{perplexus (noun) – to be in or to cause a state of puzzlement or bewilderment over what is not understood.}
y/n's pov:
"I told you, that's insane. That motherfucker was mauled to death three years ago." Thomas said, throwing his pistol down on the table and removing his jacket.
"I'm just telling you what I know Thomas, it might not even be him-" Vince explained, although was hurriedly cut off by a suddenly irritable dark haired boy across the room.
Thomas removed his bloodied knife from his holster. "And I'm telling you it's not him. You must have gotten it wrong."
Vince looked taken by surprise. "I did not get it wrong, Thomas. I'm telling you exactly what I know. Someone is still out there - I don't give a fuck who it is, we just need to deal with it."
I swiveled myself in my seat, turning more towards Vince. "How is that possible, though? I thought everyone who worked for Wicked died that night – no survivors, that's what we were told afterwards." I reminded, causing Thomas to stab his newly cleaned knife into the table.
"Exactly!" The boy slumped down, grunting, "There's no way any of them are still alive. Wouldn't they have come looking for us earlier if they were?"
Vince sighed, leaning his arms on the table. I hadn't seen much of him recently – he had apparently been under the weather, but when I saw him for the first time in about a week a few hours ago, whatever I was saying previously had caught in my throat.
His physical changes were the most obvious; his face was thinner, his eyes darker and shallower, and his arms and legs looked incredibly skinny.
Whatever was going on with him seemed to be taking a toll.
"Maybe they did. Maybe, one of those slimy bastards somehow survived that shit show, and is now hellbent on seeking revenge on the group that burned their city to the ground. I don't know Thomas, okay? I'm just telling you what I know, and that is that there is someone out there looking for us, and it's probably a smart idea for us to find them before they find us."
Vince took a large inhale of breath, before manoeuvring his way over to where he keeps his cabinet of old whiskeys.
The man continued speaking while pouring himself a drink. "I'm not saying we need to panic and make this our main priority or anything, but I think getting ahead of it and ensuring that whoever it is isn't a threat to us is probably a good idea."
Vince tentatively put the glass to his lips, taking a small sip.
I glanced over at Thomas, examining how hard he was trying to keep quiet and not say anything in response. He failed rather quickly.
"Fine, okay, how do you suggest we do that? We have no way of knowing where this person is, who they are, and whether or not they actually have any clue of where we are."
Sighing, I turned the page of the book of maps I had been studying. "I'm sure someone has connections that could help us out, or we could track coordinates? I can't even remember if that's possible anymore."
Vince turned back around to the table, leaning on a chair. "Barely, it's very difficult to do and a very tedious process. One I'm not putting myself through, not right now anyway."
That had peaked Thomas' interest. "Yeah, and why is that, again? You've barely been here the last couple of weeks."
By this point, the boy had removed all of his gear and sat down across from me, removing his knife from the table and placing it back into his holster.
