((If anyone's wondering why And Then There Were None factors heavily into the plot of this play, I was in a production of the play while writing the first four chapters of this. I was Vera Claythorne and my SO was Phillip Lombard. The play is not how we met, but it's how we got to know each other, so that's cute. Anyway, yeah, spoilers for And Then There Were None if you haven't seen the play. The twist is basically the same as the book, but the play has a few tweaks. It's old, but I figured I'd warn you guys just in case. ;) ))


"Wot on earth issat?" Mick asked, raising an eyebrow at Pierre's oddly-coloured bowl of soup as the French boy flounced down across the table from him.

"Some actual food. Perhaps you should try it for once," Pierre replied cooly, setting the bowl down in front of him.

"That ain't food, mate," Mick said. "I think I see skin in there."

"Zat is onion, 'mate'. "

"It still looks gross."

"Zen don't look at it."

"Yer the one sittin' in front'a me. Why don't ya sit somewhere else?"

"Why don't you?"

"Because I was 'ere first."

"Do you zink zat stopped ze Europeans from invading America?" Pierre asked blandly. Mick glared at him.

"Are you always such an arse?"

"Only when in ze presence of zose whose annoyance I find enjoyable," Pierre said triumphantly.

"Enjoyable, eh? Wot about this?" Mick stood up quickly, grabbing Pierre's soup and dumping it all over the French boy, who yelped as he was doused with hot soup. Pierre shot up as well, grabbing Mick's sandwich and lunging over the table. The rest of the boys in the cafeteria spun around to watch as the two boys devolved into a scuffle on the floor, grabbing food from wherever they could reach and splattering it on each other. Misha lept up as Pierre grabbed a handful of his dinner and flung it at Mick's face, and the Russian started throwing food as well. Jeremy, seizing his opportunity for some fun, grabbed a fork and started batting meatballs at Pierre. Jane ran in to try to curb the fighting, but just ended up beating people with his fists. Tavish figured out how to slingshot packed balls of rice on a fork so that they would explode into a cloud of rice when they hit their intended target. Dell and Josef started trying to curb the mess, with Dell building a fortress out of trays and napkins and Josef trying to clean up anyone who got near him. The cafeteria around them became a swirling vortex of observers, either egging them on or begging them to stop. The noise rose to an uncomfortable level, and Ignis, already at the edge of the cafeteria, moved backwards towards the door, covering his ears and not paying attention to where he was going.

"STUDENTS!"

Ignis crashed into whoever was behind him, and he yelped, diving out of the way as Mr. Winston, the large, intimidating biology teacher, marched towards the group of fighting boys, pulling them all apart. A couple of other teachers came up behind him, and they focused on separating the boys and holding them back. Pierre and Mick were still screaming slurs at one another when Ms. Lacroix pulled them apart, scolding Pierre in his native tongue with a harsh glare on her face. Mick was sure he saw Pierre wince as he looked into his teacher's dark eyes. He had no idea what she was saying, but he almost felt a little sorry for his attacker.

All eight boys were carried upstairs, and one-by-one they washed off, changed into a clean uniform, and were escorted into the headmistress' office to explain themselves. They all stood in a line, glaring at each other.

"Look what you've done now, bushboy. You've gotten us all in trouble."

"You were the one bein' a bloody arse."

"Yeah, can it, Frenchie. Youse the one dat jumped 'im."

"I simply do not understand vhy ve vere pulled in as vell. I vas only trying to help."

"Ah suppose it's 'cause you were runnin' around, slappin' everyone with paper towels."

"Is not fair. We should not be punished for leetle boy's fighting."

"Oi, last I checked, you were fightin' too. We all were, aye?"

"THERE IS NO POINT IN HAVING US ALL HERE IF THEY WERE THE ONES FIGHTING."

"Enough!"

The row went silent as the Headmistress walked into the room, walking through the line of boys and standing in front of her desk. She stared each boy down, and (with the exception of Jeremy) their anger was replaced with admiration or fear. The Headmistress drummed her long nails on the edges of her heavy desk, gathering her thoughts. She grinned as the boys grew more nervous with each passing second of silent tension.

"I'm sure you are all aware that this most recent infraction will have an effect on your current detention sentence. You have all added three weeks of detention onto your sentence."

The boys groaned, and some of them tried to argue. Three weeks of detention? For one cafeteria fight? Some of them hadn't even been fighting! She raised a hand, and the group fell silent.

"If you are not interested in serving three extra weeks of detention, then I have a proposition for you."

The boys perked up, and she leaned in.

"For the last few weeks, Ms. Pauling has been trying to compile a group of students for a certain...pet project of hers. If you would be willing to...help her in her endeavors, I would concede to revoking your entire detention sentence. You would spend the rest of your sentence working on Ms. Pauling's project, and upon its completion would be allowed to resume your normal school schedule, as if you had never been put away at all."

Most of the boys reacted to this proposition with acceptance, but Pierre raised an eyebrow. "What exactly is zis...project?"

The Headmistress smiled. "Oh, nothing you won't be able to handle, Mr. Revenant. Only a small acting performance."

"Actin' performance?" Dell asked. "You mean like a play?"

The Headmistress nodded, and suddenly the positive reaction became negative.

"I ain't doin' no gay-ass play!" Jeremy interjected, his voice louder than the rest. The Headmistress turned to face him, her eyes burning with hatred. "I suppose you would rather be expelled for your delinquency, Mr. Rodgers."

Jeremy went pale as a ghost, backing up. "Woah woah woah, I didn't mean that! Dis play sounds like a great idea! Who's with me?" He laughed nervously as all the other boys looked at him like he was crazy. The Headmistress smiled, showing off all her teeth, and another wave of fear ran through the room like a cat. She stood up to full height.

"Then I suppose we are all in agreement. Excellent. I look forward to seeing your performance."

The boys were escorted out of the office, and the Headmistress sat back down in front of her tarped window, chuckling to herself and lighting a cigarette.

Ignis was already sitting on his bed when Jeremy walked into the room, yanking his tie off and throwing it against the wall with disgust. "Man, screw the Headmistress! Always bossin' everybody around like she runs the place."

"She does," A tired voice rang out from one of the bunks.

"Go to sleep," another pleaded.

"Screw you guys," Jeremy said, climbing up into his top bunk. Ignis tried to avoid the taller boy's gaze, laying down in bed and covering his face. Jeremy, being the boy he was, didn't even notice the loner's nervousness.

The next day after class, all nine boys met back up in the detention room. Ignis sat in the very back of the room as the other eight talked about their theatrical punishment. He tried to will everyone to look away from him, but one by one their eyes all flicked over to where he was sitting. He pulled his hoodie over his head until his entire face was obscured, and eventually he felt them all look away.

Ms. Pauling walked in the room, holding a box of thin books. She almost tripped, but managed to keep her balance, clumsily dropping the box down on her desk. "Alright! Everyone grab a script!"

A wave of grumbles swept through the room, but eventually everyone but Ignis had a script. Ms. Pauling opened hers up to the first page, looking around the room.

"Ok. Tavish, you read for Justice Wargrave. Pierre, you do Captain Lombard. Josef, I want you to do Doctor Armstrong. John-"

"JANE!"

"-you read for General MacKenzie. Misha, you read for Mrs. Brent. We'll make it Mr. Brent for you, if that's ok. Dell, you read for Mr. Rodgers, and Mick, you do Mr. Blore."

"Wadda'bout me?" Jeremy called. Ms. Pauling sighed.

"You read for Anthony Marston, Jeremy."

"What about Ignis?"

"Who?" Ms. Pauling looked at Dell with a raised eyebrow. He pointed to the back of the room. Ignis pulled his hoodie tight as he felt everyone's gaze sliding back to him like a laser beam. Ms. Pauling walked to the back of the room and tried to hand him a script, but he wouldn't take his hands off of his hoodie. She sighed, placing the script on his desk and walking back to the front of the room. She looked towards the door of the room, but nobody came in. "I'll read the rest of the parts, don't worry. We'll find people. I found you guys, right?"

"Trouvé, ou asservi?" Pierre muttered under his breath. Josef elbowed him.

"Alright. Let's start on page one. I'll read for Naracott and Mrs. Rodgers."

Suddenly, the door flung open, and a lanky man in a janitor's uniform ran in. "Am I late? I swear I didn't mean to be late. I was just finishing up my duties in the cafeteria-blast whoever decided to throw food around down there, made a dreadful mess-I hope you don't mind me barging in like this-"

"Relax, Mr. Bidwell," Ms. Pauling giggled. "You're not late. In fact, you're right on time. We were just about to start! Here, come read for Naracott."

"Oh, of course. Ever since the Headmistress mentioned you were doing this play-not that I was listening to her while she was ranting on to you the other day-I knew I had to join in, I've loved this show ever since I was a child, acting has always been a passion of mine, I've been working on my Naracott voice for years, I-"

"Mr. Bidwell…"

"Oh, right, sorry. Ah…" He took the script out of Ms. Pauling's hands and flipped it to the first page, his hands trembling slightly as he read his first line. "First lot to be arriving in Jim's boat. Another lot not far behind."

Ms. Pauling slumped her posture slightly, pushed her glasses up on her nose, and let a lock of hair loose from her bun. "Good evening, Fred," she said with a near-perfect British accent. She turned her body slightly towards Mr. Bidwell as they exchanged lines, and she even incorporated a few hand gestures in here and there.

"Calm down, Ethel, everything's shipshape now. Looks nice, don't it, Fred?" Dell didn't even bother with a British accent, and he sounded even more Southern (if that was possible) compared to Ms. Pauling. He read his lines pretty well, even if his voice didn't match.

When it was time for Vera's part, Pierre watched as Ms. Pauling's mannerisms changed again. Her posture was straighter, she fixed her hair, and any hand gestures she made were light and dainty. She raised the pitch of her voice, and the accent she read with was more proper and less Cockney. Pierre read his lines with as good of an accent as he could muster, though there was still a hint of French on certain words. He found himself studying the teacher as she read, with half a mind to shadow her for acting tips.

"Wuh...wiza'd place youse got here," Jeremy said, struggling to read his lines. Like Dell, he didn't even bother with the accent, though as they went through the lines he started tacking on a fake accent here and there. The inconsistency drove Pierre mad.

"Davis, Davis is the name," Mick said, his Australian accent close enough to satisfy the more dedicated actors.

"ER. HOW DO YOU DO." Jane read his lines in his usual shout, with absolutely no intonation whatsoever. Pierre rolled his eyes.

Misha squinted at his lines with suspicion. Reading did not come easily to him, and he hoped he wouldn't have to read any long passages of text. "Where is Mrs. Owen?" he read.

Tavish had to be woken up to read his lines. Thankfully, he didn't have many right at the beginning. His accent, however, made some of his words nigh unintelligible.

"Hey, what's wit' all da 'wizard'in? Dis ain't Harry Potter, is it?" Jeremy said after saying "wizard" roughly three times in a row. Ms. Pauling shook her head. "That's just how he talks. It means 'really cool'."

"Well, how come he can't just say 'really cool?'" Jeremy asked, slumping backwards in his chair. Ms. Pauling sighed and kept on reading.

They somehow managed to get through the first act without any further interruptions, but Marston's death sent Jeremy into an angry fit. "How come I gotta die first like some pussy?! Dis is bullsh-"

Pierre slapped a hand over Jeremy's mouth. He struggled for a few moments, but Ms. Pauling's icy glare shut him up. He sheepishly sat back down in his desk, face red.

"Alright, that's act one," Ms. Pauling said, stretching and setting her book down. "We've got a few more minutes, but I'll let you go early. I want to see you all studying these lines, alright? We'll read act two tomorrow. You are dismissed!"

The eight boys cheered, grabbing their stuff and leaving as quickly as possible. Mr. Bidwell walked up to Ms. Pauling, grabbing her hand and shaking it vigorously. "Thanks again for letting me do this, ma'am. I swear I'll do everything in my power to help you with this. I-I'll even get the other janitors and staff to help out!" Anyone observing could see that he was smitten with her. She laughed, shaking his hand back with equal force. "Of course. I'm always happy to have volunteers. Good luck with courtyard duty, Mr. Bidwell."

"Courtyard duty...HOLY TOLEDO! Sorry, Ms. Pauling, I've gotta go. See you later!" He dashed out of the room, nearly leaving scuff marks on the floor from his speed. Ms. Pauling laughed, shook her head, and sighed, turning to the back of the room. She slowly walked to the back of the room, where Ignis was still sitting in his desk, curled into a ball. She reached out to pull off his hood, but his hand shot up with surprising speed and batted her wrist away. His goggles had slipped onto his forehead, and Ms. Pauling caught a glimpse of a dark bag under an eye before the goggles were yanked back into place. She took a step back, letting him reorient himself.

"Did you fall asleep?" She asked gently, the way one would talk to a child. He nodded sleepily.

"Do you want me to carry you back to your room?" She asked. This question, however, made Ignis go rigid, and he shook his head so hard she worried it might snap off. She took another step back, and he curled into a tighter ball. She gave him a few more moments of silence, then took a step towards him. "Do you need to go to the quiet room?" She whispered, as if she was afraid someone might hear her. He paused, then nodded gently. She stepped back and he stood up, and she turned and walked out of the room, him a calculated foot behind.