Just a couple more years, and the days of institutionalized grammar school education would be well behind him. It couldn't come soon enough for Edmund. Everything about this place was childish and small, including the ridiculous hierarchy of power that seemed so important to everybody but him. The slavish worship to the Bloods, the obsequious system of fagging that left the juniors at the mercy of their elders. None of it would mean anything once he got out of here.
It was a grudging debt he owed to Peter for shielding him from the worst of it. If anybody had been born a Blood, it was Peter. The younger Pevensie showed a much smaller measure of those oh-so-vital talents displayed by the elder, but the combination was enough to earn him the least distasteful tasks and an automatic place in the clubs he wanted to be in - a select few, to be sure.
A few of the fellows were all right here, but nobody he was particularly chummy with, much less would trust with his secrets. Certainly not with the biggest secret of them all. He was barely more than a Punt, but at least he'd dodged that suggestion early on that he could get along very well as a Tart. Not exactly how I'm used to getting information, he thought dryly, hardly able to compare the covert network of spies he'd helped organize beyond Narnia's borders with the petty gossip and sycophantry of the favour-currying Tarts.
Ienzo, now. The new addition to their dorm was an odd duck. Riding, as he was, the coattails of his elders and 'betters', until graduation had left him behind to enjoy the fruits of their social standing. Nevertheless, in all their lessons he clearly had a brain of his own and a gift for letters. He wasn't like the others at this place, and that was grand recommendation in and of itself. Edmund wanted to know more.
Especially when he turned suddenly one day to spot a violet eye - just one, mind - peering at him from behind that jagged curtain of bangs. Edmund blinked, unsettled for a moment, before offering a questioning brow and curl of his lip in return. He wove closer, casual but purposeful, until they could speak privately. "Do I have something on my face? I don't believe I was doing anything shocking just now. Certainly nothing worth such intent scrutiny."
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Date: 2016-11-23 11:47 pm (UTC)It was a grudging debt he owed to Peter for shielding him from the worst of it. If anybody had been born a Blood, it was Peter. The younger Pevensie showed a much smaller measure of those oh-so-vital talents displayed by the elder, but the combination was enough to earn him the least distasteful tasks and an automatic place in the clubs he wanted to be in - a select few, to be sure.
A few of the fellows were all right here, but nobody he was particularly chummy with, much less would trust with his secrets. Certainly not with the biggest secret of them all. He was barely more than a Punt, but at least he'd dodged that suggestion early on that he could get along very well as a Tart. Not exactly how I'm used to getting information, he thought dryly, hardly able to compare the covert network of spies he'd helped organize beyond Narnia's borders with the petty gossip and sycophantry of the favour-currying Tarts.
Ienzo, now. The new addition to their dorm was an odd duck. Riding, as he was, the coattails of his elders and 'betters', until graduation had left him behind to enjoy the fruits of their social standing. Nevertheless, in all their lessons he clearly had a brain of his own and a gift for letters. He wasn't like the others at this place, and that was grand recommendation in and of itself. Edmund wanted to know more.
Especially when he turned suddenly one day to spot a violet eye - just one, mind - peering at him from behind that jagged curtain of bangs. Edmund blinked, unsettled for a moment, before offering a questioning brow and curl of his lip in return. He wove closer, casual but purposeful, until they could speak privately. "Do I have something on my face? I don't believe I was doing anything shocking just now. Certainly nothing worth such intent scrutiny."