Edmund's caution seems to spark a dull, wry amusement in Ienzo, the thought that his attention should be a dangerous thing. Indeed, he's a bit more cunning about the way he clings to the shadows, and that sort of presence can be unnerving, especially when it's not for any lack of self-certainty. He's the sort of peculiar brat that's yet to have it beaten out of him, though the ongoing ordeal with his bangs has finally settled a sunken first year's weariness into his eyes, more disgusted than particularly terrorized.
The whole of the college seems to know of him in a way that suggests he carries some kind of 'special' reputation, something that goes beyond his academic standing. A old Blood's favorite tossed back among the wolves, or a runty, tenacious whelp in sheep's clothing, tucked in among the yearlings?
"You'd take me for a threat?" Ienzo asks softly, a twist at the corner of his mouth. He stifles a laugh, shaking his head. "It was never my intention to infringe upon your safety, if that helps to quiet any fears."
That self-conscious motion at Edmund's side, adjusting the flap on his bookbag, doesn't go unnoticed, and Ienzo shoots him a fast, hard, warning look and lowers his voice to a serious murmur.
"Reverend Fields, on the other hand, is a fool who believes old Fred there is Nazi Propaganda," There's slick sternness in a word that's scarely uttered out loud these days, an extra breath pulled as if to emphasize that he's not joshing lightly, now. "So you'd best not let him catch you with that out."
And if that tidbit of advice doesn't lock him in at the very top of Edmund's list, nothing else will.
The prodding for storytelling earns a rare audible snort, mostly for the thought that he'd ever nip off school grounds for a bit of tavern fare and a round of self-aggrandizing bravado. Or a tragic Dickensian tale that would require them to bow over steaming mugs.
The truth is, it's very hard to brush those cliches off the bare facts.
"A mug of something bracing?" He mutters, contemptuous, shaking his head with a harsh exhale. His uncurtained eye keeps itself glued to Edmund as he rises, gathering up his books with the decisive air of getting a move on, whether that be back to the dormitory or any other nook they can cram themselves in for a chat without getting flagged down for errands. "It's nothing to brace yourself for. Bet you've heard plenty already, without having to ask me directly."
"But my circumstances are far from orthodox, so... I'll indulge your curiousity. If you really need anything cleared up."
no subject
The whole of the college seems to know of him in a way that suggests he carries some kind of 'special' reputation, something that goes beyond his academic standing. A old Blood's favorite tossed back among the wolves, or a runty, tenacious whelp in sheep's clothing, tucked in among the yearlings?
"You'd take me for a threat?" Ienzo asks softly, a twist at the corner of his mouth. He stifles a laugh, shaking his head. "It was never my intention to infringe upon your safety, if that helps to quiet any fears."
That self-conscious motion at Edmund's side, adjusting the flap on his bookbag, doesn't go unnoticed, and Ienzo shoots him a fast, hard, warning look and lowers his voice to a serious murmur.
"Reverend Fields, on the other hand, is a fool who believes old Fred there is Nazi Propaganda," There's slick sternness in a word that's scarely uttered out loud these days, an extra breath pulled as if to emphasize that he's not joshing lightly, now. "So you'd best not let him catch you with that out."
And if that tidbit of advice doesn't lock him in at the very top of Edmund's list, nothing else will.
The prodding for storytelling earns a rare audible snort, mostly for the thought that he'd ever nip off school grounds for a bit of tavern fare and a round of self-aggrandizing bravado. Or a tragic Dickensian tale that would require them to bow over steaming mugs.
The truth is, it's very hard to brush those cliches off the bare facts.
"A mug of something bracing?" He mutters, contemptuous, shaking his head with a harsh exhale. His uncurtained eye keeps itself glued to Edmund as he rises, gathering up his books with the decisive air of getting a move on, whether that be back to the dormitory or any other nook they can cram themselves in for a chat without getting flagged down for errands. "It's nothing to brace yourself for. Bet you've heard plenty already, without having to ask me directly."
"But my circumstances are far from orthodox, so... I'll indulge your curiousity. If you really need anything cleared up."