Now sat cross-legged on his bed, fiddling vaguely with the sleeves of his overlong shirt, Clue regarded his roommate and gave a mute nod, searching one eye then the next for some sign of recognition. Had young Clue formed any kind of impression on young Narcissus? Perhaps, like many, Narcissus had mistaken him for a girl; or perhaps, like most, he'd simply thought him an oddball best avoided.

After a pause of mild surprise as Narcissus's use of words, Clue quirked a pale eyebrow and made an observation: "you don't speak how you look." He spoke like a street urchin, and looked like... well...

Clue finally gave the faintest of smiles. "I'll wager the professors don't like that."