The Teenaged Innocents
Every man can tell how many goats or sheep he possesses, but not how many friends. ~Marcus Tullius Cicero
OOC Date: January 23, 2010
IC Date: Day 4, month 11, turn 21 of Interval 10
Who: W'chek, Gabrion, Rorkes, Elijah
Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
Gabe swings by the Snowasis and hangs out for a while with Rorkes, Elijah, and W'chek. There's lots of teenaged-boy-style innuendo, and W'chek is annoyed.
A shrug for Rorkes--"It's fine." It's always fine. "Wouldn't be *appropriate*," is W'chek's firm declaration on the subject of discussions of sex. "Anyway. So don't worry about it. You'll understand when you're older or... something. So you do have a name, then? I'm taking it?" W'chek fixes Elijah there with his best stern stare, which isn't especially good. "And stop fussing with that. Like anybody has the spare time to be repairing furniture lately."
Elijah flickers a glance over towards Rorkes, dark eyes dropping somewhat after his words. The firelight looses its chance to reflect in his eyes with the drop of his chin, chagrin and penitence setting in. "Sorry. It's Elijah, sir." Hands slide from the arms of the plush chair he is sunk within, falling into his lap.
Gabrion comes into the Snowasis, all but dragged bodily by a couple of his friends. "But I really /can't/ stay long," he's telling them. "I have to get back to studying - so, like, an hour, maybe." They respond with smirks and knowing laughs. "Sure, sure, whatever. You need a break!" "Come on, let's get a drink." Gabe shakes his head firmly. "None for me thanks. You go on ahead. I'll wait." On the way to the bar, Gabe's friends are distracted by a knot of pretty girls, and go over to talk to them, sit at their table, flirt -- they'll be a while. With a wry grin, Gabe looks around, and his eyes light on W'chek and the harpers. He heads in that direction, greeting them with a casual wave and a "Hi."
W'chek's assurances to Elijah earn the elder harper's bemusement, and he settles at least into his seat and takes a drink of his mug. "Yes, when you're older," he agrees. "Teenage boys, always so innocent." The very thought makes him grin slightly; and look, there's another one now. "Evening," Rorkes offers Gabrion as he joins them.
"Gabe. Hey." W'chek would not normally seize upon the healer's presence so strongly, but in this circumstance, well, any port in a storm. Or any person who he knows at least a bit. Who doesn't lead to awkwardness. Right. Back to Elijah: "Nice t'meet you--you really don't need that 'sir'. I'm not one of your people. He's one of your people. You want to 'sir' him, that's fine. It just makes me feel--" Pause. "Anyway, don't do it." Rorkes gets a Look. Harpers. Bad influences.
Elijah takes his verbal lumps from the Harper Journeyman with fallen eyes, showing his age and rather plain knot right down to his booted toes. Somehow, someway, he manages to slump back even deeper into that plush chair, almost as if he is trying to hide himself in the lush and thick upholstry. "Sorry. Habit. I'll try to remember better, rider, for your request, at the very least." The new voice is one recognized, and the teen's dark eyes rise once more from their penitence to look across to the healer, "G'evening."
Gabrion seems amused at the conversation he's walked in on. "Teenage boys are innocent?" he queries, too-sweetly. "Someone should tell my mom, so she quits worrying about me. Hey W'chek, hey Elijah." He scans Rorkes' knot, and tilts his head politely. "Journeyman. I'm Gabe." He grins. "What's going on?" That's directed at Elijah, or maybe W'chek.
"The rider," W'chek indicated here, "seems to hold out hope, at least." Rorkes does not seem so much so, bemused still as he relaxes back. "I suspect he must have have a very boring youth, no? --Rorkes, is my name. It's nice to meet you, Gabe."
"My youth wasn't boring," W'chek is quick to protest, then he snaps his mouth closed. "Look. I just think some things aren't appropriate conversation matter. That's all." He clears his throat. "Nothing much," to Gabrion, then. "Just talking about--uh--titles. And my sordid youth. Or something. Somehow. I don't know exactly how we got onto that latter subject. Can't we talk about something slightly more civilized?" Plaintive.
Elijah rallies, dark fingers crawling their way closer to that little snag on the arm of his chair, once more fiddling with the fabric 'til he worries that little hole just a bit larger. For all he isn't paying that much of attention, so much for being told to leave off. "I don't think we quite got to talking about your youth that much, s- rider," he is sure to point out, his voice finding a moment to play about his words with a slightly more perky ascent.
"I thought your youth was civilized," Gabe says with a grin. Apparently he has no compunctions about teasing W'chek. "Here you're gonna tell us it wasn't after all? Better not let word get out too far." He looks around, finds a chair, another plush one like Elijah's, and goes to fetch it and pull it up to where the rest are sitting so he can flop down in it. "Yeah, how /was/ your youth, Whit?" he asks brightly.
"No?" Rorkes tilts his head slightly, and while he lifts his mug to his lips again, he studies W'chek a moment. It's hard to hide his grin, but he leaves the grilling to the youngsters for now.
Grilling? Wait. W'chek swallows, eyes his beer like it's all the glass's fault that he's in this situation, now. "Perfectly civilized. Well. Sort of. Full of sheep. Not like that." That disclaimer isn't to anybody in particular. It's just a general thing. He's prepared for those sorts of accusations. "And early mornings and shit. S'all. Hard to be too sordid under the circumstances."
Elijah turns his head to watch Gabe bring up a chair as well, watching with all curiosity 'til the deed is accomplished. "They are nice chairs," he sort of adds in, even as his fingers wreck havoc with the tear in that one spot on the arm. Dark eyes slip back to W'chek. "Sheep?" Orly? Dark eyebrows make at attempt to merge with his hairline. "Were you like one of those little shepherd boys with the crook and everything?" Little Bo Peep. Whit Peep? Whatever. "What circumstances exactly?"
Gabrion spares Rorkes a glance to see if he's going to object to the mischief, but he doesn't seem to, so -- hey. "Sheep," he repeats knowingly. "Ah. And yes, did you have one of those crooks? What exactly did you do with the sheep?" His voice is heavy with implications that are not at all civilized.
Very awkwardly, almost apologetically, Rorkes coughs and glances away from W'chek, as though he's very sorry this line of conversation ever came up. But his eyes are still bright with his own mischief, even if he doesn't offer any real help. "Sheep? I never saw many of them, when I was younger, Weyr-boy that I am."
"I did not have a crook. I just had a couple good dogs and--Gabe, shut your filthy mouth." As soon as that implication sinks in, W'chek has a lot of glaring to do for Gabrion. Slightly less for Elijah. He might be being smart, but at least he hasn't said anything about relations with sheep. "It was quiet. And hard work. And lots of time mostly alone. That's all. And then I went to Nabol, and then I came here. Sheep aren't all that different from cows. Just... smaller and fluffier and stupider."
Elijah settles back into his seat even more, bringing his legs back up and into it, proving just how wide and plush the thing is. The tassled pillow occupying his lap is resettled as well with the movement. His head lolls back, resting against the cushoning as he listens to W'chek with half-lidded eyes. "Why did you come here? Were there sheep here to tend as well? I suppose you must really know your sheep then." Dark eyes glance back to Rorkes, a flicker of interest there at his statement, but unvoiced as he licks at dry lips.
"My mouth isn't filthy!" Gabe puts on his very best innocent look, like he's just back from polishing his halo. "Weren't you listening to the harper? He said teenaged boys are innocent. So my mouth /can't/ be filthy. I was just wondering what you did with the sheep." He ruins the angelic act, though, when Elijah makes the comment about knowing sheep, and he snorts with laughter, covering his mouth.
"Nabol," says Rorkes, absently. "A... nice place. I--well, my family I--spent some turns there before we returned here." He shrugs his shoulders, and leans over to set his half-empty mug on the nearby table. "Boys," he observes then, "I think you're embarrassing him." Not that there's much sympathy in the glance he directs at W'chek now.
"It's complicated," W'chek starts off with for Elijah's sake. Then he closes his mouth, frowns. "Well. Maybe not complicated. What with the whole... thing." That's so very specific. He's still not good at this. "You two can both shut up," he finally decides at the snorting laughter, adding another long drink from his glass to finish off the beer. "Yes. Right. No. I mean, not embarrassing--it's just a question of appropriate. I'm gonna go get another drink. Hold on." And off to do just that, back momentarily. Maybe the second one will make it all better.
And you'll get nothing but silence from Elijah's corner. No comments. Simply lulled to sleep by W'chek's dulcet tones, or maybe it was Rorkes, for surely Gabe's protests and laughter coudln't have sent the teen off into dreamland. Head fallen forward and to the side 'til it is pillowed against a bend in the chair's back, his dark hair falls forward to provide the shadow to deny's the firelight a chance to wake him simply with its merry flickering. They were good stories, really, even if he did fall asleep.
"Oh, he'll be alright," Gabe starts to say, dismissing W'chek's not-embarrassing whatever-it-is. He's distracted by the sudden silence that falls, though, and peers over at Elijah, then look at Rorkes, alarmed. "Does he normally just... fall asleep like that? How much has he been drinking?"
Silarra pages: Lots of travel, then, with a couple different places to go.
Rorkes's brows lift up as Elijah dozes off, but he shrugs absently. "I don't think much?" He looks to W'chek for confirmation of that, since the rider's been there longer than he has. "Just a long day, I'm sure. You know how it is, being an apprentice--though, I doubt harpering is quite so exterting as something like healing? I'll make sure he gets home in a little bit, if nothing else."
"He was here when I got here. Sleeping. No idea how much he'd had before then," W'chek muses, keeping his voice down a bit as he settles back down into his own chair. "'s not very nice, Gabe. Saying that. About the sheep." Nearly prim. "Anyway. Something about studying or... something, he said, but I dunno if I believe it."
"Well," Gabe says dubiously, "it is tiring, but I don't usually fall asleep in bars." He even leans closer to make sure Elijah is still breathing and everything, but having ascertained that, he flops back in his chair... and grins at W'chek. "Aw, you know I'm always nice. And innocent." Smirk.
"Yes, we'd hate to insult the sheep," is Rorkes' solemn agreement with W'chek. He casts another look at Elijah for a moment, shrugs. "Maybe not," he agrees. "I'm not sure. I think when I was that age, I could sleep about anywhere, though. Between studying all the time to get into the hall in the first place, and then spending all my time locked in my room writing bad poetry for girls once I finally did pass my entrance exams..."
Another few long drinks are evidently enough for W'chek to tell Rorkes, "Fuck you." Not a particularly angry outburst. Just a necessary response to that. "Bad poetry. Knew there was a reason you Harper folks were so popular." He shakes his head then, eyes Gabrion, but makes no comment as to 'nice' or 'innocent', just--"Weren't you giving up drinking or something? Why're you here, anyway?"
"My friends dragged me in, but," Gabe looks over, and grimaces. "I think they picked up some girls. So. Yeah. But no, I'm not drinking. I can still hang out, there's no law against that," he adds, defensive.
The insult makes Rorkes smile faintly, and he offers, at least, a mildly apologetic, "Sorry, man." As for his craft's popularity, that earns a wryer smile and he rubs the back of his head. "I suppose so. I'm not sure why that is, exactly, that even the bad poets find--attention," the polite-company way of putting that, just to appease W'chek's morals. "Something about putting themselves on the line with their work, perhaps." A glance slants over at Gabrion, and somewhat skeptically, Rorkes lifts his brows, but he doesn't say anything to the contrary about the boy's goals, at any rate.
Easier, to Gabrion, "Sure. No law." W'chek sets his glass aside, but he's gone through quite a lot of it rather quickly. Enough to start to relax a little. Relaxing is good. Important. Relaxing is why most people come here in the first place. "Maybe that's it. Bety's always had a thing for Harpers. I don't really get it. Sorry if I thought--I dunno. His sister kept trying to get him to go back to some Harper he'd had a thing for. She doesn't like me very much."
"Are harper exams hard?" Gabe asks Rorkes, out of nowhere. "Ours are really awful. It's just a few more weeks before I've got to go to the hall for year-end exams." Hence his friends dragging him out to a bar, no doubt. He glances at W'chek, but he has no comment about B'tal's thing for harpers.
Rorkes's mouth opens, and it shuts just like that. "Teris, right. I've... met her," he says, looking very uncomfortable all of a sudden. Time to glance at Gabe again, although the harper seems a little distracted. "Hard? I suppose, in some ways. It took me three tries to pass the entrance exam--I was fifteen already by then. Which is... not exactly typical, but. Ah. --You know, maybe I should go ahead and get him home." A tilt of his head indicates the dozing Elijah.
"Right. Teris." W'chek, not noticing that discomfort at all, or else he just thinks that *everybody* responds that way to mention of Teris who's actually met her. "Yes. Probably a good plan. 'Fore everybody gets him woken up again or somebody spills a drink on his head or something." The risks of napping in places like this. "Exams. Can't see how you all manage those things. Always hated that kind of thing."
"Maybe so," Gabe agrees, tilting a look at Elijah. W'chek's pronouncement about exams gives him a reason to look superior. "If you work hard and study, it usually comes out just fine," he says.
"Mm." Rorkes' reply is vague at best as he leaves his half-finished glass and instead stands. A nudge is used to rouse Elijah, and while he gets the youth up, the older harper just looks uncomfortable still. "Well," he says, after a moment. "I don't think that would work so well. That plan. Of Teris's. Not that it's any of my business, or--or... Would you give B'tal my best, at any rate? Good night, both of you."
Cheerily enough--"Will do!" For once someone is on W'chek's side in all of this. All is forgiven for that. If he remembered there was anything not to forgive in the first place. "'Night, Harper." And since Rorkes is heading off, his attention returns back to Gabe. "It's the studying bit. Don't care for it. Unproductive." Like all W'chek's hobbies are so terribly productive.
"Night," Gabe says to Rorkes, and then looks back to W'chek. "What do you mean, unproductive?" he says with a frown. "If you don't study, you don't pass. I mean, it's kind of important to have healers around, right?"
Rorkes, Elijah in tow, makes his getaway fast, before W'chek thinks too hard about a harper that B'tal might just have have a thing for.
A little noncomittal noise and W'chek picks his glass back up again, not finished after all. "Too much sitting around. Too much not *doing* anything. Too much reading." He sits back in his chair, takes a sip, another longer drink following it immediately. Waste not, want not. "Didn't like having to do the stuff we had to do in weyrlinghood, couldn't've stood more'n that. Never really been much for books."
"What would you rather do instead?" Gabe asks, perplexed by this point of view. "I mean - if you're going to do something like healing, you have to read sometimes, just to learn what you're supposed to do."
"Something that involves being up, around, moving? Not so much reading with this, I guess. It's not bad. Weyrlinghood was a pain in the ass. Sheep were easy. I got that. What to do, how to handle them. No reading at all, then, to speak of." W'chek looks up from his glass over at Gabrion, smiles wryly. "Reason I'm not a healer, I'm guessing. Some things don't really change. Probably be a farm kid 'til the day I die. Rather *do* than think about it. Got me into trouble enough, I guess."
"Heh. Guess so," Gabe says, looking off into space. "Yeah. Well. Studying kind of sucks, but it's like - like eating your vegetables, I guess." He shrugs. "Anyway, I better get going. Speaking of studying. I wanted to get another hour or two in." At this time of night? Apparently that's the plan.
The bronzerider chortles softly. "By all means. Go, be a good boy, study hard," W'chek offers up. "Probably shouldn't linger myself. Two. Sticking to two. Moderation." Deep breath. "Have a nice evening," a little more politely.
Gabrion laughs, without mirth. "Yeah, moderation," he says, pushing himself up out of the chair. "See you later." With a wave, he trudges off for more studying. Like a good boy, an innocent teenager.
OOC Date: January 23, 2010
IC Date: Day 4, month 11, turn 21 of Interval 10
Who: W'chek, Gabrion, Rorkes, Elijah
Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
Gabe swings by the Snowasis and hangs out for a while with Rorkes, Elijah, and W'chek. There's lots of teenaged-boy-style innuendo, and W'chek is annoyed.
A shrug for Rorkes--"It's fine." It's always fine. "Wouldn't be *appropriate*," is W'chek's firm declaration on the subject of discussions of sex. "Anyway. So don't worry about it. You'll understand when you're older or... something. So you do have a name, then? I'm taking it?" W'chek fixes Elijah there with his best stern stare, which isn't especially good. "And stop fussing with that. Like anybody has the spare time to be repairing furniture lately."
Elijah flickers a glance over towards Rorkes, dark eyes dropping somewhat after his words. The firelight looses its chance to reflect in his eyes with the drop of his chin, chagrin and penitence setting in. "Sorry. It's Elijah, sir." Hands slide from the arms of the plush chair he is sunk within, falling into his lap.
Gabrion comes into the Snowasis, all but dragged bodily by a couple of his friends. "But I really /can't/ stay long," he's telling them. "I have to get back to studying - so, like, an hour, maybe." They respond with smirks and knowing laughs. "Sure, sure, whatever. You need a break!" "Come on, let's get a drink." Gabe shakes his head firmly. "None for me thanks. You go on ahead. I'll wait." On the way to the bar, Gabe's friends are distracted by a knot of pretty girls, and go over to talk to them, sit at their table, flirt -- they'll be a while. With a wry grin, Gabe looks around, and his eyes light on W'chek and the harpers. He heads in that direction, greeting them with a casual wave and a "Hi."
W'chek's assurances to Elijah earn the elder harper's bemusement, and he settles at least into his seat and takes a drink of his mug. "Yes, when you're older," he agrees. "Teenage boys, always so innocent." The very thought makes him grin slightly; and look, there's another one now. "Evening," Rorkes offers Gabrion as he joins them.
"Gabe. Hey." W'chek would not normally seize upon the healer's presence so strongly, but in this circumstance, well, any port in a storm. Or any person who he knows at least a bit. Who doesn't lead to awkwardness. Right. Back to Elijah: "Nice t'meet you--you really don't need that 'sir'. I'm not one of your people. He's one of your people. You want to 'sir' him, that's fine. It just makes me feel--" Pause. "Anyway, don't do it." Rorkes gets a Look. Harpers. Bad influences.
Elijah takes his verbal lumps from the Harper Journeyman with fallen eyes, showing his age and rather plain knot right down to his booted toes. Somehow, someway, he manages to slump back even deeper into that plush chair, almost as if he is trying to hide himself in the lush and thick upholstry. "Sorry. Habit. I'll try to remember better, rider, for your request, at the very least." The new voice is one recognized, and the teen's dark eyes rise once more from their penitence to look across to the healer, "G'evening."
Gabrion seems amused at the conversation he's walked in on. "Teenage boys are innocent?" he queries, too-sweetly. "Someone should tell my mom, so she quits worrying about me. Hey W'chek, hey Elijah." He scans Rorkes' knot, and tilts his head politely. "Journeyman. I'm Gabe." He grins. "What's going on?" That's directed at Elijah, or maybe W'chek.
"The rider," W'chek indicated here, "seems to hold out hope, at least." Rorkes does not seem so much so, bemused still as he relaxes back. "I suspect he must have have a very boring youth, no? --Rorkes, is my name. It's nice to meet you, Gabe."
"My youth wasn't boring," W'chek is quick to protest, then he snaps his mouth closed. "Look. I just think some things aren't appropriate conversation matter. That's all." He clears his throat. "Nothing much," to Gabrion, then. "Just talking about--uh--titles. And my sordid youth. Or something. Somehow. I don't know exactly how we got onto that latter subject. Can't we talk about something slightly more civilized?" Plaintive.
Elijah rallies, dark fingers crawling their way closer to that little snag on the arm of his chair, once more fiddling with the fabric 'til he worries that little hole just a bit larger. For all he isn't paying that much of attention, so much for being told to leave off. "I don't think we quite got to talking about your youth that much, s- rider," he is sure to point out, his voice finding a moment to play about his words with a slightly more perky ascent.
"I thought your youth was civilized," Gabe says with a grin. Apparently he has no compunctions about teasing W'chek. "Here you're gonna tell us it wasn't after all? Better not let word get out too far." He looks around, finds a chair, another plush one like Elijah's, and goes to fetch it and pull it up to where the rest are sitting so he can flop down in it. "Yeah, how /was/ your youth, Whit?" he asks brightly.
"No?" Rorkes tilts his head slightly, and while he lifts his mug to his lips again, he studies W'chek a moment. It's hard to hide his grin, but he leaves the grilling to the youngsters for now.
Grilling? Wait. W'chek swallows, eyes his beer like it's all the glass's fault that he's in this situation, now. "Perfectly civilized. Well. Sort of. Full of sheep. Not like that." That disclaimer isn't to anybody in particular. It's just a general thing. He's prepared for those sorts of accusations. "And early mornings and shit. S'all. Hard to be too sordid under the circumstances."
Elijah turns his head to watch Gabe bring up a chair as well, watching with all curiosity 'til the deed is accomplished. "They are nice chairs," he sort of adds in, even as his fingers wreck havoc with the tear in that one spot on the arm. Dark eyes slip back to W'chek. "Sheep?" Orly? Dark eyebrows make at attempt to merge with his hairline. "Were you like one of those little shepherd boys with the crook and everything?" Little Bo Peep. Whit Peep? Whatever. "What circumstances exactly?"
Gabrion spares Rorkes a glance to see if he's going to object to the mischief, but he doesn't seem to, so -- hey. "Sheep," he repeats knowingly. "Ah. And yes, did you have one of those crooks? What exactly did you do with the sheep?" His voice is heavy with implications that are not at all civilized.
Very awkwardly, almost apologetically, Rorkes coughs and glances away from W'chek, as though he's very sorry this line of conversation ever came up. But his eyes are still bright with his own mischief, even if he doesn't offer any real help. "Sheep? I never saw many of them, when I was younger, Weyr-boy that I am."
"I did not have a crook. I just had a couple good dogs and--Gabe, shut your filthy mouth." As soon as that implication sinks in, W'chek has a lot of glaring to do for Gabrion. Slightly less for Elijah. He might be being smart, but at least he hasn't said anything about relations with sheep. "It was quiet. And hard work. And lots of time mostly alone. That's all. And then I went to Nabol, and then I came here. Sheep aren't all that different from cows. Just... smaller and fluffier and stupider."
Elijah settles back into his seat even more, bringing his legs back up and into it, proving just how wide and plush the thing is. The tassled pillow occupying his lap is resettled as well with the movement. His head lolls back, resting against the cushoning as he listens to W'chek with half-lidded eyes. "Why did you come here? Were there sheep here to tend as well? I suppose you must really know your sheep then." Dark eyes glance back to Rorkes, a flicker of interest there at his statement, but unvoiced as he licks at dry lips.
"My mouth isn't filthy!" Gabe puts on his very best innocent look, like he's just back from polishing his halo. "Weren't you listening to the harper? He said teenaged boys are innocent. So my mouth /can't/ be filthy. I was just wondering what you did with the sheep." He ruins the angelic act, though, when Elijah makes the comment about knowing sheep, and he snorts with laughter, covering his mouth.
"Nabol," says Rorkes, absently. "A... nice place. I--well, my family I--spent some turns there before we returned here." He shrugs his shoulders, and leans over to set his half-empty mug on the nearby table. "Boys," he observes then, "I think you're embarrassing him." Not that there's much sympathy in the glance he directs at W'chek now.
"It's complicated," W'chek starts off with for Elijah's sake. Then he closes his mouth, frowns. "Well. Maybe not complicated. What with the whole... thing." That's so very specific. He's still not good at this. "You two can both shut up," he finally decides at the snorting laughter, adding another long drink from his glass to finish off the beer. "Yes. Right. No. I mean, not embarrassing--it's just a question of appropriate. I'm gonna go get another drink. Hold on." And off to do just that, back momentarily. Maybe the second one will make it all better.
And you'll get nothing but silence from Elijah's corner. No comments. Simply lulled to sleep by W'chek's dulcet tones, or maybe it was Rorkes, for surely Gabe's protests and laughter coudln't have sent the teen off into dreamland. Head fallen forward and to the side 'til it is pillowed against a bend in the chair's back, his dark hair falls forward to provide the shadow to deny's the firelight a chance to wake him simply with its merry flickering. They were good stories, really, even if he did fall asleep.
"Oh, he'll be alright," Gabe starts to say, dismissing W'chek's not-embarrassing whatever-it-is. He's distracted by the sudden silence that falls, though, and peers over at Elijah, then look at Rorkes, alarmed. "Does he normally just... fall asleep like that? How much has he been drinking?"
Silarra pages: Lots of travel, then, with a couple different places to go.
Rorkes's brows lift up as Elijah dozes off, but he shrugs absently. "I don't think much?" He looks to W'chek for confirmation of that, since the rider's been there longer than he has. "Just a long day, I'm sure. You know how it is, being an apprentice--though, I doubt harpering is quite so exterting as something like healing? I'll make sure he gets home in a little bit, if nothing else."
"He was here when I got here. Sleeping. No idea how much he'd had before then," W'chek muses, keeping his voice down a bit as he settles back down into his own chair. "'s not very nice, Gabe. Saying that. About the sheep." Nearly prim. "Anyway. Something about studying or... something, he said, but I dunno if I believe it."
"Well," Gabe says dubiously, "it is tiring, but I don't usually fall asleep in bars." He even leans closer to make sure Elijah is still breathing and everything, but having ascertained that, he flops back in his chair... and grins at W'chek. "Aw, you know I'm always nice. And innocent." Smirk.
"Yes, we'd hate to insult the sheep," is Rorkes' solemn agreement with W'chek. He casts another look at Elijah for a moment, shrugs. "Maybe not," he agrees. "I'm not sure. I think when I was that age, I could sleep about anywhere, though. Between studying all the time to get into the hall in the first place, and then spending all my time locked in my room writing bad poetry for girls once I finally did pass my entrance exams..."
Another few long drinks are evidently enough for W'chek to tell Rorkes, "Fuck you." Not a particularly angry outburst. Just a necessary response to that. "Bad poetry. Knew there was a reason you Harper folks were so popular." He shakes his head then, eyes Gabrion, but makes no comment as to 'nice' or 'innocent', just--"Weren't you giving up drinking or something? Why're you here, anyway?"
"My friends dragged me in, but," Gabe looks over, and grimaces. "I think they picked up some girls. So. Yeah. But no, I'm not drinking. I can still hang out, there's no law against that," he adds, defensive.
The insult makes Rorkes smile faintly, and he offers, at least, a mildly apologetic, "Sorry, man." As for his craft's popularity, that earns a wryer smile and he rubs the back of his head. "I suppose so. I'm not sure why that is, exactly, that even the bad poets find--attention," the polite-company way of putting that, just to appease W'chek's morals. "Something about putting themselves on the line with their work, perhaps." A glance slants over at Gabrion, and somewhat skeptically, Rorkes lifts his brows, but he doesn't say anything to the contrary about the boy's goals, at any rate.
Easier, to Gabrion, "Sure. No law." W'chek sets his glass aside, but he's gone through quite a lot of it rather quickly. Enough to start to relax a little. Relaxing is good. Important. Relaxing is why most people come here in the first place. "Maybe that's it. Bety's always had a thing for Harpers. I don't really get it. Sorry if I thought--I dunno. His sister kept trying to get him to go back to some Harper he'd had a thing for. She doesn't like me very much."
"Are harper exams hard?" Gabe asks Rorkes, out of nowhere. "Ours are really awful. It's just a few more weeks before I've got to go to the hall for year-end exams." Hence his friends dragging him out to a bar, no doubt. He glances at W'chek, but he has no comment about B'tal's thing for harpers.
Rorkes's mouth opens, and it shuts just like that. "Teris, right. I've... met her," he says, looking very uncomfortable all of a sudden. Time to glance at Gabe again, although the harper seems a little distracted. "Hard? I suppose, in some ways. It took me three tries to pass the entrance exam--I was fifteen already by then. Which is... not exactly typical, but. Ah. --You know, maybe I should go ahead and get him home." A tilt of his head indicates the dozing Elijah.
"Right. Teris." W'chek, not noticing that discomfort at all, or else he just thinks that *everybody* responds that way to mention of Teris who's actually met her. "Yes. Probably a good plan. 'Fore everybody gets him woken up again or somebody spills a drink on his head or something." The risks of napping in places like this. "Exams. Can't see how you all manage those things. Always hated that kind of thing."
"Maybe so," Gabe agrees, tilting a look at Elijah. W'chek's pronouncement about exams gives him a reason to look superior. "If you work hard and study, it usually comes out just fine," he says.
"Mm." Rorkes' reply is vague at best as he leaves his half-finished glass and instead stands. A nudge is used to rouse Elijah, and while he gets the youth up, the older harper just looks uncomfortable still. "Well," he says, after a moment. "I don't think that would work so well. That plan. Of Teris's. Not that it's any of my business, or--or... Would you give B'tal my best, at any rate? Good night, both of you."
Cheerily enough--"Will do!" For once someone is on W'chek's side in all of this. All is forgiven for that. If he remembered there was anything not to forgive in the first place. "'Night, Harper." And since Rorkes is heading off, his attention returns back to Gabe. "It's the studying bit. Don't care for it. Unproductive." Like all W'chek's hobbies are so terribly productive.
"Night," Gabe says to Rorkes, and then looks back to W'chek. "What do you mean, unproductive?" he says with a frown. "If you don't study, you don't pass. I mean, it's kind of important to have healers around, right?"
Rorkes, Elijah in tow, makes his getaway fast, before W'chek thinks too hard about a harper that B'tal might just have have a thing for.
A little noncomittal noise and W'chek picks his glass back up again, not finished after all. "Too much sitting around. Too much not *doing* anything. Too much reading." He sits back in his chair, takes a sip, another longer drink following it immediately. Waste not, want not. "Didn't like having to do the stuff we had to do in weyrlinghood, couldn't've stood more'n that. Never really been much for books."
"What would you rather do instead?" Gabe asks, perplexed by this point of view. "I mean - if you're going to do something like healing, you have to read sometimes, just to learn what you're supposed to do."
"Something that involves being up, around, moving? Not so much reading with this, I guess. It's not bad. Weyrlinghood was a pain in the ass. Sheep were easy. I got that. What to do, how to handle them. No reading at all, then, to speak of." W'chek looks up from his glass over at Gabrion, smiles wryly. "Reason I'm not a healer, I'm guessing. Some things don't really change. Probably be a farm kid 'til the day I die. Rather *do* than think about it. Got me into trouble enough, I guess."
"Heh. Guess so," Gabe says, looking off into space. "Yeah. Well. Studying kind of sucks, but it's like - like eating your vegetables, I guess." He shrugs. "Anyway, I better get going. Speaking of studying. I wanted to get another hour or two in." At this time of night? Apparently that's the plan.
The bronzerider chortles softly. "By all means. Go, be a good boy, study hard," W'chek offers up. "Probably shouldn't linger myself. Two. Sticking to two. Moderation." Deep breath. "Have a nice evening," a little more politely.
Gabrion laughs, without mirth. "Yeah, moderation," he says, pushing himself up out of the chair. "See you later." With a wave, he trudges off for more studying. Like a good boy, an innocent teenager.