The Miscreants of Xiphoid Camp [NOT UPDATING CURRENTLY]

» 2130 « Chapter 13 - A day at the office

Bradley, Todd, and James had left Tertius at some point in the night and returned in the early hours of the morning, which Avior knew because they had certainly made no effort to be quiet. he had watched the older three shuffle into the cabin red-eyed and yawning just as the sun was beginning to show itself in all its nasty, blinding glory.

It seemed like only minutes later that James was shaking his shoulder and saying, "get up. We're going to the Extreme Office for Misbehavation,"

James had marched Avior and Marcus down the path to the main office, thrown open the first door and knocked forcefully on the second, then spoken loudly to Fred Finch about how he had never seen anything like it, and that he was severely disappointed in them.

And then Fred Finch had called Avior and Marcus into his office and given them the sternest talking-to he could muster, sentencing them to a day spent in the Extreme Office for Misbehavation until they either finished writing 'I will not start fights' one hundred and fifty times or apologized to one another and skipped out of the main office arm-in-arm to frolic in a meadow and make flower crowns.

"So I recommend you start writing!" Fred Finch finished grandly, pushing himself out of his chair and exiting the Extreme Office for Misbehavation. "Good luck, boys," he called on his way out.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Avior was up and out of his chair and into the much larger, more comfortable chair on Fred Finch's side of the desk. To his delight, it was a swivel chair, and he amused himself for several minutes by spinning around in it cackling like a madman. Marcus, on the other hand, fished a piece of paper out of one of many drawers on the side of the desk, took a pen from the mug that sat next to the ancient-looking lamp, and diligently began writing lines.

Avior stopped spinning and plucked a pen of his own from the mug, throwing it at Marcus like a tiny javelin. It bounced off his forehead and he looked up and glared.

"Oops," Avior said. Marcus bent back over his paper, only to look up a moment later when a second pen bounced off his hand, leaving a blotch of ink behind. He took the mug filled with pens and put it in a drawer, and the tiny office fell silent for a few minutes.

A third pen landed on Marcus's paper, marking a long black line across his work.

Marcus slammed both hands down on the desk. "That is enough!" he snapped. "Stop throwing pens at me!"

Avior threw another pen at him. He had older brothers. He knew how to be antagonistic. Excelled at it, actually.

"How did you get those pens!?" Marcus cried. "I hid them from you!"

Avior grinned and put a finger to his lips. "Secret of the trade," he said, holding the mug to his chest like it was a precious treasure. Marcus looked like he was about to cry. Avior turned to the blackboard hanging behind Fred Finch's desk and picked up a piece of chalk.

Marcus looked up. "What're you—" he began. His eyes widened as he took in the obscene drawing that now was the central focus of the blackboard.

Avior stepped back to admire his work. "Not bad at all," he said nonchalantly. "I could do this professionally,"

"No. NO. Erase that right now," Marcus said. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked ready to break.

"I might. I might not," Avior said thoughtfully.

Marcus jumped up and grabbed Avior by the wrist, attempting to pry the chalk out of his hand. "IF YOU WON'T GET RID OF IT, I WILL!"

"CHALK DOESN'T ERASE THINGS, YOU PINHEAD!"

"I'M TRYING TO STOP YOU FROM DRAWING MORE!" Marcus at last succeeded, and clutched the chalk tightly. "There," he said with a sense of finality, returning to the paper.

When he glanced up again, Avior had produced a second piece of chalk and was drawing another body part to go with the first. He enjoyed the freedom Xiphoid granted him to be as obscene as he wanted without worrying about his parents finding out and eviscerating him.

Marcus stood up and held out his hand. "Give it to me," he said. Avior did not object and simply dropped the chalk into his hand. Marcus smiled, satisfied.

He was woefully naïve. The telltale sound of chalk scratching against the board had him out of his seat again in an instant. This time, Avior had drawn a rude caricature of Fred Finch, with ears that were larger than his head and a river of sweat flowing down his face. He turned to face Marcus, smiling triumphantly. This was entirely too much fun. He wasn't sure why he was being so terrible to Marcus, but he justified it as retribution for starting a fight last night and landing them both in trouble. Marcus deserved this.

"THAT. IS. ENOUGH." Marcus yelled, snatching Avior's chalk and snapping it in half. "Turn out your pockets," he ordered.

Avior complied. They were empty.

"Good," Marcus said, sitting back down. When he looked up again, he gasped. Avior had drawn even more nasty, obscene things on the board. Upon noticing that Marcus had paused writing, he did not hesitate to hand over this chalk.

"WHERE ARE YOU GETTING ALL OF THESE?!" Marcus wailed, waving the chalk about.

Avior shrugged as though the chalk had simply appeared in his hand.

Marcus stomped around to the other side of the desk, grabbed Avior's arm, and dragged him back to the two uncomfortable maroon chairs. He slammed a piece of notebook paper and a pencil down in front of him.

"Write," he snarled.

Avior did not write. Attempting to write would have been humiliating. Instead, he drew a delightful scene in which a UFO appeared above Tertius and aliens abducted Marcus. Then Marcus discovered his drawing, ripped it up, and handed him a new piece of paper. Who did he think he was, playing the disciplinarian? Avior drew the UFO again, only this time, Marcus was duct-taped to the side of it and screaming.

They continued on in this dance of sorts, Marcus periodically getting up to clean more of the chalkboard or tear up Avior's latest artwork. The hours dragged by until at last, the universe had mercy on them and Fred Finch returned and said they were free to go.

Marcus handed in three full pages of lines. Avior handed in a single scrap of paper on which he had drawn a frowny face with angry eyebrows. Pictures were worth thousands of words and all that. Fred Finch gave him a funny look but said nothing.

Avior and Marcus spent the rest of the day avoiding each other.

The previous night...

James, Bradley, and Todd crept into the forest, arms linked, twin beams from flashlights roving over the ground. sticking together was of the utmost importance. they had learned that the hard way.

Six feet slipped through piles of dead leaves in perfect tandem with remarkable soundlessness. The three boys moved as a single entity. James was on the left. Bradley in the center. Todd on the right.

That was the way it had always been. That was the way it should always be.

They froze. Somewhere ahead, something moved through the trees with a clank-screech-slither. The flashlights clicked off. James and Todd clicked them back into place on their belts.

They unlinked their arms from each other. With the absence of flashlights, the darkness swallowed everything, save for the flashes of steel in the boys' clenched fists.

Clank. Screech. Slither.

The forest went quiet.

Far away, on his balcony, Malvolio chuckled and waved a hand. The fog before him dissipated.

"Keep trying, boys," he murmured. "Keep trying,"