(no subject)
It turned out, entirely unsurprisingly to him at least, that studying hag become no easier for Jess since his transition to adulthood. He knew now, better than ever, that the sides of a triangle bore no influence on his life whatsoever. Especially not the hypotenuse. He would never be an architect, or an engineer, or a mathematician. Not in this life, anyway.
And who cared, really, about some stupid war that happened centuries ago? Who cared about monks in a medieval monastery making books? What Jess cared about was the here and now. What were his current problems?
1) He was woefully bored.
2) He was exhausted.
3) This niggling hangover from last night.
He groaned and let his head fall on to his arm.
A sharp pain to his right shoulder caused him to jump back up. “What the hell?” he complained. Behind him stood Matthew with a plaid shirt in his hand that had been expertly rolled into a torture device.
“No sleeping!” he shouted. He gave the impression of a soldier standing to attention: arms straight by his side, chin raised.
“Jesus, did you have to whip me?”
Matthew relaxed his chin a little to look down at Jess. “You said to do whatever was necessary. That even if you were crying and threatening me with a chiv fashioned out of a protractor, I was supposed to make sure you saw this through.”
“So you thought it was necessary to whip me?” Jess’ voice rose an octave in his bewilderment. This was the Worst Idea Ever.
“’Tis but a scratch!” Matthew was really enjoying this too much.
“I’m supposed to say that. I’m the one being attacked.”
“Stop trying to distract me. Get back to work!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jess grumbled, turning back to his desk. “You know, I’m really regretting offering you twenty bucks to do this.” What would fifty have gotten him? An iron maiden?
Matthew was panicking already, just as he always did when the money was mentioned. “You can’t back out on that now! You promised! Rent’s due next week.”
“Well then get out of my face,” Jess ordered, pointing at the door.
Matthew put down the shirt and shuffled away. Before he slammed the door, Jess distinctly heard him mournfully reproach himself: “I should have gotten that money upfront.”
And who cared, really, about some stupid war that happened centuries ago? Who cared about monks in a medieval monastery making books? What Jess cared about was the here and now. What were his current problems?
1) He was woefully bored.
2) He was exhausted.
3) This niggling hangover from last night.
He groaned and let his head fall on to his arm.
A sharp pain to his right shoulder caused him to jump back up. “What the hell?” he complained. Behind him stood Matthew with a plaid shirt in his hand that had been expertly rolled into a torture device.
“No sleeping!” he shouted. He gave the impression of a soldier standing to attention: arms straight by his side, chin raised.
“Jesus, did you have to whip me?”
Matthew relaxed his chin a little to look down at Jess. “You said to do whatever was necessary. That even if you were crying and threatening me with a chiv fashioned out of a protractor, I was supposed to make sure you saw this through.”
“So you thought it was necessary to whip me?” Jess’ voice rose an octave in his bewilderment. This was the Worst Idea Ever.
“’Tis but a scratch!” Matthew was really enjoying this too much.
“I’m supposed to say that. I’m the one being attacked.”
“Stop trying to distract me. Get back to work!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jess grumbled, turning back to his desk. “You know, I’m really regretting offering you twenty bucks to do this.” What would fifty have gotten him? An iron maiden?
Matthew was panicking already, just as he always did when the money was mentioned. “You can’t back out on that now! You promised! Rent’s due next week.”
“Well then get out of my face,” Jess ordered, pointing at the door.
Matthew put down the shirt and shuffled away. Before he slammed the door, Jess distinctly heard him mournfully reproach himself: “I should have gotten that money upfront.”