Here's a one-shot of mine. I've had this idea for a long time, and although it's pretty basic, it was fun to finally get down and write it.
I'm sure I've made plenty of silly mistakes (it is ten past three in the morning, after all), so any comments in terms of how I can improve this thing would be very helpful.
Oh, and the title is Latin because I thought I'd be all fancy instead of calling it the obvious 'Randall's First Day! H'yuk!'
Primoris Deis
BEEP BEEP. BEEP BEEP.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP-
A hand slammed down on the alarm clock, stopping it from almost shaking itself off the bedside table.
For the past hour and a half, Randall had been lying in bed, wide awake and tense with excitement. As he hadn't had a chance to hang his curtains up, he had watched the sun's movement out of his bedroom window, seeing the first birds of the day twitter past, hearing the first shops beginning to open in preparation for good day's trade. He had been waiting for that alarm clock to ring with such fervent anticipation that when it had finally exploded with comical noise and movement, like something from one of those old black and white Mickey Monster cartoons, he had practically jumped out of bed.
Today was the day.
With a broad grin, Randall approached the window and looked out at the city below as it slowly woke itself up, rubbed its tired eyes and made itself a cup of coffee.
"Hmm," Randall said to himself at the thought of coffee. He did feel a tad sluggish, after all, and one cup wouldn't hurt now, would it?
With a chuckle at the thought of his college days, pulling all-nighters with pen in one hand, a textbook in another, some notes in his third and, yes, of course, a cup of coffee in his fourth, Randall went into his kitchen.
Now for a nourishing breakfast, the most important meal of the day. Rummaging through the cupboards, Randall found a disappointing amount of edible food. Shopping had not been at the top of his list of priorities over the past week, but only now did he realise just how little food he had.
Randall opened the fridge, raising an eyebrow ridge at a box of eggs. Soon enough, he was frying two eggs in a little saucepan, glancing every now and then at the coffee tin on the side that seemed to almost be mocking him.
The last time he had coffee, he became addicted to the stuff. It took him a good two months to get it out of his system, and he didn't want to start his new job on the wrong foot, so to speak. Monsters, Incorporated had such a clean, family-friendly feel that he worried about emitting the wrong sort of image.
Then again, it was only coffee.
Randall reached out at the white, dented tin, succumbing to his love of the tantalising combination of bitterness and caffeine.
It certainly was a pleasant day. The sun gently warmed Randall's scales, and as he strolled confidently down the street, sometimes smiling at passers-by, the factory came into view.
It was so big. Overwhelming, almost. It seemed intimidating, yet friendly, like that really nice primary school teacher you had in Year 3 that would encourage the students with a stern, yet sympathising tone of voice. A potent combination indeed.
The car park was massive beyond belief, and as employees zoomed around in their cars, struggling to find somewhere to park up, Randall felt lucky to live within walking distance of the place. Anyway, the walk was refreshing, rejuvenating almost, and it gave him time to think of what was to come that day. It was a very important day, after all. Scarily important.
Today had to go well. Randall knew from personal experience that first impressions were the only impressions anyone ever judged by.
Suddenly, he was there, at the entrance. The small double doors were modest yet strangely mocking, and they betrayed the interior. Other employees passed through them with ease (some glancing at Randall as they walked by- it might've been the fact that he was new, or perhaps it was that they'd never met someone so fascinated by a set of doors before) but this was a big step.
One small step for Randall, and undoubtedly one big step for his ego.
And now he was inside the factory. He'd been in there before, but this time, it was different. This time, he was an employee.
The hustle and bustle was unsurprising, but did not serve to help Randall as he wandered, vaguely lost, up to the reception desk.
"Er, hey, Celia," Randall said, the familiar face of the receptionist a real comfort when everything else was so alien- she had directed him to the offices when Randall had last visited the factory for his interview.
"Oh, hello, uhm..." Celia began, searching for a name.
"Randall," the lizard-monster said.
"Oh, of course! Randall! I remember you now! So, first day then? Getting all excited?"
"Yeah," Randall said, half smiling and half grimacing (as only Randall could, with such a large mouth). "Though, uh, I don't really know where I'm supposed to be going...I've got this, er, this letter in here somewhere..." He rustled around in his bag, which seemed to be overflowing with paperwork, pens, gum, and coffee.
"Yeah, here we go." Randall produced a crumpled piece of paper and handed it over to Celia who scanned through it. "It's not helpful at all."
Celia tutted to herself. "No, it wouldn't be; Waternoose just hired a new secretary to sort out his papers, and she's the one that sent out these letters to all of the new Scarers. Look at those typos..." She tutted again.
"So, where should I go?" Randall was becoming increasingly aware of the time.
"Oh, just head over to the Scare Simulator- that's where all the new people usually start." Celia handed the letter back to Randall, who tucked it into his bag.
"And that's where, exactly?" he said, looking up again.
"Oh, of course! You don't know your way around yet." Celia giggled absentmindedly to herself. Randall blinked. This conversation seemed to be taking a long time. "Just go down the passageway to the left there-" Celia motioned, leaning over the desk, "and take the second right. It's just down the end of the corridor."
"Okay, thanks. See ya around."
Celia gave a quick wave goodbye before sweetly answering someone she had put on hold.
Randall walked down where he'd been told to go, shaking his head to himself for a moment before once again being grasped the terrifying newness of the situation he was in.
He soon noticed the amount of attention that he seemed to be attracting. It was flattering at first, as Randall was proud of what he had achieved and was managing to see things in a positive light, but eventually his worst fears started to gnaw at his mind. Surely not all new guys garnered this much attention? Was it that much of a big deal?
Randall sighed, then tugged the corners of his mouth into a smile as he approached the door labelled 'Scare Simulator'. He wasn't going to let a bunch of yammering idiots ruin this day.
With a silent yet sharp intake of breath, he pushed the door open. All eyes turned to the lizard-monster, and he felt his cheeks burst with warmth as he blushed deeply.
"You're late, Mr. Boggs," said a stern voice, a voice which Randall recognised without even having to look at the Mon it was coming from.
"Uh, sorry, I didn't know where to go, uh, what I was doing-"
"Everyone else managed it." Waternoose paused. Randall's heart sank in his chest as the embarrassment made him feel quite nauseous. "Well, take a seat then."
Randall scurried over to a spare chair, squirming awkwardly in his seat as everyone continued to stare at him. He turned his eyes downwards, trying his utmost to forget what had just happened. The thought of mucking this up made his gut twist and turn.
It took him a while to realise that Waternoose was speaking.
"...are the future of this company. I, personally, am relying on you to do a good job out there, to scare children as they've never been scared before. As you can imagine, I don't usually have the time to personally greet the new Scarers being brought in." Waternoose paused, standing tall with his hands intertwined behind his back. In any other situation, he would appear to be a proud, respectable and rather wealthy Mon, but in the current low lighting of the Scare Simulator, his
silhouette was intimidating. "Yet here I am, welcoming each and every one of you,"- he swung a pointing finger at the untrained Scarers-"to Monsters, Incorporated."
With a lukewarm smile, Waternoose strode out of the room, (as best as one can with crab-like, sideways legs) and let the door swing shut behind him. The impression he left was one of awe, shock and excitement- the trainees never expected to meet the head honcho, the guy in charge, the chief himself, and on their first day!- but Randall was left feeling strangely unimpressed.
Waternoose had always appeared to be rather grandfatherly, and he seemed to be what made Monsters, Inc. such a family-friendly type company. It was only an energy company, so it wasn't as though the relationship it had with its customers was the most important element, especially not as important as the advertising campaigns made it out to be, and yet it seemed that everyone saw MI as some sort of magical place, where wondrous things occurred, where everyone was happy, everything was innocent and nothing could go wrong.
Randall could be described as onion-like. He knew it, and the few people close to him knew it. He wasn't always as he appeared, and this was fair enough; it wasn't as if he was the CEO of some large corporation.
Waternoose also appeared to be onion-like. At least, that's what Randall thought, because he simply couldn't get the feeling out of his stomach that there was something the CEO wasn't being open about. The word 'shifty' sprang to mind. He was almost too nice, to the point where one had to wonder where the grandfatherly image ended and the businessman began.
Ms. Flint, who had been sitting behind her desk as Waternoose spoke to the trainees, now swivelled her chair around to come face to face with a lot of nervous Mons wringing their wrists and clearly getting excited at the prospect of scaring.
"Hello, everyone," she began, in the most uninterested, bored tone she could manage. "Welcome to the Scare Simulator. This is where we'll begin to practise the 'art' of scaring,"- she coated the word 'art' with thick, dripping sarcasm-"and where you'll spend the majority of your time training and practising, and getting ready to eventually go out on the Scare Floor. Basic technique training will also be conducted on the Scare Floor assigned for Trainees. We carry out lectures in Monsters, Inc.'s very own lecture theatre which is just down the corridor. That's where you are to report every morning at 9:00am for the next two weeks." Everything she said sound heavily scripted, as though she had been through this many a time, the same sea of around fifteen faces gazing at her uneasily. Even the little wings atop her head were drooped.
Turning back to the side of her desk, Ms. Flint reached to a pile of handbooks and began passing them out. They were thick, heavy, binded with rings of metal, and smelt of lightly toasted plastic.
"These are your Scaring Guides. Every rule and regulation in Scaring is in your Scaring Guide, along with tips and techniques of how to scare, a diary, some note space, and...some other useful stuff that I can't remember right now. You only get one copy. You lose this one, you break it, you accidentally flush it down the toilet, you pay for the replacement. Got it?" The trainees nodded mutely. Randall vaguely recognised what Ms. Flint was saying- it had a slight déjà vu feel to it...
Ah, yes. High school, when the teachers would give out the already battered, tired textbooks for the year. That was it.
"If you can all turn to page 32 of your Guides to Scaring, where the basic precautions of entering a child's room are outlined in bold..."
Randall flicked through the solid lump that was his Scaring Guide. It all looked incredibly tedious; just pages and pages of text, with the odd diagram. Even the photo on the front of a Scarer jumping out to surprise a child in his bedroom looked false.
This wasn't what he had expected. He thought that Scaring would be more of an intuitive skill, an instinct that only Mons born to be Scarers possessed. They were unique, special, rare and highly prized. You could not merely train someone into becoming a Scarer if they were not destined to be one. Only those with the raw talent could ever truly become a Scarer!
Apparently not.
"...And that's it for this morning's overview. Lunch will be served in less than ten minutes, and you're all to report here at half past one for an afternoon of Scare Training."
The potential Scarers looked at each other, excited at the prospect of actually doing something, before starting to pack up their books and pens.
Ms. Flint slammed her copy of the Guide to Scaring shut, looking ever more irritated. But before the Scarers could leave, she remembered something quite important.
"Oh, and there's going to be a special guest this afternoon- Fangs McDonald himself. I'm not sure why he's here, but he is. So that's something else all you new Scarers can get giddy about, as if you weren't overexcited enough..."
Her mutterings weren't to be heard as, sure enough, the Scarers had become incredibly excited at the prospect of meeting someone as infamous as Fangs McDonald himself. He was known throughout the whole city- and beyond- as the holder of the All Time Scare Record, and his scaring techniques were studied carefully by those also wishing to become successful Scarers. He had now been retired for two years, but had spent the time training potential Top Scarers and touring Monsters, Inc. factories nationwide, giving inspirational talks and, occasionally, one-to-one sessions.
Ms. Flint was now very bored of the Scarers, and so began to usher them out of the room.
"Shoo! Just go to lunch already. Out, out, out!"
The new Scarers scurried out of the small room, still chattering away frantically. Randall bristled as the others barged past, eyeing the others with a look of displeasure.
He ambled along behind them, slightly perturbed by the way they all seemed happy to talk to each other like school friends who hadn't seen each other over a long, uneventful summer. During Ms. Flint's talk that morning, Randall had spent a fair amount of time looking around at the other young
potentials, trying to gauge their personalities, and get an idea of the type of people he'd be working with for the next few months or so. Unfortunately, he had been disappointed.
Randall was not one to judge by first impressions- this had happened to him too many times- and so he tried his best not to draw any wild conclusions from what he had seen, but there was something eerily...similar about them all. Of course, they were all eager, raring to go, and they generally looked like Scarers; sharp teeth, claws, lots of eyeballs, that sort of thing.
But aside from that, Randall couldn't help feel as though he were back in High School, as cliques were already developing and it was becoming easy to pinpoint the characters of the group- the 'class clown', the 'nerd', that sort of thing. It was unnerving.
He followed the group down to the cafeteria, as they all seemed to have maps of the company ('why didn't I get one of those?') and opened his eyes a little wider, vaguely impressed with the modern-looking seating area and kitchens. It was a large room, with very high ceilings and long skylights, almost representing a Scarefloor in a way. It had a bright, appealing aura, and felt as though it was the heart of the factory.
Wandering up to the cafeteria bar, Randall grabbed a tray and slid it along, gazing over at the food behind the clear screens. Most of it looked like brown sludge. His gaze slowly moved up, until he came eye to eye with a hefty dinner lady, whose slimey body looked less pleasant than the grub itself.
Randall pointed in the direction of the slop.
"What's that?"
"Today's special," the dinner lady replied gruffly, scooping up a particularly large spoonful of the stuff and plopping it down on a plate. She dropped it onto Randall's tray, huffily turning to the next Mon the queue.
Randall shrugged, not in the mood to make any snide comments. He moved along, picking up a thick energy drink (he figured it might come in handy for the training session later), and some cutlery, and went to the till to pay.
By this time, the room was getting crowded as more Scarers and their Assistants, as well as other members of staff, piled in.
Randall looked around, thinking about where he should sit- there was still a fair amount of space, but it didn't make sense for him to sit by himself. No, this time, he wouldn't be the loner, certainly not. It was boring always being by yourself, and he was sure that if he made the effort today, he would reap the rewards later on, even if it did mean speaking to people he wouldn't usually give the time of day to.
Spotting the table where most of the new Scarers from earlier on seemed to be sitting, still chattering away incessantly Randall made a beeline for the last free stool and forced a smile as he slithered down.
"Hey, guys," he beamed.
Aside from a few nods, there was no acknowledgment from the others. The chatter immediately died.
Randall scolded himself for showing too much teeth with that last smile- that always put people off, always. But a toothless grin made him look smug, unapproachable. He would have to practice smiling that evening and get it right. They'd never like him otherwise.
"So, er, how are you guys finding it so far? Pretty good, huh?" Another cringing grin.
"Yeah," mumbled one, a tall, red monster. "It's good."
More silence. Randall peered down the table as the other Mons suddenly became very interested in the plates before them.
He picked up his fork, feeling a tad dejected, and stared at 'today's special'. 'Today's special' stared back. Randall strangely didn't feel like eating anymore. He pushed his tray forward, leaning his upper two elbows on the table, unsure of whether to say anything. Someone else beat him to it- a purple monster, with dozens of eyes scattered about where his neck would be.
"Hey, wasn't it funny when Flint mispronounced 'undulate' from the manual this morning?" he began in a deep, gruff voice. "The way she said it was real funny!" The others chuckled, and their previous conversations continued. They seemed to talk about everything, especially the irrelevant things, that had happened so far, but soon the topic had moved onto Fangs McDonald.
"What do you think he's here for?" one Scarer began.
"He's here for a reason, that's for sure. I bet you he's going to give us some tips, maybe even one of those inspirational talks I've heard about!"
One Mon, a green, slimy monster with spikes leading down his back, groaned. "Not another talk- I've had enough of those for one day!" A few others murmured in agreement.
"Well, guess we're just going to have to wait and see. But it can only be a good thing- he is the Record Holder, after all."
As soon as lunch was over, they left the cafeteria and made their way back to the Scare Simulator room, Randall tagging along behind. Although he wouldn't admit it, he was feeling anxious at the thought of meeting Fangs McDonald; he had been a key figure in Randall's childhood, someone to look up to and admire, but meeting your idols is not always a good idea, as they usually fall flat in comparison to the high pedestal they occupy in one's mind.
Silence descended over the Scarers as they approached the door of the Simulator. They all felt somewhat tense and excited, and when they entered the room, any doubts they'd had were alleviated immediately, because there was Mr. McDonald himself, quietly talking to Ms. Flint.
"Ah, the Scarers!" said Ms. Flint, standing up. "Everyone, meet Fangs McDonald."
He was rather short for a Scarer. The brownish colour of his skin contrasted with the blue stripe of fur that swept down his back, and his two arms and legs were adorned with the sharpest, most fearsome of claws. A slightly wrinkled face practically seeped of years of experience, and a thick,
grey moustache hiding a small mouth looked quite humorous in comparison to his otherwise manly, ripped figure- especially as, protruding out of this mouth were two long, glistening fangs, his namesake.
Everyone was standing in shock near the doorway, and Ms. Flint had to usher them into the room and back to their chairs. After a few minutes and a lot of shuffling about, the 'class' was ready, and Fangs began to speak.
"Scaring is important," he started, his fangs barely moving in comparison to his moustache, which seemed to be doing the tango on his face. "Very important. This world wouldn't work without good Scarers. Hopefully all of the people present in this room- excluding the lovely Ms. Flint, of course- will be able to contribute." He began to pace back and forth, arms behind his back, looking very stately and important. "Not just anyone can be a Scarer. You've got to have something special, something different. You've got to be tough, strong, confident, and sharp-minded." He paused, turning to face the students. "And I am going to choose the single Scarer in this room with the most potential to be my personal project over the next month or two."
There were a lot of raised eyebrows at this last sentence, and each Scarer immediately thought of themselves getting the job with Fangs McDonald, being trained by him, reaching Top Scarer- and more! Randall could see himself, respected by others, unbeaten, full of confidence. The Top Scarer trophy in his hands, its gold covered cup cold and refreshing to the touch. His face splashed on the front page of the Monstropolis Times, with 'Scarer of the Century!' written in bold alongside it.
His parents, smiling, brimming with joy for their son. Proud.
"You may not have had any formal training as of yet, but I want to see what you've got. Each of you will come up here and give it your best shot, because if you can scare, you can scare. It's in your blood. Training is just a formality, but if I train you, I will sculpt you into the ultimate Scarer, perfect in form, style and expertise. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity."
He doesn't half love himself, Randall couldn't help but think. But the lizard monster figured that if he were in Fangs' position, he'd probably be cocky too.
"So," Fangs smiled, "who's going to go first?"
What followed was a blur- in Randall's eyes, at least. A painful blur, but a blur.
Scarer after Scarer approached the Simulator, determination in their eyes, already thinking up new techniques and approaches, and promptly forgetting everything they had been taught that morning. Some Scarers made no obvious mistakes, but failed to actually make the simulation child scream, whilst others did absolutely everything wrong from start to finish- touching the Human objects, leaving the door open, tripping up on the toys scattered around on the floor, and, in one case, falling onto the child and crushing it until it was a jumble of crumpled metal. (Fortunately, they always had a spare for such situations).
At first, Fangs McDonald looked rather hopeful, but as the session neared its end, his face was full of dismay. Is that what the young 'uns are made of, nowadays?
Over two thirds of the potential Scarers had given the Simulator a shot, and they had now stopped volunteering themselves, leaving Fangs to pick out the ones that hadn't had a turn yet.
"You, scaley," he said, wagging a finger in Randall's direction, "you try."
Randall reluctantly stood up from his seat in the corner of the room, hoping that he wouldn't be chosen- he hated the thought of looking like a complete idiot in front of his idol. Then again, he couldn't do any worse than this lot, could he?
Clenching his teeth, the lizard monster approached the door, looking over at Ms. Flint and nodding for her to start the timer. The lights dimmed, the simulation began, and a second later, he had disappeared out of sight. There were a few surprised gasps from the others, and Fangs looked up, quite taken aback.
There was silence. None of the objects on the bedroom floor had been moved. It was even impossible to hear his footsteps.
Randall appeared in an instant, teeth bared, leering over the prosthetic child. His arms slowly raised as his growl reached a deep climax- he wasn't comfortable with the idea of roaring quite yet.
And, to his satisfaction, the child leapt up with an ear-piercing scream.
Randall disappeared once again, sneaking out of the room as efficiently as he had crawled in, reappearing only once he had shut the door softly behind him. A smug, almost snide grin, full of pride and contentment was smattered across his face.
He looked over to Fangs McDonald, who was looking impressed.
"...Very good. Yes, very good...What did you say your name was, again?"
Randall grinned, his white teeth displayed in all their glory.
"Randall Boggs." A name that would ring in the ears of the others for a long, long time. A name that Randall hoped would be associated with professionalism, with excellent Scaring, with respect and admiration.
Yet, even from that moment, the slightest, smallest, most infantile, tiny smidge of a doubt lingered in the back of his mind.
He ignored it.
"Impressive," Fangs repeated, noting the name. "Take a seat."
Randall sat back down, brushing to one side the glares and glances from the other Scarers in the room.
He was born to do this.
On the whole, the Scarers had achieved some pretty poor results. Out of the group of thirteen, only four had managed to make the child scream, and even these four successful scares were, on the whole, poor.
"Well done for your efforts today, everyone," Fangs said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Go and study your manuals like Ms. Flint has instructed you to, and good luck with your scaring careers. I'm sure they'll be...prosperous."
The group got up to leave, the novelty of Fangs McDonald having worn off, and the torture of the embarrassment that afternoon still painfully fresh in their minds. Scaring was a lot more difficult than those advertisements made it out to be.
Randall leaned down to pick up his bag, shoving a few books into it. When he straightened up, Fangs was stood before him, his face as blank as ever.
"Randall, wasn't it?"
Randall nodded mutely as a small explosion of euphoria erupted in his stomach. What was about to happen was obvious, but he daren't even think about it until it had been confirmed by Fangs himself.
"That was an impressive display there, son. Very impressive. You seem to have a real knack for this."
Smiling because he simply couldn't not smile, Randall replied modestly, "Thanks, but I'm sure that was a fluke..." He rubbed the back of his neck.
"No, no fluke there. I know a good Scarer when I see one, and you're a good Scarer. With the potential to be even better, of course..."
Here it was. The big moment.
"Anyway," Fangs continued, "I'll be sure to mention your name to Mr. Waternoose sometime. He likes to keep a track of the up and coming talents."
Randall nodded, and then waited for a few moments. This was taking far too long.
"So, uh..." Randall uttered, "...Was that everything?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Oh. Okay, then. Well, uh, thank you for coming in and giving us those tips, sir, and it was a real honour to meet you in person."
"I didn't give you any tips though, did I?"
"Well, no, but the other things you said were really...useful. Yeah. Thanks."
Randall headed for the door, feeling almost mortified by the way his tongue had suddenly tied itself into a nice, tight double knot. And assuming that he was going to Fangs' new trainee! How arrogant was that?
Just as the fat tips of his fingers touched the handle of the door, Fangs spoke once more.
"Scarefloor C, eight thirty tomorrow. Got that?"
Still facing the door, Randall smiled, letting out a little sigh of relief as he closed his eyes. He turned his head, grinning.
"Got it."
Leaning on Celia's desk, Randall couldn't help but relay to her exactly what had just happened. His chest puffed out in pride.
"You're going to be trained by Fangs McDonald himself? That's amazing, Randall! Well done!"
"Thanks. It was nothing really," he said, waving off the small shower of compliments he was getting. "Though he did say that I had a 'knack', and y'know what? I think he's right. I was made for this job. Top Scarer spot, here I come!"
Randall waved goodbye to Celia, but just as he turned to leave, he was confronted by half a dozen of the Scarers he had spent the day with.
"Oh look, it's Mr. Smug Guy!" one commented maliciously. Randall merely blinked at the less-than-thought-out insult.
"Yeah, ooh, Mr. McDonald, can I lick your shoes clean? Can I do all your paperwork for you? Can I wipe your ass for you, Mr. McDonald?" another piped up. The others sniggered, finding this all very amusing.
"Just because I know how to scare without injuring myself does not mean I'm a suck-up," Randall retaliated, clenching his fists.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," another said in a high pitched voice, "we all know you want to do him!"
Randall rolled his eyes. This was getting mind-blowingly immature. He chose to take the high road and began to walk away, dignity still intact- but he didn't get far. With a thunk, a Guide to Scaring thwacked Randall around the head. It smarted, and it was enough to get Randall riled up.
He stormed back up to the group, singling out the shortest one of the lot to pick on- a three-eyed, tentacled little guy who had made the majority of the comments.
"What do you think you're doing?" he said, prodding a finger into the Mon's chest. When his question was only met with protests from the others, he continued, spitting out every syllable. "I said, what do you think you're doing?"
"I didn't do anything! It was the others, I swear!"
Randall narrowed his eyes, giving the little monster the most evil look he could muster, before turning to leave once again.
"...Anyway, I wouldn't want my manual to come into contact with a scaley freak like you."
It was mumbled only quietly, as a side-note to his friends, but Randall heard it.
Almost shaking with rage, he disappeared, only to reappear once he had the monster pinned up against the wall by the neck. The others protested, yet stayed well away from the situation.
"You gonna say that to my face? HUH?! Are ya?! I've got a good mind to-"
"Randall BOGGS!"
Randall winced.
"Release that Mon. Now."
The lizard monster carefully did what he was told, letting the monster scuttle away in terror. Randall stayed facing the wall.
"You're lucky I'm not someone important," Fangs said, "otherwise you'd be in big trouble."
Randall looked up at him, surprised at the calm approach he was having, to be met by a very disappointed look. Only then did he realize what he'd just done. Letting his temper get the better of him, he had physically harmed someone on the first day of his dream job. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
"I'll let this one go, Randall, but if anything like this ever happens again, I'm going to report it. You understand that, right?"
"Yeah. Course. Surprised you're not reporting it this time round."
"I was young once too, you know." Fangs smiled under that bushy moustache. "Your temper was a mere breeze in comparison to the massive tornados I'd get into. Just try and keep it under control."
He patted Randall on the back, and Randall was almost shocked at the contact. Fangs McDonald had seemed offy and aloof right from the outset, but it looked as though he had taken a shine to Randall, thankfully.
"Go home and get some rest. You've got a big day tomorrow."
Randall was walking home.
It had been a strange day. A very strange day, at that. Nothing like he had expected, yet in some ways, exactly what he had expected.
He was disappointed in the way he was unable to make friends, but it was as though all of those with great success were loners, individuals, shining stars. That's what made them stand out from the rest.
And training with Fangs McDonald himself...That was it. The absolute pinnacle.
Randall couldn't wait for tomorrow.