Newcomers are, quite sadly, normal. You’d think they wouldn’t be such murderous bastards towards them but… well. After everything they’d been through, you learn to shoot first and ask questions later. At least that’s Clarke and Bellamys philosophy. He wonders if they realize how like the Mountain Men they’d become. Or even the grounders. What was once their 100 delinquents is down to four, with mixed grounder tribes and arkadians melted in. They’d lost so many. They’d become hardened, suspicious and wary. And now, with the addition of Madi, it’s even worse.
The stranger is well dressed. Obviously well-fed, and rather clean. He’d had a shower recently. God, what Murphy would give for one of those. A dip in a lake only gets you so far. When they’d taken him to be interrogated, Murphy had snuck in. Usually he doesn’t dabble in these matters, but instincts tell him to follow and he’d not likely to ignore them.
The fact that he’d spoken up at all startled his friends. Enough so that they listen. Very rarely does Murphy allow himself to get involved in leadership matters, as they have enough to blame on him without his input in something that could go wrong. While his voice does save the man, he’s warned that he’s now Murphys responsibility. He already regrets speaking up.
Especially when said man joins him at the dinner table.
“Not planning anything. Either you’ll stay or you’ll go.” A shrug, uncaring. After Emori, he’d learned not to get too attached. You’d have thought he’d learned that ages ago. Bite, chew, swallow. It’s not exactly gourmet, but it’s better than algae.
Though he slows then, the words Newt uttered bouncing around his head like an ugly reminder. Light eyes shift up, catching the others gaze with a cautious pause.
“You can’t survive in this world without trouble finding you. We did what we had to.”
Every. Damn. Time. They’re not proud of it. They’ve made mistakes. Murphy especially - every time he sees Raven limp, he wants to crawl out of his skin and offer her his body and soul in a pathetic attempt to make amends. It doesn’t matter that logic reminds him he didn’t know she was there. He still did that to her.
“Is that so?” Newt returned mildly, voice quiet, thoughtful. He doubted a bunch who decided that attempted murder was a good first reaction would allow him to go so easily. It’s happened before, he highly doubts they won’t try again. His gaze turns carefully to the younger man before turning to the surrounding location. There were more people here than he’d imagined, but then when he’d started his travels to this region he hadn’t expected to find anyone.
He can tell from where he sat that time had done none of them well– Bags under eyes, creases in their frownlines, a haunted look in many of their eyes. The young man he was sitting with among them, though he’d like to think he saw something else– something more defiant in them. Newt’s lips form a small bow, fidgeting with his fingers as he considers quietly what to do next.
John’s answer is expected as is the way his heart twists in his chest. He stops fidgeting abruptly drawing in a breath. We did what we had to, John had said and Newt’s not naive enough to think something silly like they made truces or stole food. These were the faces of those who had fought in war, had killed without blinking at the time and perhaps– perhaps– regretted it later when they realized what they’d done.
“Trouble will always find you,” he finds himself agreeing with the same quiet solemness. Green eyes practically bore a hole into the table before him as he spoke. Expression darkening as if he doesn’t quite agree– and how can he? Even in the direst of situations, he’d always chosen to disarm, to restrain, to stop. But he only had killed if there was no other option, and that had been in their war.
Silence follows a moment longer before he shifts in his spot, half rising to his feet as if to get up– to go anywhere but this place filled with the most dangerous of beings. “However… Is surviving like this truly worth it?”