[Who knows how many days it's been. He certainly can't keep track of them. Time is relative anyway. Millions of years in a blink of an eye; you only need a little patience to let the time pass anyway. Not that Newt has had much of that. There's a hysterical giggle on his lips, brief, like a hiccup, as his fingers drum against the metal cuffs holding his arms against the chair. It's...not exactly quiet in his head, per say--his head has never been quiet. Always racing, thinking of what next, what next, sometimes for days on end. Newt licks his lips, tasting copper at the blood spilled from the split in his bottom one, before he tilts his head back, rolling backwards on his shoulders to stare at the ceiling.]

Hey, y'know, uhhhhhh not to be a problem child or anything-- [and he snickers at his own joke]--but could I get, like, a sudoku magazine in here or something? Anything? 'Cause I'm, like...super bored.