theroleplaybin | At times I lose the spark, living in the dark. How I wish my song could be a sign...

It wasn't uncommon for Wembley to be in Boober's room - he'd been spending even more time than usual with the other Fraggle while Gobo was away. It wasn't a case of replacing one with the other, but rather a case of Wembley having more time to spend with Boober, now - which made him happy! Gobo was his best friend, but Boober was his favorite Fraggle.

The point being that Wembley spent a lot of time in Boober's room, and even seeing him curled up in Boober's bed wasn't an uncommon sight - whether Boober was there, too, or not. But he wasn't so much curled up that afternoon as sprawled out on the bed, his head hanging down so that his wild hair brushed against the floor.

He'd heard about what had happened with Gobo and Louie, and it left him feeling scared and worried. He'd even poked in to see Gobo, earlier, but Mokey had gently shooed him off. Apparently, it just wasn't a good time - and while Wembley could certainly understand that, it just made him more nervous.

Something about the normalcy of Wembley being in his room, and being so lost in thought, meant he didn't see him until he was nearly right on top of him. He startled backward, then realized who it was, swallowing his heart back down in his throat.

Stepping back a bit, he rested his hands on his knees and leaned around down until he could see Wembley upside-down. Or was it rightside-up, now.

"Wembley? Are you feeling okay? You don't have Jelly Bones, do you?" It wasn't contagious, but he was still worried. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Wembley just sighed at first, shaking his head a little - but upside-down, that made him feel sort of dizzy, so he was quick to twist around until he could sit up - and that made him even dizzier.

"I'm okay, Boober," he assured him, holding a hand up to his head while the room stopped spinning. "Where were you?"

"I was taking your and Gobo's laundry back." He turned and hopped up into the bed beside Wembley, sighing a little. "Louie was in here, and we talked for a bit before he came back with me. He had something important to talk with him about so, I let them be."

Wembley nodded, pointing at Louie's hoodie. "I saw... Is he okay? Is Gobo?" Wembley asked, looking over at Boober with clear concern. "I tried to go see him earlier, but Mokey said no..." He closed his eyes and let out a breath.

Boober was quiet for a few seconds, then glanced up at the hoodie.

"Louie's alright. Gobo..." He paused, then shook his head a bit. "Apparently there was some kind of altercation with some bully Fraggles. Louie hid, and Gobo took them on himself. I don't know firsthand how he is, when we went there he was huddled up in his bed facing the wall."

Wembley made a little noise that was somewhere between a grumble and a whine. "Well, it's good that Louie's okay, but... Poor Gobo. You know how upset he gets with himself! I-I'm his best friend! I should go talk to him... Oh, no I shouldn't. Should I?"

He looked positively miserable as he wembled over his next move, and he fidgeted with his hands in quick, finger-twisting motions.

Boober considered that a moment or two. "Gobo needs a friend. You know him better than anybody."

Wembley smiled, just a little, and nodded. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, Boober - you gonna come along?"

If it were someone else, they might have been asking in case Gobo lashed out in his frustration with himself, or so someone could usher Louie away. Wembley was too worried about Gobo to care about the first, though, or consider the second. But Boober, he knew, must be worried as well - he wouldn't invite himself along, but he could probably stand some reassurance... Hopefully, they'd get it.

"There's no question about me coming along." He was worried about Gobo, sure, but there was more to it than that. Ever since Gobo started travelling more and for longer periods at a time, Boober knew he'd become Wembley's anchor, even if he felt himself inadequate for it. But Wembley was his best friend, and he was going to go by his side, no matter what.

He hopped off the bed. "Let's go."

Wembley's smile grew at that simple statement, and his hands finally relaxed. He got up in near-sync with Boober, and - pure instinct - reached out for his friend's hand as he said, "Yeah, let's go."

Boober took Wembley's hand and nodded, walking off with him.

They didn't make it all the way to Gobo's room, though. It was on going through the Great Hall that he suddenly stopped, catching particular movement ahead. He watched Gobo run down another path- looked like the one that went out to the (ulp)Gorg's garden -and in his wake, Louie. He followed them, visually, until they were out of sight, and then he turned beside him.

"Wembley, did you see that?"

"I sure did!" Wembley gasped. "Gee, I'm really glad Gobo's out of bed now, but what are he and Louie doing goin' to the Gorgs' garden? What if they run into the other two, and not Junior?!"

"Noo, not that. Did you see Gobo's hand?" He stepped forward some, staring off after the path they took, though the two were long gone. "It was almost totally bandaged up!"

Wembley gasped once more, although this time, it was a sharper sound. "They hurt Gobo?! Well, I'm not gonna stand around and do nothing about it!"

But what to do about it? He wasn't sure, beyond that he didn't think more fighting was the answer. Still, something he had to do something... Maybe not even something involving these bully Fraggles. Maybe he just needed to think about something else - because at the moment, Wembley was positively trembling.

"No, no, I think-" His hands went to his mouth in utter worry, hanging on to the lower jaw. "I think Gobo hurt them. Louie said he'd gotten into a fight, and that it was serious! And he was bleeding when he came back.

"Oh nooo, what happened out there??"

"But why would Gobo do that? Sure he gets mad, but he- He shouldn't've gotten that mad! I- I- I don't understand!"

Boober looked around them, then grabbed Wembley by the wrist and dragged him to a more private spot of the Hall, underneath a Doozer bridge. Even then, he spoke in a harsh, hushed voice.

"Apparently those other Fraggles, they- they started insulting Uncle Matt. They'd said some stuff beforehand, but that sounded like what pushed Gobo over the edge."

"They insulted Gobo's Uncle Matt?" Wembley hissed in alarm. "Oh, gosh, of course Gobo got so mad - he has a hard time even when Red does that! Aw, Boober... I don't like this. Fighting and hurting each other's feelings - on purpose? That's not how Fraggles are!"

"I think we need to talk to Gobo, that must've been why he was so depressed when I saw him!" He quieted a moment when a little Doozer vehicle went over the bridge, then he looked off toward the path again. "Except they went... outside..."

Wembley followed Boober's gaze, and stared off down the path, as well. Even thought Junior Gorg was a friend now, he didn't like going out there - though he was sure Boober liked it even less.

He swallowed, hard, and steeled himself. "Boober, we have to do this. We gotta be brave for Gobo - he's always brave for us."

He worried his scarf with his hands, staring off down the path.

"You- you go. I'll be back here being- being brave from the sidelines, okay?"

Wembley nodded, patting Boober on the back. "Yeah, okay. I... I can go."

He paused for a moment, took a deep breath in, then darted away before he could talk himself out of it.

It wasn't long after that he made his way back to Boober, who he was told had returned to his room. He entered and leaned against a laundry basket, resting his arms in the dirty laundry.

"Well, he seemed better, but... I don't know what he was doing." He explained the radish, and how Gobo had apparently been busy but promised to talk later, then sighed as he glanced around the room, absent-mindedly prodding at and playing with the clothes in the basket. "I think he's still upset. You know how Gobo can do that sometimes - he can forget he's upset, kinda, but then when he remembers, it's worse."

Left alone, Boober had returned to his room to start folding the clean laundry. Much as before though, he was somewhat distracted in doing it, and by the time Wembley returned he must've folded and re-folded the same shirt five times.

"Sounds like Gobo's got some kind of plan... I doubt that radish is going to be a midnight snack."

Wembley looked over to Boober, nodding. "He always has a plan. But... Oh, I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't be so worried, but... He's my best friend, Boober! How can I not be worried?"

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