Tense Detention | James/Open

[Cyrille LeFoux]

After being forcefully pulled a part - and getting to watch the snotty Prince get tranquilized, which had warmed Cyrille's heart with a vicious kick of 'hahah!' towards the other boy - Cyrille had been yelled at. Mostly by the librarian for throwing the book out of the window, and only a little bit for the fighting. Nobody had really seen them, not til the end, and both of them were fairly equally battered. It was hard to tell at a glance who had started it, and so Cyrille was keeping quiet about the whole thing, deflecting and mumbling a lot. Eventually it was decided that Cy and the drooling prince would both be given a week of detention.

And so here Cyrille sat, in one of the less-used classrooms in the Corona Building. It was the Etiquette and Politics building, after all - he supposed it was an apt a place as any to make them sit for an hour or two. But the prospect of detention - even just one day of it - with that spoiled, sniveling goody-two-shoes was enough to make Cyrille despair. And his dad was annoyed with him. He was supposed to be learning, not fighting, and fighting a prince, too, what had Cyrille been thinking? Of course he had understood a little of Cyrille's situation, once he'd had the chance to explain it had happened in that particular library, but LeFoux the elder was still displeased with his kid, and Cyrille was caught off-guard.

He wasn't used to his father being mad at him - the elder LeFoux was an easy-going kind of man, and though they had had their share of arguments, it seemed that Cyrille's getting into a fight was something of crossing a line in the sand. Oh, well. He promised his father that his little...secret...hadn't come to light - the nurses at Seacombe already knew, so when he'd had to take off his shirt to have them look at his ribs, there hadn't been any scandals or surprise.

Making a face of bored annoyance, Cy slumped further down into his desk. He'd arrived early, having been...'escorted' by some of the guard on staff. Had to make sure the evil sidekicks paid their due, didn't they? And where was the glowing little prince,Cyrille wanted to know. Late - of course, because the normal rules never did apply to royalty, did they?

[James Florian]

    James was seriously regretting letting instincts take over logic in the library on that fateful day, because since then it had landed him in a heap of trouble. He had received no less than five letters, five, from both his mother and father. They were both equally mad at him for getting into a fistfight of all things, he was a prince and he needed to act like one, according to-well everyone. However his parents had been sending mixed messages about the results of the fight. His mother on one hand had first demanded to know he was alright since the school had informed her that he was in an altercation and unfortunately he had to be sedated during the chaos, but then came the "I told you this would happen. You are clearly not ready for this change, come home now." While his father had initially been pissed about the whole affair, demanding to know why his son and primary heir to the throne had the gall to stoop so low and physically fight a commoner of all things. However after the dust had settled and James had explained what had happened, although the king was still upset, James could detect a twisted sense of approval from his father. As if Cyrille being a villain alone had been enough to justify his son's actions. It made knots form in the boy's stomach. Why did saying someone was good or evil suddenly justify beating them to the point where drugs were needed to prevent him from pulverizing the sidekick?

    So now because of the fight James would have to go straight from his classes at the end of the day to the Corona Building where he would have to sit in the same room as that Cyrille kid, for a week. Now he was grateful that the time wasn't longer, especially since he couldn't answer any of their questions about what happened in his vegetable like state for a few hours after the fight, so Cyrille was the number one source of info pertaining to the events leading up to the fight. That rat could've easily said the Prince was responsible for everything, the window, the fight, and James wouldn't have been surprised if they believed him.  In fact James' title may have been the only thing that made everyone question what had happened and not landed them in more troublesome waters. So maybe due to this James could control the urge to not kick the kid's face in next time he saw him. After all their fight still didn't have a clear winner and the seventeen year old's pride had a problem with that.

    Which is why James was trudging along to the arts and languages building where a hour of empty silence and hateful glares awaited him. Did I also mention that the Seacombe staff had insisted that he was escorted by some of their security guards so he didn't try to skip. As if he would anyway, his mother was threatening to pull him out of the school if she got another report of him screwing up, and he was not going to let that happen. Not in a thousand years. He didn't fail to notice though that these guards were the same goonies who had dragged him away from Cyrille during that fight the other day, no doubt they both were carrying more of those wretched tranquilizers. His brain was still fuzzy from it's effects, and he couldn't remember the fight and about three hours after it as well. James wanted nothing more to do with the drug so he didn't even say a word as they appeared five minutes before the final class let out and walked on either side of him as they made their way to the Corona Building, and down the hall to where the almost empty classroom awaited him. 

    He continued to stay silent when he walked into the classroom, his two shadows following as well to make sure that, yes he did make it detention, although he was a few minutes late. He slung off the messenger bag he was carrying around with him, and put it near his feet as he sat down in the desk closest to the door, and by doing so put some space between himself and the sidekick who was already there. When nobody was looking James shot him the dagger eyes since it was Cyrille's fault the both of them were there. If it hadn't been for his prank neither of them would be here. He must have been a sight, fancy pampered clothes, nicely styled hair, leather messenger bag, and to top it all off a big splotchy bruise that took up his right cheek. Underneath his shirt though, his chest was worse, there were far more many bruises and they wouldn't fade quickly either. Of course it was all thanks to Mr. Frenchman. Why couldn't he have chosen someone else to trip instead of him, his life would have been a lot easier if that had happened instead. 

The Prince's eyes then darted back to the guards who were talking to the ancient, wrinkly teacher who had drawn the short straw and had to take care of detention this week. They were far too wrapped up in their own conversations for them to notice that James had turned to face the equally bruised and battered kid to mouth because he didn't dare say the words aloud, "Still funny huh?" He didn't care if the kid answered or not, the raven haired lad jut wanted to make it clear he was pissed off that he was being dragged down to detention just because a sophomoric sidekick was bored for Christ's sake. 

[Isla Triton]

Isla had never expected to receive detention. She hadn't meant to get into trouble, but she also hadn't wanted to keep quiet about how biased the school was towards humans. Everything they were learning in her animal handling class was for land animals. Land animals that frankly scared Isla sometimes. Horses were big and skittish and could kick. She did not like them and no one could make her. It wasn't her fault that she was born a mermaid. She hadn't asked for that. And yet, when she brought up in class how she lived under the ocean, the teacher had reminded her, gently, that princesses did not speak out of turn. 

Isla knew that she shouldn't speak out of turn but Mom had always taught her to speak up for herself. Mother had the hardest time speaking up when she didn't like something. She was not quick to speak her mind. Isla had learned that the only way to live was to speak her mind. So she had responded by mentioning that it might be better if she was going to learn skills she could actually use in her day to day life. 

And so detention it was. She hoped thee school didn't send word to her family. She would be so ashamed to get a letter from her mothers expressing their disappointment. But she wasn't going to apologize for what she said either.

Isla was already in detention when the other boy was escorted into the room. She watched him interact with the other boy. Apparently they had some kind of history together. Isla turned back to her sketchbook completely uninterested. This was going to horribly boring.

[Deleted]

Hannibal slouched into the room with a book under his arm and what looked, to anyone that care to notice, like a stress ball in the other.

He paused in the door way for a moment, surveying the room, and deciding that there was not much here that would interfere with his plans, continued to walk into the room and over to the desk near the radiator where the sunshine was also streaming in through the window. Perfection.

Hannibal who was normally a friendly and helpful student (really, he was all politeness and manners, after all, what would one expect from a gentleman such as he) had recently discovered that the warmest and best places in the school for a nap was the Detention room. He had also discovered that simply coming into the room without a reason for being there usually mean that the teachers quickly shooed him out. Ever since then he had been since contriving reasons to end up in the comfortable warm room, bad enough that he would get detention but not so bad that he would get into any serious bother. Most of the reasons he was sent there had to do with being out of class without permission, or coming back in from the grounds just a little after curfew, that sort of thing.

It worked perfectly.

Of course, normally there was other people in the room but he soon found he could tune them out if he had too.

He poured himself into his favourite chair, placing the book in front of him ready to be napped on. For the moment however he basked in the warmth, and gently through the stress ball back and forth.

If there was an atmosphere in the room, which there very much was, Hannibal seemed to be completely unaware of it.

[Cyrille LeFoux]

Cyrille shot back the same leveled glare that James was giving him. He smirked broadly at the other boy when he noticed the large rbuise spanning his right cheekbone, entirely pleased with himself. Detention was, he decided, almost worht being in trouble with his father and the school to see that. Of course, he wasn't without his own bruises and scrapes - florian didn't look like it, but anger was a very good motivator to hit fast and hard, and boy, had he! Of course, their little 'moment' of tension was interrupted by the arrival of a few more students; ones Cyrille knew only vaguely. The pretty mermaid princess who was rumoured to be a strong contendor for the Winter Ball Queen, and a quiet, and quietly strong, older boy. Following the rules of their stories, both were pretty - or handsome, depending - of course; villains and princesses always were.

So Cy took a little more pride in the bruises marring Snow White's son; as he was admiring his handiwork, he noticed James mouthing something at him. Pulling out the first book he could find - 'A History of France', aptly enough. Waiting for a moment when the teacher was distracted, Cyrille carefully, quietly ripped out a blank page of the textbook. It was one of the ones generally found at the end; Cyrille had always assumed they had no use, but now he was glad to have found one for his own means. Scribbling his own answer back, Cy crumbled the paper into a ball and - carefully taking aim - lobbed it across the room to (he hoped) hit James on the back of the head. If James opened it instead of trashing it, or ignoring it - he wouldn't put it past the good boy prince; not with a teacher around - it would read the following in Cyrille's chicken-scratch hand writing, partially in English and partially in his native French.

'Yes! Vous putain joli garçon!!' Of course, there was always the possibility the paper would hit one of the two other students sitting between he and James; Cyrille's aim was worse than it had been in years, thanks to his heavily bruised ribs.

(The note reads: 'Yes! You f///ing pretty-boy!!'

Because Cyrille is not scared of cursing... or excessive exclamation marks.)

[James Florian]

    James hated the fact that because of his genetically pale skin, the stupid bruise stood out more than it would've on anyone else. Not to mention that if you only looked at him and Cyrille after the fight, it would appear that he lost the fight and the villain's sidekick had won just because you couldn't really see the majority of the marks the two of them had underneath their shirts. Though if James looked carefully he could see the discoloration of where his fist made contact with Cyrille's skin. James snickered at the sight of it, partially a true reaction, but for the most part faked. However Cyrille wouldn't know that, or least hopefully he wouldn't. James had no idea just how good of an actor he was. 

    Looking around the room he noticed another familiar face that he had never expected to be here in Detention as well. "Isla? What are you doing here?" He asked the Princess with an honestly surprised tone of voice. James knew her from some of the mixed classes both that all Royalty here had to take such as etiquette, public speaking, ballroom dancing, and those kinds of classes. (Which were arguably the only ones that were going to have any real value years from now instead of those foolish Dragon Slaying and Romantic Duet ones.)  Not to mention everyone at the school knew who the Triton cousins were. They were the epitome of everything good and just, along with the fact the both of them had been here a while. Now you couldn't be here for forever and not expect to have people know you. Especially since in comparison to other academies it was a rather small, yet prestigious, school. 

    He could see that she was drawing something and he was tempted to ask her what it was, but before he could he felt something bounce off of his head. James immediately reached up to where the foreign object had hit him, and rubbed the now slightly sore spot as he scanned the ground for what had hit him and it didn't take him long either since the little wadded up ball stuck out against the tile flooring. He scooped it up off the ground and he was already standing up to throw it out, but he saw something out of the corner of his eye that stopped him. That Cyrille kid had that same stupid grin that he had sported after James had been tripped smeared across his face. Oh that could only mean one thing, something similar to the Rose library incident was about to go down. So he shot another glare in the Frenchman's direction, before unfurling the paper and seeing the oh so pleasant message Cyrille had to say to Snow White's son.

    Though James couldn't really tell what the kid was trying to say because of two reasons. First off the handwriting was illegible and it seemed like a someone who was just getting the hang of writing was the author instead of a teenage that was attending one of the hardest schools to get into in the world.However a minute James was able to tell what the kid was trying to say. Secondly his French wasn't all that good. Granted being a Prince, the raven haired lad had been forced to learn how to speak and write in the language for when he would have to deal with diplomats or  visiting royals from the region. He knew that Vous roughly translated to a plural version of you, joli was either happy or pretty, and garçon was boy. However the second word he had never come across before, but maybe that was a good thing too since it was Cyrille passing this note. His brows furrowed in confusion, but after thinking for a moment and realizing that nothing good would fit in that empty slot between 'you' and 'happy/pretty boy' James moved on and wrote his response which reflected a major error that he saw sticking out clear as day. After a moment to see if the teacher was distracted, James turned around and sent the now once again crumpled note right back to the villain's sidekick. He had to put a lot more power behind the throw than he normally would've thanks to his checkerboard chest.  

    When the kid opened the note, he would find the pleasant message written in the Prince's neat handwriting directly below the original one. "You forgot to conjugate your own language.  Are you sure you don't need that book you threw out the window?" Sure it sounded snobbish, but then again the two hated each other. There wasn't going to be any politeness here. 

{{I am going off of what my French Teacher said when it comes to conjugation. So James may be wrong, I'm not stellar with all the different tenses when it comes to French. The strange thing though, she didn't even bat an eye at a student asking her if a curse word was conjugated properly.}}

[Isla Triton]

Isla paid the boys no mind as they did whatever they were doing. She just kept sketching. It was easier than getting involved. She was already in trouble, so there was no use in getting into more trouble. Then they'd send a letter to Aunt Ariel for sure who would tell her mothers and then she'd get reprimanded via letter written by Aunt Ariel. 

At the sound of her name her hand stilled and she looked up. She blinked for a moment before recognizing James, one of the many princes at the school. "The teachers here appreciate princesses who are passive and obedient without an original thought in their heads. I don't quite live up to their standards and I'm not afraid to speak my mind, which is frowned upon. Hence," she motioned the room around them, "detention."

She glanced around the room at the other two boys. "I'm not quite the goody two shoes everyone seems to think I am," she said softly, as she watched one of the boys she didn't know throw something at James. She sighed and turned back to her sketchbook, flipping to a new page. She might as well practice drawing figures since she had a captive audience.