Noah looked at the waiter. "Uhm... the same," he said. He turned back to the Marquis, rather confused by what he was saying and how he was supposed to respond. As far as he was aware he was indeed a gobshite and unable to make something of himself. He had already accepted that. He just wanted money to buy himself and his brother food for a few nights and maybe a drink or two... or three. But if he was going to tell the man he wasn't smart enough to make something out of his life, he'd never get more money.

"How do I prove I'm not a gobshite, ser?"