who missed the crimson apple it hung heavy on the tree above your head [open]

[sebastiansbear]

Monday morning, and Martel ('Aloysius Martel' on all the forms and the teachers given to addressing their students by surname regardless of preference are automatically the ones he prefers - it's always been the way) is ready and out of the house earlier than he really needs to be. He usually manages to get a ride home from Maria ('manages'), but

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[rippeditup]

Rupert (who dreams of the days when his surname takes preference) is one of those odd Brits who actually prefers coffee over tea. Which is a good thing because there are few countries in the world who can really do it properly (see above).

He's also in his pristine uniform, reading books and sticking tiny post it notes to the top if he absolutely has to because he's already becoming one with his inner librarian and in the name of all things holy there will be no writing on published pages by pain of death.

Aside from these issues, he also realises there's no fake sugar left in the little bowl on his table. Shit. He glances at the table nearest, which is where Martel is sitting. There is a slight throat clear. "Hello. You're not using the artificial sweeteners, are you?"

[sebastiansbear]

Martel is an American who hates coffee, so there's that. He glances up, holding his place in the book with one hand and indicating the sweeteners with the other. "No, I'm not. Go right ahead."

(Moderately out of place accents all around; he is unmistakably American, but a lifetime of fluent Spanish has left a mark.)

After a moment, he volunteers, "Martel. Morning."

[rippeditup]

He helps himself, one packet opened when introductions are called for. "Morning. I'm Rupert." Combined with the faint Oxford accent, he almost passes for a decent, upstanding sort of young man.

He also notes the uniform. "Are you new here?" Introductions are usually a give away. Especially considering he was doing the same a few months ago.

[sebastiansbear]

There's the briefest of raised eyebrows - Rupert, really, although he figures his own birth certificate is inked proof it could be worse - and he offers a friendly (if brief) smile. "Fairly. I arrived over the summer." A beat. "You don't sound like a native."

In case that had somehow escaped Rupert's notice - no.