Show Some Class -- Grove

[Cyrille LeFoux]

Sidekick etiquette, Cyrille had found - mostly from eavesdropping on other students, sometimes from actual spying on other classes - was not like other etiquette classes. Princesses and Princes - good and evil - did not have to learn what to do if some idiot lit their dress on fire and the only options given to you were:

a) stomp on it,
b) throw the nearest bowl of punch onto the flames,
or c) laugh and point.

The 'correct' answer was apparently a, with b coming in as an acceptable second option. Cyrille was of the opinion that if someone was stupid enough to get their dress caught on fire in the padded kiddie playground that most balls seemed like, they deserved to be laughed at. He'd definitely tell everyone he knew about it the next day, that bimbo was had half her skirts go up in from the candles, can you believe it? Almost more exciting than the food they served. Voicing that opinion out loud would, however, earn him a lecture, probably a scolding, and almost certainly another page of homework. Bored at the inanity of the ending of class, Cyrille amused himself by looking around and taking note of the other sidekicks and commoners stuck in the same class.

One kid, clearly a nerd, scribbling down the answers. Ugh; boring as anything. Another kid, hoodie pulled all the way over his hairline, face down on the desk, sleeping. No luck there, either; he was probably dead to the world, if the puddle of drool next to his elbow was any gauge. And then...hmm, he looked promising. And familiar; not just from class, either. Had they talked before, in the halls? Redhead, obviously huge even while sitting down, muscular... Cyrille squinted at Grove, trying to remember his name. Forrest, or something like that, right? Something so cutesy-woodsy that Cyrille couldn't even remember it properly. Oak, maybe? No, no, something else. And why did he look so familiar? He had the rugged good looks of a heroic sidekick, even he could tell that much. Maybe he wouldn't think Cyrille was weird for staring, the French boy thought, quickly looking away and towards the front of the class, blindly studying the board there.

tags: Grove

[Grove]

Grove was tired of these stupid tests that were supposed to test his ability to be a good sidekick. He hated being constantly reminded that his sole role in life was to stand by Jim and be emtional support. But also be someone to throw in humorous remarks in a tense situation. Honestly, he kind of hated the way the classes were run.

He was bent over his work with a sigh, trying to just get through the day and onto his more interesting classes. And then later on he could set aside some time to get some carving done. Grove's pencil circled as he barely read the answers. It was all common sense type of things so it was easy.

But then there was a sudden feeling of someone watching him. He looked up and around at his fellow classmates until he locked eyes with Cyrille. Grove frowned at the boy, then looked back down to his work, deciding to steadfastly ignore the other boy.

((no worries, still cool))

[Cyrille LeFoux]

The other guy looked as bored as Cyrille was, he noticed, when he glanced back over at the frowning student. Quickly circling the next few answers on the paper ahead of time, Cyrille took a moment to scribble a note down on a piece of paper. Folding it carefully, quietly, he watched the teacher pacing back and forth, droning on about balls and what the sidekicks were expected to do - and what they should let the princes and princesses do instead. Rolling his eyes out of reflex, Cyrille waited til the teacher was looking at the board - and the paper flew from his hand, flipped neatly to land on Grove's desk.

If Grove unfolded it, and didn't ignore it - or cause a scene over it - the note would read as such; I'm bored, you're bored, this class est stupide. We should get out of here. It was in a tightly scrawled handwriting, tiny - not neat and easily legible, as he barely knew how to read or write before coming to Seacombe, but it was understandable. The school had helped him write better - and in a couple other languages beside his native 1740's French - and, over his complaints of the stupidity of it, he'd even learned how to read more quickly. The note on Grove's desk proved, however, that nothing could really make Cyrille like school any better.

tags: Grove

[Grove]

Grove honestly was bored. He came to school to learn new things that he would never have access to back home. This nonsense they were trying to stuff into his brain wasn't worth learning. And, judging by most of his classmates, they all thought it was boring too. But he was going to keep toughing it out because his fathers had paid for him to be here and they were so proud of him. Grove wasn't about the let them down.

The note landing on his desk brought him out of his own head and he looked at the note confused. Grove looked around for the owner of the note. He narrowed her gaze at Cyrille before turning to look down at the note instead. The handwriting was messy, but so was his own. He squinted at the paper, then scoffed. Sure, he was bored, but he wasn't going to ditch class because of that. He crumbled up the piece of paper and turned back to the lesson, rolling his eyes. He wasn't ditching no matter how boring.