a wise man knows himself a fool.
Fennick, for his many, many faults, was a naturally contented beast. As long as he was by himself, not talking to anyone or being observed at all, he was usually quite pleased. Truly, this was a blessing, for otherwise he would be in constant agony. He wasn’t shy per say, but only because he wasn’t a school girl.
What was the term for someone who didn’t enjoy the company of others? An ass? Well no, he wasn’t that.
So when Demian walked up Fennick wasn’t exactly unhappy but he did get a sinking feeling in his gut well known by those who were used to making an ass out of themselves in pubic. You know, that twisting, cringing feeling that you get in your gut, the one that makes you want to squirm uncomfortably until the other person leaves. But, when they do leave you feel kind of bad because you didn’t actually dislike them and wanted them to like you. You just didn’t want to have to talk to them to accomplish it.
You know, that feeling.
Fennick did his best to school his face into pacificity and tried to look interested. Not at all concerned, not at all like he had been caught doing something embarrassing. He hadn’t even been doing anything embarrassing.
“Erm, hello.” He said intelligently. Fennick had always been of the opinion that grown men shouldn’t participate in small talk. In reality, he was of the opinion that nobody should participate in small talk. In his most stubborn moments, he briefly convinced himself that it was that belief that prevented him from participating in most conversations.
He was standing up for what he believed in.
Fennick smiled ruefully when Demian brought up his little outburst at the meeting. Perhaps he should rethink his unforgiving stance on small talk. Surely the weather was more pleasant than having to explain that.
“Remember that, do you?” Fennick said it almost accusingly, as if it was Demian's fault for remembering it, rather than Fennick’s fault for doing it. But still, his words didn’t hold any real bite, and the rueful smile had managed to fix itself on his face. Perhaps it would just be permanent. A permanent look of resigned regret. How appropriate.
“It was nothing,” he said with an attempt at breeziness, “I sometimes do that, come in at exactly the wrong moment.” What he wanted to say was, “I sometimes do that, have a seizure during conversation.” Or, alternatively, “I sometimes do that, embarrass myself and others.” But really, nobody wanted to hear that, and an optimistic spin to things was part of the social contract. You were required to make up bullshit to make yourself and others less uncomfortable. Fennick was eager to change the topic, so he did so, in a stroke of political subtly and grace.
“How’s that going for you? Being king and all?” What else, exactly, did you say to a king? Especially a king that had just recently overthrown the former king. Fennick decided that was as good as anything else he could say, better probably.
Fennick
