He was losing his classmate, that much seemed clear from Edmund looking at him like he was rubbernecking a roadside wreck, or like his hands were suddenly much fuller than he'd expected. Then came his pragmatic cautioning, well meant and gentle with lack of condemnation as it was, chiding him only a little for the rusty parts of his self-maintenence that weren't accidental.
"I know all that." He groans tiredly, folding his butterflied knees over Edmund's parted thighs and bowing forward, his hands coming up to rub at his face. "They would all think it was from the pressures of placing me early. Or changing my house." There were perfectly rational things to excuse a breakdown. He'd penned plenty of pages about how people cracked under stress, to set formulaic answers in their hands in the headmaster's office, or even with his dreaded nemesis the school chaplain.
"I'm not a fool. I know what to say." Ienzo insisted, his voice bottoming out dryly in the gravelly basement of his still-undeveloped lower register. He taught me exactly how to lie, if suspicions ever arose. What he hadn't been instructed directly, he'd learned from watching how smoothly his charismatic senior slid on polite charm and easy ignorance when he'd overstepped boundaries, how he'd tactfully weave elegant alibis that Ienzo only needed to nod his head silently and go along with. But he never told me what to do, if I suddenly confessed it to a new friend. Ienzo realized, sitting here in Pevensie's lap. How could I, when he said that no one else would ever be clever enough, to be on the level with us?
There was certainly some quality of exclusivity in their deep companionship, in the way he'd been herded away from socializing with schoolmates closer to his own age. He'd never had peers that weren't his elder 'brother's' boys. They had been an impenetrable set, and what he and their ringleader had was even more intimate. Only Braig had even given the annoying impression of being privy to more secrets, but he had the honor of being Xeha's first chum, if not his favorite, and the biggest eavesdropper.
"My marks are fine," The scholarship boy smiled wanely, and reasoned so tamely, self-assured that his academic skill would always be beyond what his lessons would be able to challenge him with. "So apart from poor attendance at clubs, no one ever notices a thing around here, about me... (Only you've ever noticed, that I was watching you.)" He added, raising his head bashfully.
"I just wish they'd write." He wagged his head with a harsh sigh, exhasperated, and ashamed that they'd left him without means of keeping abreast. "Or that I even knew where to post letters, these days." He'd never felt so cut off, even in his younger years of isolated home tutelage, when he wrote beautifully, but Lord Ansem feared that he'd never use his tongue to express a thing unless the library doors were kept locked, and all the fountain pens were taken from him. That was probably when he'd first learned to privately hate his master.
"It's like he never even existed." Ienzo moped, angry at the inteligence agencies for their no-contact protocols, but even more betrayed still that his fellows could not bend a few rules for his sake, just as they always had. "(Like we never existed.)"
"I must sound so droll and stupid, right now." He scoffed in embarassment, fidgeting with his own fingertips. "Whatever Secret Society business you thought you were weaseling your way into, I bet you couldn't imagine it was so pathetic?"
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"I know all that." He groans tiredly, folding his butterflied knees over Edmund's parted thighs and bowing forward, his hands coming up to rub at his face. "They would all think it was from the pressures of placing me early. Or changing my house." There were perfectly rational things to excuse a breakdown. He'd penned plenty of pages about how people cracked under stress, to set formulaic answers in their hands in the headmaster's office, or even with his dreaded nemesis the school chaplain.
"I'm not a fool. I know what to say." Ienzo insisted, his voice bottoming out dryly in the gravelly basement of his still-undeveloped lower register. He taught me exactly how to lie, if suspicions ever arose. What he hadn't been instructed directly, he'd learned from watching how smoothly his charismatic senior slid on polite charm and easy ignorance when he'd overstepped boundaries, how he'd tactfully weave elegant alibis that Ienzo only needed to nod his head silently and go along with. But he never told me what to do, if I suddenly confessed it to a new friend. Ienzo realized, sitting here in Pevensie's lap. How could I, when he said that no one else would ever be clever enough, to be on the level with us?
There was certainly some quality of exclusivity in their deep companionship, in the way he'd been herded away from socializing with schoolmates closer to his own age. He'd never had peers that weren't his elder 'brother's' boys. They had been an impenetrable set, and what he and their ringleader had was even more intimate. Only Braig had even given the annoying impression of being privy to more secrets, but he had the honor of being Xeha's first chum, if not his favorite, and the biggest eavesdropper.
"My marks are fine," The scholarship boy smiled wanely, and reasoned so tamely, self-assured that his academic skill would always be beyond what his lessons would be able to challenge him with. "So apart from poor attendance at clubs, no one ever notices a thing around here, about me... (Only you've ever noticed, that I was watching you.)" He added, raising his head bashfully.
"I just wish they'd write." He wagged his head with a harsh sigh, exhasperated, and ashamed that they'd left him without means of keeping abreast. "Or that I even knew where to post letters, these days." He'd never felt so cut off, even in his younger years of isolated home tutelage, when he wrote beautifully, but Lord Ansem feared that he'd never use his tongue to express a thing unless the library doors were kept locked, and all the fountain pens were taken from him. That was probably when he'd first learned to privately hate his master.
"It's like he never even existed." Ienzo moped, angry at the inteligence agencies for their no-contact protocols, but even more betrayed still that his fellows could not bend a few rules for his sake, just as they always had. "(Like we never existed.)"
"I must sound so droll and stupid, right now." He scoffed in embarassment, fidgeting with his own fingertips. "Whatever Secret Society business you thought you were weaseling your way into, I bet you couldn't imagine it was so pathetic?"