Newt was known for many things. Some knew him only as Heh's bastard son, others as a demi-god psychiatrist off his rocker. Even more would argue he was known for his emotional capacity- something akin to a rock, if he recalled correctly. Regardless of how he was remembered, fuming over one Deceit Cayhadi was no where close to it.
Normally, Newt was a testament to his roots. He was calm. He was relaxed, in his own world. Unshakable. Not pissed off in a boat in what used to be North America. It had been a stupid bet- as most demeaning things with Deceit start out to be- and then, just like that, what would be Texas in a couple thousand years was now a fucking island.
But he shouldn't worry, the voice on the phone informed him, as there was a cleanup crew on their way to rescue him from his little time-leap hissy fit. Newt did not like the tone the lady on the phone used, and flat out told her so. A dial tone echoed in his ear.
Newt, demi-god and son of Heh himself, was stuck in a boat, in the middle of the ocean, two thousand years before humans would become a thing. But he wasn't supposed to worry because he still had cell service and could, therefore, call someone to fix his mess.
He really hated everything right about then.