For a moment, he was afraid Ienzo was going to be sick. No more cordial for him... And then he saw that the problem went farther than a few too many sips of fermented apples. Something was fundamentally, deeply wrong with him. Unhappiness was seeped into him like some wasting disease. Edmund wondered that he had covered it so well til then. Now that he saw it, it seemed strange to him that he hadn't noticed it before. Ienzo's efforts to hide had been effective.
Not this afternoon, though. The awkwardness was palpable, more than a little uncomfortable at the raw display of a malady he clearly had no part in. It was like - like seeing a family member naked, in pain; the mixture of wrongness and compassion twisted in his gut, and he had no outlet for it here. He frowned at the accusations, the hunching frame situated in his lap. He ran tongue and teeth over his bottom lip, waiting for the full confession of it all while tamping down on any retorts that might spring to the surface. His misguided attempts to console left him with a sour taste in his mouth. Of course he wasn't the same. He wasn't trying to be. He'd been offering the comfort of intimacy, and instead found a boy on withdrawals from the drug-like effect of his Blood.
He met the pleading stare head-on, and some of what he thought was written across his face. How did he, the one who rarely sought out the gossip and yet seemed to end up on the receiving end of it all too often, become the unwitting confidante for this boy's sordid affairs? If he'd given any credence at all to the rumours, it was to the idea that Ienzo might have been puppy-struck with certain ones of the older fellows in his group, might have offered certain liberties in exchange for their favour or protection or - or secrets from their research or what-have-you.
But the way Ienzo spoke of it, it was as if he belonged body and soul to his departed leader. Edmund tried to imagine being in love with that sort of person, someone who played fast and loose with the laws of humanity, ethics, and memory itself. It boggled him. "I swear," he said, without thinking, for he was never the type to go about spilling secrets. That was the easy part. Harder, much harder, was any sort of other reply to the bewildering succession of emotions Ienzo had lashed out with. Some of that struggle flashed across his features as well.
"You can't have what you think you need, while you are here," he said plainly, at last. "You do yourself no favours by self-flagellation. Sooner or later, it must all catch up with you." It already had, on the inside; Edmund suspected it would not be very long before the outside cracked too. "If you think things are bad now, imagine how it would be if your benefactor received news that you had fainted from malnutrition, or went raving mad one day in the lecture hall." Not just Ansem, either, for such news would no doubt be of interest to the close-knit circle, graduated or no.
He sighed a little. This was all very much more serious than he'd ever imagined when he'd cozied up to Ienzo. Just what sort of Pandora's box had he cracked open with his own dogged curiosity?
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Date: 2017-02-07 11:58 pm (UTC)Not this afternoon, though. The awkwardness was palpable, more than a little uncomfortable at the raw display of a malady he clearly had no part in. It was like - like seeing a family member naked, in pain; the mixture of wrongness and compassion twisted in his gut, and he had no outlet for it here. He frowned at the accusations, the hunching frame situated in his lap. He ran tongue and teeth over his bottom lip, waiting for the full confession of it all while tamping down on any retorts that might spring to the surface. His misguided attempts to console left him with a sour taste in his mouth. Of course he wasn't the same. He wasn't trying to be. He'd been offering the comfort of intimacy, and instead found a boy on withdrawals from the drug-like effect of his Blood.
He met the pleading stare head-on, and some of what he thought was written across his face. How did he, the one who rarely sought out the gossip and yet seemed to end up on the receiving end of it all too often, become the unwitting confidante for this boy's sordid affairs? If he'd given any credence at all to the rumours, it was to the idea that Ienzo might have been puppy-struck with certain ones of the older fellows in his group, might have offered certain liberties in exchange for their favour or protection or - or secrets from their research or what-have-you.
But the way Ienzo spoke of it, it was as if he belonged body and soul to his departed leader. Edmund tried to imagine being in love with that sort of person, someone who played fast and loose with the laws of humanity, ethics, and memory itself. It boggled him. "I swear," he said, without thinking, for he was never the type to go about spilling secrets. That was the easy part. Harder, much harder, was any sort of other reply to the bewildering succession of emotions Ienzo had lashed out with. Some of that struggle flashed across his features as well.
"You can't have what you think you need, while you are here," he said plainly, at last. "You do yourself no favours by self-flagellation. Sooner or later, it must all catch up with you." It already had, on the inside; Edmund suspected it would not be very long before the outside cracked too. "If you think things are bad now, imagine how it would be if your benefactor received news that you had fainted from malnutrition, or went raving mad one day in the lecture hall." Not just Ansem, either, for such news would no doubt be of interest to the close-knit circle, graduated or no.
He sighed a little. This was all very much more serious than he'd ever imagined when he'd cozied up to Ienzo. Just what sort of Pandora's box had he cracked open with his own dogged curiosity?