The Lecture
Everyone has a right to be an idiot. Some people abuse the privilege. ~Joseph Stalin
OOC Date: November 19, 2009
IC Date: Day 5, Month 4, Turn 21
Who: W'chek, Gabrion
Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr
W'chek shows up to chastise Gabrion for telling Madilla about his questions. Gabrion is having none of it.
Gabrion got off work later than usual, and didn't feel like braving the dinner crowd in the living cavern. So he's hidden himself away at the night hearth instead. Right now he's sitting at a table alone, steadily devouring a giant bowl of stew.
It's been a damp day and still cold despite now being nominally spring, and that's led W'chek to seek out somewhere with an actual fire after his day's duties are done; despite previous talk or assumptions about what he does with his evenings, he's alone himself. He walks towards the hearth, finds a chair not so close as to broil but near enough for warmth, is just about to sink into it when he notices Gabrion--"Hungry, are you? Bowl's practically bigger than you are."
Gabrion looks up and raises his eyebrows at W'chek. "It's dinnertime," he says, neutrally, and goes on eating without making any further comment.
"So it is," the bronzerider replies as he does sit down, stretches out his legs in front of him, folds his hands in his lap. Sits. W'chek even trucks his chin down as though going to settle into a nap, but it doesn't really work exactly. "Gabrion." At least he does remember the kid's name. "You told Madilla I was asking after her." Not a question but it also doesn't come out exactly like an accusation, tone remaining mild.
Gabrion looks up from his food again, and once more does the eyebrow-quirk. Then he shrugs, and says casually, "Yep. I sure did." As if doing so were the most natural thing in the world - certainly nothing that requires justification or explanation. Even if it did, none is forthcoming. Gabe goes on eating his stew.a
A deep breath, and W'chek, in the absence of that explanation, adds, "Someday, when you're older, you'll understand why that kind of meddling is wrong." He pauses, unfolds his hands, then laces the fingers back together again identical to how they originally were. "Don't know what you've got against me," as though there weren't plenty of reasons for people he hasn't even met not to like him, "but I'm not the one damaged by that kind of behavior." He blows a long breath outwards and then shifts his shoulders, his attention returned to the more immediately pressing task of getting comfortable in his chair.
"Madilla thanked me," Gabrion reports impassively. "You're the one complaining." And he's not about to let it upset him. "Maybe someday, when you're older, you'll be less of a creepy asshole." There's no hint of anger, no sneer either on his face or in his voice; the words are delivered simply and matter-of-factly, as if he were reporting the weather.
"All that proves," W'chek replies with a snort, "is that she's more polite than I am. But, fine. None of my business who she wants the freedom to be, here." The way he delivers that comment almost sounds like some kind of insult, though the words are inoffensive. "Sorry to say I doubt that's the case. Product of my upbringing. Can't seem to help that I was raised to proper behavior, and I appear to be stuck among people who don't recognize it when they see it."
Gabrion rolls his eyes. "You go on thinking that," he says. "I'm going to finish my stew now. You have a good night." And he sets himself to the task of eating. W'chek can go or stay; Gabrion's ignoring him.
A moment of eye rolling but no reply; W'chek grips the armrests and rises again, fails to offer Gabrion a similar 'good night' or anything of the sort--well, he did just say he's not that polite--and makes his way towards the entrance to the inner caverns. Evidently the warmth and relative quiet isn't to his taste after all.
OOC Date: November 19, 2009
IC Date: Day 5, Month 4, Turn 21
Who: W'chek, Gabrion
Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr
W'chek shows up to chastise Gabrion for telling Madilla about his questions. Gabrion is having none of it.
Gabrion got off work later than usual, and didn't feel like braving the dinner crowd in the living cavern. So he's hidden himself away at the night hearth instead. Right now he's sitting at a table alone, steadily devouring a giant bowl of stew.
It's been a damp day and still cold despite now being nominally spring, and that's led W'chek to seek out somewhere with an actual fire after his day's duties are done; despite previous talk or assumptions about what he does with his evenings, he's alone himself. He walks towards the hearth, finds a chair not so close as to broil but near enough for warmth, is just about to sink into it when he notices Gabrion--"Hungry, are you? Bowl's practically bigger than you are."
Gabrion looks up and raises his eyebrows at W'chek. "It's dinnertime," he says, neutrally, and goes on eating without making any further comment.
"So it is," the bronzerider replies as he does sit down, stretches out his legs in front of him, folds his hands in his lap. Sits. W'chek even trucks his chin down as though going to settle into a nap, but it doesn't really work exactly. "Gabrion." At least he does remember the kid's name. "You told Madilla I was asking after her." Not a question but it also doesn't come out exactly like an accusation, tone remaining mild.
Gabrion looks up from his food again, and once more does the eyebrow-quirk. Then he shrugs, and says casually, "Yep. I sure did." As if doing so were the most natural thing in the world - certainly nothing that requires justification or explanation. Even if it did, none is forthcoming. Gabe goes on eating his stew.a
A deep breath, and W'chek, in the absence of that explanation, adds, "Someday, when you're older, you'll understand why that kind of meddling is wrong." He pauses, unfolds his hands, then laces the fingers back together again identical to how they originally were. "Don't know what you've got against me," as though there weren't plenty of reasons for people he hasn't even met not to like him, "but I'm not the one damaged by that kind of behavior." He blows a long breath outwards and then shifts his shoulders, his attention returned to the more immediately pressing task of getting comfortable in his chair.
"Madilla thanked me," Gabrion reports impassively. "You're the one complaining." And he's not about to let it upset him. "Maybe someday, when you're older, you'll be less of a creepy asshole." There's no hint of anger, no sneer either on his face or in his voice; the words are delivered simply and matter-of-factly, as if he were reporting the weather.
"All that proves," W'chek replies with a snort, "is that she's more polite than I am. But, fine. None of my business who she wants the freedom to be, here." The way he delivers that comment almost sounds like some kind of insult, though the words are inoffensive. "Sorry to say I doubt that's the case. Product of my upbringing. Can't seem to help that I was raised to proper behavior, and I appear to be stuck among people who don't recognize it when they see it."
Gabrion rolls his eyes. "You go on thinking that," he says. "I'm going to finish my stew now. You have a good night." And he sets himself to the task of eating. W'chek can go or stay; Gabrion's ignoring him.
A moment of eye rolling but no reply; W'chek grips the armrests and rises again, fails to offer Gabrion a similar 'good night' or anything of the sort--well, he did just say he's not that polite--and makes his way towards the entrance to the inner caverns. Evidently the warmth and relative quiet isn't to his taste after all.