in closer to him, in a trusting kind of way most people don't operate in. Well, most people he knows, and considering the Gladers weren't really prime examples of social normalcy, maybe his basis is off. Either way, Thomas is fine with it. Maybe, if it were Alby or Gally, he wouldn't be, but Grey. Yes. There's a simpleness to him that just seems honest.

Thomas's eyes travel over the tattoos, too curious not to tilt his head and read a few of them while he changes to the other coat. It looks too much like a puzzle, something to solve, not to have his interest spiking. The smile he gets is reflected back, a little tight, because Thomas has always been sort of weird with social situations, but there. ] That's a smart idea. The tattoos.

[ Makes communication easy, given most people don't use sign language, and in a situation like just earlier, when they were running, he wouldn't have had time to write. It takes him a second to get what Grey means with what paired with the spear and where pair with Thomas himself. Ah. Got it.

He almost says The Glade. Almost. It's unsettling that he thinks of that place as his home. Newt had been right in what he said - 'we don't belong here'. It was a prison, even as the community they were. It'd been Stockholm Syndrome. But then, where else could he be from? WICKED, which he only had scraps of memories from, and was forced to build that horror to house them? What about before that? He has no memories of anything before that. And wherever his friends went, after he took this deal to keep them safe, he won't know until his contract is up. There is no 'home'. Not anymore, maybe never was. Just... Thomas the Glader. ]

You wouldn't know it. [ after a moment of picking through the stuff in his bag, not really looking at it, he says it with a shrug. 'i don't remember' seems like a longer conversation than anyone would really be interested in, and Thomas has never been the type to want to chat these things out. Never had to, about the Glade and the Maze. Everyone else was already there. The spear, though, he can explain that. Clearing his throat, he lifts it up, holding it between them. ] The place I left... we had to go through a fight to get out. We didn't have much for weapons, so we ended up using whatever was around.

[ a short, hollow kind of laugh comes from him, remembering the other Gladers lashing forks to broom handles. it had been so ridiculous, and so pathetic, considering what that'd been about to face. considering the bloodbath they walked into. ] They had broken glass taped to shovels and frying pans... [ it's far too fresh in Thomas's mind, not even an hour or so old yet. There's a tight half-smile on his lips, but it's mirthless. Picking up the wooden spear, he pulls the sharped tip up to examine it, looking over the barbed wire wrapped around it. the last time he saw this thing, he was burying it in a Griever's gross blob of a body. it ought to have the disgusting goo, half smelling like rot and half of machine oil, covering it, but thankfully, the CDC saw to cleaning it up before sending it with him. ] Worked alright either way.

Edited (omfg this got so long im sorry) 2014-09-26 08:54 (UTC)

[ Grey shrugs, glancing down when Thomas says the idea was smart. It's been useful, and he's used to it. Being mute is just a fact for him, it's not something that upsets him. The strangest part of this is trying to explain that this is who he is, because Grey's never really had to do that before. Literally everyone he'd known on the Train had known him since birth. He never met strangers. During their movement up the Train, for Curtis' plan, he'd met people from the Front, but they'd been faceless, to him. They weren't people whose opinions he remotely cared about. They didn't truly see him as a person. Why should he see them as anything more?

Thomas isn't like that. He's the first, genuine stranger that Grey has known.

And yet, despite that, what he describes is not unfamiliar. Making a weapon out of anything you can. Having to fight to get out. He nods, his expression saying that he finds this normal, that he understands. He touches Thomas' shoulder lightly. He's glad he got out of it safely, whatever it was.

He'd said we, though.

He points at the spear again, and then nods pointedly outside. Are the others here, who fought with you? Should we search for them?

He turns expectant eyes on Thomas. He'll go back out if he has to, if there might be others. His own group is gone. But maybe, if Thomas has one, he can find them for him instead. ]

[ It's not hard to read into what Grey means, at least, so Thomas seems. He's more expressive than most other people are, and that's probably a good part being limited on means to communicate, and make himself understood by others. He can tell the familiarity Grey feels with what Thomas describes, and he doesn't doubt the other boy has seen hardship. You don't fight like that if you haven't.

Normally, the touch to his shoulder by anyone in the Glade would have felt awkward, were it, say, anyone but Newt or Minjo, but he can tell the sincerity in the gesture, from Grey, and understands that its the best way for him to offer solidarity. He pulls his smiles into a small smile, a little sad, but he nods. He gets it.

It still takes a moment, but Thomas is finding it's getting easier to understand what Grey means through the little words he has to give and gestures and expressions. He follows the nod towards the outside, and when it sinks in, there's another stab of sorrow in him, reminding him how alone he is, again. ]

Ah, no. [ He shakes his head, swallowing, but voice even, muted in the way Thomas general speaks. ] They're not here.

[ A pause falls, and he picks at one of the protein bars he'd pulled out of his pack, sitting in his hands. ] But, they're safe, so. It's alright.

[ That's all that really matters, he reminds himself. He'd been part of what designed that hell for them. He had to pay them back, make up for the years they spent in a nightmare. This is the least he can do for them. Thomas clears his throat, pushing the idea away, and looks back up to his new friend. ]

What about you? Where'd you learn all that? [ The fighting and acrobatics, he means. After a second, Thomas realizes that's probably a lot longer of an explanation than Grey can really do with just the tattoos on him, so he searches around on his person for something he could write on, until he pulls out the blackglass, turning it on and scrolling through it some. Awesome. Text document. He hands it over. ] Here. Just type.

[ What is this thing? Grey takes it, turning it over in his hands. Technology isn't exactly new to him, but for the most part it's something he's seen and not something he's used. And even what he's seen hadn't been as sleek as this.

Type, Thomas said. So he touches it, and then almost drops it as the screen just comes to life in his hands. It takes him a moment to realise he's looking at a keyboard, and then he nods. With a glance at Thomas to make sure this is what he wants, he slowly (with two fingers) types out a response. ]

fighting ?

on the train

everything was on the train

they took me from it

[ He considers that. There's more he could add. That he doesn't know what happened to the Train. That he thinks he died, but isn't sure, because they'd taken him just as he felt the knife slide in. But this should be enough for now. He hands the glass back, letting Thomas see and then watching him expectantly.

After a moment, though, he tugs at his hand, taking back the glass and adding one thing more: ]

can i stay with you ?

[ Because there isn't anywhere else, and he'd been planning to just follow Thomas anyway. Maybe it's better to get permission. He hands the glass back again, waiting. ]

[ Thomas takes the moment to read the first message, nodding that he understands. still, that's strange - a train? everything was on the train? what does that mean, he lived there his whole life? how can that even be possible, how would they get food, water, all the other necessities of life? how old can he be, 17, 18? it's unbelievable. ]

Everything? You lived on it? [ he pauses, head tilting. ] For how long?

[ and why? there's so much he wants to ask about it, but a moment later, Grey writes up the second thing, and for a moment, thomas is just holding the blackglass, blinking at the words there. feeling a deep kind of sorry for them. this boy - he's alone. completely. like the others had felt, like thomas himself had felt.

his lips pull into a more genuine smile, soft and sympathetic. ]

Of course.

[ he reminds him so much of the Gladers now, huddled and worried and wanting someone there with him. it pings thomas's natural protective strike. he really likes this guy already. even if he did basically bodyslam him earlier. ]

It's better to go in pairs anyway. I could use the company.

[ For how long? Grey doesn't know how to answer that. There hadn't been a how long, there had always been the Train. And for all that they'd hated the conditions they dealt with in the Tail, none of them imagined leaving the Train altogether. That would have meant death. There was no world outside the Train. It's why the snow here makes Grey's nerves jump, why he hates thought of going back out there. He can't understand how it would mean anything other than death. Especially since it's snow.

In the end, he spreads his arms wide, and shrugs. Always, he's trying to say. All his life. In the end, he beckons for the blackglass again, while Thomas talks. ]

i always lived on it

everyone did

but not you . youre from somewhere else

[ Though, possibly not anywhere better, if how Thomas has talked about it is any indication. He hands the glass back. When permission is given to stay, his face lights up with unmistakeable relief and he nods, agreeing. Better to be in a group. He'll help Thomas. He can do that. He draws his legs up, balancing his arms on his knees and trying to settle. ]

[ thomas's expression draws into one of deep thought, trying to wrap his head around the idea. maybe the train stopped to take on supplies? if there's a world outside, though, why stay on the train? why a train of all things? ]

Did you know what was outside the train?

[ everyone lived on it. all of humanity, on one train? big train. 'but not you', he writes, and thomas nods at the words for a moment. no, he's not from where grey is. and as bizarre as it is to think of, he knows that's the case - different dimensions, different worlds, etc. it's what the cdc had said. if it wasn't clear enough from the massive wormhole bridge in space. yeah. that was fun. ]

Yeah. It was... [ a nightmare? hell? something only the most twisted minds could come up with? something thomas himself created with them? he's lost for a second in his head, before letting out a heavy sign, coming to sit at grey's side, rather than in front of him, brushed up against his shoulder. thomas, like grey, is used to tight spaces, other people pushed up next to him. it's comfortable that way. ] I was in a Maze. These people were running an experiment, on a bunch of kids. There was a glade in the middle of it, where they lived, and then the Maze around it for miles. It changed every night, but there wasn't ever a way to solve it. There wasn't supposed to be.

[ that's how he designed it. a so simple, basic puzzle with no solution. just one hole and a bloodbath in front of it. to see how much it took to break them. ]

We lost a lot of kids before we made it out. [ he swallows, looking down at his hands, still worn, with grime or dried blood just barely noticable in the creases. ] About half.

[ Grey seems to settle when Thomas leans against him. He's comfortable with this, comfortable with the pressure of another body against his. The tension in his shoulders relaxes, and immediately he moves the blackglass to hold it in front of both of them. Now Thomas can see while he types. That's even better.

As for what was outside the train, Grey had only seen it once. But once had been enough. He had always known what was outside, all of them had. So the answer comes at once. ]

snow

earth froze . everything except the train

it always moved . outside everything was dead .

[ A whole dead world. Millions of people had been out there, Grey knows. Billions. Those are the numbers he'd heard, though it can't be said they really meant anything to him. Even the size of Earth isn't something he could wrap his head around. Everything he had ever known was contained in the Train. It had been his world.

Until now.

And apparently, it had not been the only world.

He tries to imagine the maze that Thomas talks about. A glade, and a maze for miles. It sounds big, bigger than anything Grey had known. But the talk of loss and death, those aren't strange to him. They're concepts that he knows, intimately. He can see Thomas' hands, still touched with blood. Without even thinking about it, Grey reaches out to touch his palm. A finger lightly runs across it, tracing one of the lines, and then he wraps his hand around Thomas' arm to squeeze it. He lets his weight, such as it is, press lightly against the other boy and he nods, to show he understands. And to try to give comfort, in the only way he knows how. He wants to say that it's all right, that he knows that it's like. That he'd lost people too.

So in the end he turns slightly, pushes open his jacket, and shows Thomas the name 'Gilliam', written over his heart. Of all the losses he had seen, this one had hurt the most. He touches it with light fingers, and then looks down. He understands.

Losing people isn't supposed to be easy, he thinks. If it were, then those people wouldn't have meant very much. ]

[ She's no stranger to the double face thing. It seems like the universe likes to repeat itself. She thinks someone up there must just be super lazy when it comes to creating people. And it was jarring the first time when she mistook Barnes' face for Jack's but by now she's almost used to it. In the way being used to freaky not-twins can only be. So she knows this isn't Stiles. She may have only spoken to him a few times but he'd know where he was and besides, he doesn't talk like that. ]

I like to call it the snow planet of doom. [ She appears with a smile, CDC gun strapped to her hip and her usual outfit replaced by the leather of the Shadowhunter gear she'd managed to bring back. Her sword is in her hand and it's grossly covered in the slick of Shai blood. But despite all of this Clary doesn't actually look like a threat. Five foot, red-headed, freckly and beaming. She's not exactly awe-inspiring.

That doesn't mean she can't fight. And she came to the drop with that in mind. It takes one look at the shock on this boy's face to remind her why exactly she's here. She almost got eaten by a space shark her first day. It's time to pay it forward. ]

No, actually. That's the first time I've ever said that. But I think it's fitting. I'm totally going to from now on.

[ Holding a hand out in offer to help him up. ] Hi. I'm Clary. I'll be your rescuer for the evening.

[ Thomas is still wheezing as his eyes snap up to the girl, registering the gun, sword and Shai blood first, before moving to her face. A girl. Only the second one he has any specific memory of seeing or meeting, which strikes him as sort of funny, but that happens when your memory only stretches back a week or two. And when home is a glade full of teenage boys in shacks made out of sticks. Thomas feels a sudden sympathy for Teresa, and immediately after, a pang of sorrow, for the realization that it may be a very long time before he ever sees them again. He was never told how long the contract is supposed to hold. First on his list of about a million questions to ask.

Thomas stares up, holding the wooden pole sharpened like a spear in his right hand, and watches her a little sidelong, as if considering whether or not he ought to trust her. His eyebrows, do, however, raise slightly at the name she's giving the planet, and the 'I'll be your rescuer'. He's not really the type to joke while shit's hitting the fan, consider that typically means he's a breathe away from being ripped limb from limb by a hideous slug/machine hybrid. Maybe Minho. Minho would be better at this. Newt too.

Eventually, Thomas takes her hand, hauling himself up, and immediately after he's on his feet, he's putting space between them, eyes skimming the area around them - alert, cautious, flighty. ]

Thomas. [ he offers back, nodding. ] Might wanna get out of the war zone if it's talking you wanna do.

[ tbh, he's getting out of the fray right the hell now either way, whether Clary wants to talk or not. Snatching his bag up from the ground (he needs a safe place to look at what resources he landed here with - figure out something better than an oversized toothpick to fight with). Jerking his head to the side, he's indicating a far overhang under one of the snowy cliffs, looking like there's room farther inside, before he starts to jog his way over. He doesn't really walk much anymore. Feels too slow. ]

[ She should be used to the way people react to her after the drop. She's seen it all, the yelling, the suspicion, the blasé way some have just shrugged their shoulders and gotten on with it. When it was her she'd spoken to everyone just for something to do, to alleviate the tension from it all. Being dropped from the sky into a planet habituated by mist wolves and land sharks hadn't been fun and she'd let her nerves take over. So she really shouldn't be surprised when someone doesn't trust her. Clary is though.

Without thinking she follows him, her shoes kicking up snow as she runs after him. He has longer legs than her - most people do, the woes of being painfully short - and she feels like she's going to totally struggle to keep up. Still, she moves, eyes scanning the distance for anything that might be coming after them. She should have enough rounds in her gun. ]

This whole place is a warzone. [ Just saying.

There's a dip in the terrain and she has to dig her heels in to stop herself from going head over heels down it, her breath coming out in a fog as she exhales. ] So unless you're waiting for me to learn sign language I'm probably going to keep talking. Sorry.

[ She almost throws him a grin but the motion sends her gaze to her left and to where a lone Shai is. It hasn't spotted them yet. Too busy at the crater one of the boxes have made. She holds out a hand to get him to stop and raises her gun, eyebrows lifting. Can she hit it in a soft spot from here. Probably not. Better they hit out first though. ]

Be ready.

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