Sess 06, 229: The New Pessimism

The New Pessimism
Summary: Kierne's drinking binge steers past some unusual new philosophies on its way deep into the night.
OOC Date: 02/22/2014
Related: The Swordplay
Kierne Shepard Cian 
The Bard's Tale
Tavern Place
Sess 6, 229

There's no such thing as having a drink with Kierne. There's only having drinks with Kierne, one after another. The boy must have a hollow leg, given how often he holds out his cup for another, draining it like water as he leans back in his seat, then shifts, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward across the table at Shepard, his eyes sparkling with the wine. "They say that one day the people in the square were horrified to see Tanris the Dog with his trousers about his knees, masturbating by the fountain," he begins to tell another story about the storied philosopher, tongue loosened by the strong drink.

Shepard is most certainly a…more moderate drinker. He nurses his considerably longer and mixes it up with food. So while his cheeks have taken on a slightly rosy glow, his eyes are still reasonably clear as he sips from his own winecup. Of course, the only drink either have actually paid for is the round each bought for each other, as well as a couple rounds for the house that Shepard and Kierne ordered up. It just seemed wrong not to, with all the well-wishers and newfound "fans" wandering over from time to time to offer them food, drink, or in the case of a few women, themselves in not-so-veiled terms. Which Shepard has dutifully declined, but cast no judgment upon any flirtations Kierne might make.

He does seem interested in the conversation, though, having no passing interest in philosophy himself. He grins a bit at Kierne and asks, "Is this an actual story or another joke?"

Kierne doesn't seem interested so much in any sort of graceful flirting, nothing discreet or demure about his manner with the ladies when he's three sheets to the wind, but one of the more brazen lasses to offer herself he has snagged and set down right on his lap, giving her a bit of a 'horsie ride' with a bouncing of his knee to no doubt create an intriguing sensation of ladybottom bouncing on his lap. All this aside, though, he seems thoroughly engaged in the story, one arm hooked around the girl, one arm still clasping his glass. "No, it's true. Or it's reported as true. Who knows what sort of nonsense anyone could write in a book and folk would believe it," he laughs bitterly. "But it's a good story, at any rate. So Tanris the Dog, to the people who were scolding him, pointed out that when his stomach ails him for those natural things which his stomach requires, he feels no shame in fulfilling that need, whether there are onlookers or no. Why then must it be different for any other portion of his body? Tell me, why?" he puts the problem to Shepard, grinning as he hopes to inspire a philosophical debate over wine.

"Because we have responsibility to more than just ourselves and our needs." Shepard notes, sipping his cups, "And because propriety is a pillar of civilization, which is what separates us from the beasts of the field and forest. While there are times that propriety can be set aside, it should not be so simply for one's own gratification. While it may be nice to believe that we could act without consequence so long as those actions bring no harm to others, we cannot choose who is offended by our actions." Shepard shrugs, taking another gulp of wine, "You could say that propriety is the contract that we enforce amongst ourselves so that we're not all dishonorable assholes, really."

"But why is it that the line is drawn between relieving ones stomach and relieving what's only a little bit lower?" Kierne presses on. "Isn't it absurdly arbitrary that one part of the body is acceptable and another unacceptable to society? People eat for simple gratification all the time, not only for survival. Candy and good foods… none of it taboo. Who gets to say which is what?"

"I don't think it's absurd." Shepard notes mildly, setting his winecup down for the moment, "It's no single individual that decides, but rather all people, in the unspoken contracts that bind us all together as men." He adds, "And women." He chuckles, grabbing a bit of bread and cheese that's heaped upon a plate in-between them and munching on it, "We're looking at a painting long after the artist has passed into the realms of the Gods and trying to ascribe motive to them." Shepard grins, "But somehow I wouldn't be surprised if art criticism is also among your talents, Young Sir."

"But the very idea that a decision can be made means that a decision may well be made in the opposite direction," Kierne dislodges the woman from his lap, evidently more interested in the argument than the female. He's also obviously a keen student of the philosophers, especially those of the modern Pessimistic school of philosophy. "If it is bound not to reason, but to whim, is it not by its very nature arbitrary and absurd?"

<OOC> Kierne says, "The Pessimistic school is intent on arguing that there is no such thing as a knowable truth, since you have some dots in it and it's evidently coming into vogue. :)"

<FS3> Kierne rolls Philosophy: Great Success.

"I don't believe it -is- whim. At some point people in general decided they'd rather not see men yanking their manhood in public, so they let it be known, and people went along with it for whatever reason." Shepard shrugs a shoulder, taking another swallow of wine, "Besides, if you're going to discern one of the foundations of our society as arbitrary and absurd, you quickly start down a path where you can justify -any- action to yourself, as once you find one such thing arbitrary, it is not altogether difficult to find the same seeming faults in others."

<FS3> Shepard rolls Philosophy: Failure.

Shepard shrugs and smiles, "I find philosphy interesting, but I tend to feel that too often philsophers do not seem to consider that we must live in the world we already have. Not that they shouldn't share their thoughts on the matter." He lifts his cup and smirks a bit, "After all, without them what else would learned men discuss over many bottles of wine late into the evening?"

"Only to have our lofty thoughts fettered by your dratted pragmatism!" Kierne laughs across the table at Shepard, pointing a waggish finger at him and then beckoning for more wine before draining the rest of his cup, holding it out just in time for more to be poured. He finds his eyes about at level with the servingmaid's tits, at which he stares with a vaguely grim countenance, as though he could read the future of all mankind upon her bosom and it was a harrowing tale indeed. "The world lived fairly well with Tanris the Dog, don't you know? They say the most noble generals of his era all came in a body to greet the man and visit his high-minded greatness." Yes, he's setting up another story.

"Yes, but I'm fairly sure they -didn't- visit to watch him masturbate." Shepard notes with a laugh and a wry grin, "As with all men, the balance is weighed between the good we do and wisdom we can offer versus the transgressions we all make, intentionally or otherwise. If the balance is positive, those transgressions are generally overlooked or seldom-remembered. If the balance is negative, then your reputation suffers.

Really Cian should not have fought in the sword tournament on his freshly healed leg, then onward to the joust! What was the man thinking? Honour and glory and all that nonsense. Oh and …pride. Yes, there was a bit of that. Still he could have done worse. Second place in the sword and only ate dirt once in the joust. Yep, could have been worse. Once he sees to his leg and gets himself cleaned up he comes down to the tavern with his squire. "You done well today Morcan. I suppose it is baptism by fire to get you as a squire the day before a tourney." Indeed the boy still looks a bit shellshocked and awed by all he saw today.

"Pff. How can you be sure of that? It may hae been a thoroughly impressive stroke," Kierne nearly cackles, chugging at the next cup of wine. He just keeps imbibing, as if it were the very stuff he lived on. "Or maybe they only came to measure up!" he laughs, eyes bright with wine, looking more lively than the staid and nervous figure he'd cut upon the field of tourney. Spotting Cian, he lifts his cup, "A round for Sir Cian and his squire," he calls for, inviting them over with the offer.

Shepard laughs heartily at Kierne's words, "I suppose it's possible, but I rather doubt it." He concedes, shaking his head in amusement and finishing his cup of wine.

Cian is followed in (a few moments behind) by a man wearing Kerrigan livery. He moves over and makes his courtesies to Shepard and Kierne, before leaning over and murmuring something quietly in Shepard's ear. Shepard nods at the man, and rises to his feet, bowing slightly towards Kierne and Sir Cian, and beckoning to a server to press a couple coins into her hand, "Another round for the house, with an extra for these two fine young warriors." He looks to Kierne, "Afraid I have to take my leave, Young Sir. My Lord Father has need of me. He inclines his head to Cian and smiles, "You fought with great skill and determination, Sir Conwy. Well done." He claps the younger man lightly on the shoulder, and then turns to head out with the fellow that just came to fetch him.

Cian walks with a limp up towards the bar, as he notes Ronan's squire he lifts a hand in greeting. Whatever is going on between their Dukes is their business it seems as far as he is concerned. He will not try to understand the whims of nobles, for they are a stressful lot. These men he recognizes todayy as fighting men for he has cross blade and lance with them. There is a nod to Shepard when he is greeted. "You too milord. I was glad to be able to cross lances with you." He offers before moving to sit near Lord Kierne, "And you Squire have either a natural talent for the tourney or a great trainer or both. I was amazed to watch you fight and humbled to be beaten by you."

Kierne's mirth-filled eyes go all grim and serious once more as Shep's father summons him. He's had no summons from his father since being in town. Not that he wants one, but being reminded of the fact kind of sucks, as touched as he is with the drink. Still, he nods roughly to Shep as he announces his intent to leave, lifting his cup to him in salute before draining it and making room for the next round. "Chance was in my favor," he tells Cian rather glumly, then, brightening up, "Come on, then, I owe you a round for the round I took earlier. It'll take the sting off of any pains still bothering you."

"And Skill Squire. You do not win a tourney of such renown with chance alone." Cian responds to the squire and gives a nod of acceptance to the offer of a round of drinks and places his own coin upon the table. "Once we make it through these, a round for the Squire who beat all the knights." He calls to the barmaid. Mayhaps he has not enough coin to fill the bellies of the entire tavern, but he can afford a drink or three. "I fear most of my pains are just renewed from the trip to Sutherland. The healers were not pleased for me to fight these past few days, but I could hardly miss a chance of a tourney over a day or two more of rest."

Kierne has been drinking steadily most of the afternoon and into the evening, and doesn't show any signs of slowing yet. "Right, you went on the great boar hunt!" he recalls. "While I was tasked with guarding the maidens," he sigh-huffs flusteredly. "Why do they even come along if all they want to do is sit there primping on their ponies and keeping us from good fun?" he rants a little. "They can do all of that just as well from home."

"My leg wishes I had been given your task. To be injured in honourable combat or battle is one thing…but to be gored by a pig? No great tales will come of that. No offense milord, but such games nobles play at when they have not the skill or temper for it…I do not understand." He says as he reaches for the first glass presented for him. He is mostly thought of by his fellow knights as moody and broody, but perhaps the days fighting has tempered his normal mood.

"A boar is a hell of a beast," Kierne replies. "And there are plenty of lays of hunting travails, old legends of great men banded together for the hunt of a tawny lioness or a great bear," he grins. "Maybe people don't write that sort of thing anymore, but it used to register as impressive enough. Now we must hunt one another for praise, hm?" he scoffs. "Anything the crowd asks for," he lifts his glass and his voice, just there, summoning forth a cheer from the people in the tavern who hadn't really been listening except for that last part, at which point Kierne tosses his head back, laughing at the response.

"I suppose it might be boasted that myself and another common knight did kill most of the beasts before I was gored. There is a certain exhiliration to the task, though the treatment of the healers afterward did take some of the excitement of the day." No sponge baths with sexy healers, no. Just the rough hands and harsh words of a temple healer. He snorts at the words that draw the crowds cheers, "If you are doing it for the crowd I would say you are doing it wrong, except you did win the day." He says with a bit of a shrug and another big drink from his glass.

"It's bread and circuses all over," Kierne murmurs. "I wouldn't have ever entered, but for tht my Lord Sir Ronan bid me do so. I fight for him, as long as he would have be do so. Thus being abself for the joust," he chuckles. "You don't suppose they mean to fight in earnest, do you?"

"I hope not. I believe Aidan meant well by entering so you would not have to choose between house and Knight, but I do not understand the way of Nobles I fear. I am glad to be a simple knight. In the end I think the best fighter did win on the day and that is all that matters." Cian responds before lifting his cup in toast once more.

"That's what I thought! It was going to be great fun, two against two," Kiki sighs. "Oh, well. Next time. If we get through to the next time still living," he amends that.

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