A darkness had settled over the Glade, and the distance sound or laughter and conversation filled the air. The girl wasn't sure if it was always there and she didn't notice, or if this noise was new. Newt just laughs at her reaction and begins walking in the darkness across the glade. A burning light is emitting in the distance, which only can mean one thing: this 'bonfire'.
"That happens every time another person is sent up here?"
" Yep! Try not think on it too much, would ya? Now that the doors closed, we can head to the bonfire. You're our bloody guest of honor after all, Greenie. But there are a few...rules."
" Rules?"
" Yes. First, no drinkin'. Second, no fights with Gally. Don't trust anyone, those bugger's don't know right from bloody wrong."
" Well thanks...?" She gave him a sideways look." May I ask, why not?" Her question was vague.
" Because hangovers bloody suck, so don't even try. And Gally...won't be easy on you if you fight em'. He can be a mean bugger."
" Okay..." the girl mumbles, agreeing to obey his rules. "And Alby mentioned a Tour earlier...I know it hasn't happened yet, but what will I be doing here?"
" Jobs?"
" Yeah, I suppose."
" Jobs you want to get, or jobs that are offered?" He gave her an amused sideways look.
" Want to get."
" Well Tack-hoe, Med-jacks, Cook, and Gardener aren't bad." He listed off. "Tack-hoes and gardeners are practically the same thing, just more heavy liftin'. But there are Builders, Slicers, Baggers, Brick-Nicks..." He trailed off.
" All the jobs take place in this place?" She says, a little confused, and a bit impressed. It wasn't hard to hide that she hated this place, so the tinge of this odd emotion was new for her.
" There are Runners but," he says slowly and carefully, "nobody likes that job." he finished, causing the girl to raise an eyebrow.
" The boys in the Maze? That's a job?"
"Yes," Newt sighed, eager to change the subject, "Now lighten up! We are almost there!" They continue walking until they both reach the edge of the deadheads, a few meters from the cheers and bonfire. "Ready?"
" ...I guess so." She still didn't even know what this bonfire was. Well, she knew what a bonfire was just not this bonfire. They both jog over, attempting not to trip over any logs or sticks that cover the dark ground. They arrive at the edge of the party, and Newt nudges her shoulder.
"Cya Greenie!" She waves him off as he joins the others. He would keep an eye on her. She stood awkwardly for a moment, taking in the surroundings. They all look so happy, even in the midst of all this confusion and fear they all faced, assuming they came the same way she did. A small smile formed on her lips as she began to walk into the crowd.
Various makeshift stumps and instruments were being played by whooping and yelling Gladers, pounding on various pots, pans, and a few drums. The beat echoed throughout the Glade, bouncing off the cold stone walls.
She could see that there are many different groups, which she assumes have something to do with the mentioned jobs. Some are laughing, some are talking, some are getting drunk, some are dancing, but they all seem to be having fun.
All except her.
A wave of worry washes over the girl, the familiar feeling ruining the momentary curiosity and joy. Her smile vanished as quickly as it came. But this was different, a kind of dread. Fear.
Something is wrong.
It was almost as though time had stilled. Slowed. Her skin ran cold, fingers tingled with anticipation as red-hot adrenaline trickled from the pit of the girl's stomach to her heart. It pounded heavily, ringing in her ears and racking her chest. Her sight focused; the vibrant flames of the bonfire ached in her eyes; encouraging her to squint. Sounds became sharper, the bonfire crackled harshly in the girls' ears. It threw her off, looking around, all she could see were Gladers having a good time. So why did she feel so off?
Smells. She could smell the grass, manure, the fire. She could smell the sweat wafting off of the hyped bodies of the Gladers, her nose crinkled into itself at the realization of that smell. Slowly, she scanned the bonfire. she scanned the Gladers, watched them, assumed, judged, and moved along to the next.
Alby. His body held a bubble of tension that looked almost ready to burst if another Glader bumped into him. His hooded eyes watched his fellow Gladers closely, mouth strung tight, and jaw clenched. Although, she can't really blame him, he has literally what we call the whole world on his shoulders. He moved with swift and skill throughout the crowd, but he seemed distracted. Don't worry, Alby, you're not the only one, she thought to herself.
Newt. Where does she even begin? The British boy with the long hair. With a drink in one hand, and his other clasped onto the shoulder of a friend, a huge smile wobbled on his face. Didn't take him long to find the alcohol and start on his second drink. She couldn't help but smile, seeing him at ease. That makes one of them. Unlike Alby, Newt's movements were staggered and uncoordinated, his brown eyes glassed and voice a little louder than normal. Their eyes met and the uneasy Glader lifted his empty hand into the air in the attempts of a wave. His face was sculptured perfectly by the bonfire's glare; the dirt evident on his face which complimented the small scars here and there. Not even two seconds later, his body swayed sideways into the arms of his friend. She waved softly as his attention was drawn to the calls and laughter of his fellow Gladers.
The boy throwing Gladers around like ragdolls in a makeshift wrestling pit. The git that managed to gather her attention with his cries of glory. Newts' words ringed through her head, "mean bugger." His body towered over a smaller Glader who - weakly - attempted to knock "Gally"- who she heard the crowd cheering- over. Poor guy, he didn't stand a chance. Gally, on the other hand, didn't care about the dignity or the safety of the other Glader, beaming with glee. The craze of the crowd fed the hunger for power and attention in his eyes, he wrapped his arms around the waist of the smaller Glader. In one swift movement, he swung the Glader out of his peripheral vision and threw his arms in the air. The other boys jeered loudly, raising their drinks; yet none of them seemed to notice the amount they would spill.
She still couldn't pinpoint what was wrong. Everyone seemed to be doing their own thing, yet there was this feeling she couldn't shake. Her heart pounded, but it was hard to hear it now over the sound of the Gladers having a good time. She watched the fire roar fiercely in the center of the commotion. The tongues of the fire licked the air viciously, its heat itched closer and closer and left her feeling dry yet consumed...safe.
She was drawn from orange beacon as a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, throwing her weight around as it did so.
"Hey Greenie," the Glader opened. The large, built Asian boy shifted slightly, a ward of alcohol filling the girl's nose. She glanced up at the obviously intoxicated Glader, scanning him, before looking away. "I'm Minho. You are?" She kept her eyes anywhere except the tipsy Glader beside her. She could feel him looking at her. Staring. But she couldn't tell if that was the adrenaline talking, or if she was actually right. "Having fun?" He asked after a moment of silence.
"You could call it that," She responded monotonously, not giving the boy the pleasure of her attention. Minho huffed from beside the girl, he swayed closer unintentionally. Instinctively, she took a step in the opposite direction of the Glader.
"Have some fun," He cooed and shifted his half empty, half-spilled drink in her direction. She scrunched her nose up in distaste and pushed the drink away with her index finger.
"...and stagger around like a drunken idiot..." She hesitated for a minute as she watched Minho attempt a swig at his empty drink, "...no thank you."
The Runner rolled his eyes and looked at her absently, his eyes glassed.
"Whatever," he slurred and staggered away to, what she assumed, was to fetch another drink. With the presence of another body now absent, she felt a little colder, despite the arms of the bonfire that reached out into the night sky and rained down over them. Around them, like a safe haven, and for one night, they felt warm and safe. Like whatever was out there, couldn't touch them. She tried again to shake the sickening feeling of appreciation but can't seem to grasp it hard enough to push it away. She watches as Minho joins a group of boys; their cheers roared as Minho staggered into their circle. Again, that makes one of them.
Maybe she deserves to have some fun. Maybe she should have a drink. But Newt said not to.
Newt's drunk.
Hesitantly shrugging all doubts out of her mind, she takes a step towards the bonfire. Each step takes her in the direction of where she's assuming the fun begins. An unfamiliar Glader passes a cylindrical container in her direction, it fit perfectly in her hand. He stared at her a little longer than she deemed comfortable, but the presence of alcohol caught her attention more. Her fingers curled naturally around the container as she looked down at the liquid sloshing inside. The smell was sweet, but it made her feel bitter. She was in no mood to mingle, slightly afraid of the strangers that surrounded her. Wandering alone around the bonfire, the only company was her drink; so, she leaned on it. Sip after sip, she wandered around. The one drink did little, nor did it taste any better as she finished it. Reasonably disappointed, she returned to the Glader with a scowl.
"This did squat," She stated and shook the container out in front of him, signaling for a refill. The blue eyes of the Glader smirked at her as he obediently poured another drink for the obviously tipsy girl. She silently nodded him a thanks before moving away once again. And that was her routine.
Drink one, nothing. Drink two, also nothing. By the third drink, the bitterness began to fade, and the tight rope coiled in her mind began to ease. Her eyes felt a little heavier, and the world a little funnier. Her feet found their footing, and lead her through different groups, listening and laughing. Her drink was emptying faster than she was filling it up.
"Getting there," she said sweetly, holding her container out for a fourth time. The boy simply chuckled, shaking his head a bit, but filled the glass, nonetheless. Just as the drink reached her lips, the container was drawn from her by a hand.
" Hey!" She yelped, as she stared at her empty hands. "Excuse...yo-ou!" Her words are slow, and she turns her head to meet Alby's unapproved look.
"Newt told you not to drink, right?"
" Easy to do when he doesn't drink as well." Her words slur a bit as she hastily tries and grab the container from Glade leader, who immediately pulls it away. "Unfair."
"Do you know how many guys are here?" Alby questioned, holding her container a little higher. He cursed her influenced state. He knew his Gladers, and he didn't trust them in the slightest: this was dangerous for everyone involved. He knew they should have cancelled the Bonfire.
He cursed the Creators, again.
" Lots." She retorts, slumping over. She rolled her eyes lazily and looked up at Alby. The Glader looked down at her slightly, raising an eyebrow.
" Do you know how many drinks you've had?" He questioned. She looked at the boy who had been giving her the drinks, as if to ask him the same question. He held up four fingers, which took her a while to count, but she eventually turns to Alby and announce, "Lots."
The Glader rolled his eyes, a small frown played on his lips as he handed the container back to the boy serving drinks. The two shared a knowing glance before Alby turned back to face her. Childishly, she stuck out her bottom lip and took a step closer to him.
"Please Alby," She cooed loudly, her hands together in a pleading position, "they were just starting to taste good."
The dark-skinned boy shook his head stubbornly, "it's too risky," to which he earned a drunken scowl from her drunken self, "you're a girl, Greenie, in a Glade full of boys who haven't seen a girl for as long as they can remember."
"You had a drink," She retorted, her words slurred together that her arguments were almost futile.
"I'm not a Greenie, nor am I a girl," Alby replied reasonably, "I had one drink."
"Rude," She hissed at the Glader, her eyes narrowed at him. Alby stood back for a moment before recollecting himself, she took it he didn't intend on offending her; or was even sure if he had.
"What?" He laughed flatly, hardly amused by the situation.
"You're reasonably attractive..." She hesitated for a moment, scanning the Glader up and down. Their eyes locked for a moment and his eyes were dark with an unintentional anger, yet daring her to have the courage to continue, "...man." She finished.
Alby tilted his head back, bringing a hand up to rub at the crease that formed between his brows, "Am I?" This girl was going to be a handful, and he was less than thrilled.
She shrugged, "maybe you have an admirer or two in here. Maybe it's not me who should be watching their drink," She challenged, taking a step closer to the drinks table. Alby threw the boy a serious side-glance that literally screamed "You. Are. Cut. Off!"
"Oh, come on, Alby!" She cried, exasperated, throwing her hands up in frustration.
It was only moments until she felt a strong arm snaking around the back of her neck and curl around her shoulders. Wobbly, she leaned into the arm a little for support. Alby looked at the Glader with recognition, so she took it as someone he knew closely.
"What seems to be the problem here, Greenie?" Minho asked quickly, his voice pitched a little lower than his sober self.
" Alby cut my drinks off..." She sighed dramatically; disappointment evident in her words.
"Here, you can have mine." The girls' eyes light up as he pushes a half-empty bottle into her hands smugly.
" Greenie," Alby warns, "this might not end well-" She shrugs and throw him a wobbly glare as she gladly takes the alcohol. She downed it quickly, smiling triumphantly at Minho, who smiled back. That drink really tipped her over the edge. Her eyes started to dot a bit, and her knees felt weak. Perfect.
Nothing ever felt better then to feel her worries slip away. She felt like she was watching herself in third person. She could control her words and actions, but her filter was gone. Whatever came to mind was out of her mouth in seconds. She vaguely knew that Alby was mad, he grabbed her a few times, dragging her away from various Gladers who got too bold, in his opinion. Babysitting.
The rest of the night was a blur of laughter and drinking. She guessed she did have fun.
____
A/N-literally wth is going on
-c