Douglas took another drink.  "I hated exams."  He chuckled.  "Though I was harder on myself on the major projects I had to do with the artists that I worked with.  They were picky.  Hell, hard on me, but I would see more problems with it than even they did.  One I even just burned it because I thought it was shite."  It hadn't been, in fact, some of the other apprentices had thought it was amazing, but he had not felt it was worth their praise.  "I was carried back to the bed that night due tae me being so drunk.  Felt it the next morning too."

"I'm sorry," said Tristan, still with his first whiskey. "It seems becoming a painter is as much of a road of hardship as any other profession, if not more. I was fine with written exams but I used to get terribly nervous for oral and practical exams. Back in school orals were worse than in university. I guess teachers are quite intimidating when you're a boy. My Latin teacher would start shouting if you didn't get the answer quickly enough. Certainly didn't help with the nerves."

He downed the rest of his drink, pulling a face as the sharp and yet satisfying sensation of the drink burning his throat. School had been a dark time, safe for one comforting friendship, and Tristan wondered why people who could afford it put their boys through such a brutal system. Was creating cold, unfeeling, and bullying young men a goal so desirable that one would lay down a great sum of money and break a young boy so gladly for it?

"Yelling was to built character.  Make yu strong for when the tough times came.  Though most of life was nae as rough as they put it up to seem."  He chuckled.  "I had a bit of a mischievous line back then... well, still do, to be honest.  I sometimes went a bit over the line, so guess I needed the rod from time to time.  Though rebellion when even the teachers back in school gave me trouble over my accent.  And dinna get me started if they heard me using the Gaelic.  I can still feel the rod on my hands and shoulders."  He rolled his back just thinking about it.

[CW: Reference to corporal punishment]

Tristan grimaced. "That's appalling. I can't see why they wouldn't let you use your language." He reached out and refilled his glass. "Though to be honest, I can't see the point of trashing a boy into obedience at all. It degrades both parties, if you ask me."

Douglas gave the other man a look of surprise.  He had known women that spoiled their children without a single word of no, let alone a spanking, but he had not heard this kind of idea from a man.  Most of the men with the women like that were very silent and passive or drank a lot.  Maybe the two ideas went together when dealing with the household run like that.

"I agree not needed for the language that is my native tongue.  Though, some of the things I got up to, I deserved the disciplining.  Then again some of those actions came from me being held back from what I felt was unfair.  That they did not know the language probably did make them think I was saying something bad.  And sometimes they were right."   He chuckled.  He had been told by his father that his actions were going to bring the older man's grave.  He had been a lively youngster.  He had earned the spankings from his father.

[CW: reference to racism]

Tristan raised the glass to his lips but lowered it when the last bit made him chuckle. He could see how having a language only he understood was a wonderful power to a schoolboy when dealing with bullying teachers.

"I don't know... I feel like most beatings I received were unfair. Some teachers singled me out for the colour my skin too, I think. And then those times I was in fact impertinent or broke a rule willingly, I think some two hundred lines to copy or scrubbing the classroom would have been more humane and more of a pain at the same time."

But then, Tristan had been a gentle child, who tended to follow the rules if only he loved the person who set them. And his sensitive nature had not borne brutality well.

Douglas took a deep drink thinking back.  Well, sort of, he was finding thinking was a bit more difficult on one topic.  "Aye, Da told me tae expect it.  But if I wanted tae be a fair and good leader of our people, then I must learn what it meant tae deal with unfairness.  Tae recognizes it and nae bring it home with me.   How tae notice and recognize it when those we had here and in the discipline that I had to deal out if things were done wrongly."  He paused.  "Up where we live the Earl is sometimes the judge and jury for things that go on.  We are not totally civilized up there and a strong hand is sometimes needed."  He explained.  "Though we are not as neanderthal as some would expect either."  He grinned.

"For some socialites, I make like I am just tae scare them.  Especially, when I see their snuffed up noses.  Other times, I show just how educated I am when they say something wrong, and they realize just how stupid they are."  He grinned.  He didn't like snobs that thought they are smarter and better than those around them.  He thought of how the girl back at the library had treated Philippa and took another drink.  He had enjoyed sending back refusal to the invitations to several certain events lately.  He had made it clear that he had no wish to spend his time with those that could not behave properly especially in public.

Tristan nodded. It made sense to be prepared for the job, though he quietly believed that fairness would be a much better teacher of fairness than unfairness. Still, he understood little about what things were like up in the north, and he knew that his own views were liberal anyway.

He drank some of his whiskey and then smirked at what Douglas told him. "Well, that serves them right. I suppose the higher up in society one gets the more snobs one encounters..."

Douglas nodded.  "I have met bad people of all ranks, but the most snobby and rude ones tend to be those with money and those with high rank.  I've met some among the artists too, and I can be when it comes to the arts.  Have to be honest there.  These new camera things are not art."  He said it as if a perverted idea.  They looked so cold to him.  Haunted even.  "And some of the new music I have heard by the younger generation... oh hell... I sound like the old men..." He laughed out loud a lot louder than he realized.  The whisky was really taking in him now.

Tristan couldn't help a smirk. He didn't try hard to hide his amusement. The room was spinning and politeness seemed irrelevant. "But isn't that what our fathers thought of the things we enjoyed and found interesting? Have you seen any of those... what are they called... gramophones? Soon people won't need to go outdoors anymore to listen to an orchestra."