❝𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇
𝐃𝐎 𝐔𝐒
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓❞
Minny follows the rules. She listens to Alby because that's what Minny's suppose to do. Minny does her job and goes to sleep.
Repeat.
Gally follows the orders. Gally does his jo...
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐃 in her brown eyes, bringing out the honey hues hidden inside of the precious gems. The fire brought out the glee she spread to all that crossed her path. Gally couldn't help but notice this as she slid him an extra piece of bacon. Mischief was not a thing he associated with her, but it blew her eyes big and wide, her mouth quirking up into a smile and laughter escaping out in the Glade. He found it unjust that every shank was able to listen to the melody that befell her plump lips, most, in no way deserved to listen.
He visibly jumped at these thoughts, recoiling from the table and almost knocking into other Glader's. "You alright there, Gal?" Minho asked with raised brows, thanking Minny as she filled up his jar.
He swallowed thickly. "Yeah, yeah. 'M fine." He brushed himself off, glancing at Minny who seemed to be already looking at him.
Minny leaned closer to him and his breath hitched. She was usually never this close to him. Why was she getting so close to him? Better yet, why did he care? "No offense Captain, but you're kinda in the way." Her smile offered no ill temper, simply trying to complete her job for the night.
Gally glanced at the boy beside him, "My bad, shank."
Minny placed the food on the tray as Gally turned away. "Here you are, Arthur." His brow's pinched, an unfamiliar feeling building. How did she know every shank here? He barely remembered meeting the guy.
She watched his retreating figure, filling up a plethora of jars to satisfy the large group she tended to on the daily (3 times a day to be exact). The jars were lined up by the fives and all were filled up to the exact same imaginary line. "Wa la!" She exclaimed, brushing fake dirt from her palms.
Frypan peered around her shoulder, grinning. "Beautifully done."
She spun, her thick ponytail bouncy wildy. "It's because of my magnificent skill."
The Keeper waved his finger at the girl. "Don't you get cocky on me now."
The girl scrunched her nose in distaste. "I don't like that word."
"You don't like a lot of words."
She shrugged innocently. "I'm word picky, sue me. Plus, it's not my fault you lot have filthy mouths."
Fry threw a hand over his chest, "Me? A filthy mouth?" He scoffed grabbing a jar from her assortment.
Her skin itched at the disarray. "Hey—"
"Drink." He shoved the jar that looked like it held the pee of a dehydrated Glader. "Let loose tonight."
