“No furf, Rob was schooled with your mum?” Joey echoed, equal bits impressed at the idea of Prof Rob being a wee sprog in school and also making a quick mind note to look sharp next time he was paired up with Sadie in Potions. If sproggo-Rob had some epic prank war going on with Sadie’s mum long enough to last past school, he might try to pull a move on her during lab… well, ‘try’ as in knock it out, duh. Adult-Rob was ripe as. All said, with that backers check it was probably smart of Sadie to keep her blood outta his hands.
Still hooked on the idea of Rob as a schoolkid, Joey couldn’t resist quizzing her for the spicy tops. “But like what kinda ‘ship they got? Mates? Rivals? Did your mum tell ya much? And was he always a wheely type?” Okay so that last question had been drifting round his nog for a while - he acknowledged this to Sadie with the add-on “I’ve been wantin’ to know for lit years” - but it wasn’t like he could just pop up to the front of the lab one day like hey Prof Rob, didja always have defunct legs. He had manners, ey, he wasn’t some standard fourteen-year-old derro wildin’ in the back row. Nope, his type was the fourteen-year-old drongo in the middle row tryna scrub out typos on the fly and still keep on top of lecture notes. It was a rough life.
He didn’t know much about his own parents’ school years. They both went on more ‘bout uni than anything from the pre-times, so he had a lotta small triv on dry stuff like how uni dorms didn’t let ya bring your towels and doonas from home and the price was jacked by housing so everyone did a scramble to the used bin, or how there was one day every week where campus turned into a real boomer of a party. (Take a wild guess which one of ‘em came from which of his parents. Go on, guess up!) He couldna remember which day it was now, but deffo had a wild picture in his head from eavesdropping on Dad and his mate snorting over memories of crashing right on the beer slabs. Least he knew he always got Mum for practicals.
Joey nodded in response to her question about the family trees. “Course I do, Boot was being real whack on the whole story bit.” History of Magic was all about stories so he figured it lined up, and since the oldie hadn’t come up slapping cuffs for him writing on the actual skeletons in auntie Estelle’s closet he figured Boot either didn’t care for legal snoopin’ or hadn’t even read it. It’d still left a mark, though. Listening curiously, he offered a shrug in response. “Stupid would be not havin’ questions. It makes sense if you wanna know. So uh, if Magic 23’n’me’s a bust, where ya gonna pull next? No idea how it goes here-” or in Australia, really, this kinda thing was a mystery to him, and yup he was totally scratching his head right now “-but paper’s big, yeah? There’s gotta be docs you can get hold of so you don’t hafta poke your finger on it.”