ASUNDER (I) : tmr newt

09: I'm Searching

"Hey," I can hear Dawn's voice ring across the field. "It's Leo, now isn't it?"

She sits on a log, another glass in her hand. It's full of a different liquid than that from last night, since this one is much clearer, and doesn't give her laugh the same lightness it had before. It's sober.

"Yeah, my name is still Leo." I try to joke, but it comes out more sarcastic than I want it to. "What have you been up to?"

She shrugs, handing the glass off to the Keeper of the Cooks beside her, before coming up to me. She wraps her hand around my wrist, before dragging me off towards the rest of them.

"We've just been hanging out. Relax, you're always so uptight."

Am I? I don't even know my own last name, let alone if I am uptight or not. Maybe I am, but I think there is a line between being uptight and being cautious. I am absolutely one of those two things, but not both of them.

I shrug, as she pulls my down on to the log next to her, between her and the Cook. Her hair is down, so far that it nearly reaches her hips, and I can see her hair tie, as well as mine, on her wrist.

"So, how are you liking the Glade so far?" Minho asks, who is sitting on the other side of her.

I shrug again. It seems as though all I am is a series of shrugs, and a lot of confusion. The longer I sit here, the more I realise I don't have any answers.

"Am I supposed to have any feelings towards it?" I ask. "It's all I've ever known, so I can't tell if it's good or bad."

"Good that." Fry-Pan shakes his head, before taking a drink out of Dawn's cup. "The Greenbean gets it."

"She'd be a shank not to." She shoves me playfully, as I stare into the flames of the fire.

I'm still not entirely sure what a shank is either, but Dawn seems to have herself entirely figured out. Knowing what you want is the first step, and knowing who you are is the next. It seems she has both answers nailed down. I can't even find a hammer.

"Who says she's not a shank anyway?" Minho's voice is just as playful as Dawn's, and I roll my eyes at the both of them as they speak.

I don't think I am a shank, given my loose idea of what the word means. Though it could mean a whole bunch of things given the variety of context it is used. If I asked what it meant, I'd definitely be a shank then. At least, I think I would.

"So you ready for tomorrow?" The Cook leans forward so his elbows rest on his knees. "Things should be getting back into the swing of things by then."

"You're kidding, nothing is going to be getting back into the swing of things," Minho argues.

From across the fire, I can see people moving off and away. It's not that late, but it looks as if everyone around here is awfully tired. Maybe the high from our arrival is wearing down, and the dreariness of the Glade is setting in on them. It can't be too awful, although it doesn't seem as if it would be too perfect.

"It'll never be the same again, not with girls here, and not with Alby being about to announce a shift in the rules."

"A shift in the rules?" I ask, tuning in and out of the conversation.

In the shadows I can see Alby talking to Newt. Neither of them are laughing, and with darkness over their faces it's hard to see if they are serious or if they are just talking. Although, I get the feeling it is the former from the way Alby's legs are stiff as they move further towards the map room, and from the way Newt pauses, before turning away and heading towards the Deadheads.