Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25686329-20160408213713/@comment-25686329-20160412235712

The Yankee swallowed and his lip curled.

Huh.

He strode over to the seat made for him and sat down with a resignment, blowing out a slight sigh like the angst-ridden teenager he feared he was. Unslinging his bag, he took out a tome on military-political tactics (Tarkin's Treatese on Paving the way for an Empire) and tried to find his page. He stopped after a second, remembering something.

He reached inside his vest pocket and drew the paintball pistol, placing it down on the desk and going back to his book. It was becoming a reflex now. There was a time when he'd keep that tucked away so consistently people didn't know it was there, and he was able to savor the looks on their faces when he brought it out when things got really hardcore.

Now, it was to remind people who he was. An heir to an industrious empire. A high-honor student. A Two-Time School-Wide Paintball Assassin vetran who would be more than happy to give you a reason to hate him. A heartless bastard.

And yet... here he was doing this.

Yes, this was, until just now, his personal turf and time, but by some odd twist of character, the Yankee had submitted to typically unstomachable idea of -- gag -- compromise. Sharing. Relenting.

Why? Courtesy, he supposed. Sophistication, to a point. The general idea that if one had a certain degree manners and something that resembled a verbal-mental filter, one warranted respect. See, that's why the Yankee never put any stock in the idea of 'respecting your elders'; the Yankee believed in giving respect where respect was due. This guy had avoided conflict rather than dealing with it like the petty pricks-on-the-spinning-wheels that shambled through the hallways.

There was still that Frickboy comment, though.

He looked at the guy beside him again. The Yankee's own plain, off-brand, and withdrawn/ practical clothing was contrasted by at least a base degree of... well, for lack of a better word, opulence from the other guy's.

His eyes flicked back to the book, and he spoke without looking. "What class, Fanfarinet?"