Though 'Flynn' was a name to be associated with danger and adventure, Eugene was usually what one would hear echoing throughout the house when something ornery was afoot. It was also the unfortunate name that Molly Peters and the other girls would squeal in dissatisfaction whenever they found frogs in their bunks. 'Flynn' never caught on as well as the lad had hoped. Only a few of the younger boys would whisper it in awe when Eugene Fitzherbert did something particularly daring.
Molly Peters – Now that was a name that could strike fear into the heart of any lad at the house. That was a name of power and fame. Attached to such a name was a brunette with a lemony sweet voice and a tattle-tale's disposition. Yes, Molly Peters was the name of a nine-year-old to be feared!
To torture Molly was a feat that, if one survived without a lashing or two, was one to be celebrated. Yet, it was unfortunately rather difficult, as the girl was especially vigilant and rash-fully violent toward any boy - with the exception of Gilbert Thomas, a boy three years her senior. Gilbert was the unlucky receptor of her undying affection and devotion. If one got closer to a group of the group of girls, that they would all agree that he was a boy worth showering with giggles and syrupy, disgusting portrayals of girlish puppy love.
Gilbert Thomas was a boy who loved to overshadow the other boys with his superiority and importance. He was nearly twelve, close to aging out of the house; yet, he ruled his miniature kingdom with every day he had left. It was he who, unbeknown-st to the feminine residents, held the current spitball huge-ness record. And yet, he was plagued with girlish followers... And, seemed to enjoy it. Something the younger, manlier boys didn't seem to grasp.
The characters in Eugene's life were fear-mongers to be sure. His goal in life – to show up Gilbert Thomas and reign supreme in the minds of the orphan lads once-and-for-all.
Soup. It was soup again. It was always soup. It was as if that was all the nuns could actually cook. Alright, so perhaps that was an overstatement. In actuality they actually were well known for being able to make a variety of delicious meals. Perhaps, it was more that they got some sort of sick fascination of masking those abilities by primarily serving soup. The nuns liked to use the excuse that it was "a gift from the dear people of the town" who "cared so much for the poor waifs at the house."
Boyish lips pooted into pouts as they smelled the familiar smell of 'nothin'-but-soup soup'. Flynn stepped forward in line, 'accidently' tripping Nancy in the process. She shot him a cold hard glare and smoothed out her dress before resuming her place in line.
"I saw that, Eugene! I hate you!"
"Ah, shut up, Nancy. I didn't do anything and you know it!" Flynn grinned inwardly to himself. His good friend Mat had seen the trippin' and nodded his head in quick approval. An ego boost for Flynn and a ruffled dress for Nancy. It was a win-win situation.
However, Nancy didn't seem to see the humor in it. She had begun to whisper to the girl in front of her, who in turn did the same to the girl in front of her. The girl in front of her, Molly, turned her head slowly towards Eugene, eyes glowing red and ponytail standing straight up. Or, so it seemed.
Eugene simply shrugged and motioned for Nancy to step forward. "Nancy, if you don't mind, you are holding up the line." Another impish grin and he too stepped forward.
Now, Eugene was a well-known trouble-maker. Yet, he was careful to show a positive image in front of the adult-kind. Lifting his bowl for the Sister to fill, he added, "Sister Mary-Anna, I must say, you make the best soup in all the land."
Sister Mary-Anna, who knew better than to fall for the flattery of orphaned youths, rolled her eyes in response as she filled his bowl. "Glad that you feel that way, lad..."
"Oh, and did I mention that you have a beautiful..." He searched her face for anything particularly note-worthy, "... mole next to your lip?" Sensing that his complement hadn't gone over as well as he had hoped, Eugene simply grinned and then hurried to sit down next to the other boys.
Little Ben, who truly was little, having only just turned six a few weeks ago (it was a guess considering he didn't actually know his own birthday), clapped as Flynn came near. "Wow!"
Flynn slapped the little kid on the back and began to slurp his soup, that is until he remembered that he nuns, one of which was within ear-shot, especially disliked slurpers.
The nearby nun raised her eyebrows at him, "I see you, Eugene Fitzherbert..."
One thing about living in the orphan home, one definitely recognized one's pretend last name...
One of the joys of boyhood was after morning studies, when one was somewhat free to enjoy the great outdoors. The 'great outdoors' consisted of two pine trees and a giant mud puddle located in the fenced in backyard. There was also a single teeter-totter that some 'kind-hearted' patron had donated a few summers back. Sadly. The teeter-totter was usually surrounded by girlish-gossip. Certainly not a place for a man to associate. Thus, the boys primarily inhabited the lower limbs of the shortest pine. The tricky part was only climbing up when one knew one wasn't going to get caught. Once up, one could be mostly hidden by the large billow, green branches. As long as too many boys didn't try to crowd in at the same time. It was an unwritten rule that no one under nine go up. Flynn was ten – so no worries.
"Gosh, Franklin! Move yer arm, would ya? Your gonna knock us all out if you squirm like that!" Bill had a very low tolerance of being shoved, he was the unruly red-head of the group. Franklin, Matthew, and Eugene were the 'gang' that often could be found inhabiting the old pine. Ben was apart of the gang too, but he was also still in the under nine crowd; so, his membership was technically pending.
Franklin yawned as if he hadn't just shoved Bill with an offending elbow. "Quit your yappin', Bill. I'm trying to catch some shut eye!"
"Flynn, are you gonna tell us another story tonight? You haven't told us a good wholliper in at least a fortnight..." Franklin would have been a sci-fi nerd if those had existed back then. He loved a good fic, Flynn being one of his favorite authors.
"Shush, Frank! I'm tryin' to think of one this very minute. It's gonna be whole 'nother fortnight if you don't stop yer yappin'!" In truth, Eugene had run out of charcoal with which to write in his book of their gang's adventures. Being a voracious writer, he readily ran out of pencils with which to write. He had spent the last several days looking for a stub of charcoal that wouldn't be easily missed.
"Fine. Don't like your silly stories that much anyways..." Franklin muttered.
It did take another several days before Eugene was able to find some more good charcoal. He had shoved an underused one down his shirt during morning studies when the teacher-nun wasn't looking. It had been during arithmetic time. She had been too busy leading her students in reciting the twos times tables to notice. Stealing, as he knew, whether something of grand importance or not, was considered a vile sin. He had heard the lecture before. But, he only ever took things of no consequence; so, he figured it wasn't all that vile, maybe just a little dust on the big list of sins that he could be committing instead. Most of the ones he committed were those kind of little ones. In fact, Eugene considered himself to be pretty close to saintly. He did know how to write better than most of the girls after all...
That night, Eugene, Flynn, busied himself documenting a particularly astonishing adventure through the attic the gang had gone on earlier in the week. Earlier in learning his letters, he had learned about the artistic value of embellishment in in authorship. He was rather fond of it, especially when describing himself in his stories. The only one to ever complain was Frank, but then, Franklin liked to complain about basically anything. One would almost think he was related to Molly.
Later that night he plopped himself down on his bed, which was thankfully far enough from Gilbert's, and in between Bill and Mat's. He pulled his little notebook, given to him by Sister Agness, rest her soul, before she hit-the-bucket (she was a good ol' nun, as nuns go), out from under his mattress and motioned for the gang to gather round. They did, including little Ben.
After insuring that they wouldn't get caught, the story telling began. With Eugene mostly reciting the earlier written tale from memory as he couldn't really see the pages in the dark.
"So, one time, the soldiers crept through the dark passage way, led by their fearless leader Captain Flynn. They were out to find the secret treasure guarded by the pirate king..."
A/N: I am having too much fun writing this. As an author, I have been very inspired by authors such as Tolkien, Morgenstern (Princess Bride, people!), and Mark Twain. So, you may find this to be the case as you read me. At least, this is what my husband says. Since he is a few states away currently, I am kind of writing this to/with him during his absence. He is inspiring/advising me on some of the boyish-ness of the characters. Hope you enjoy it as much as I am enjoying writing it. Feel free to comment. I love a good comment or well thought out constructive crit. As an author, I would love to learn how to improve. :)
