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Harper's Tale 2 - Tuesday, July 02, 2002, 9:17 PM
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Healer Lounge
This is a very cozy room where Healers often spend their free time relaxing, talking, and participating in a little recreation. Dotted about the room are small tables and big comfy looking chairs that are great for sitting down and talking in. Also there are tables set up around the room with chairs set at them, to be used for studying, or any other activity that might need the support of a table.
In one wall is the doorway that leads into the Healer Great Hall, and the rest of the Hall. Other doorways are quietly recessed around the room, leading off to healer quarters. One leads to the Apprentice Dorms, while another goes to the hallway that houses the rooms of Journeymen and Masters.
You see Joran, Apprentice Dart Board, Food table, Drink table, and Corwin here.
Alain is here.
Obvious exits:
Healer Great Hall     Apprentice Dormitory     Journeymen and Masters Hall

Graiham strolls in from the Apprentice Dormitory.

My my, what have we over at one of the tables, up to his eyeballs in dusty old scrolls and a crisp-looking stack of hides, which are being written on with an almost painful care? Why, it's a Morallen. Yes, the beach bum of a senior apprentice is actually /working/. Most intriguing.

So when Graiham comes out of the dormitory with ink smudged on his fingers and a little blot on the end of his nose, it should come as no surprise that the young man is rather loathe to go anywhere near Morallen's occupation. Indeed, he seems just as happy to slink across the room, treading lightly.

Alain wanders into the room, a few hides under one arm and offers Graiham a nod. He's actually -whistling- as he enters, too, and if one were to pay attention, one would recognize it as one of the more bawdy songs popular in the Mug. He spots Morallen and diverts his path toward the table piled with scrolls. One leg of a chair is hooked with Alain's foot and he gives it a firm tug backwards, turning it a hundred and eighty degrees and dropping to sit straddling it backwards. "Hey. Saw your sister the other day." he states...cheerfully.

Morallen glances up from where he'd been cheerfully glowering at an ancient treatise to rest his chin on a fist that's clenched around a quill and favour Alain with a twitch of an eyebrow. "Yeah...? How is she, then?" he inquires pleasantly. Rallen noted Alain's absence from the dorms recently. But Rallen Does Not Want To Know. Nope. Graiham is spotted in his slink, and sketched a casual wave with the quillfeather.

Why is it that, whenever a person tries to slink, they are invariably spotted? Graiham pauses on sight of that quillfeather, looking over at the two older guys at the table with a discerning squint. "I thought you had terrible handwriting," he ventures to put forth, still within easy distance of the exit into the great hall.

Alain glances over at Graiham and covers something that sounds very much like a laugh with one hand. "Now -you-," he says to Graiham, "are a guy who -knows- how to pay a compliment." He jerks his head toward Morallen, "He doesn't bite...at least, he hasn't bitten me yet." He turns back to Morallen and shrugs, "She's still pretty. Does that count?" And then the enthusiasm takes over and Alain leans forward eagerly, "That big blue thing of hers -talked- to me!"

Because slinking is just... easily spottable? A shift from the normal, movement-wise, and therefore noteworthy. Or something. "Oh, but I do," sighs Morallen, eyeing his scribing ruefully. "But... one apparently isn't allowed to hire a Harper to take dictation on a Journeyman's Project, so I'm screwed." he sums up, flicking the quill at the hides disparragingly before his eyebrow twitches again at Alain. "That'll count. Just don't let me hear you've been doing anything more than admiring my little sister from afar." he warns. Or... what? Probably nothing. And then, the younger senior actually gets a smirk of a grin. "He did, eh? Bit freaky the first time you're bespoken, huh?"

Graiham gives Alain a quick blink, taking a second before that comment registers. "Oh. Yes. Well, I didn't mean it as a compliment." Obviously. The rest of the conversation is completely lost on him so, hovering somewhere between here-and-there, he shuts up.

Alain nods quickly to Morallen, "Very freaky. I thought I'd gone nuts--actually I thought someone was spying on us." He props his chin up on the palm of one hand, leaning forward against the backrest on the chair, and glancing toward Graiham. "You know, you're welcome to sit if you like." he offers cheerfully enough, nudging the chair next to his--across from Morallen--with one foot. "Really, there's nothing here that says Seniors and Juniors can't mingle."

Morallen's eyebrows really are getting some excercise tonight. "Spying?" he echoes. "What would you be doing to worry about spies-- Never mind." he intones firmly. "I don't want to know. Yeah, pull up a chair, Graiham. Mingle. Socialize. Where you from, anyways?"

Graiham looks at the chair doubtfully for a second, something about the narrow of his eyes suggesting that he's really expecting some sort of joke to be played here in a second. "Okay," he commits by and by. "Sure. I can do that." He sits down, saying simply, "Near Paradise. Who's your sister?"

"Miralwyn...formerly. Wyn now." Alain pipes up. "Former Healer, now rider of blue Vorkoroth of High Reaches Weyr." and he pauses, running over all that in his mind to make sure he said it right, and then nodding. His eyes travel from Morallen, to Graiham, and rest on the younger boy a moment, before a little grin tugs at the corner of his mouth and he turns back to peer at Morallen. "You decided on your emphasis then?"

"And Mudslide Wing," tacks on Morallen. "Seeing as how she'd bap /me/ if I forgot that. But yeah, Wyn was here, an I was at Fort. Now Wyn's at 'Reaches and I'm here." A smirk in Alain's direction. "Rumour has it, /he/ rather preferred the old arrangement. Paradise, though. Nice place. Good wine, according to my Da." To reply to Alain, he simply holds out an aging, falling apart sort of scroll. "Same as it's been all along. Physical Therapy. Ista doesn't have any specialists in it,"

Graiham has no chance of absorbing that much information, but he does toss of a social little nod like it not only all made sense, but it's all going to be filed away somewhere for future reference. Neither of which is likely true. "Rivergrains," he chips in some time after the mention of wine.

Alain grins at Morallen--a rather cheeky grin, if you will--and murmurs, "Didn't Wyn tell you about me?" Another glance is tossed Graiham-wards and the boy is given a rather obvious once-over, before Alain heaves a little sigh and all but drapes himself over the chair back. "Really, I'm surprised. I thought I'd become the craft joke...or at least the craft rumor."

Morallen smirks again, casually amused. "If you really know my bookworm of a sister like you claim you do, you'd know that her and gossip go not together. So do tell, why don't you?" he inquires, with a flick of one hand, before blinking at Graiham. "Rivergrains?"

Graiham looks back at Alain for a second, again the subtler nuances of the conversation - and its gestures - completely escaping him. He needs the proverbial brick wall, most of the time. "Rivergrains. Not wine," he explains, though it doesn't quite make as much sense now as it did when he started.

Alain shakes his head a little at Morallen, "I wouldn't want to scare the young'uns." He nods to indicate Graiham. "Your dad is a farmcrafter?" he asks, this time addressing Graiham. "My family is a bunch of porcine herders. Honest to Faranth. Swear on the First Egg. You'd never guess it, though from the look of me, huh?" he chuckles a little, seeming to find this amusing for some reason. "You should have seen me before I started wearing pants."

"Oh." is Morallen's reply to Graiham, he now the one playing the part of faux-enlightenment. "I see. Well, rivergrains are good too..." he assures inanely, glancing between Alain and Graiham. "Both farmbred, then?" he inquires, staring at his pile of mouldy hides again, and perhaps pondering his own insanity for taking on a project like this.

Graiham shakes his head quickly, telling Alain. "No. My dad's a Weaver, but he thinks there's more money in rivergrains. Though - " He pauses, his brow knitting to put a crease in the middle of his forehead. "Does your family do well on the porcines? My mom's trying to get my dad out of the rivergrain business, see. But, yes. I guess, technically, it counts as farmbred."

Alain shrugs lightly, looking horribly amused at something, but not commenting on it. "They do well enough--they're up north though--shorter period of time to fatten up the herd before sending them down to be sold. You might do well here--excepting that the herder hall on Ista is of a pretty good size. We're a little more spread out up north." He glances at Morallen, "All this farm talk boreing you?" he asks, grinning a little.

Morallen gives a shrug. "Boring me? Naw. I'm Weyrbred myself, so I've never really had the chance to head much in the way of farm talk, aside from the odd yokel looking at me like I had a horn coming out of my head 'cause I was from a Weyr. I'm completely morally corrupt and debauched because of it, you see," he notes with a bit of wry good humour.

Graiham asks one of those questions which is both stupid and intelligent at once: "Why don't they just move somewhere, then, so they can have better stock?" But he doesn't wait around for an answer, instead accepting it as his turn to raise his brows. "True what they say, then? I mean, folks talk an awful lot about Weyrs being all around bad places and no chance for people who grow up there to be honest and decent."

Alain's eyebrows slowly raise as he listens to Morallen, until he finally asks, "Completely?" He leans forward a little more, setting the hides that were under his arm on the table. "Then you've--" he glances at Graiham and orders, "Cover your ears kid." then turns back to Morallen, "--you've been with people? I mean...you know...-people-." As opposed to porcines? *cough* Well, it's obvious Alain means more than the words coming out of his mouth might imply bereft of his tone and engrossed look.

Oh, yeah. Sure. Cover your ears kid is so going to work, too. Graiham wouldn't possibly - couldn't possibly just set his fingers over them and still, y'know, listen. He's not very subtle about doing so, either.

Morallen shakes his head. "No, no, kid," he notes to Graiham. "A weyr is just like any other place. You've got good people and bad, and more of the good. Holdfolk just get scared of what they aren't familiar with." he decrees, before eyeing Alain. "What're you asking for?"

Alain offers Morallen a very flat expression, indeed, then slowly drawls, "Well...you said that you were -completely- morally corrupt...so...I thought maybe you'd been...you know..." Alain waggles his eyebrows. "You know, with guys, too." He glances sharply at Graiham, not really having expected the boy to cover his ears, and amused to find him at least pretending to do so.

Graiham probably has older brothers who probably beat the crap out of him often enough that he knows to at least make the pretense. Still, after it becomes apparent that this conversation is not beyond the scope of his reasoning, he does indeed lower his hands from his ears and sit in silence. Bemused.

Morallen is starting to look a little bemused too, giving Alain a vaguely fishy look out of the corner of hazel eyes as he sprawls in his chair. "Why the sudden interest in my sex life?" he inquires at last. May as well use proper terminology, right? "But yeah, sure, once. I prefer women, though."

Alain's expression, aside from being something between amused, confused, and a little nervous, seems rather positive. "I see. No particular reason. If nobody's talked about me by now--well, I hate to take away their fun when they -do- decide to talk about me." He grins at Morallen and turns his head just enough to shield Morallen from seeing the wink he shoots Graiham's way.

Abruptly interjecting himself on to the conversation, Graiham says, "You seem pretty convinced that everyone is going to talk about you." That, obviously, to Alain; whether or not he's avoiding the previous subject, he hasn't outright addressed it thus far. "Why?"

"I might ask the same question," notes Morallen, propping his feet up on a free space on the desk. "Mindhealing was Wyn's game, not mine, but that /does/ seem a little, er, grandiose, to just assume you're the centre of gossip, don't y'think?"

Alain shrugs, "Well, considering that people tend--sorry, -guys- tend to act afraid of me once they hear the gossip, I tend not to actually repeat it myself...even if it is true." He sighs, shifting to his feet and turning the chair around, dropping back into it and propping his feet up on the table, as well. "It just seems to get lonlier and lonlier. First they find out I like guys, then they find out that I'm specialising in cause of death and the crowds thin...and..." he waves a hand in the air, "...vanish."

Graiham, brows creased, considers for a second before he says, "Well. Yeah. You're not actually repeating it, but..." He stops himself short presently, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair a little. Apparently, that's all the more he has to say on that subject as he turns to Morallen, saying at once, "Did she like it? Mindhealing, I mean."

Morallen offers a smirk. "Well, I'm still hanging around. After all, you hit on me and all I have to do is turn you down, right? But... cause of death? Now /that's/ freaky." he notes, before gathering his scrolls and preparing to stand and go get some actual work done. Graiham's given a thoughtful look. "To tell you the truth, I think she'd have made a frighteningly good one, if she'd not had Vorkoroth haul her off and keep her. If you're interested in it, I hear that Jathen's a good mentor for it. m I'll see you two around, eh?" And with that, he's padding off again.

Alain snorts softly, "It doesn't mean I'm any worse of a healer--just 'cause all the patients I work with end up dead." He tries to cover his laugh with a little cough--but it doesn't really work. He watches Morallen stand and shakes his head, "See? They flee. Wyn -still- likes Mindhealing." he interjects. "She's always trying to fix my brain...how does that work? An autopsy specialist and a mindhealing dragonrider." He chuckles a little and shakes his head, "See you around, Rallen--er...hopefully not on my examination table." Ahem.

Graiham calls after Morallen, "Watch out for writer's cramp. I've heard it's been the tragic end of many a Harper." Then, presently, he looks back across the table at Alain, knitting his brows together in what seems to be a customarily puzzled expression: "How'd you wind up interested in examining dead folks?"

Morallen gives a smirk and a wave. And then... vanishes into a convenient doorway. Neat trick, that.