fortitudxinxus
Jean makes no secret of his irritation, he rarely does, and as he barges his way into the boys dorm with his right eye beginning to swell up magnificently, he cannot even hope to hide the fury which beats inside him. Honest as he is every emotion he feels is a palpable force for all to see, his anger coming in the form of slammed doors and snarled words. But, as it turns out, anger is the easiest thing to provoke from him, and the reason for why he’s being so thunderous in his actions this time round will serve as evidence for this fact; he and Connie had been sparring, Jean trying to get his skills up to par with Eren’s so he could wipe that stupid serious look of his face and replace the foolishly self-righteous words in his mouth with cries of ‘ow, ow, ow’. It was a petty ( endeavour marked heavily with rotten jealousy ), so some might have called it karma when Connie managed to out manoeuvre Jean’s attack, smacking the corner of his eye with a sharp elbow and sending Jean staggering off to one side, cursing and clutching at his cheekbone. To say he was pissed off about being caught so off guard didn’t even begin to cover it, and he had stormed out almost immediately, yelling that Connie was a ‘careless fuckin’ asshole’ and holding no regard for the fact that perhaps it had just been a good move on his part, if a little uncoordinated. But Jean was proud and in that moment desperate to get something cold over his eye to stop it from swelling and bruising for all to see at dinner later that evening. No sooner had he walked into the dorm to grab his towel and soak it in icy water from the creaky tap in the wash-room, he heard Marco’s voice and turned, all the anger he felt filling his expression to the brim. Marco has always had an oddly soothing effect on him though, and somehow makes him feel ashamed for his anger just by the concerned sound of his voice. Sometimes his friend’s ‘saintly aura’ calms Jean down and makes him realise how irrational he’s being, but sometimes it only serves to make him even angrier and, unfortunately, this is one of those occasions. He turns away from the gentleness of Marco’s expression, making a hissing sound of absolute exasperation at having to explain himself, at having to recall humiliation, and he speaks through gritted teeth in as blunt an explanation as is humanely possible. “Trainin’—Connie’s got no fuckin’self control.”
While Jean had been sparring, Marco had taken the opportunity to catch up on his theoretical studies. While he finds the notion of getting to know their enemies better to engage them in combat, he is not the best at grasping such concepts, and so he's fallen behind and has been forced to spend his time pouring over his books by the light of a candle, reading and rereading his notes as his mind flies with plans of attack and tactical formations.
The familiar sound of a rather morose figure stomping into the room takes Marco from his reverie. He looks up, winces at the familiar pain of sitting over a desk for hours on end, and decides it's time for a break. So has Jean, apparently.
Oh, wow. That bruise is going to look rather awful tomorrow, Marco notes as he stretches his back and asks what every normal person would've asked upon seeing such an impressive bruise.
"Connie has been improving, I see," remarks Marco, wisely ignoring the fact that Jean has just been beaten by Connie. As the aura in the room has gotten noticeably darker, he refrains from talking to Jean more than strictly necessary, choosing instead to just stand and look. Jean's dark mood will improve soon enough, he knows. "Stay inside. It's cooler here. It'll help with the swelling."
If Jean goes outside in this state there will be more than one bruise to deal with.