"I know the other boys resent me for it, and I'll never be more than a nobody to most of them," Ienzo admitted sourly, prepared to be a disliked scholarship boy, but not for Edmund to point out how lucky he'd been, that his parents had made connections before they'd passed, that Lord Ansem knew about and fostered his early literacy. It was something of a touchy subject. "But I don't care, I'm here to get an education, not impress them."
Whether or not it mattered if he'd impressed Edmund was a a different matter, but the touch at his thigh was ticklish and warming as it neared the inner seam of his trousers, made his blood race and pool up embarrassingly in his lap. He squirmed a little, and hoped they'd both just ignore it for now.
"Nor to make a name for myself! Who said I was looking for renoun?" He flustered, just as much for being complimented for his smarts in the same breath that he'd been accused of trying to ride on coattails. "It's just that they introduced me to more exciting material than we'd ever cover at our level..."
Theoretical books in particular. He missed lying awake, fancying themselves sophists, muttering dialouges to each other till the dawning skies turned from dark to paler shades of blue.
"Subtle as a freight whistle." The boy tsked, shaking his head and setting his bottle aside, freeing up both arms to tuck them, crossed low, over his lap so the effects of Edmund's petting were a bit more well-hidden than his companion's words. "(But at least you don't coddle yourself under the desk in class, like Bertie Swarthmore.)" Ienzo noted viciously, the edge of a grin on his teeth. That had been the bigger scandal as of late, seeing the guest lecturer catch the poor bastard at it, then turn him loose to scrub his hands and report to the school chaplain, right in front of his peers.
"I told you, I haven't been in here since last spring!" He protested, convenienty glossing over any mention of carrying any kind of furthered research out. That would open a whole nest of troublesome questioning. "And it was Braig who took a nip often! I didn't carry out much beyond keeping watch for the groundsman."
no subject
Whether or not it mattered if he'd impressed Edmund was a a different matter, but the touch at his thigh was ticklish and warming as it neared the inner seam of his trousers, made his blood race and pool up embarrassingly in his lap. He squirmed a little, and hoped they'd both just ignore it for now.
"Nor to make a name for myself! Who said I was looking for renoun?" He flustered, just as much for being complimented for his smarts in the same breath that he'd been accused of trying to ride on coattails. "It's just that they introduced me to more exciting material than we'd ever cover at our level..."
Theoretical books in particular. He missed lying awake, fancying themselves sophists, muttering dialouges to each other till the dawning skies turned from dark to paler shades of blue.
"Subtle as a freight whistle." The boy tsked, shaking his head and setting his bottle aside, freeing up both arms to tuck them, crossed low, over his lap so the effects of Edmund's petting were a bit more well-hidden than his companion's words. "(But at least you don't coddle yourself under the desk in class, like Bertie Swarthmore.)" Ienzo noted viciously, the edge of a grin on his teeth. That had been the bigger scandal as of late, seeing the guest lecturer catch the poor bastard at it, then turn him loose to scrub his hands and report to the school chaplain, right in front of his peers.
"I told you, I haven't been in here since last spring!" He protested, convenienty glossing over any mention of carrying any kind of furthered research out. That would open a whole nest of troublesome questioning. "And it was Braig who took a nip often! I didn't carry out much beyond keeping watch for the groundsman."
And learning to lockpick, eventually.