wegotarunner | Day One, Greenie.

[Open Spam]

[Thomas arrives on the deck of the ship with a look of weariness not only on his features, but one that's settled into his shoulders. Chuck's carving is still clutched tightly in his hand. There's still blood on his clothes. On his hands. His face is streaked with dirt and sweat and blood from a cut above his eye and another on his cheek.

So this is the Barge.

He looks up at the sky with wide eyes, momentarily distracted by the sight and forgetting the events of the last few hours. But only momentarily. He blinks himself out of his dazed stupor and rubs a hand over his face. It takes him a moment to get his bearings. The first thing he needs to do is find his room, and take a long, hot shower. Change his clothes. Get something to eat. It's been hours since he last ate anything and his stomach isn't happy about it.

And then he's going to explore the Barge, find out where everything is. Figure out what to do from there. He's sure there's a lot to learn about this place, about the people he's now sharing space with. He's not completely thrilled about having to meet a whole slew of new people. People who won't know him, who will probably treat him like an outsider. Like he's not to be trusted.

Truthfully, he's still not sure should be. He remembers Newt's words. That who he used to be doesn't matter, it's who he is now that counts. And he can't save them if he focuses on things he can't do anything about. He has to stay focused.

For Newt. For Minho. For Teresa. For Alby. Ben. Even for Gally.

But most of all, for Chuck.]

[Video]

[Thomas appears on screen looking better than he had only an hour ago for those who ran into him on the way from the deck to his room. He's cleaned up, all the blood and sweat and dirt gone from his skin. The cut above his eye and the one on his cheek are still there but they look a little less angry now. He also looks a little hesitant, like he's not sure about this.]

Someone said I should introduce myself.

I'm Thomas.

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[As she probably expects, he has no idea what she's talking about. His eyebrows furrow. He definitely doesn't remember that. Then again, there's not much he does remember, so it probably shouldn't be a surprise, and it shouldn't catch him off guard. It still kinda does. But only a little.]

Oh.

[She takes a deep breath and picks up her communicator, scrolling back to her own message, then showing it to him.]

Here.

[He eyes her warily for a moment, then looks down at the device in her hand, staring at the conversation that the two of them had, but that he has no memory of.

One more thing he doesn't know about his life shouldn't matter. Shouldn't make a difference. He rubs a hand over his face, his fingers curling around the carving in his other hand. Chuck's.]

Yeah, I don't remember any of that.

[He looks like he's been through a lot. Most of them have been when they get here, though. So she doesn't wanna ask him why he's here.]

Do you want me to help you try to find your cabin? Or maybe get something to eat?

[He's glad she doesn't ask. He's not ready to talk about it yet. He wavers between wanting to shower, needing to sleep, and needing to eat something. He scratches the cut above his eye, wincing a little.]

You don't have to. If you just -- tell me where I could find something to eat I can probably find it okay.

[He glances down at the small dog, who's now whining at his feet. He glances at Lydia and then hesitantly kneels down and lets the pup sniff his fingers before petting him gently behind the ears.]

He barks a lot, but he's a good dog.

[And she won't acknowledge that he turned down her offer, instead, she'll just kind of guide him to the kitchens, at least. She feels kind of responsible for him, so she'll just continue their conversation.]

You'll probably get called Stiles a lot. At least for a while.

[He nods absently as the dog patiently allows Thomas to pet him. Then he glances up at Lydia with a furrowed brow.]

Stiles? [He shakes his head.] Right. Your boyfriend. That's his name.

Yeah, that's his name.

[She smiles as she watches Prada shifting closer to him, she doubts they smell the same, since they're different people.]

You two look a lot alike, here. [She reaches for her phone then shows him her background picture.]

[He hesitantly reaches out and takes the phone from her, staring at the picture of Stiles and Lydia together. So that's what he looks like. It's been weird not knowing.]

He looks older than sixteen?

He is. He'll be eighteen in a couple of months.

[At least he looks slightly less freaked out now, but then he might just be distracted.]

You're thinner than he is, and your hair is also different.

[He looks from the picture down at his clothes and back again.]

I guess that might help people tell the difference then, right?

I think it will. It just might take a while for some people. I can already tell, though.

[She cocks her head when he looks down at his clothes.]

You should have clean clothes in your cabin, but if you don't, I can borrow something from Stiles for you.

[He's relieved about that. Otherwise there could be serious awkwardness in the future.]

Clothes just...show up here? [He sounds uncertain.]

Yeah, whatever you had in your room before you got here will show up for you, too.

[But he looks and sounds so uncomfortable, mistrusting, she's not sure what exactly was happening in his world. She also doesn't feel like he'd be open to questions about that.]

[He looks away at that, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.]

I didn't have a room back home.

You didn't? [That's definitely unusual but considering the state he's in...]

Where did you live?

[He glances at her, hesitates a second.]

Sorta -- makeshift shelters basically. We were outside.

Oh. I'm sorry you were living like that. [She wants to ask why, but she doesn't. Not yet.]

Your room will be inside here. It might mimic one of the shelters you had. Or maybe the room you had-- before? [Subtle way of asking him if he always lived there. At least, she'd like to think so.]

[He's glad she doesn't ask.]

Maybe.

[He bites his lip and looks away.]

[That is an odd response. She can't tell one way or the other.]

Did you-- What was your room like? Before the-- Glade? [Glades? she's not sure.]

[He chews his lower lip and looks back at her nervously.]

I don't remember. I don't remember much of anything before the Glade.

You don't remember you life before it? How long were you in there?

Not really. Bits and pieces.

[He knows she's going to have a million more questions when he responds to her second question. He does, too.]

About a week.

[A million questions is right. But considering he just got here, he has apparently no memory aside from a week of his life, and that week already gave him a reason to make a deal with the admiral, she'll stick to one question.]

So you don't remember much before this week? There's someone here who might be able to help you.

[He looks skeptical at that.]

How?

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