He hadn’t known it at the time, but that Saturday night was going to simultaneously be the best and the very worst one of his life, and yes, it had an escaped capybara in it.
He hadn’t known it at the time, but that Saturday night was going to simultaneously be the best and the very worst one of his life, and yes, it had an escaped capybara in it.
Escaped probably wasn’t the best word to use in this case. Liberated seemed far more appropriate. Unconventionally freed. So on, so forth.
Minho knew something was wrong the exact moment he lost sight of both Thomas and Newt, and not for the usual reasons. Well, actually, he had a bad feeling from the moment that Ben suggested they all take a much-deserved vacation day and hit up the zoo, of all places. Call it a third eye intuition if you want; Minho called it Years of Experience.
“Put it back,” he found himself saying only minutes later, at the migraine-inducing sight of Thomas with the animal under his arm. Not holding, for that would require at least three more Thomas’, which thankfully only exist in Minho’s worst dreams, but more hovering over. Shielding protectively. Christ.
Thomas, at least, had the good nature to look mildly ashamed. And then he said, “His name is Terry,” and Minho could suddenly hear police sirens in his near future.
“I don’t give a fuck, you little shit – don’t name it! Put it back now!” He then turned to Newt who was standing behind Thomas, oddly quiet and asked, “And what are you doing? Why didn’t you stop him?”
Newt simply shrugged, and says, “He looked lonely.”
