(no subject)
Another fic. This one is in need of some srs edits. What is this tense. Verbs? How does I adjective. Srsly. But whatevs.
The juvenile enforcement officer smiled as he eyed his camp. It was a grim but satisfied kind of smile. Two months in the wilderness with a group of delinquents and he’d tamed them all. It was his personal best. The once wild children- thieves and bullies and thugs- had been taught a thing or two about hard-work and discipline.
He had thought the carcharian boy would give him more trouble. Sure- at first he was unruly and unreasonable- stealing things from fellow prisoners, backtalking, generally not listening to directions. But a few beatings and withheld meals coupled with hard labor had straightened him out right quick. Perhaps the threat of Buck, the officer’s prized but vicious hound, had been the thing that set the sharkboy on the right path. The dog had taken an immediate dislike to the grinning fiend- and had followed him throughout the camp day in and day out. The officer had delighted in threatening to remove the muzzle that kept the dogs murderous teeth at bay. The tightening that had occurred in Virgil’s jaw every time the threat was mentioned had been so satisfying to watch- even more so than the boy’s immediate snap back to what he was supposed to be doing.
“Go on and clean the pots, now,” the officer smiled behind his sunglasses. Virgil opened his too-wide mouth in shock.
“But I cooked the stew- I shouldn’t have to-“
“And a mighty fine stew it was. But. I said. Go on and clean the pots, now.” The beginnings of a sneer pulled at his face. Virgil’s jaw tightened but he collected the pans nonetheless.
“You there- go let Buck out. Someone needs to keep an eye on him.” Which was a lie because Virgil remained fully visible as he crouched in the creek to scrub the pans.
A few minutes later, the errand-boy returned with Buck’s empty collar. He looked extremely pale.
“What? Where is he?”
Tiny hands clasped the collar tighter. “He’s dead sir. Skinned and gutted. Nothing but a pile of bones is left. His head was still whole though- laying right on top of the rest of him.”
“What? What?” He glared at the shaking boy before him. He was not one of the trouble-makers with a knack for telling stories. He didn’t have a deathwish. Not like the damn carcharian.
A sudden chill swept over the officer as the pieces clicked into place. They’d been out of meat for over a week and yet-- His head snapped in the direction of Virgil who, while still knee-deep in the creek, had stopped what he was doing to watch their exchange. The sharkboy’s grin was too wide- exposing every tooth and a gratuitous amount of gums. He hadn’t smiled like that since day one. With a little salute, Virgil dropped the pans in the water and took off into the woods.
The juvenile enforcement officer smiled as he eyed his camp. It was a grim but satisfied kind of smile. Two months in the wilderness with a group of delinquents and he’d tamed them all. It was his personal best. The once wild children- thieves and bullies and thugs- had been taught a thing or two about hard-work and discipline.
He had thought the carcharian boy would give him more trouble. Sure- at first he was unruly and unreasonable- stealing things from fellow prisoners, backtalking, generally not listening to directions. But a few beatings and withheld meals coupled with hard labor had straightened him out right quick. Perhaps the threat of Buck, the officer’s prized but vicious hound, had been the thing that set the sharkboy on the right path. The dog had taken an immediate dislike to the grinning fiend- and had followed him throughout the camp day in and day out. The officer had delighted in threatening to remove the muzzle that kept the dogs murderous teeth at bay. The tightening that had occurred in Virgil’s jaw every time the threat was mentioned had been so satisfying to watch- even more so than the boy’s immediate snap back to what he was supposed to be doing.
“Go on and clean the pots, now,” the officer smiled behind his sunglasses. Virgil opened his too-wide mouth in shock.
“But I cooked the stew- I shouldn’t have to-“
“And a mighty fine stew it was. But. I said. Go on and clean the pots, now.” The beginnings of a sneer pulled at his face. Virgil’s jaw tightened but he collected the pans nonetheless.
“You there- go let Buck out. Someone needs to keep an eye on him.” Which was a lie because Virgil remained fully visible as he crouched in the creek to scrub the pans.
A few minutes later, the errand-boy returned with Buck’s empty collar. He looked extremely pale.
“What? Where is he?”
Tiny hands clasped the collar tighter. “He’s dead sir. Skinned and gutted. Nothing but a pile of bones is left. His head was still whole though- laying right on top of the rest of him.”
“What? What?” He glared at the shaking boy before him. He was not one of the trouble-makers with a knack for telling stories. He didn’t have a deathwish. Not like the damn carcharian.
A sudden chill swept over the officer as the pieces clicked into place. They’d been out of meat for over a week and yet-- His head snapped in the direction of Virgil who, while still knee-deep in the creek, had stopped what he was doing to watch their exchange. The sharkboy’s grin was too wide- exposing every tooth and a gratuitous amount of gums. He hadn’t smiled like that since day one. With a little salute, Virgil dropped the pans in the water and took off into the woods.