Of all the ways Eugene Fitzherbert pictured dying this had never really been one of them. In all honesty, though, his sixteen year old mind couldn’t think of a more awesome way to meet his end. Not that it felt that way at the moment with a stitch in his side and a piece of curved metal clutched in a death grip and a frying pan possibly bruising his thigh with every step.
It had been a matter of honor. He had been told that he wouldn’t be able to do the thing so of course he had to do the thing. That the older men who had goaded him on would probably never know about his success, he would, and at the end of the day, all he really had was himself anyway.
Eugene probably would have gotten away with it, too, if not for his blunder. After a successful bump-’I am so sorry, sir!’-diversion-yoink one should never stop a few feet away and stare at a pilfered prize in bewilderment. Saying out loud ‘Really, that’s it?’ astonished confusion only added to a death sentence.
So, once again, shit, shit, shit, shit!
It didn’t help that whenever he turned around he could see promised death in eyes he could tell color of even now what the hell or that he could feel the Matron boxing his ears for such language. (Though Promised death was preferable to that harpy’s wrath.)
He had to stop soon, though, because as good as he already was at pilfering from people he still hadn’t filled out from years of being underfed and overworked and cast iron was heavy.
Fortunately trees were the first things he learned how to climb. At the best one for the job he jumped up, grabbed a branch, kicked off the trunk with his foot, and scurried up to a sturdy branch.
“I know what this looks like, Mr. Captain Sir.” He had to lean against the trunk to bend just right so that air could get to his lungs. That didn’t stop the instinctual rambling that came from fear and adrenaline, a habit he never broke no matter how many boxed ears it got him. “I’m actually just hoping you can’t climb this tree, but knowing my luck you can and it’s probably part of whatever deal you made to whoever you made it to for those ridiculously blue eyes of yours - my gods, man, how is that even - sorry, sidetracked, and I would have returned this a lot sooner but there was just this distinct gleam of murder in those eyes every time I turned around and I couldn’t just drop it because what if you didn’t see that and then it would probably be lost and that’s not what I want but they kept saying ‘You couldn’t steal Captain Hook’s hook, boy, hahaha!’ and yeah, okay, you have a point, I shouldn’t have listened, and even if they never know at least I do and that’s something and I want to say it was about honor but it was probably more about pride.”
He took in a deep and much needed breath and tried for a more nonchalant demeanor, wondering if the way he leaned against the tree looked casual and not ‘I already know the next twelve branches I’m going to jump on if I have to’ and more than a little terrified. “Anyway. The plan is I’m going to catch my breath and throw this over there. There’s not much undergrowth and the dirt looks soft. When you’re distracted with that, I’m going to run away.”
