The Miscreants of Xiphoid Camp [NOT UPDATING CURRENTLY]

» 2131 « Chapter 24 - Demon magic and nothing more

February 4, 2131

Things had grown strange between Avior and Destiny. He was kind of okay with that. Girls were weird, anyway. It was fine.

"Hey, idiot," Marcus said when Avior entered Tertius amidst a freezing gust of the mid-winter air. "Mr. Finch wants to talk to you,"

Splendid. Avior had been avoiding Fred Finch for nearly all of winter session. There was no point in seeing him. He was probably still very angry with Avior about the rooster thing. Maybe Avior had gotten himself kicked out of Xiphoid.

It was a silly thought, but it wrapped itself around his mind as he trudged along the path to the main office, and by the time he got there he was dead convinced that he was about to get chucked out. He was surprised at how disappointing the idea of leaving camp was. He was surprised that he wanted to stay. With a great, resigned sigh, he swung open the door to the main office and dragged his feet along the floor the whole way to Fred Finch's office.

"Ah, yes! Hello!" Fred Finch exclaimed, standing and knocking over the mug of pens sat on his desk.

"Hullo," Avior said, quiet and subdued.

"Do you know why I called you into my office?" Fred Finch asked without looking up as he knelt to gather the fallen pens.

"S'pose it's because 'm in trouble," Avior mumbled, staring sullenly down at his shoes.

Fred Finch straightened and jammed the pens back into the mug—one fell out and rolled under the desk—he didn't notice. "Wha? No, not at all! Not at all! In fact, we have news for you!"

"Hello," Caryn said, and it was only then that Avior noticed she had been standing beside Fred Finch the entire time. She pushed her square glasses up her nose and folded her arms. "I'm certain you remember an incident, so to speak, involving a gargantuan metal rooster?" Avior nodded. "After close examination—" Caryn glanced at Fred Finch, who gave a thumbs-up— "we have determined that the rooster was of, well, of demonic origin,"

"Huh," Avior said. "Okay. What about it?"

"That's about it. We wanted you to be aware of the fact that the rooster was designed and created by a demon, and seems to have been specifically targeting our campers,"

"Why would it do that?"

"We have our theories." Caryn looked uncomfortable—Avior interacted with her far less often than he did the other faculty members. She wasn't used to his brilliance.

"What are they?"

"That's classified information,"

"Okay." Classified meant I dare you to find out. And Avior, lacking as he was in opportunities to be dared to do something, was not about to turn it down.

February 12, 2131

Life at Xiphoid had, most unfortunately, become a dull repetitive endless line of unremarkable day after unremarkable day marching ceaselessly forward and forward, on and on. The one disruption to this sickeningly dull rhythm was, most unfortunately, Valentine's day.

The camp was abuzz with romance. There were more couples walking hand-in-hand than ever, more gossip and more giggling, and Rosemarie's classroom was adorned with the brightest pinks and reds. Avior hated it, all of it. Christmas was terrible, but this stupid, made-up, insufferably cheesy holiday was even worse.

He wished everyone saw the world through his point of view. Romance was stupid. What was the point of girls, anyway? Blah blah blah. Love love love. How boring. How stupid. He had voiced this opinion to Arin thousands of times, and thankfully, they were in full agreement. Valentine's day was stupid. Full stop.