[center][b][color=7041A5][h1]Nathanael Gloucester[/h1][/color][/b][/center]
[right][indent][sub][color=#C0C2C9]Interacting with:[/color] [@Achronum] [@Obscene Symphony] | [color=#C0C2C9]Location:[/color] Garreg Mach Monastery - Golden Deer Classroom[/sub][/indent][/right][hr]

To call the pomp and circumstance of the first day of classes a waste of time would be to underestimate just how fruitless the whole endeavor was. Rituals, ego trips, and introductions for those too lazy or incompetent to parse together who was of importance. If it weren't such a bad look and he was sure the headache of private meetings and admonishments would not outweigh the time saved, he would have spent the day beginning to pour through the library's historical records to at least provide some semblance of stimulation. Instead, Nathanael remained stoic and quiet through the sermon and through Professor Kalonic's introduction, no matter how brief the latter and how droning the former felt. He thumbed at a small book he kept on his desk, fighting the urge to open it and begin pouring through the texts so he at least wasn't wasting this time. He kept himself in check, though, and remained sitting unnaturally upright in his chair.

Of course, he found the prank painfully imbecilic, yet not at all surprising. If these were the best and brightest to have graduated from Garreg Mach in recent years, that said little for his confidence they would be able to provide him with anything he couldn't find at a festival for infants. It was becoming clear that the best this academy would offer are tests of patience, which while valuable was certainly less than the price of admission. It seemed fitting the Church of Seiros would run a scam like this: leeches often did suck at the blood of more capable creatures.

As Euphemia fled to have a loud fit of rage, Nathanael's eyes briefly scanned everyone present. There were a few faces he recognized from roundtable meetings, others more obvious by reputation or careful research. The most surprising presence was one that he kept within his eyeline at all times: Isolde Ordelia. She was only a year older than him... must have been eleven when her father ruined both of their lives. Not that hers could be so bad, if she ended up in the same place he was. She certainly had farther to fall still, then. He would find the time to scheme something special for her... perhaps the sermons, since sleeping or missing them would tarnish the great Gloucester name. His gaze lingered on her for a short time, the little emotion he acknowledged squeezing his chest with pain... or perhaps anxiety. It was hard to tell these days, it all blended together for Nathanael.

Of course, there were two of more import in the classroom with him... one by merit, and one certainly by his father's machinations. Clarissa's suggestion of doing introductions was reasonable... not his preferred use of time, but acceptable. She wore authority like her own skin, and held a confidence and determination that he admired. Melding their differences together were inspiring words, even if they lacked a defined meaning. His father, once, espoused the strength of the Leicester Alliance in similar terms. His belief was that there was strength in a diversity of thought, steel, and action... and that it was this that kept them free from their neighbors. This belief did not bear much weight to scrutiny... for there was little strength in the diversity of thought and steel that pierced his father's heart over half a decade earlier. He would have to keep Clarissa von Edmund from such a fate, if she were to lead the Alliance, but knew better than to try and point the faults in her words.

Of course... then there was Jorah von Riegan. His presence at the academy alone would be a disgrace, if he did not have a personality befitting the faculty meant to lead them. He certainly had to be their usual crop of candidate, and perhaps his stunning incompetence was such a brilliant display that they had chosen him to be the leader for the Golden Deer house. It certainly wasn't be merit of skill, qualities of leadership, or ability to take anything seriously. Was the only criteria being able to ride a horse? If so, Jorah's desire to "ride" must have certainly proceeded him and been sufficient requirement. But no, even Nathanael was well aware of what must have happened: the meddling seat-warmer Jorah called father was trying to teach his son a lesson at the expense of every other worthy heir in the Alliance who was there to get things done. A worthy tithe to the Church of Seiros was probably enough, or was the von Riegan charm of begging for handouts appealing enough? He didn't care to know for certain, it would only be more painful to know the particulars. He certainly didn't want to know if he could think of Jorah less.

Oh, but apparently he could, for Jorah was capable of speech.

His attempt at appearing imposing, standing atop a desk to make himself taller and peer down at them all, left Nathanael craning his neck upwards. Jorah was at least self-aware enough to admit that he was merely a sideshow at the Roundtable meetings, which had won a modicum of trust in favor in the conspiracy that Jorah's reputation was exaggerated. The innuendo and order to party had wiped that away quickly. With Jorah's introduction out of the way, Nathanael stood from his seat and began to walk to the front of the class so he could slip out the door and leave for a mid-day stroll. There was a chance he could make it to the library before the next sermon. He passed behind Jorah, close enough to hear his words. [color=FFAB66]“Not bad for my first decree, eh? Maybe authority suits me after all."[/color]

Nathanael's pace slowed to a stop, the words bouncing in his head and shaking up what coherence there was left. He certainly misheard... there was not a chance that the joke of the class believed he held authority. Nathanael's cold gaze shifted towards Jorah, the words escaping his mouth in a whisper just loud enough for Jorah and Clarissa to hear. [b][color=7041A5]"Authority suits you like a cold bath to a cat."[/color][/b] His gaze remained fixed as he paused, a flash of confusion crossing his face. No... his usual sarcasm was absent. Gone was his sickly sweet condescension, tucked away behind prettier words he didn't mean. Nathanael's eyes drifted towards Clarissa, his brain taking a half moment to catch up. This was unnatural, a compulsion of some sort... one he would not make again so recklessly. Nathanael cleared his throat, turning to the rest of the students in the class. He needed to distract, and pretend the words were never spoken. He just needed something suitable... more words to hide behind.

An introduction. And an opportunity to garner sympathy should Jorah escalate things.

[b][color=7041A5]"In the spirit of introductions... I am Nathanael Gloucester, heir to..."[/color][/b] Nathanael paused, his flat words lingering as his gaze shifted to Isolde. He looked down afterwards, pausing for a calculated two seconds, before continuing. [b][color=7041A5]"... heir to the [i]late[/i] Duke Gloucester. I look forward to learning with you all."[/color][/b] He gave a small, stiff bow to his classmates before returning to his seat awkwardly.