It was hard for Epel to sit still as you wiped today's dessert menu off his face, pulling crumbs from between lavender tufts and brushing away whipped cream from his cheeks.

Why, you may ask, was the Pomefiore freshman coated with food yet grinning like an idiot? Two words: Food fight.

Night Raven College had it's fair share of asshats, but one group in particular was really ruffling his feathers—and the jabs weren't even directed at him! You, Sevens above know why, became the target of the day. And nobody gets off pickin' on his friends.

Suffice it to say, Vil would be furious when he discovered his little, poison apple had not only instigated a massive fight but launched pies in metal trays across the cafeteria during said conflict.

But Epel would take his housewarden's lectures over you getting upset any day. Besides, he got to prove to every student in the dang room that he was no dainty girl, he was tough as nails. He even gave that guy twice his size a bloody nose!

"Y'ain't gotta worry about me," He was comfortable enough around you to let his dialect slip.

Epel wiped his cheek with his sleeve, frowning once he saw it smudge. "It'll wash," Your concern was appreciated, really, but he didn't need no fussing when his housewarden would tear him apart later anyway.