"Forive me, that fell out so presumptuous-sounding," Ienzo swiftly amends, pricking a pin into his own ballooning hubris before Edmund can question his choice of words with too much scrutiny. "...but don't go spoiling the alliteration for us now. His lordship is my legal guardian, technically, until I've come of age." (Unless he's eventually adopted into the noble family, expected to inherit, like Ansem's other star-protege. But for the time being he remains the last Buckwald, an innocuously charming middle class name for a scholarship boy.)
Sometimes he wondered if the need for familial approval would have been any different, if he actually had family left. Ienzo only cared just enough about Ansem's opinion of him to do all the things necessary to remain in his good graces, but any love for the man who'd been his tutor was lost somewhere along with the awareness that other people thought him unfairly spoiled, and the realization that Ansem's other, older scholars flouted the independance of their inteligence and abused their privledges regularly. If Ienzo had any choice about being orphaned, he'd have gladly taken his parents back, sooner than coming into such Dickensian Great Expectations.
"They're always saying he's the one on the board of trustees with an optimistic eye on growing the college, both feet in the future, while the others cling stubbornly to traditions." Ienzo said anyway, proud to have a dreamer-doer of a benefactor that fancied himself a little wiser than the other rich old geezers that sat the board. "That sounds fairly progressive to me?"
Though his chosen successor thought miles and miles ahead of him, and Ienzo's real loyalty had been forged in ways meant for more Classical times, as well.
And although the memory of that enigmatic young man lingered under Ienzo's skin like a ghost, especially when he was cold and restless in the middle ofthe night, the companionable weight of Pevensie's body felt warm right now, and more comforting than anything he'd allowed himself in months. The shape of Edmund's hand felt new, but its bolder placement at Ienzo's thigh didn't make him tense or suddenly shy.
"I have learned more than I expect to, without them." He readily admits, sighing at how dull his lessons had become on their own. There was always diversion to be found in books, but no one around to be as rigorous in their dissection of them.
Ienzo nibbles at his inner lip, and wonders how he ought to address endowments and smoke and fire, satyrs and fauns, Edmund's curious nudgings around the mysteries of his extracirrcular activity. "You're just full of double entendre this evening." He eventually observes, eyes falling to the patting hand that's resting dangerously close to stroking zones that could prove troublesome for his trousers.
Then there's the thorniest rumor, of them all the one he hoped was only figure of speech, narrowing his eyes.
"Who said anything to you about standing trial?" he asks cautiously, in a lower and steely voice.
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Date: 2017-01-23 03:19 pm (UTC)Sometimes he wondered if the need for familial approval would have been any different, if he actually had family left. Ienzo only cared just enough about Ansem's opinion of him to do all the things necessary to remain in his good graces, but any love for the man who'd been his tutor was lost somewhere along with the awareness that other people thought him unfairly spoiled, and the realization that Ansem's other, older scholars flouted the independance of their inteligence and abused their privledges regularly. If Ienzo had any choice about being orphaned, he'd have gladly taken his parents back, sooner than coming into such Dickensian Great Expectations.
"They're always saying he's the one on the board of trustees with an optimistic eye on growing the college, both feet in the future, while the others cling stubbornly to traditions." Ienzo said anyway, proud to have a dreamer-doer of a benefactor that fancied himself a little wiser than the other rich old geezers that sat the board. "That sounds fairly progressive to me?"
Though his chosen successor thought miles and miles ahead of him, and Ienzo's real loyalty had been forged in ways meant for more Classical times, as well.
And although the memory of that enigmatic young man lingered under Ienzo's skin like a ghost, especially when he was cold and restless in the middle ofthe night, the companionable weight of Pevensie's body felt warm right now, and more comforting than anything he'd allowed himself in months. The shape of Edmund's hand felt new, but its bolder placement at Ienzo's thigh didn't make him tense or suddenly shy.
"I have learned more than I expect to, without them." He readily admits, sighing at how dull his lessons had become on their own. There was always diversion to be found in books, but no one around to be as rigorous in their dissection of them.
Ienzo nibbles at his inner lip, and wonders how he ought to address endowments and smoke and fire, satyrs and fauns, Edmund's curious nudgings around the mysteries of his extracirrcular activity. "You're just full of double entendre this evening." He eventually observes, eyes falling to the patting hand that's resting dangerously close to stroking zones that could prove troublesome for his trousers.
Then there's the thorniest rumor, of them all the one he hoped was only figure of speech, narrowing his eyes.
"Who said anything to you about standing trial?" he asks cautiously, in a lower and steely voice.