gladebaker-blog

[gladebaker-blog]

i hate that i flinch whenever anyone raises their voice even a little bit

i hate that i panic when anyone even pretends to be angry

i hate that my heart races when someone so much as frowns at me

i hate it i hate it i hate it

[gladebaker-blog]

He hasn’t tried the showers. Nor has he undressed at all, although his clothes are covered with goop from the Grievers. But he’s happy to take the distraction. “Save me a piece? I need to get cleaned up.”

            “At least there’s decent bloody water pressure here. If you haven’t tried the showers yet, I highly recommend ‘em. But for now, let’s just not try and imagine somethin’ awful happenin’, yeah? I’m gonna go see if there’s any more pizza left in the common room or if all these fat shanks scarfed it down.”

[gladebaker-blog]

fryiisms

“Th-they said yes? I can be a Cook?”

[gladebaker-blog]

He wiped his hands nervously on the flour-dusted apron he still wore, twisted it in his hands, dropped them to his sides again. It wasn’t like he’d expected Newt to be his normal cheerful self, but he couldn’t help feeling like he’d overstepped somehow.

“I know,” he mumbled. “I mean, I figured you’d be upset about it. That’s why I wanted to give you those. So you’d--you know, have something to eat besides whatever soup and whatnot Frypan’s sending.”

       Eyes, wary of much contact in such a state of public weakness, flicked upwards at the comment and subsequent hypothesis as to the specifics of what was inside the little wrapped parcel of a bag on his bed. He stared, sighed.

      “Sorry,” he finally said, seeming to soften somewhat. “For actin’ like an unappreciative slinthead. I’m just – not really in the right mindset, ya know? Bein’ locked down in a bloody bed all day does that to ya, I guess.” His stare wandered to his propped ankle as if silently resenting and blaming his new injury for his state of arrest and medical ‘lock down.’

[gladebaker-blog]

Ronnie was always quiet. Two sentences without prompting was a rare thing for him. He looked a little disappointed by the lack of reaction, the quietness. He wasn’t exactly friends with Newt, and he didn’t know him well, but the reserve unsettled him.

“It’s, um. Your favorite. I mean--not like I watch--I know everyone’s favorite is all.”

            Newt’s stare was somewhat unreadable, borderline between hesitant and irritated, but all served as a facade for the fear and pain that was still very fresh inside like tender flesh beneath a recently dressed wound. He didn’t appear hostile, however. Merely reserved. Withdrawn. Quiet. 

        “Thanks,” he said after a pause, eyes flitting down to the offering.

[gladebaker-blog]

adhesiive

“I, um. Heard about your accident. I brought you these.” He shoves a small sack of cookies at the boy in the bed.

[gladebaker-blog]

He frowns at the words, trying to match it to a picture in his mind. Flat bread? Like a tortilla? Ronnie tends to make yeast bread, but he has a nearly encyclope- dic knowledge of bread and baked goods.

“Like a buñuelo? Or a sopapilla? Was it fried?” He’s so entranced by his thoughts he's lost the nerves that cause his stammer. It’s like he’s talking to himself ra- ther than to someone else.

                                  So he does speak. That only makes Luis’ smile grow. He never                                   thought that he’d hear what Ronnie sounded like before, but he                                   was pleased to find out. He picks off a bit more of the dough ball,                                   rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until it was smooth                                   and round, then into his mouth it goes. He takes a moment to                                   smooth the dough against the roof of his mouth with his tongue                                   until it’s gone before giving an approving nod. 

                                                 "’S good.“ He says before plucking off                                                  another small bit and repeating the                                                  process. "I don’t think I’ve ever had                                                  snickerdoodle cookies before. All I can                                                  remember, well, what they've let me                                                  remember, is some kind of flat bread                                                  thing all covered in sugar.”

[gladebaker-blog]

The list of people Ronnie talks to, especially without his usual nervous stammer, is very short. Luis is not yet on it. Yet. If he keeps this up he might be even- tually.

“Sn--snickerdoodle,” he says, breaking off another ball of dough and putting it on the tray. He works quickly now, arranging the cookie dough in three rows on the sheet tray. The oven is hot, so all he needs to do is sprinkle cinnamon sugar over the cookies and slide them in.

                                    He doesn’t mind that Ronnie doesn’t talk back. Actually, Luis is                                     pretty sure that he hasn’t heard the kid talk at all. Which isn’t very                                     weird; at least, not to him. The Builder doesn’t mind talking for the                                     both of them, anyways. Sure, it’s a one-sided conversation, but it                                     wasn’t like the Baker wasn’t listening, right? Even if he wasn’t Luis                                     didn’t mind at all.                                      The boy watches as Ronnie puts some of the dough he had made                                     onto the tray, already thinking about the cookies that were going to                                     be made. He was going to be honest– he had a bit of a sweet tooth                                     and loved anything that came out of this part of the kitchen. Ronnie                                     was good at what he did, that was absolutely no lie. Luis was a little                                     surprised when a bit of dough was handed off to him, but however,                                     a grin spreads across his lips as he takes it. 

                                                       "Thanks! What’s todays batch? Sugar?                                                        Chocolate chip?“ he asks before taking                                                        a bite out of the small ball. 

[gladebaker-blog]

Luis is relatively easy to talk to, but Ronnie’s nervous. He always is, just less so in the back room of the Kit- chens where Frypan lets him reign supreme. He has flour, a stand mixer, and three different ovens; it’s his own personal heaven. It’s a little less of a heaven with someone in there talking to him, but Luis is okay.

Ronnie makes a noise of agreement and pinches off a ball of cookie dough. He rolls it between his fingers and drops it on the sheet tray. The next one he passes word- lessly to Luis. He knows the kid has a sweet tooth. Ron- nie knows everyone’s personal taste in sweets.

                                                          “And then Clint told me that since I smashed                                                           my hand between the boards, that I couldn’t                                                           work on any heavy stuff for the next couple of                                                           days until we’re sure it’s all healed up." 

                                   Unsurprisingly, Luis has been hanging around the kitchen. He                                    technically knows he’s not supposed to, and that if Frypan catches                                    him, he’ll most likely get into a heap of trouble, but it was kind of                                    hard to stay away. He loved the smell of cooking food and baking                                    goods, and most of the boys who worked in there were pretty good                                    to talk to when he wanted someone to be chatty with. Even if it                                    meant being the only one talking, which happened to be the case                                    here. 

[gladebaker-blog]

No, Ronnie definitely didn't realize. He'd only just arrived a week ago; he didn't know much of anything about anyone.

He smiled, for real, when Newt said that. "Thanks," he said, before duck- ing his head again.

He watched the red skin spread across the boy’s face and Newt felt satisfied, as if he had said something right in the conversation. He went back to picking at his plants, his mind already preoccupied with the next task at hand. The Greenie probably didn’t realize it but Newt related to him. When he came up out of the box he just knew, he just felt it, that he had to be a runner. And he didn’t want to be the reason this kid spent his days bored in the gardens.

                       ”Good that. Tell Frypan that I said you                        could work in the kitchen tomorrow. If he                        has a probably with it, just come find me.”

[gladebaker-blog]

He does smile, at least a little, at Newt's epithet for the man. It's better than nothing. Ronnie's been even quieter than usual since they made it out of the Maze.

He nodded, twisting his hands together. He'd managed to keep his apron in the escape, but their "rescuers" had taken it when they gave the boys new clothes. It left him with nothing to fidget with except his own hands. "What--what d'you think the names mean?" he asks, trying to change the subject. "Minho's is easy but yours, or mine..."

Well—he had a point there. However, Newt just snorted in response, folding his arms across his torso. “—don’t’ think we should really care w’at the bloody rat says anyways.”           There’s a small pause & Newt finds his          face falling when he failed to smile back.           That really didn’t make him feel much          better. “—we’ll manage, a’right?” his tone          indicated that the discussion was finished          —he wasn’t going to allow another protest.

[gladebaker-blog]

"The bloody ones are getting thrown out, don't worry." He nodded, swallowing from nerves when Nico mentioned stitches. "Okay," he said, looking up at the ceiling.

"Oh, bloody cinnamon rolls ––––– those are my favorite.” He returned the smile and finished sterilizing the needle. “Listen, I’m going to have to stitch that, which is going to hurt, uh, a little bit, alright?”

[gladebaker-blog]

"Don't think Rat Man's really interested in explanations," he mumbled, but it wasn't a real protest. There wasn't an answer to be found, and there was no point pushing Newt any further.

He tried to smile back, but it didn't really stick. "Well, we only have two weeks. Maybe not resting would be a good thing." Although he knew perfectly well that Newt wouldn't even be able to run for two weeks without rest, not with his leg.

Newt sighed—he wasn’t annoyed, he was just used to the same questions. The other Gladers were asking similar things and Newt really didn’t have an answer for him. “—well, whenever we see ‘em again, you can ask them yourself, a’right?”            He leaned in and nudged the boy gently, a smile            on his lips. “Besides, you wouldn’t want me as            your shuck leader. If I were, we’d never rest.” He            knew that wasn’t true, but he needed him to stop            thinking that he would be a better leader—because            Newt felt like he wouldn’t.

[gladebaker-blog]

                                    “This paper will no doubt be found interesting                                             by those who take an interest in it.”                                                                                        ~John Dalton                                                             Indie TMR OC                                                      Keeper of the Sloppers.                                                        home | about | rules

[gladebaker-blog]

He nods, looking down at his hands, twisting them together. "Okay. Thanks."

She shrugs, letting a breath of air out of her cheeks. “Go for it, man. Keep your friends.”

[gladebaker-blog]

"Oh. No--I'm just surprised is all."

     ❝just  c h e c k i n ‘  up on      you.  that a crime?❞

[gladebaker-blog]

gladebaker >>> someinvisiblelight

Because I wanted all my TMR boys to match with the quotes-from-their-namesake URLs.