Chapter 23. Specialized Studies (Are Not Off To Great Start)
Abbas wasn't really in the game much. I can remember a grand total of two scenes including him, in either of which he didn't do much more than stand around with a haughty smirk. My conclusions after a week of attending studies with him around? He's a jackass and proud of it. Thankfully, he didn't actually show up much anywhere where Ed or Hiram weren't already, and I guess their presence had mitigated his... tendencies. But goodness gracious, what a jackass. He had initially attracted some of the nobles trying to cozy up to him, but even the most dedicated flatterers and brown-nosers had taken to wearing rather pinched expressions whenever he deigns to show up lately.
The rest of the Academy, in comparison, is downright pleasant. Well, the part I can interact with. Ed is still doing his disappearance act whenever I'm nearby, and some of the peeps looking to get tight with him started to emulate this behavior. I also had an interesting conversation with a group of girls who made conclusions that Ed had "good reasons" for acting this way. I've done my best to impress upon them that meddling won't get them anything good, but I don't think they really internalized the message. It's just mean looks and hushed whispers otherwise so far, so I'm not that concerned. They're mostly on my level or lower, as far as social standing goes. Well, technically, some of them are offsprings of assorted marquises, but none of them with enough weight to think they can really lean on me, given that king himself made it pretty much common knowledge that father's getting promoted to the duke on winter holidays. Abraham was apparently duly impressed by the bevy of new goods coming out of the county at a steady stream, and the fact father ended up buying out several bordering viscounts and barons that failed in their fiscal obligations badly enough to force them into submitting to vassalage for cash relief. Gillespie county, as of now, contains 32% of the Champagne territory, including the entire north half of mountains from the Icy Ocean to the Ashenvale. Oh, Ashenvale is ours. Technically speaking, Kraut kingdom possessed the eastern half of it, but they were all too willing to sell it to dad for a token sum and a trade agreement.
Hiram is actually pretty happy about that last bit. He had apparently been very busy putting out the political fires that ignited in Kraut over Klaus karking it in a highly inconvenient manner. The trade agreement, which includes a bulk sale of cure for cold to Kraut is tacitly accepted by everyone involved as making peace over that fuckup of his. We had tea a couple of times over the last week and tentatively discussed the possibility of tar road being extended through the Ashenvale and into Kraut kingdom. He is really enthused about having a decent land route from Berlinger to Parsee again.
Selene reports that Ed is being slowly worn down in regards of getting himself checked for magic. She (on my advice) backed off from insisting Ed talks to me, and instead switched tack to pointing out that he is overly stressed and prone to bursts of ire over petty things. This topic is not making him dig in and turn paranoia to eleven, and while he is dismissive of the whole thing, he did recently express a bemused agreement to visit the temple with Selene to be "checked for mental fatigue". Even if they don't find anything, the temple is liable to tell him to drink chamomile brew to calm his nerves, it's their standard standby for such cases. Maybe that will mellow the stubborn mule out.
I am currently killing time sitting at the lecture about magical dueling. It is, without doubt, the least favorite lecture for me. In a large part because the professor in charge of it very much reminds me of a peacock. Fussy and pretentious in his appearance and with a remarkably grating voice. Worse yet, he has some... interesting ideas about duels and how honor factors into them.
"...And thus, you shan't commit with an excess of magiage, thy spell shouldst match thy opponent. If they strike, you block. If they defend, you strike. This, and only this can possibly gain you the glory of victory." - he preens. I.. fail to suppress a snort at that. Gileas Hardlock is just... not the kind of person I can take seriously. His expertise, if it could be called such, calls for magical slugfests that depend solely on who runs out of stamina first. I've tried to ask him about more advanced strategies, and his suggestion was, if we strip away the mangled words and flowery language, to simply "show more nobility", whatever it means. I surmise that he is trying to say "cast harder".
"Did I say something amusing, lady Gillespie?" - he ventures in that reedy voice of his. I... fuck it, I can't take any more of this unwanted bastard of peacock and pufferfish.
"Frankly speaking, professor, I'm having trouble visualizing your advice." - I offer to him bluntly - "It appears to me that your advice can be summed as "wait for an opponent to cast and do a spell with opposite effect". What about footwork? Evasion? Augmentation?"
"Pff. Petty trickery is never effective against a noble opponent, lady Gillespie. I do not know what they taught you up north, but you would do well to abandon any such pedestrian notions, if you wish for glorious victory on the piste. Neither running around nor dodging would serve well, lest you're facing a lowborn cur with no understanding of noble combat. The only way to prevail is to overwhelm your opponent's spell with your own." - he lectures. Is he... looking down on me? "Perhaps I shalt remind thou to be more diligent in practicing the spellwork, so you shan't entertain such commoner aspirations henceforth. Evasion, indeed! Nonsense."
FUCK. IT. "A demonstration then, professor?" - I offer, standing up - "Because I'm honestly unsure just how do you expect to win just by standing and casting."
"Please sit down and cease your questioning." - he talks over me - "Haven't your parents taught you to heed the instruction of your betters?"
"Goodness, professor. How exactly I'm supposed to believe you actually know anything about dueling if you are afraid to give an example?" - I smirk at him - "If you are truly a great duelist, it should not be a problem for you to put an uppity student in their place with your prowess, isn't it so?"
His jowls redden and he gestures irritably toward the center of the classroom. "Fine. If I must beat the instruction into you, I will!" - he wheezes - "Take up a flower and learn by deed, if you are not suited to learn by word!" His next words are a mutter, but I do manage to overhear something about "northern barbarians" and "uncouth bumpkins". Either he is actually a competent duelist and the whole spiel about "noble combat" is a rotten lie he is spinning for some reason, or he genuinely believes it, and is a rotten fool. In either case, I'm NOT. PUTTING. UP. WITH. THIS. FUCKING. TRIPE. ANYMORE.
As I pass through the class, Alistair tugs on my sleeve. "Are you insane? What are you doing!?" - he whispers quickly - "He's known for winning a hundred duels without defeat!"
"I'm going to fuck him up." - I reply to him quietly, pulling the sleeve out of his grasp.
"Ohoho. It seems young sir McGregor understands the folly of your challenge, lady Gillespie." - the preening moron jumps in - "Heed his advice, young lady. I am willing to overlook this indiscretion if you apologize and return to your seat now."
I pluck a random flower out of the vase next to the training piste, and step onto it carelessly. "En garde, mister Hardlock."
His nostrils flare angrily. "That's SIR Hardlock to you!" - he bites off - "Everyone, take notice. My current flower is a tulip, which has a strong connection to fire and earth. A fine choice for a duelist. Lady Gillespie here is facing me wielding lavender, which is water and light aligned, and weakly at that. It is a weak flower, best suited for a healer who needs to conserve their meager reserves. She will not be able to withstand more than two spells from me, mark my words."
I tuck the sprig of lavender into my lapel and stretch out lightly, loosening up. He completely fails to notice as I throw a dual augmentation of sense amplification and mental acceleration on myself, as he meticulously arranges himself in a pose that... actually looks somewhat decent, if only he had a rapier in his hand instead of tulip. I wonder. And queue deflection shielding, haste, body reinforcement and iron skin. I want to fight him using absolute minimum, I just don't get the impression of him as someone who actually can fight. Either that is a very convincing charade and he would easily wreck me... or I'm right, and he's an incompetent buffoon. In the first case, I don't want him to notice I actually had six spells ready to be cast in unison. In second, it's simply not needed to. But I do hold them on the tip of my mind, in case I misjudged badly enough to need it.
As he finally says "En garde!", I shake my arms out lightly, lifting them in front of my chest. In my previous life, I have taken lessons on unarmed fighting - I had the misfortune of being born in turbulent times and punching people in the face was a sad fact of life to accept and prepare for. That is not to say I was in any way competition-worthy. Especially now, given that as a shoggoth I never bothered putting in any time on physical fitness. But I still have muscle memory of several styles that I dabbled in, and I am annoyed enough to pick the most brutal of them. Krav Maga.
"Fi...WHUM!" - he starts, and immediately cuts off his spoken incantation (Seriously? SE-fucking-RIOUSLY?) as my boot impacts against his face with satisfying SMACK, flipping him around and sending him on all fours on the floor facing away from me, tulip flying off into the auditorium. I give him no time to think. Two steps forward, a knee on his back between the shoulderblades, an arm around his neck, and then I PULL. Not hard enough to break his neck, but more than sufficient to make him believe he will be strangled in front of students right here the fuck now. His face turns purple as he wheezes what was probably intended as a startled scream, but came out as a gurgling hiss. Confirmed, he is an incompetent jackass. So... how did he accrue his reported hundred wins? Bribery? Lies? Mental magic? So very curious.
___
Dean Ambercrombe pinches the bridge of his nose. "Lady Gillespie." - he starts - "This is absolutely unacceptable. Professor Hardlock refuses to continue teaching until he receives a public apology for your rash actions. I must insist you offer your apologies today at dinner, otherwise I will be inclined to dismiss you from attendance to keep the peace and ensure the proper education continues uninterrupted."
I sigh. "I would think you have bigger things to worry about right now, dean." - I retort - "Namely, how are you going to explain that your vaunted dueling teacher, who presumably had won a hundred duels without a single defeat had stuffing beaten out of him by a mere student on a piste. There were over fifty students in attendance witnessing this, they saw him taking the piste, saying "En Garde" and preparing to cast. He even managed to utter the first syllable of his incantation. There is no way you can claim any skulduggery on my side without coming off as a liar."
"We are discussing your behavior right now, lady Gillespie." - he objects - "I can not permit such blatant disrespect towards professors, regardless of anything else. My decision stands - either you apologize to professor Hardlock at the dinner, or you may collect your belongings and leave the Academy by the sunset."
"Sure. Want to guess what I will do tomorrow in that case?" - I smile at him - "I'm going to visit the king. He did give me dispensation to request an audience per need, after all. And I'm going to ask him to compel you to reimburse my tuition. Because I paid to be taught by experts, and Hardlock is anything but. I imagine his highness will have his own inquiries on the matter. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if he sees this as intentional sabotage of education. How many students had already received Hardlock's dubious instructions, hmm? Each and every one of them is now a liability to the kingdom, should a war break out. Can you spell 'treason'?"
He jerks back, his face paling rapidly as he once again grasps the implications five minutes too late. "You can't... This isn't...." - he wheezes, clutching at his heart - "Academy can not......"
"You're quite right. Academy can NOT afford that kind of scandal. Even if you're not hanged for this, the reputation of the Academy will be in tatters. Honestly speaking, dean, you should be grateful to me I have had exposed Hardlock so early in the year. You can fire him and invite a competent instructor without impacting the education of students too much. Try to do anything else? Anything at all? Your choices, in that case, would be to go down as traitor or buffoon. Either way, it will not be a pleasant change in your life." - I drive the point home, my smile widening - "So, dean, what will it be? Better education for every student now, or thoroughly ruined life for you a little later?"
"But... I can not let you just... disrespect me and Academy like this!" - he chokes out - "Fine, I will look into replacing Hardlock if he is truly so inept, but I insist on apologies nonetheless. To Academy, if not to Hardlock."
"That's.... nice, dean, but I honestly do not give a damn about what you think you can and can not let." - I tell him bluntly - "I tried not to make your job too hard on my account. First, you accuse me of being a creature. Then I immediately find out your orders had led to the king's personal delivery to me being delayed. Now, you have the audacity to defend the hiring of an utterly incompetent fool to teach us how to protect our lives. And you STILL have the GALL to look me in the eye and demand APOLOGIES?!" I cough, as I realize I have leaned over the table, grabbed his lapels and started shaking him like a doll during the speech. I let go of his lapels, letting him fall down into the chair. "Last chance, dean. One last chance. If I have to deal with any more incompetence from your family, I will declare a blood feud and WIPE every last Ambercrombe from É̴X͢IS҉҉TE̸̴N̵͏C̸͢E̴/̡̕M͜͜E̷M̛O҉͘R̵͞͏Y/̴͞CON͡͡T͘͜I̢͘NUU̢͏͠M. Do I make myself CLEAR!?"
He nods spastically, pressing himself into the back of the chair and cringing away. I'm... so fucking tired of this. Some part of me keeps wondering why I still bother. Why I'm not declaring feud already. Or why I'm not just consuming the entirety of his protein mass and burning the leftovers in his own fireplace.
"For your own sake, dean, let us both hope that our next conversation will be about handing over my diploma." - I tell him, as I head for the door - "Feel free to encourage professors to test me on advanced topics. I won't be against graduating early or working on my own projects out of class. Have a nice day."
I'm almost back at my dorm rooms when I realize I have actually shouted at Ambercrombe with the full range for a moment. And that he might very well be preoccupied with poking his ears out right now. Well.... shit.
Chapter 23. Specialized Studies (Are Not Off To Great Start)
Abbas wasn't really in the game much. I can remember a grand total of two scenes including him, in either of which he didn't do much more than stand around with a haughty smirk. My conclusions after a week of attending studies with him around? He's a jackass and proud of it. Thankfully, he didn't actually show up much anywhere where Ed or Hiram weren't already, and I guess their presence had mitigated his... tendencies. But goodness gracious, what a jackass. He had initially attracted some of the nobles trying to cozy up to him, but even the most dedicated flatterers and brown-nosers had taken to wearing rather pinched expressions whenever he deigns to show up lately.
The rest of the Academy, in comparison, is downright pleasant. Well, the part I can interact with. Ed is still doing his disappearance act whenever I'm nearby, and some of the peeps looking to get tight with him started to emulate this behavior. I also had an interesting conversation with a group of girls who made conclusions that Ed had "good reasons" for acting this way. I've done my best to impress upon them that meddling won't get them anything good, but I don't think they really internalized the message. It's just mean looks and hushed whispers otherwise so far, so I'm not that concerned. They're mostly on my level or lower, as far as social standing goes. Well, technically, some of them are offsprings of assorted marquises, but none of them with enough weight to think they can really lean on me, given that king himself made it pretty much common knowledge that father's getting promoted to the duke on winter holidays. Abraham was apparently duly impressed by the bevy of new goods coming out of the county at a steady stream, and the fact father ended up buying out several bordering viscounts and barons that failed in their fiscal obligations badly enough to force them into submitting to vassalage for cash relief. Gillespie county, as of now, contains 32% of the Champagne territory, including the entire north half of mountains from the Icy Ocean to the Ashenvale. Oh, Ashenvale is ours. Technically speaking, Kraut kingdom possessed the eastern half of it, but they were all too willing to sell it to dad for a token sum and a trade agreement.
Hiram is actually pretty happy about that last bit. He had apparently been very busy putting out the political fires that ignited in Kraut over Klaus karking it in a highly inconvenient manner. The trade agreement, which includes a bulk sale of cure for cold to Kraut is tacitly accepted by everyone involved as making peace over that fuckup of his. We had tea a couple of times over the last week and tentatively discussed the possibility of tar road being extended through the Ashenvale and into Kraut kingdom. He is really enthused about having a decent land route from Berlinger to Parsee again.
Selene reports that Ed is being slowly worn down in regards of getting himself checked for magic. She (on my advice) backed off from insisting Ed talks to me, and instead switched tack to pointing out that he is overly stressed and prone to bursts of ire over petty things. This topic is not making him dig in and turn paranoia to eleven, and while he is dismissive of the whole thing, he did recently express a bemused agreement to visit the temple with Selene to be "checked for mental fatigue". Even if they don't find anything, the temple is liable to tell him to drink chamomile brew to calm his nerves, it's their standard standby for such cases. Maybe that will mellow the stubborn mule out.
I am currently killing time sitting at the lecture about magical dueling. It is, without doubt, the least favorite lecture for me. In a large part because the professor in charge of it very much reminds me of a peacock. Fussy and pretentious in his appearance and with a remarkably grating voice. Worse yet, he has some... interesting ideas about duels and how honor factors into them.
"...And thus, you shan't commit with an excess of magiage, thy spell shouldst match thy opponent. If they strike, you block. If they defend, you strike. This, and only this can possibly gain you the glory of victory." - he preens. I.. fail to suppress a snort at that. Gileas Hardlock is just... not the kind of person I can take seriously. His expertise, if it could be called such, calls for magical slugfests that depend solely on who runs out of stamina first. I've tried to ask him about more advanced strategies, and his suggestion was, if we strip away the mangled words and flowery language, to simply "show more nobility", whatever it means. I surmise that he is trying to say "cast harder".
"Did I say something amusing, lady Gillespie?" - he ventures in that reedy voice of his. I... fuck it, I can't take any more of this unwanted bastard of peacock and pufferfish.
"Frankly speaking, professor, I'm having trouble visualizing your advice." - I offer to him bluntly - "It appears to me that your advice can be summed as "wait for an opponent to cast and do a spell with opposite effect". What about footwork? Evasion? Augmentation?"
"Pff. Petty trickery is never effective against a noble opponent, lady Gillespie. I do not know what they taught you up north, but you would do well to abandon any such pedestrian notions, if you wish for glorious victory on the piste. Neither running around nor dodging would serve well, lest you're facing a lowborn cur with no understanding of noble combat. The only way to prevail is to overwhelm your opponent's spell with your own." - he lectures. Is he... looking down on me? "Perhaps I shalt remind thou to be more diligent in practicing the spellwork, so you shan't entertain such commoner aspirations henceforth. Evasion, indeed! Nonsense."
FUCK. IT. "A demonstration then, professor?" - I offer, standing up - "Because I'm honestly unsure just how do you expect to win just by standing and casting."
"Please sit down and cease your questioning." - he talks over me - "Haven't your parents taught you to heed the instruction of your betters?"
"Goodness, professor. How exactly I'm supposed to believe you actually know anything about dueling if you are afraid to give an example?" - I smirk at him - "If you are truly a great duelist, it should not be a problem for you to put an uppity student in their place with your prowess, isn't it so?"
His jowls redden and he gestures irritably toward the center of the classroom. "Fine. If I must beat the instruction into you, I will!" - he wheezes - "Take up a flower and learn by deed, if you are not suited to learn by word!" His next words are a mutter, but I do manage to overhear something about "northern barbarians" and "uncouth bumpkins". Either he is actually a competent duelist and the whole spiel about "noble combat" is a rotten lie he is spinning for some reason, or he genuinely believes it, and is a rotten fool. In either case, I'm NOT. PUTTING. UP. WITH. THIS. FUCKING. TRIPE. ANYMORE.
As I pass through the class, Alistair tugs on my sleeve. "Are you insane? What are you doing!?" - he whispers quickly - "He's known for winning a hundred duels without defeat!"
"I'm going to fuck him up." - I reply to him quietly, pulling the sleeve out of his grasp.
"Ohoho. It seems young sir McGregor understands the folly of your challenge, lady Gillespie." - the preening moron jumps in - "Heed his advice, young lady. I am willing to overlook this indiscretion if you apologize and return to your seat now."
I pluck a random flower out of the vase next to the training piste, and step onto it carelessly. "En garde, mister Hardlock."
His nostrils flare angrily. "That's SIR Hardlock to you!" - he bites off - "Everyone, take notice. My current flower is a tulip, which has a strong connection to fire and earth. A fine choice for a duelist. Lady Gillespie here is facing me wielding lavender, which is water and light aligned, and weakly at that. It is a weak flower, best suited for a healer who needs to conserve their meager reserves. She will not be able to withstand more than two spells from me, mark my words."
I tuck the sprig of lavender into my lapel and stretch out lightly, loosening up. He completely fails to notice as I throw a dual augmentation of sense amplification and mental acceleration on myself, as he meticulously arranges himself in a pose that... actually looks somewhat decent, if only he had a rapier in his hand instead of tulip. I wonder. And queue deflection shielding, haste, body reinforcement and iron skin. I want to fight him using absolute minimum, I just don't get the impression of him as someone who actually can fight. Either that is a very convincing charade and he would easily wreck me... or I'm right, and he's an incompetent buffoon. In the first case, I don't want him to notice I actually had six spells ready to be cast in unison. In second, it's simply not needed to. But I do hold them on the tip of my mind, in case I misjudged badly enough to need it.
As he finally says "En garde!", I shake my arms out lightly, lifting them in front of my chest. In my previous life, I have taken lessons on unarmed fighting - I had the misfortune of being born in turbulent times and punching people in the face was a sad fact of life to accept and prepare for. That is not to say I was in any way competition-worthy. Especially now, given that as a shoggoth I never bothered putting in any time on physical fitness. But I still have muscle memory of several styles that I dabbled in, and I am annoyed enough to pick the most brutal of them. Krav Maga.
"Fi...WHUM!" - he starts, and immediately cuts off his spoken incantation (Seriously? SE-fucking-RIOUSLY?) as my boot impacts against his face with satisfying SMACK, flipping him around and sending him on all fours on the floor facing away from me, tulip flying off into the auditorium. I give him no time to think. Two steps forward, a knee on his back between the shoulderblades, an arm around his neck, and then I PULL. Not hard enough to break his neck, but more than sufficient to make him believe he will be strangled in front of students right here the fuck now. His face turns purple as he wheezes what was probably intended as a startled scream, but came out as a gurgling hiss. Confirmed, he is an incompetent jackass. So... how did he accrue his reported hundred wins? Bribery? Lies? Mental magic? So very curious.
___
Dean Ambercrombe pinches the bridge of his nose. "Lady Gillespie." - he starts - "This is absolutely unacceptable. Professor Hardlock refuses to continue teaching until he receives a public apology for your rash actions. I must insist you offer your apologies today at dinner, otherwise I will be inclined to dismiss you from attendance to keep the peace and ensure the proper education continues uninterrupted."
I sigh. "I would think you have bigger things to worry about right now, dean." - I retort - "Namely, how are you going to explain that your vaunted dueling teacher, who presumably had won a hundred duels without a single defeat had stuffing beaten out of him by a mere student on a piste. There were over fifty students in attendance witnessing this, they saw him taking the piste, saying "En Garde" and preparing to cast. He even managed to utter the first syllable of his incantation. There is no way you can claim any skulduggery on my side without coming off as a liar."
"We are discussing your behavior right now, lady Gillespie." - he objects - "I can not permit such blatant disrespect towards professors, regardless of anything else. My decision stands - either you apologize to professor Hardlock at the dinner, or you may collect your belongings and leave the Academy by the sunset."
"Sure. Want to guess what I will do tomorrow in that case?" - I smile at him - "I'm going to visit the king. He did give me dispensation to request an audience per need, after all. And I'm going to ask him to compel you to reimburse my tuition. Because I paid to be taught by experts, and Hardlock is anything but. I imagine his highness will have his own inquiries on the matter. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if he sees this as intentional sabotage of education. How many students had already received Hardlock's dubious instructions, hmm? Each and every one of them is now a liability to the kingdom, should a war break out. Can you spell 'treason'?"
He jerks back, his face paling rapidly as he once again grasps the implications five minutes too late. "You can't... This isn't...." - he wheezes, clutching at his heart - "Academy can not......"
"You're quite right. Academy can NOT afford that kind of scandal. Even if you're not hanged for this, the reputation of the Academy will be in tatters. Honestly speaking, dean, you should be grateful to me I have had exposed Hardlock so early in the year. You can fire him and invite a competent instructor without impacting the education of students too much. Try to do anything else? Anything at all? Your choices, in that case, would be to go down as traitor or buffoon. Either way, it will not be a pleasant change in your life." - I drive the point home, my smile widening - "So, dean, what will it be? Better education for every student now, or thoroughly ruined life for you a little later?"
"But... I can not let you just... disrespect me and Academy like this!" - he chokes out - "Fine, I will look into replacing Hardlock if he is truly so inept, but I insist on apologies nonetheless. To Academy, if not to Hardlock."
"That's.... nice, dean, but I honestly do not give a damn about what you think you can and can not let." - I tell him bluntly - "I tried not to make your job too hard on my account. First, you accuse me of being a creature. Then I immediately find out your orders had led to the king's personal delivery to me being delayed. Now, you have the audacity to defend the hiring of an utterly incompetent fool to teach us how to protect our lives. And you STILL have the GALL to look me in the eye and demand APOLOGIES?!" I cough, as I realize I have leaned over the table, grabbed his lapels and started shaking him like a doll during the speech. I let go of his lapels, letting him fall down into the chair. "Last chance, dean. One last chance. If I have to deal with any more incompetence from your family, I will declare a blood feud and WIPE every last Ambercrombe from É̴X͢IS҉҉TE̸̴N̵͏C̸͢E̴/̡̕M͜͜E̷M̛O҉͘R̵͞͏Y/̴͞CON͡͡T͘͜I̢͘NUU̢͏͠M. Do I make myself CLEAR!?"
He nods spastically, pressing himself into the back of the chair and cringing away. I'm... so fucking tired of this. Some part of me keeps wondering why I still bother. Why I'm not declaring feud already. Or why I'm not just consuming the entirety of his protein mass and burning the leftovers in his own fireplace.
"For your own sake, dean, let us both hope that our next conversation will be about handing over my diploma." - I tell him, as I head for the door - "Feel free to encourage professors to test me on advanced topics. I won't be against graduating early or working on my own projects out of class. Have a nice day."
I'm almost back at my dorm rooms when I realize I have actually shouted at Ambercrombe with the full range for a moment. And that he might very well be preoccupied with poking his ears out right now. Well.... shit.
