[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/190120/b458a81531631a6916fa9413063c5f80.png[/img][/center][right][sub]Interacting with: [@Trainerblue192][/sub][/right]
While Salem thought, Aaron seethed, slowly writing his loops and lines and glaring down at the paper. He surprised himself with how irritated he was getting, never having been much for anger. But then again, until now he’d never had to deal with so many direct affronts to everything he believed in; something he’d have to get used to, apparently, between Salem, [i]Ralph[/i], Varis and whoever else would have a problem with his family name. 

And Salem, with his damn comment about him serving the Sinnenodels… Aaron could have choked him. [color=82ca9d][i]“How elated were you to be forced off to another family?”[/i][/color] Surely he could [i]guess[/i]. Surely he could [i]surmise[/i] that Aaron hadn’t slept a solid day for weeks, lying awake sick to his stomach wondering what he’d done, how he’d failed, why he wasn’t good enough to serve the family that he loved. As much as he’d tried to convince himself it was part of some broader plan, some diplomatic move on Princess Ryner’s part, just has he had [i]almost[/i] come to peace with it, he kept coming back to the same gut-wrenching, life-ruining conclusion: They simply didn’t want him, they were throwing him away and he’d go down in history as the first and only Starag to become someone else’s problem. Dozens of generations of good and worthy mages, all leading up to the spectacular failure that was Aaron Starag. And he didn’t even know [i]why.[/i] 

Such was the poison Aaron brewed in as the class time ticked by, deaf and blind to anything around him. He was briefly interrupted by a screech from Salem’s chair, which earned him little more than a sidelong glare, and Aaron returned to his writing until something fell onto his notebook, finally snapping him out of his toxic reverie. 

Aaron blinked a few times, coming back to the present, and narrowed his eyes at the thing. A little triangle of folded paper. What was the point of that? Was Salem actively [i]trying[/i] to irritate him? He picked the thing up and turned it, and was about to throw it away when he saw the ghosting of writing through one side of the paper. Curiously, he unfolded it - with only a little bit of difficulty finding the opening - and found a note written inside. 

[i][Color=82ca9d]"Hi, I'm Salem Spellman. I have a knack for putting my foot into my mouth when I speak and I often use the wrong tone. It's a good thing that notes carry no tone [i]and[/i] require you to think about what you say. I hope to meet your acquaintance soon, I hear you're real good with etiquette."[/color][/i]

Aaron read the note over a few times, anger slowly yielding until he simply felt drained. It may not have been worded as such, but Salem’s note sounded like an apology. Rubbing a hand down his face, Aaron inwardly scolded himself. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like him to get so incensed, and he couldn’t just sit there and sulk like a child. At the very least, he had a job to do; he glanced up at the balcony again, seeing that Varis had left. Great. He couldn’t be sure, but he suspected he’d be hearing about that little argument later. 

Aaron let out a breath, folding the note in half and tucking it between the pages of his notebook. Salem was making an effort, and so should he. Duty or not, it was only fair, and Salem clearly needed his help with [i]something[/i]. 

[color=f0d705]“...Do you know who your etiquette teacher is going to be yet?”[/color] Aaron asked, once again longing for the familiar people and protocols back home as he struggled for something to say, [color=f0d705]“If it’s one of the Noila instructors, I might know them.”[/color]