A Simple Affliction
A/N: This chapter is in Roger's POV. He is a little bit…weird…so it's not my dodgy writing, I just tried (probably unsuccessfully) to capture the way I think his mind might work. I hope you enjoy!
Summary: What caused Jack Merridrew to fall into ruin? What if something happened which changed the events on the island?
Disclaimer: Lord of the Flies belongs to Don't sue, you'll only get a half empty jar of old fashioned jelly babies.
Warnings: Nothing really. Can be read as slash, but it isn't really…I think. What do you reckon? Slash or no?
Chapter 2
Roger's lip curled in disgust as he watched the other boys gallivant around the glistening surface of the pool, flumes of crystalline water rising and falling above it's natural surface. The arrogance…disturbing the quiet, the natural order of things. Oh, yes. He would make them pay for their offenses, make them see, soon. Very soon. But for now…he would merely watch, and wait. It wouldn't be long for the perfect moment would present itself, and he would strike. The perfect vengeance for the island.
"And just what the hell do you think you lot are doing?"
Roger turned his head slowly to watch as Jack towered over the offending partners in crime, who now sat or lay frozen, water still crashing and swaying around them. The air seemed to be holding its breath, as though it alone knew the outcome of this particular development…and judging by the now petrified silence, it was not going to be a particularly pleasant one.
Well, excellent. Roger was just beginning to get bored, and a bored Roger was certainly not something to be desired…as he usually had to find other forms of entertainment for himself, which for some reason only he found amusing. It was really quite annoying, to be honest. Not that Roger was, of course. Honest, that is. In fact he was an excellent liar. He recalled one time when he had-
"GET OFF YOUR LAZY ARSES AND GET OVER TO THE CAMP, NOW!"
Ah, now this was what Roger hated. Being interrupted mid-ramble. Most inconvenient, and extremely rude. It was unfortunate he needed Jack in the grand scheme of things, or so he had been told…personally, he couldn't see any potential purpose the overly loud obnoxious fool could serve, but appearances could be deceiving. Look at Henry…was that his name? It had taken an alarmingly long time for him to surrender to the lack of oxygen and stop spasming beneath the water of the lake…very inconvenient.
There was a sudden flurry of movement, and Roger sighed resignedly as he too moved to join the throng. At a sedately pace, of course. Any type of unnecessary rushing to anything in life was most uncivilized. It also tended to give the wrong impression to any unfortunate person who may be observing you. He idly examined the dusty and crusted scabs which decorated his knees with the utmost distaste, but due to a certain aversion to having his own blood running down his leg, he had to tolerate it.
"Trouble…in paradise, Jack?"
The red head started, and swung round, hand immediately flying to his knife. Good, fast reaction, Roger noted. But not fast enough. He held up his hands and approached with deceptive wariness. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the pig, glasses flashing, approach unsteadily…or should he say wobbled? Jack, belatedly, also noted, but did not acknowledge Piggy's presence.
"Now see here, what's the big idea, shouting like that! You don't even have the-"
"Bollocks to the conch, Fatty, we got bigger problems!"
Jack turned away and stalked back towards the hurrying throng of boys, reminiscent of the first time the choir had crossed the beach, and the group increased its speed at Jack's bellowed order. Roger raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed at the sense of authority exerted by Jack.
"Hey, shouldn't you be-HEY!"
Piggy's unfinished question was lost amid the cloud of dust which rose at Roger's feet as he moved away, disinterested, halfway through the other boy's sentence. Piggy huffed indignantly, and followed behind, wondering briefly what all the fuss was about.
Roger entered the clearing to hear Jack halfway through a tirade against the now cowering group of supposed hunters, mainly members of the choir, and smirked. Perhaps there was yet potential in the red head…more so than any other, anyway. All other candidates who vaguely possessed the needed intelligence were either too self righteous (Ralph) too timid (Simon) or simply too fat (Piggy). Not that Jack was that smart, anyway, but smart enough, and easy to manipulate. Yes, Jack would have to do.
Speaking of which…
"-BUNKING OFF WHEN THE SHELTERS NEED PUTTING UP, OR YOU COULD BE HUNTING-"
Ah, yes, hunting. Jack's recent obsession, and ongoing pastime, or job, whatever you wanted to see it as. More like an excuse to get attention, if you asked Roger, not that anyone did, and not that he would deign to answer- but that was beside the point.
"-GET OVER THERE AND GET THOSE SHELTERS UP!"
At last, the rant was over. Roger tapped the side of his head lightly to rid it of the ringing which echoed around it, then froze, noticing Simon's pale and staring face from in between several frenzied bodies rushing to help with the construction of the shelters. He grinned, back teeth leering awkwardly, and ducked out of sight to watch the proceedings from the shadow of the trees.
He watched Jack's progress over to the shade beside the bank of sand by the beach, and for the first time noticed the huddled black figure sprawled beside it. He approached round the back of the trees, eyes fixed on it, squinting, before he realized it was a boy lying on one of the old choir robes, now dirty and disheveled but nevertheless of adequate comfort to rest on.
He strained every sense to overhear the conversation, watching avidly.
"Well?" Jack asked of Simon, who was leaning over the figure who could only be Ralph (who else would Simon even be seen near?) with a concerned expression, sweeping back the hair from his forehead and peering down at Ralph's pale yet flushed face. Simon looked up.
"Sleeping, I think. He's okay, really. Just tired."
Jack grimaced, then glared, straightening up and bearing down over Simon, who, stoic as always, wasn't fazed.
"Was I asking?"
Simon frowned, staring unblinkingly up at Jack, an air of calm patience surrounding him.
"You wanted to know."
Jack snorted and turned away, eyes snapping to the forest surrounding the clearing, and for a moment Roger suspected he had seen him, but though better of it. He listened intently, moving closer, and could hear the rattling in Ralph's chest as his uneven breathing eased weakly in and out.
Interesting.
"Can you shut him up? Give him some water, or something." Jack paused, as he turned away to take charge of the shelters "you stay with him."
"How can I get him water and stay with him at the same time? I can't carry him."
Roger almost chuckled. The question was reasonable and practical enough, but then again reasonable and practical were not concepts Jack understood too well. Jack growled and flung himself down next to the immobile boy.
"Fine, I'll stay with him, but you sure as hell better be quick!"
Simon scurried away swiftly, knowing without pause for thought where the nearest source of water was. Roger watched him go, then turned to watch Jack deal with the uncomfortable task of watching over his supposed 'rival'. It was quite comical, really. Every time Ralph made a sound or shifted in his sleep, Jack would jump and edge away slightly. When he reached a distance of two feet he had to drag himself back, watching Ralph warily as though he would attack him. Roger grinned, amused.
As if the little runt would stand a chance in a fight against Jack. Too tender hearted, really. He wasn't incapable of doing damage, he just didn't know how. He only knew how to talk. Words, words, words…was that all he had to offer? Weak. Pathetic. Roger would see it through, he swore to the Lord he would. And the Lord of the Flies grew angry when promises were broken.
He said he would speak to Simon, the Lord told him. Roger hoped it would be soon. Turning his wandering attention back to Jack, Roger sauntered over with the air of a person who had only just arrived on a scene and wished to receive an explanation. Roger silently praised himself on his acting skills.
"So, Jack…what's going on?"
Jack started, to Roger's amusement, and he bent down to the hunter's crouched position in order to hold decent conversation. He smirked down at Ralph, mockingly patting the sleeping boy's head lightly.
"Aaaw, was it all too much for our darling little chief?"
Jack smiled tightly, and Roger gauged the others reaction with interest. So, Jack still held some sort of loyalty to the runt. How interesting. A window for exploitation may well be called for. He suspected it might well be.
"You ever hunted?"
A subtle change of subject, and Roger pulled a slightly curious expression onto his face with little effort. Deceit was one of his forte's, his greatest, in fact. Coupled with manipulation. He answered with what he knew the other wanted to hear.
"Not as well or as much as you. Why?"
He hated to speak so much, but it was necessary to establish a position of confidant with Jack. He watched Ralph's movements out of the corner of his eye, conscious of the danger presented by the chief becoming even partially awake and alert. Jack seemed to accept the reply with grace and swiftly change the subject once again.
"We should finish the shelters by nightfall, with all of us." Jack said, non-commitably. Roger frowned in feigned confusion.
"But not all of us are helping-look at Fatty, over there…"
As Roger had expected, Jack immediately leapt to his feet and marched over to berate Piggy on his insolence. He smirked, waited until they were both facing away before swiftly grabbing Ralph by the shoulders and turning him onto his stomach, before applying light pressure to the small indent between his shoulder blades and the cardriactic nerve below his collarbone. He silently sent a sarcastic thanks to his mother for being a nurse.
As predicted, the sleeping boy immediately began to cough.
"What are you doing!"
Roger's head snapped up, and he released the pressure in surprise, but left his hand where it was, and hurriedly pulled a look of innocent surprise onto his face. The change did not go unnoticed by Simon, and Roger silently cursed his own momentary lapse in guard. Simon knelt beside him, knocking him sideways with a carefully placed knock of his shoulder and muttering an unfelt apology. He placed the small half bowl of water down on the sand and turned back to Roger, who stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"Just checking he hadn't suffocated."
Roger shrugged, uncaring, and stood to lean against a nearby trunk, watching Simon with a piercing gaze. Simon tore his gaze away and turned to his charge, and Roger watched with interest as Simon gently helped Ralph to drink a little water. He snorted derisively.
"No point, really. He's gonna die, anyway."
Roger turned to once again retreat into the quiet sanctuary of the forest, and stopped as he heard a last parting word from Simon.
"I'm watching you."
He smirked, not bothering to turn back to face the smaller boy.
"I was counting on it."
A/N: 00 Roger scares me. Simon POV next, I think. If anyone can guess what's up with Ralph, let me know! I want to see if anyone gets it…even if not, please review!