Kvothe constantly fucks himself over through his character flaws. Here's some of the Stupid, thoughtless shit he does throughout the series despite his cleverness:

I drew in a deep breath and spoke the words to bind the air in my lungs to the air outside. I fixed the Alar firmly in my mind, put my thumb and forefinger in front of my pursed lips, and blew between them.
There was a light puff of wind at my back that tousled my hair and caused the tarpaulin covering the wagon to pull taut for a moment. It might have been nothing more than a coincidence, but nevertheless, I felt an exultant smile overflow my face. For a second I did nothing but grin like a maniac at Ben, his face dull with disbelief.
Then I felt something squeeze my chest, as if I was deep underwater. I tried to draw a breath but couldn't. Mildly confused, I kept trying. It felt as if I'd just fallen flat on my back and had the air driven from me.
All in a rush I realized what I had done. My body exploded into a cold sweat and I grabbed frantically at Ben's shirt, pointing at my chest, my neck, my open mouth.
Ben's face turned from shocked to ashen as he looked at me. I realized how still everything was. Not a blade of grass was stirring. Even the sound of the wagon seemed muted, as if far off in the distance.
Terror screamed through my mind, drowning out any thought. I began to claw at my throat, ripping my shirt open. My heart thundered through the ringing in my ears. Pain stabbed through my straining chest as I gaped for air.
Moving more quickly than I had ever seen before, Ben grabbed me by the tatters of my shirt and sprang from the seat of the wagon. Landing in the grass by the side of the road, he dashed me to the ground with such a force that, if I'd had any air in my lungs, it would have been driven out of me. Tears streaked my face as I thrashed blindly. I knew that I was going to die. My eyes felt hot and red. I raked madly at the earth with hands that were numb and cold as ice.
In hindsight, what I had done was glaringly stupid. When I bound my breath to the air outside, it made it impossible for me to breathe. My lungs weren't strong enough to move that much air. I would have needed a chest like an iron bellows. I would have had as much luck trying to drink a river or lift a mountain.

[Killmonger Voice] Is this your Mary-Sue?

"I've just gone through admissions—" He tossed up his hands, exasperated. "Then of course you're not in the book."
I dug into a pocket for my admission slip. "Master Lorren gave me this himself."
"I don't care if he carried you here pig-a-back," Ambrose said, pointedly redipping his pen. "Now quit wasting my time. I have things to do."
"Wasting your time?" I demanded, my temper finally wearing thin. "Do you have any idea what I've gone through to get here?"
Ambrose looked up at me, his expression growing suddenly amused. "Wait, let me guess," he said, laying his hands flat on the table and pushing himself to his feet. "You were always smarter than the other children back in Clodhump, or whatever little one-whore town you're from. Your ability to read and count left the local villagers awestruck."
I heard the outer door open and shut behind me, but Ambrose didn't pay it any attention as he walked around to lean against the front of the desk. "Your parents knew you were special so they saved up for a couple years, bought you a pair of shoes, and sewed the pig blanket into a shirt." He reached out to rub the fabric of my new clothes between his fingers.
"It took months of walking, hundreds of miles bumping along in the backs of mule carts. But in the end . . ." He made an expansive gesture with both hands. "Praise Tehlu and all his angels! Here you are! All bright-eyed and full of dreams!"
Nahlrout was less powerful than these, but much safer. It was a mild anesthetic, a stimulant, and a vascular constrictor, which is why I hadn't bled like a stuck pig when they'd whipped me. Best of all, it had no major side effects. Still, there is always a price to be paid. Once nahlrout wears off, it leaves you physically and mentally exhausted.
Regardless, I had come here to see the stacks. I was now a member of the Arcanum and I didn't intend to leave until I'd been inside the Archives. I turned back to the desk, my expression resolute.
Ambrose gave me a long, calculating look before heaving a sigh. "Fine," he said. "How about a deal? You keep quiet about what you saw here today, and I'll bend the rules and let you in even though you aren't officially in the book." He looked a little nervous. "How does that sound?"
Even as he spoke I could feel the stimulant effect from the nahlrout fading. My body felt heavy and tired, my thoughts grew sluggish and syrupy. I reached up to rub at my face with my hands, and winced as the motion tugged sharply at the stitches all across my back. "That'll be fine," I said thickly.
Ambrose opened up one of the ledger books and sighed as he turned the pages. "Since this is your first time in the Archives proper, you'll have to pay the stack fee."
My mouth tasted strangely of lemons. That was a side effect Ben had never mentioned. It was distracting, and after a moment I saw that Ambrose was looking up at me expectantly. "What?" He gave me a strange look. "The stack fee."
"There wasn't any fee before," I said. "When I was in the Tomes."
Ambrose looked up at me as if I were an idiot. "That's because it's the stack fee." He looked back down at the ledger. "Normally you pay it in addition to your first term's Arcanum tuition. But since you've jumped rank on us, you'll need to tend to it now."
"How much is it?" I asked, feeling for my purse.
"One talent," he said. "And you do have to pay before you can go in. Rules are Rules."
After paying for my bunk in Mews, a talent was nearly all my remaining money. I was keenly aware of the fact that I needed to hoard my resources to save for next term's tuition. As soon as I couldn't pay, I would have to leave the University.
Still, it was a small price to pay for something I'd dreamed about for most of my life. I pulled a talent out of my purse and handed it over. "Do I need to sign in?"
"Nothing so formal as that," Ambrose said as he opened a drawer and pulled out a small metal disk. Stupefied from the side effects of the nahlrout, it took me a moment to recognize it for what it was: a handheld sympathy lamp.
"The Stacks aren't lit," Ambrose said matter-of-factly. "There's too much space in there, and it would be bad for the books in the long term. Hand lamps cost a talent and a half." I hesitated.
Ambrose nodded to himself and looked thoughtful. "A lot of folk end up strapped during first term." He reached down into a lower drawer and rooted around for a long moment. "Hand lamps are a talent and half, and there's nothing I can do about that." He brought out a four-inch taper. "But candles are just a ha'penny."
Ha'penny for a candle was a remarkably good deal. I brought out a penny. "I'll take two."
"This is our last one," Ambrose said quickly. He looked around nervously before pushing it into my hand. "Tell you what. You can have it for free." He smiled. "Just don't tell anyone. It'll be our little secret."
I took the candle, more than a little surprised. Apparently I'd frightened him with my idle threat earlier. Either that or this rude, pompous noble's son wasn't half the bastard I'd taken him for.
Ambrose hurried me into the stacks as quickly as possible, leaving me no time to light my candle.
The red light swelled and I saw two scrivs turn a corner. They paused, then one of them bolted to where I stood and snatched my candle away, spilling hot wax on my hand in the process of extinguishing it. His expression couldn't have been more horrified if he had found me carrying a freshly severed head.
"What are you doing with an open flame in here?" he demanded in the loudest whisper I had ever heard. He lowered his voice and waved the now extinguished candle at me. "Charred body of God, what's the matter with you?"
I rubbed at the hot wax on the back of my hand. Trying to think clearly through the fog of pain and exhaustion. Of course, I thought, remembering Ambrose's smile as he pressed the candle into my hands and hurried me though the door. "Our little secret. " Of course. I should have known.
One of the scrivs led me out of the Stacks while the other ran to fetch Master Lorren. When we emerged into the entryway, Ambrose managed to look confused and shocked. He overacted the part, but it was convincing enough for the scriv accompanying me. "What's he doing in here?"
"We found him wandering around," the scriv explained."With a candle."
"What?" Ambrose's expression was perfectly aghast. "Well I didn't sign him in," Ambrose said. He flipped open one of the ledger books. "Look. See for yourself."
Before anything else could be said, Lorren stormed into the room. His normally placid expression was fierce and hard. I felt myself sweat cold and I thought of what Teccam wrote in his Theophany: There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.
Lorren towered over the entry desk. "Explain," he demanded of the nearby scriv. His voice was a tight coil of fury.
"Micah and I saw a flickering light in the stacks and we went to see if someone was having trouble with their lamp. We found him near the southeast stairwell with this." The scriv held up the candle. His hand shook slightly under Lorren's glare.
Lorren turned to the desk where Ambrose sat. "How did this happen, Re'lar?"
Ambrose raised his hands helplessly. "He came in earlier and I wouldn't admit him because he wasn't in the book. We bickered for a while, Fela was here for most of it." He looked at me. "Eventually I told him he'd have to leave. He must have snuck in when I went into the back room for more ink." Ambrose shrugged. "Or maybe he slipped in past the desk in Tomes."
I stood there, stupefied. What little part of my mind wasn't leaden with fatigue was preoccupied with the screaming pain across my back. "That . . . that's not true." I looked up at Lorren. "He let me in. He sent Fela away, then let me in."
"What?" Ambrose gaped at me, momentarily speechless. For all that I didn't like him, I must give him credit for a masterful performance. "Why in God's name would I do that?"
"Because I embarrassed you in front of Fela," I said. "He sold me the candle, too." I shook my head trying to clear my head. "No, he gave it to me."
Ambrose's expression was amazed. "Look at him." He laughed. "The little cocker is drunk or something."
"I was just whipped!" I protested. My voice sounded shrill in my own ears.
"Enough!" Lorren shouted, looming over us like a pillar of anger. The scrivs went pale at the sound of him.
Lorren turned away from me, and made a brief, contemptuous gesture toward the desk. "Re'lar Ambrose is officially remanded for laxity in his duty."
"What?" Ambrose's indignant tone wasn't feigned this time.
Lorren frowned at him, and Ambrose closed his mouth. Turning to me, he said, "E'lir Kvothe is banned from the Archives." He made a sweeping gesture with the flat of his hand.
I tried to think of something I could say in my defense. "Master, I didn't mean—"
Lorren rounded on me. His expression, always so calm before, was filled with such a cold, terrible anger that I took a step away from him without meaning to. "You mean?" he said. "I care nothing for your intentions, E'lir Kvothe, deceived or otherwise. All that matters is the reality of your actions. Your hand held the fire. Yours is the blame. That is the lesson all adults must learn."
It was the nahlrout, of course. It had kept me from bleeding. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now it seemed petty and foolish. Ambrose would never have managed to gull me so easily if my naturally suspicious nature hadn't been fuddled. I'm sure I could have found some way to explain things to Lorren if I'd had my wits about me.
As I made my way to the far corner of the room, I realized the truth. I had traded away my access to the Archives in exchange for a little notoriety.
"Banned?" Manet looked up at me. "He hasn't banned anyone in a dozen years. What'd you do? Piss on a book?"
"Some of the scrivs found me inside with a candle."
"Merciful Tehlu." Manet lay down his fork, his expression serious for the first time. "Old Lore must have been furious."
"Furious is exactly the right word," I said. "What possessed you to go in there with an open flame?" Simmon asked.
"I couldn't afford a hand lamp," I said. "So the scriv at the desk gave me a candle instead."
"He didn't," Sim said. "No scriv would . . ."
"Hold on," Manet said. "Was this a dark-haired fellow? Well-dressed? Severe eyebrows?" He made an exaggerated scowl.
I nodded tiredly "Ambrose. We met yesterday. Got off on the wrong foot."
"You won't need this piece of information for a while," Manet said quietly after a long period of silence. "What with being banned from the Archives and all. Still, I'm supposing you'd rather know. . . ." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You don't have to buy a hand lamp. You just sign them out at the desk and return them when you're done."
He looked at me as if anxious about what sort of reaction the information might provoke. I nodded wearily.

[Killmonger Voice] Huh? Is this your Mary-Sue?

"What do I have to do," I asked, "to study naming under you?"
He met my eye calmly, appraising me. "Jump," he said. "Jump off this roof."
That's when I realized that all of this had been a test. Elodin had been taking my measure ever since we met. He had a grudging respect for my tenacity, and he had been surprised that I noticed something odd about the air in his room. He was on the verge of accepting me as a student. But he needed more, proof of my dedication. A demonstration. A leap of faith.
And as I stood there, a piece of story came to mind. So Taborlin fell, but he did not despair. For he knew the name of the wind, and so the wind obeyed him. It cradled and caressed him. It bore him to the ground as gently as a puff of thistledown. It set him on his feet softly as a mother's kiss.
Elodin knew the name of the wind. Still looking him in the eye, I stepped off the edge of the roof.
Elodin's expression was marvelous. I have never seen a man so astonished. I spun slightly as I fell, so he stayed in my line of vision. I saw him raise one hand slightly, as if making a belated attempt to grab hold of me. I felt weightless, like I was floating.
Then I struck the ground. Not gently, like a feather settling down. Hard. Like a brick hitting a cobblestone street. I landed on my back with my left arm beneath me. My vision went dark as the back of my head struck the ground and all the air was driven from my body.
I didn't lose consciousness. I just lay there, breathless and unable to move. I remember thinking, quite earnestly, that I was dead. That I was blind.
Eventually my sight returned, leaving me blinking against the sudden brightness of the blue sky. Pain tore through my shoulder and I tasted blood. I couldn't breathe. I tried to roll off my arm, but my body wouldn't listen to me. I had broken my neck . . . my back . . .
After a long, terrifying moment, I managed to gasp a shallow breath, then another. I gave a sigh of relief and realized that I had at least one broken rib in addition to everything else, but I moved my fingers slightly, then my toes. They worked. I hadn't broken my spine.
As I lay there, counting my blessings and broken ribs, Elodin stepped into my field of vision. He looked down at me. "Congratulations," he said. "That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen." His expression was a mix of awe and disbelief. "Ever."
And that is when I decided to pursue the noble art of artificing. Not that I had a lot of other options. Before helping me limp to the Medica, Elodin made it clear that anyone stupid enough to jump off a roof was too reckless to be allowed to hold a spoon in his presence, let alone study something as "profound and volatile" as naming.

Elodin made a sweeping gesture toward me. “Then there is the third path. The path of Kvothe.” He strode to stand shoulder to shoulder with me, facing Fela. “You sense something between you. Something wonderful and delicate.”
He gave a romantic, lovelorn sigh. “And, because you desire certainty in all things, you decide to force the issue. You take the shortest route. Simplest is best, you think.” Elodin extended his own hands and made wild grasping motions in Fela’s direction. “So you reach out and you grab this young woman’s breasts.”
There was a burst of startled laughter from everyone except Fela and myself. I scowled. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and her flush spread down her neck until it was hidden by her shirt.
Elodin turned his back to her and looked me in the eye.
“Re’lar Kvothe,” he said seriously. “I am trying to wake your sleeping mind to the subtle language the world is whispering. I am trying to seduce you into understanding. I am trying to teach you.” He leaned forward until his face was almost touching mine. “Quit grabbing at my tits.”
I left Elodin’s class in a foul mood.

Kilvin let out a deep sigh. “Before, when you made your thief ’s lamp, you made a bad thing in a good way. That I do not like.” He looked down at the schema. “This time you have made a good thing in a bad way. That is better, but not entirely. Best is to make a good thing in a good way. Agreed?” I nodded. He lay one massive hand on the crossbow. “Did anyone see you with it?” I shook my head.
“Then we will say it is mine, and you procured it under my advisement. It will join the equipment in Stocks.” He gave me a hard look. “And in the future you will come to me if you need such things.”
That stung a bit, as I’d been planning on selling it back to Sleat. Still, it could have been worse. The last thing I wanted was to run afoul of the iron law.
“Third, I see no mention of gold wire or silver in your schema,” he said. “Nor can I imagine any use they could be put to in such a device as yours. Explain why you have checked these materials out of Stocks.”
I was suddenly pointedly aware of the cool metal of my gram against the inside of my arm. Its inlay was gold, but I could hardly tell him that. “I was short on money, Master Kilvin. And I needed materials I couldn’t get in Stocks.”
“Such as your flatbow.” I nodded. “And the straw and the bear traps.”
“Wrong follows wrong,” Kilvin said disapprovingly. “The Stocks are not a moneylender’s stall and should not be used as such. I am rescinding your precious metals authorization.”
I bowed my head, hoping I looked appropriately chastised.
“You will also work twenty hours in Stocks as your punishment. If anyone asks, you will tell them what you did. And explain that as a punishment you were forced to repay the value of the metals plus an additional twenty percent. If you use Stocks as a moneylender, you will be charged interest like a moneylender.”
I winced at that. “Yes, Master Kilvin.”

I sighed. “Must we, Vashet?” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Must we what?” “Must we focus always on hand fighting?” I said. “My swordplay is falling farther and farther behind.” “Am I not your teacher?” she asked. “Who are you to say what is best?”
“I am the one who will have to use these skills out in the world,” I said pointedly. “And out in the world, I would rather fight with a sword than a fist.” Vashet lowered her hands, her expression blank. “And why is that?” “Because other people have swords,” I said. “And if I’m in a fight, I intend to win.” “Is winning a fight easier with a sword?” she asked.
Vashet’s outward calm should have warned me I was stepping onto thin conversational ice, but I was distracted by the nauseating pain radiating from my groin. Though honestly, even if I hadn’t been distracted, it’s possible I wouldn’t have noticed. I had grown comfortable with Vashet, too comfortable to be properly careful.
“Of course,” I said. “Why else carry a sword?” “That is a good question,” she said. “Why does one carry a sword?” “Why do you carry anything? So you can use it.”
Vashet gave me a look of raw disgust. “Why do we bother to work on your language, then?” She asked angrily, reaching out to grab my jaw, pinching my cheeks and forcing my mouth open as if I were a patient in the Medica refusing my medicine. “Why do you need this tongue if a sword will do? Tell me that?”
I tried to pull away, but she was stronger than me. I tried to push her away, but she shrugged my flailing hands away as if I were a child. Vashet let go of my face, then caught my wrist, jerking my hand up in front of my face. “Why do you have hands at all and not knives at the ends of your arms?”
Then she let go of my wrist and struck me hard across the face with the flat of her hand.
If I say she slapped me, you will take the wrong impression. This wasn’t the dramatic slap of the sort you see on a stage. Neither was it the offended, stinging slap a lady-in-waiting makes against the smooth skin of a too-familiar nobleman. It wasn’t even the more professional slap of a serving girl defending herself from the unwelcome attention of a grabby drunk.
No. This was hardly any sort of slap at all. A slap is made with the fingers or the palm. It stings or startles. Vashet struck me with her open hand, but behind that was the strength of her arm. Behind that was her shoulder. Behind that was the complex machinery of her pivoting hips, her strong legs braced against the ground, and the ground itself beneath her. It was like the whole of creation striking me through the flat of her hand, and the only reason it didn’t cripple me is that even in the middle of her fury, Vashet was always perfectly in control.
Because she was in control, Vashet didn’t dislocate my jaw or knock me unconscious. But it made my teeth rattle and my ears ring. It made my eyes roll in my head and my legs go loose and shaky. I would have fallen if Vashet hadn’t gripped me by the shoulder.
“Do you think I am teaching you the secrets of the sword so you can go out and use them?” she demanded. I dimly realized she was shouting. It was the first time I had ever heard one of the Adem raise their voice. “Is that what you think we are doing here?”
As I lolled in her grip, stupefied, she struck me again. This time her hand caught more of my nose. The pain of it was amazing, as if someone had driven a sliver of ice directly into my brain. It jolted me out of my daze so I was fully alert when she hit me the third time.
Vashet held me for a moment while the world spun, then let go. I took one unsteady step and crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Not unconscious, but profoundly dazed.
It took me a long time to collect myself. When I was finally able to sit up, my body felt loose and unwieldy, as if it had been taken apart and put back together again in a slightly different way.
She reached out and ran her thumb along the side of my face. It felt cool against the swelling. “You must have angered her very.” “I can tell that by the ringing of my ears,” I said.
Penthe shook her head. “No. Your marks.” She gestured to her own face this time. “With another, it might be a mistake, but Vashet would not leave such if she did not wish everyone to see.”
The bottom dropped out of my stomach and my hand went unconsciously to my face. Of course. This wasn’t mere punishment. It was a message to all of Ademre. “Fool that I am,” I said softly. “I did not realize this until now.”

[Killmonger Voice] The Mary Sue who's supposed be unrealistically perfect and lack any flaws or weaknesses? This is your guy who does no wrong?

Sleat rubbed at his face. “Let me see. You play the lute passing well and are proud as a kicked cat. You are unmannerly, sharp-tongued, and show no respect for your betters, which is practically everyone given your lowly ravel birth.”
I felt a flush of anger start in my face and sweep, hot and prickling, down the entire length of my body. “I am the best musician you will ever meet or see from a distance,” I said with forced calm. “And I am Edema Ruh to my bones. That means my blood is red. It means I breathe the free air and walk where my feet take me. I do not cringe and fawn like a dog at a man’s title. That looks like pride to people who have spent their lives cultivating supple spines.”
Sleat gave a lazy smile, and I realized he’d been baiting me. “You also have a temper, so I’ve heard.
I continued to meet with Celean in the grassy field next to the sword tree. I looked forward to these encounters despite the fact that she thrashed me with cheerful ruthlessness every time we fought. It took three days before I finally managed to beat her.
Celean had a lesson of her own to teach me. Namely that there are opponents who will not hesitate to punch, kick, or elbow a man directly in his genitals.
Never hard enough to permanently injure me, mind you. She’d been fighting her entire young life and had the control Vashet valued so highly. But that meant she knew exactly how hard to strike to leave me stunned and reeling, making her victory utterly unquestionable.
So I sat on the grass, feeling grey and nauseous.
“How dare you!” I spat back angrily. “I can’t believe I trusted you! I defended you to my friends—” I trailed off as the unthinkable happened. Despite my binding, Devi started to move, her hand inching its way into the open drawer. I concentrated harder and Devi’s hand came to a halt. Then, slowly, it began to creep forward again, disappearing into the drawer. I couldn’t believe it.
“You think you can come in here and threaten me?” Devi hissed, her face a mask of rage. “You think I can’t take care of myself? I made Re’lar before they threw me out, you little slipstick. I earned it. My Alar is like the ocean in storm.” Her hand was almost completely inside the drawer now.
I felt a clammy sweat break out across my forehead and broke my mind three more times. I murmured again and each piece of my mind made a separate binding, focusing on keeping her still. I drew heat from my body, feeling the cold crawl up my arms as I bore down on her. That was five bindings in all. My outside limit.
Devi went motionless as stone, and she chuckled deep in her throat, grinning. “Oh you’re very good. I almost believe the stories about you now. But what makes you think you can do what even Elxa Dal couldn’t? Why do you think they expelled me? They feared a woman who could match a master by her second year.” Sweat made her pale hair cling to her forehead. She clenched her teeth, her pixie face savage with determination. Her hand began to move again. Then, with a sudden burst of motion she yanked her hand out of the drawer...
I felt a sudden, jarring impact, as if I’d fallen several feet and landed flat on a stone floor. It was startling, but nowhere near as bad as it could have been. Through the terror, some small part of me marveled at her precision and control.
The binding that held me fell away, and I drew a deep breath. “I understand, Devi,” I said. “But can—”
“Get OUT!” she shouted.
I got out. I would like to say it was a dignified exit, but that would not be the truth.

[Killmonger Voice] Him? He's supposed to be better than everyone?

The tall man shook his head somberly. "I was in the tavern when they came in with the news. They were gatherin' folk with wagons so they could go get the bodies. The whole wedding party dead as leather. Over thirty folks gutted like pigs and the place burned down in a blue flame. And that weren't the least oddness from what. ..." He dropped his voice and I lost what he was saying among the general noise of the room.
I swallowed against the sudden dryness in my throat. I slowly tied off the last stitch on my cloak and set it down. I noticed my bleeding finger and absently put it in my mouth. I took a deep breath. I took a drink. Then I walked over to the table where the two men sat talking. "Did you gentlemen come downriver by any chance?"
They looked up, obviously irritated by the interruption. Gentlemen had been a mistake, I should have said fellows, fellas. The bald one nodded. "Did you come by way of Marrow?" I asked, picking a northern town at random. "No," the fat one said. "We're down from Trebon."
"Oh good." I said, my mind racing for a plausible lie. "I have family up in those parts I was thinking of visiting." My mind went blank as I tried to think of a way to ask him for the details of the story I'd overheard.
My palms were sweaty. "Are they getting ready for the harvest festival up that way, or have I already missed it?" I finished lamely.
"Still in the works," the bald one said and pointedly turned his shoulder to me. "I'd heard there was some problem with a wedding up in those parts...."
The bald one turned back to look at me. "Well I don't know how you'd have heard that. As the news was fresh last night and we just docked down here ten minutes ago." He gave me a hard look. "I don't know what you're sellin', boy. But I ain't buyin'. Piss off or I'll thump you." I went back to my seat, knowing I'd made an irrecoverable mess of things.
Tam grinned at him. “And what’re yeh doin’ in town?” “We’re just passing through,” I said. “We met up on the road and he was nice enough to walk with me.”
Tam looked me up and down dismissively. “I wan’t talkin’ to you, boy,” he growled. “Mind yer betters.” ........Tam shook his head in exaggerated bemusement. “Even if I believed yeh for a second,” he said, “that means yeh should make four or five pennies a day. Not twenny. Wh—”
I put on my most ingratiating smile and leaned into the conversation. “Listen, I—”
Tam’s mug knocked hard against the tabletop, sending a splash of cider leaping up into the air. He gave me a dangerous look that didn’t hold any of the false playfulness he’d been showing Tempi. “Boy,” he said. “Yeh innerupt me again, and I’ll knock yer teeth right out.” He said it without any particular emphasis, as if he were letting me know that if I jumped into the river, I was bound to get wet. Tam turned back to Tempi.

[Killmonger Voice] This is your silver tongued 'Mary Sue' ?

While my mind was occupied, I misplayed and we lost another hand, putting us down four in a row with a forfeit besides.
Manet glared at me while he gathered in the cards. “Here’s a primer for admissions.” He held up his hand, three fingers spearing angrily into the air. “Let’s say you have three spades in your hand, and there have been five spades laid down.” He held up his other hand, fingers splayed wide. “How many spades is that, total?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Take your time.”
I covered a fellow student’s observation shift in the Medica in exchange for a jot and helped a merchant unload three wagonloads of lime for halfpenny each. Then, later that night, I found a handful of cutthroat gamblers willing to let me sit in on their game of breath. Over the course of two hours I managed to lose eighteen pennies and some loose iron. Though it galled me, I forced myself to walk away from the table before things got any worse. At the end of all my scrambling, I had less in my purse than when I had begun.

[Killmonger Voice] Him? The guy who's very often complete trash at card games is an 'unrealistically good at everything Mary Sue' huh?