If the caucus is bad, why aren't you running?
Who: Essdara, Sefton
Where: Headmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr
When: Evening, Day 27, Month 10, Turn 1, Pass 7
Comment: Well, this was intense, and fun, and Dara was... Manic, I guess, but Dara, so that's something. :)
You enter the caucus office.
Caucus Office
As offices go, this one is fairly standard. Larger than most due to being shared, there are a pair of desks set facing each other in the center of the room. Each desk has a set of shelves running the length of the wall behind it and those shelves are filled with neatly organized scroll-tubes. The floor has been covered in a thick blue-and-black braided rug, and the wall not hidden behind shelves bears a tapestry that shows a Harper instructing a class of young students.
Outside the Caucus office the caverns and corridors are full of activity, the weyr's citizens streaming in from every direction and converging on the living caverns below for their evening meal. The office itself, though, is a haven of tranquility. Sefton has it all to himself, and is to be glimpsed through the slightly open doorway -- sprawled in a chair, the sole of one boot resting against the edge of his desk. He is reading, with a drink in one hand.
An open door makes a disgruntled cook's job easier. Still, she's a big girl, and it's a heavy tray, so it's pretty obvious why she was asked. Coming up to the office door, she balances the tray briefly with one hand to give the door a polite knock, and then a less polite nudge with her foot to open it enough to get in. "Hello? Headmaster? I've got your dinner here, if you are hungry." Her voice is bright and pleasant, any dissent carefully masked.
Sefton looks up, one hand moving to brush his hair back out of his eyes -- it promptly falls back down again, and this time is ignored. "Thank you very much." His drawl is low and lazy, lingering over elongated vowels. "The kitchens are too good to me, please pass on my appreciation." Leaning forward to make a space on the desk for her, he's conducting an inspection at the same time, gaze flickering thoughtfully over her. "I'm afraid I don't know your name, you must forgive me."
Essdara moves to settle the tray in the cleared area, with a bit of a smirk. "You can hardly be expected to know every cook's name, sir. I doubt even the weyrleader can do that. However, I am pleased to make your aquaintance, and am Essdara." She straightens up from setting the tray down, looking the man over appraisingly, and with no small amount of unhidden curiosity.
Origins in Boll are betrayed as much in a telltale tenor drawl as in the flawless olive complexion so common to that area, Sefton defined by boyish good looks almost too good to be true. Tousled ebon curls are in constant disarray, and disobedient locks have been cropped to a curling fingerlength. Liquid brown eyes are wide, rimmed by enviably long lashes. The only visible flaws are a slight dint in his aquiline nose, suggesting a break in the past, and perhaps the occasional twist to lips near sensual in their fullness. A strong chin and jawline define his mobile face, his shoulders broad and his tall frame filled out to match.
Unaccustomed to the climate, Sefton has taken no chances about getting cold. Expensively tailored trousers of plain black nearly cover thick-soled and well polished boots. A matching shirt hangs untucked. When outdoors, a black leather jacket, similar to a rider's, is added to the outfit. He wears no knot.
"I do my best to remember names once I hear them," Sefton replies politely, leaning forward to look over the contents of the tray -- and allow her examination of him to continue unheeded. "I am relieved to know I have not heard yours before." He rises to his feet then, turning to retrieve a bottle from the shelves behind him, and speaking over his shoulder. "If you'd like something to eat, please help yourself. They always send me more than I can eat. I don't know that I'll ever become accustomed to such heavy meals in the evenings."
Essdara pauses a moment at the offer, looking at the food tray curiously. "It would be rude of me to deprive you, sir, and I think that the kitchens would not appreciate me tarrying long." The last with a slightly crooked smile. "But I admit, I've not eaten today, and I don't relish going back to a few more hours before I get to do so. If, of course, it is a genuine offer... And not just politeness to a servant."
"All courtesy should be genuine, or it is no courtesy at all," Sefton murmurs, as though repeating something heard elsewhere. Raising his voice, there's amusement in his drawl as he speaks. "You are most welcome. If they complain, say I insisted on talking, and you saw no polite way to extricate your way from the conversation." He's grinning as he turns, leaning forward to pour himself a drink from the bottle. "Then you exchange long-suffering glances about my lack of practicality, and failure to realise the importance of your duties. That is how it goes, I believe?"
Essdara grins a bit, and shrugs. "Honestly? They won't care that much. I am sure they see this is as much a chance to be rid of me a while, as it is for me to be away." She watches him with the bottle, patiently; not rude enough to eat first. "You have some interesting students." She says, rather out of the blue.
"Discord in the kitchens, then?" Mild interest from Sefton, but not as much as his drink is garnering. "I had ice here somewhere, I'm sure I recall someone coming by with it." He drops to his haunches to examine the space under the desk, retrieving a small bucket. "You are quite right, many of my students are interesting indeed. I do hope they haven't been any trouble." It's an unconcerned query -- he knows as well as anyone that dozens of young people are bound to present trouble at some point. "Or had you one in mind in particular?" This question is polite, as he pulls the lid off the ice bucket. Then, belatedly, "Please, eat."
Essdara shakes her head, "After you. I'm young, foolish, and often unwise... But I try to remember some basic manners. Usually." She watches him search for the bucket with some small amusement. "Give it a few weeks, and you can get all the ice you want a few steps away. As for the students, well. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't run into a few I dislike, and a few more I do." A pensive moment. "I still wonder, though, what the overall result of it all will be, and if it is worth the disruption. But I am sure you are used to people who are less than convinced."
"You are quite right. I've spent the past turn discovering the joy of a winter that lasts all the turn through." Sefton pauses, correcting himself as a piece of ice clinks into the glass. "I lie, though. There was sun for nearly a sevenday at one point. I understand that was summer." Wry amusement that's tinged with a hint of pain -- and no wonder, with his tropical origins. "You are not alone in wondering what the end result will be, Essdara. It is an experiment, so by its nature the outcome is uncertain."
Essdara says, "And in the meantime, chaos." She makes a face, and motions towards the food. "Eat, or it will get cold. Colder. And, yes, that was summer. Blink, and you miss it. Not that I know anything else, myself. I can't imagine, say, living at Igen or Ista or Boll. An experiement... Is it wrong, sir, for me to be mildly offended that my life has become part of someone's experiment?""
"I am nothing if not obedient," Sefton murmurs, sinking down into his chair, and leaning forward to take his pick from the tray. "Please, join me. There's a chair you can pull up." The Headmaster is whimsical tonight, inviting the help to dine. He chews in silence for a moment, then reaches for his drink, turning the glass in long fingers as he speaks quietly. "You should try the hot weather sometime. My home is different for more than the weather. The climate changes the people, alters the ways they interact and how they carry on their lives." And then a shrug dismisses the difference, something close to solemnity giving way to his usual amusement. "Ah, but Essdara. You must remember that it was the Grand Conclave who decided on the experiment. Surely you know they are infallible?" A twist of his lips almost invites a disobedient reply.
Essdara pulls up a chair, and aquires a meatroll to nibble at. "There is no such thing as infallible, of course. And, just because someone is offended, doesn't mean that it is a wrong choice. You can't make everyone happy in every decision. And I am, in the end, just a cook. My life being disrupted is of no import." A pause, and an accusing stare, "And you didn't answer. That's not playing fair. As for warmer climes... Someone once took me to a beach, Ista I think. It was a pleasant day, all in all, but not one I care to repeat, and I have no urge to go back."
Sefton laughs, shaking his head at some private amusement, and taking several moments before he elects to share at least part of it. "Well done, Essdara. A disappointing number of my students would not have noticed that I failed to reply." He takes his time over his next words, breaking a piece of cheese into two, and chewing slowly on one half. "You earn yourself an answer. I suppose you have every right to be mildly offended that your life has been appropriated as part of somebody else's grand scheme. But, as you say, this scheme is for the greater good, and outweighs your personal concerns. And mind, should this ease your displeasure to any degree."
Essdara grins lightly. "About what I, myself, have come to think, to be honest. But it's nice to be able to ask, directly." She shakes her head, "But it's not all bad. I've made some friends I never would have met otherwise, and experienced other things that, for better or worse, wouldn't have happened without your students. I find myself almost, almost approving of the whole thing. 'Course, when some holder brat tells me to shut my mouth and go away, in my own caverns, when I am not even talking to him? Doesn't help."
"Intelligent questions are always welcome from any source," Sefton observes, that thread of amusement threading through his drawl once more. It doesn't diminish significantly as he continues, once again browsing through the offerings on the tray. "Equally, I must observe that discourtesy is unacceptable from all sources, and certainly I do not accept it from those over whom I have some influence. In the future, you will achieve more by reporting such incidents to me than by keeping them close to your heart." For all his professed disapproval, he doesn't sound overly ruffled by his charges' misbehaviour.
Essdara says, "Would I? What would I achieve, were I to do that? Other than a reputation as someone who, presented with a bit of rudeness, runs scurrying off to the nannies? No, I only mention it to illustrate the dual nature of my feelings towards the Caucus." A shrug. "Besides, I, above all, am in no place to whine about rudeness. There's a reason I am not liked where I work.""
Sefton laughs again, reaching for his drink and leaning back in his chair for a moment. "Then I suppose you must suffer in silence, and accept some of the responsibility for their bad behaviour. If they are never reprimanded, then like naughty children, they will never learn." A long swallow of the pale yellow liquid that he's drinking, and his lips quirk as he sets the glass down. "You seem civilised enough to me. But it cannot be that you refuse to bite the hand that feeds, for they have plenty to feed you with in the kitchens. Nor do I think I can possibly be more overwhelming than some of the women you work with. I've seen them."
Essdara grins a little. "I would have to care about you to bite your hand, Headmaster. What you do over here is your business, and nothing I say or do is going to to have any impact, either on you, or on my life. In the kitchens, it is different. I have my opinions, my desires, and my... Ideas, I guess. And I was not afraid to voice them." A shrug, fiddling with the meatroll she certainly isn't eating; talking is far too interesting. "Right, wrong, it doesn't matter, noone wants to hear the opinions of some arrogant little brat. No, I think it's better to just keep quiet, and let the future happen. When I'm not the youngest, or the newest, then maybe I will get somewhere being the loudest."
"Ah, there you are incorrect, Essdara. There are many things you could say to me that would have an impact on your life," Sefton murmurs, tone tending towards what might be the mildest of reproof. "You have not said any of them yet, though, and perhaps this is the key thing." Another mouthful of his drink, and he leans forward to hold a hand over the tray for a moment. A meatroll is selected. "I am afraid your logic passes me by, however. You intend on pursuing your policy of attempting to make your mark via sheer volume, intending only to wait until you are not the most junior of the kitchen staff? Is this a correct assessment?"
Essdara says, "And I assume, of course, you would never give the secret of those things away?" Her tone is amused in the answer, but grows serious as she considers his later words. "No." She says, after a long moment, "No, it's not. It's not about not being the most junior, it's about not being seen as a pretentious child. It is also about actually learning more that things I think about are right, and what are wrong. If I can do better at sifting the possible from the improbable, and actually be seen as an equal, then I will be in a place to be taken seriously. I am not, now.""
"Oh, I don't know. I might be convinced to share." Sefton's openly amused now, taking his time over dissecting his food -- he, too, is more interested in conversation. "It sounds to me as though you are a reformed woman, though. Is it a case of having left it too late? From your words, I suspect that your cohorts have formed an opinion of you, and are loathe to give it up, even in the face of contrary evidence." Another long swallow of his drink -- whatever it is, he's working through it quickly enough.
Essdara grins, "And how would I do that convincing? And, well, I can only work with what I have now. For better or for worse, I have lived my life as I chose. As I always will. If I have one flaw, and I assure you I do, it's that I am determined to live the life I have chosen. My heart, my love, is in food, and there is nothing that will take me away from that."
Sefton laughs, raising a finger. "You can't expect me to answer that as well, Essdara. That would be doing all the work for you, and you've made the mistake of demonstrating the fact that you're not entirely unperceptive." He drains the last of his drink, and reaches for the bottle to unstopper it. "I respect your inclination to remain true to your passion. Many find happiness doing just that, and certainly I see no fault in ambition."
Essdara chuckles softly, "There's only one thing I can think of you could be refering to, and I can't imagine it's what you mean, or that it would be a good idea for anyone involved. And ambition... That's a word for it, I guess, though I've always associated that with a desire for recognition, for glory. I don't have that. I don't care if people know why the changes I want to happen happen... So long as they do." She motions at the platter, "Because that is boring, and bland, and doesn't have to be."
"I think, Essdara, that you misread my meaning," Sefton muses, amusement clearly apparent now -- it curves his lips up, although the unpleasantness that can twist his smile is absent. He's simply entertained. "So you have no desire for recognition at all? You would be content to simply have others enjoy their meals, without knowing why they do so more than in times past? Very noble of you, and very rare, I suspect. The vast majority would seek plaudits of some sort for their work."
Essdara shrugs, "Perhaps I do. I don't pretend to understand much. And, you have the latter right. Though I also admit, I know that there is no such thing as not getting recognition in a place like this, for the things you do right, or wrong. Word will always spread, people will always know. I don't see any need for more than that, if that makes any sense."
Sefton laughs, reaching up to rake his hair back from his eyes once more. It's a habit, it would seem. "I would draw a distinction between intelligence and understanding. You have demonstrated intelligence, even if understanding has escaped you. Of the two, which do you think is the more important?" A slight alternation in his tone -- if she crept into the back of his classroom one day, she'd hear it there, too. The onset of questions, a slight alteration in his drawl -- his instructor's voice.
Essdara shakes her head, "There is a definate differance, and too much of a serpation to compare them that way. Too much of one, too much of the other, and it's not good. It's like saying which is more important of salt and sugar. If I am making cookies, the answer is quite different to if I am making, say, spiced potatos." Always game for an argument. "I do not profess to have much of either, but I've enough for my role in life."
"Do you really suppose?" Sefton's cynical, although his dark eyes do not signal disapproval as he gives up on the food -- bland indeed -- and settles back in his chair. "You believe that there are situations in which understanding is more important? What do you say to the idea that intelligence is something one either possesses, or does not. Understanding can come through conversation, education, experience. Intelligence, not so."
Essdara thinks about that a moment, absently reaching over to set the nibbled meatroll down, though well away from any food it might cross-contaminate. She leans back and gives him a thoughtful look. "I would have to ask your definition of intelligence, then. To many, that can be a range of things. A person who hasn't been taught maths or letters may be considered unintelligent... When they simply haven't been given the chance, or had someone who understands them work with them. I guess you think otherwise." She ponders. "Intelligence, perhaps, then, is the ability to learn? To assimilate information into yourself, and apply it to the things that come along in life?"
"I think that's not a bad definition," Sefton agrees. "I have a library full of works that attempt to define it, but your theory will certainly serve. I would say that a person who cannot read or write is uneducated, not unintelligent. There is certainly a distinction, especially if we define intelligence in terms of capacity. Understanding comes closer to education, I would say." He's enjoying himself now, furnishing further questions almost lazily. "If you are to decide between intelligence and understanding, though, you must define understanding for me next."
Essdara, half expecting the question, smile a little. "I falter there, I guess. Because it would still be part of what I said. Understanding, itself, is the actual ability to use information in a productive way? But that doesn't seem... Adequet. I'm sorry, I don't think I /can/ define it.
"Perhaps we need something narrower if we are to..." Sefton pauses, lips quirking at his next words, "understand the concept of understanding. Perhaps we might call it comprehension of a certain truth, or of a process. Will that serve for this evening?"
Essdara nods, slowly, "I think so." She doesn't sound terribly confident now. "Given that... What was the question again?" She smiles, almost shyly. "I'm... Not used to so much thinking about these kinds of things."
Sefton laughs, returning her grin easily -- his amusement still doesn't seem to be directed at her, which is something. "If we take the definitions you approve of, and say that one has understanding if one has a grasp of a certain fact, truth or proces, and we say that intelligence is less concrete -- that it encompasses the /ability/ to process information only, then I wished to know which you would rather have. The potential that raw intelligence implies, or the comforting knowledge that you have already mastered something that comes with understanding."
Essdara thinks about that a long moment, playing with the hem of her shirt, almost nervously, as she searches for the 'right' answer. Finally, she answers, slowly. "I don't think I would rather have one or the other, simply enough of understanding to suit the intelligence I have. Which, I geuss, is a given, because how oculd you understand something beyond your capacity?" she shakes her head, "I just... I don't seem to be able to seperate them like you want me to."
Sefton laughs, shaking his head -- and again furnishing evidence for his fiancee's case for cutting his hair, for the curls fall into his eyes. He brushes them away absently. "I will simplify, then. You've demonstrated that you're capable of under..." A pause, and he catches himself with a laugh. "Of comprehending what I say. I am asking you, I suppose, to choose between a known quantity and an unknown quantity, where the unknown may be far larger. To my mind, possessing raw intelligence means you may be able to learn on many subjects, to extract information and separate out the important facts. To possess understanding implies a good grasp of fewer topics. It is a safer option, and some would certainly choose safety over a risk with unknown reward."
A quiet moment, though she nods, as she finally gets his meaning. "I do see what you mean now. It's still a hard question, of course. For me, for my life, I don't see a great need to know a variety of things, on many subjects. I'm just a cook, it is better that I un..." Her turn to cut the word off, "That I grasp my craft as much as is possible. But, I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy learning other things. Faranth knows I've spent enough time in the record rooms at night when I couldn't sleep. So I guess... If I had to choose, it would be for intelligence." Again, non-confident, almost hesitant in her answers. She rubs her head just a little as she works through it all, frowning.
Sefton laughs, reaching across the desk for the bottle. "Good girl, Essdara." There's something like approval in that drawl now, and he unstoppers the bottle. "You've got enough of it to wrap your head around that idea, so it's as well that you don't mind possessing some. Would you like a drink, after such hard work?" He's pouring himself one, over the melting shards of the ice he dropped into the glass earlier.
Essdara eyes the bottle, almost warily. "What is it? Not to offend... I just learned long, long ago never to accept drinks from bottles I don't know. Some of the riders have, ah, unique sources of inebriation." To the praise, she manages a slight smile, though it's perilously close to a smirk. "I am pleased to meet with your approval."
Sefton tilts the bottle to examine it -- it is unlabelled, so his word is the only source of information. "It's something they make where I come from -- it's citrus based, quite strong. I can add a little water for you, if you like." He manages that final offer with only a faint hint of the distress it must cause a seasoned drinker. At her next comment, though, he lofts a brow. "You are nothing of the sort, you cheeky thing. I am of the Caucus, and from outside High Reaches to boot. My approval means nothing to you." He's still amused.
Essdara smirks, "I'll take my chances." Bravado, now the challenge is laid. "I have nothing against people not from High Reaches. And the Caucus, as I said, has it's good points, and members." A brief flicker of soemthing across her face. "Never doubt that I don't cherish some of the friends I have made because of the Caucus."
"Brave, or foolish. I suppose we'll see," Sefton muses, reaching for another glass, and pouring her a measure -- it's not as generous as his, but the liquor has a strong bite to it, and he has considerable bodymass on her. "I tease, though. Only someone very foolish would refuse to see any good at all in the Caucus, and you are not that. On the whole, I find cooks too practical to be entirely foolish. Nevertheless, you are not here to seek my approval. You indulge me, rather."
Essdara accepts the drink, and offers a mild wince as she tastes it, eyes widening a bit. "Ok, I'll grant, that's... Bitey. Cooks can be plenty frivolous, never doub that. Spend an hour in a kitchen and you can't help but know it. Worst haven of gossips out there." Disdain, again, for the very thing she is. "Hmm. Am I indulging you? What, then, is your desire, that I am fulfilling? No, I do not seek your approval. Nor do you mine. But, for me at least, you fulfill a need, to not be somewhere I just don't have the heart to be lately." A frank statement from the cook. "So please, indulge away. I am yours for the using."
"Be careful, or we'll discuss the difference between frivilous and foolish," Sefton cautions with a grin, knocking back a considerable swallow from his glass with the ease of long practice. "You indulge me by attempting to understand find distinctions, and by reaching for concepts that I dangle just out of your reach. It is a bad habit, teaching even when there is no class to hand. I seem to have formed it somewhere in the past Turn or so. But you could be somewhere other than the kitchens without undergoing forced education, could you not? Or do you need me for an excuse?"
Essdara says, "There are worse things to discuss, Headmaster. I have entertained my share of both, and then some." A sip of the drink, with another wince. "Need is not the right word. Oppertunity was presented, I took it. As you said, if anyone asks, I was detained by the Headmaster. I could, of course, go elsewhere, but to what end?" And the bitterness comes out, "Perhaps to find a quiet place to bemoan my broken heart? To worry about who of my friends will die in Fall next? Of my family? Or any of the other myriad of things I have to dwell on?" A shrug, "I will take your dangling, at least it keeps my mind busy.""
Sefton listens, and although there's polite -- even interested -- attention, there's not a great deal of sympathy. "You are right, then. Better to dwell on other things than such concerns. Bring me another meal one evening. We'll do the difference between frivilous and foolish, and then see what other distinctions we can find to debate." A pause, and white teeth flash against his olive skin as he grins broadly. "You give me an idea, Essdara. I may develop it at some point in the future, I think. Until then, I am happy to serve as a safe haven."
Essdara raises a brow, and drains the glass before setting it on the desk. To her credit, it doesn't kill her. She stands at the obvious dismissal, with an amused grin. "I am at your disposal, of course. And, Headmaster, while you may present yourself as a haven... I would never go so far as to call it safe." If she is curious about the idea, she doesn't ask. "Another evening, then." She moves for the door.
Sefton laughs out loud, setting his glass down. "Take the tray with you, I won't eat any more of it. Now you've pointed out the general lack of flavour, the meal doesn't seem as appetising as it did previously." He leans in to peer at the tray with scientific interest. "I don't often pay a great deal of attention to what I eat, I must confess." But his interest in the food, unlike hers, is passing. He's more interested in taking her words apart. "You must forgive me, though, if I have made you feel unsafe in any way. It would distress me to do so."
Essdara, ever obedient, turns back to get to the tray. As she walks over, she replies. "Would it? Hmm. Safe is a relative thing. Safe is, also, in it's way, boring. Change is dangerous, and some would say thinking is moreso. So, no, I would not say it is safe here, because you seem determined to make me think. Already, I find that just having been here, a belief I felt has wavered." She takes up the tray, looking over at him. "Am I wrong?"
Those white teeth gleam again in another smile -- Sefton is pleased. It would seem that shaking the foundations of others' beliefs qualifies as a hobby. "Change is dangerous, I suppose. I would say that a stalemate is even more dangerous, but then I am a politics instructor, and perhaps predisposed to think so."
Essdara shrugs, as she once more moves to leave. "What you instruct has no bearing to me. I'm not a student, just... An aquaintance. An amusement. But there are worse things to be." A shrug. "Dunno about stalemates verses change. Seems like usually you can't tell which is better until long after it's too late to matter."
"Then that is something else we should debate," Sefton observes with a smile. "I will add it to the list. You are certainly an amusement, Essdara." And not the sort that young female workers usually provide to men of his station -- a lofted brow suggests that this diversion is perhaps appreciated more. For now, it would seem she is dismissed, for he reaches for both glass and hide once more, taking them up as he eases back into his chair. "Thank you for the discussion."
Essdara offers a slight curtsey at the door, "Thank you for your time, Headmaster. I do seek to amuse where I can." And slips out.
You exit the office.
Where: Headmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr
When: Evening, Day 27, Month 10, Turn 1, Pass 7
Comment: Well, this was intense, and fun, and Dara was... Manic, I guess, but Dara, so that's something. :)
You enter the caucus office.
Caucus Office
As offices go, this one is fairly standard. Larger than most due to being shared, there are a pair of desks set facing each other in the center of the room. Each desk has a set of shelves running the length of the wall behind it and those shelves are filled with neatly organized scroll-tubes. The floor has been covered in a thick blue-and-black braided rug, and the wall not hidden behind shelves bears a tapestry that shows a Harper instructing a class of young students.
Outside the Caucus office the caverns and corridors are full of activity, the weyr's citizens streaming in from every direction and converging on the living caverns below for their evening meal. The office itself, though, is a haven of tranquility. Sefton has it all to himself, and is to be glimpsed through the slightly open doorway -- sprawled in a chair, the sole of one boot resting against the edge of his desk. He is reading, with a drink in one hand.
An open door makes a disgruntled cook's job easier. Still, she's a big girl, and it's a heavy tray, so it's pretty obvious why she was asked. Coming up to the office door, she balances the tray briefly with one hand to give the door a polite knock, and then a less polite nudge with her foot to open it enough to get in. "Hello? Headmaster? I've got your dinner here, if you are hungry." Her voice is bright and pleasant, any dissent carefully masked.
Sefton looks up, one hand moving to brush his hair back out of his eyes -- it promptly falls back down again, and this time is ignored. "Thank you very much." His drawl is low and lazy, lingering over elongated vowels. "The kitchens are too good to me, please pass on my appreciation." Leaning forward to make a space on the desk for her, he's conducting an inspection at the same time, gaze flickering thoughtfully over her. "I'm afraid I don't know your name, you must forgive me."
Essdara moves to settle the tray in the cleared area, with a bit of a smirk. "You can hardly be expected to know every cook's name, sir. I doubt even the weyrleader can do that. However, I am pleased to make your aquaintance, and am Essdara." She straightens up from setting the tray down, looking the man over appraisingly, and with no small amount of unhidden curiosity.
Origins in Boll are betrayed as much in a telltale tenor drawl as in the flawless olive complexion so common to that area, Sefton defined by boyish good looks almost too good to be true. Tousled ebon curls are in constant disarray, and disobedient locks have been cropped to a curling fingerlength. Liquid brown eyes are wide, rimmed by enviably long lashes. The only visible flaws are a slight dint in his aquiline nose, suggesting a break in the past, and perhaps the occasional twist to lips near sensual in their fullness. A strong chin and jawline define his mobile face, his shoulders broad and his tall frame filled out to match.
Unaccustomed to the climate, Sefton has taken no chances about getting cold. Expensively tailored trousers of plain black nearly cover thick-soled and well polished boots. A matching shirt hangs untucked. When outdoors, a black leather jacket, similar to a rider's, is added to the outfit. He wears no knot.
"I do my best to remember names once I hear them," Sefton replies politely, leaning forward to look over the contents of the tray -- and allow her examination of him to continue unheeded. "I am relieved to know I have not heard yours before." He rises to his feet then, turning to retrieve a bottle from the shelves behind him, and speaking over his shoulder. "If you'd like something to eat, please help yourself. They always send me more than I can eat. I don't know that I'll ever become accustomed to such heavy meals in the evenings."
Essdara pauses a moment at the offer, looking at the food tray curiously. "It would be rude of me to deprive you, sir, and I think that the kitchens would not appreciate me tarrying long." The last with a slightly crooked smile. "But I admit, I've not eaten today, and I don't relish going back to a few more hours before I get to do so. If, of course, it is a genuine offer... And not just politeness to a servant."
"All courtesy should be genuine, or it is no courtesy at all," Sefton murmurs, as though repeating something heard elsewhere. Raising his voice, there's amusement in his drawl as he speaks. "You are most welcome. If they complain, say I insisted on talking, and you saw no polite way to extricate your way from the conversation." He's grinning as he turns, leaning forward to pour himself a drink from the bottle. "Then you exchange long-suffering glances about my lack of practicality, and failure to realise the importance of your duties. That is how it goes, I believe?"
Essdara grins a bit, and shrugs. "Honestly? They won't care that much. I am sure they see this is as much a chance to be rid of me a while, as it is for me to be away." She watches him with the bottle, patiently; not rude enough to eat first. "You have some interesting students." She says, rather out of the blue.
"Discord in the kitchens, then?" Mild interest from Sefton, but not as much as his drink is garnering. "I had ice here somewhere, I'm sure I recall someone coming by with it." He drops to his haunches to examine the space under the desk, retrieving a small bucket. "You are quite right, many of my students are interesting indeed. I do hope they haven't been any trouble." It's an unconcerned query -- he knows as well as anyone that dozens of young people are bound to present trouble at some point. "Or had you one in mind in particular?" This question is polite, as he pulls the lid off the ice bucket. Then, belatedly, "Please, eat."
Essdara shakes her head, "After you. I'm young, foolish, and often unwise... But I try to remember some basic manners. Usually." She watches him search for the bucket with some small amusement. "Give it a few weeks, and you can get all the ice you want a few steps away. As for the students, well. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't run into a few I dislike, and a few more I do." A pensive moment. "I still wonder, though, what the overall result of it all will be, and if it is worth the disruption. But I am sure you are used to people who are less than convinced."
"You are quite right. I've spent the past turn discovering the joy of a winter that lasts all the turn through." Sefton pauses, correcting himself as a piece of ice clinks into the glass. "I lie, though. There was sun for nearly a sevenday at one point. I understand that was summer." Wry amusement that's tinged with a hint of pain -- and no wonder, with his tropical origins. "You are not alone in wondering what the end result will be, Essdara. It is an experiment, so by its nature the outcome is uncertain."
Essdara says, "And in the meantime, chaos." She makes a face, and motions towards the food. "Eat, or it will get cold. Colder. And, yes, that was summer. Blink, and you miss it. Not that I know anything else, myself. I can't imagine, say, living at Igen or Ista or Boll. An experiement... Is it wrong, sir, for me to be mildly offended that my life has become part of someone's experiment?""
"I am nothing if not obedient," Sefton murmurs, sinking down into his chair, and leaning forward to take his pick from the tray. "Please, join me. There's a chair you can pull up." The Headmaster is whimsical tonight, inviting the help to dine. He chews in silence for a moment, then reaches for his drink, turning the glass in long fingers as he speaks quietly. "You should try the hot weather sometime. My home is different for more than the weather. The climate changes the people, alters the ways they interact and how they carry on their lives." And then a shrug dismisses the difference, something close to solemnity giving way to his usual amusement. "Ah, but Essdara. You must remember that it was the Grand Conclave who decided on the experiment. Surely you know they are infallible?" A twist of his lips almost invites a disobedient reply.
Essdara pulls up a chair, and aquires a meatroll to nibble at. "There is no such thing as infallible, of course. And, just because someone is offended, doesn't mean that it is a wrong choice. You can't make everyone happy in every decision. And I am, in the end, just a cook. My life being disrupted is of no import." A pause, and an accusing stare, "And you didn't answer. That's not playing fair. As for warmer climes... Someone once took me to a beach, Ista I think. It was a pleasant day, all in all, but not one I care to repeat, and I have no urge to go back."
Sefton laughs, shaking his head at some private amusement, and taking several moments before he elects to share at least part of it. "Well done, Essdara. A disappointing number of my students would not have noticed that I failed to reply." He takes his time over his next words, breaking a piece of cheese into two, and chewing slowly on one half. "You earn yourself an answer. I suppose you have every right to be mildly offended that your life has been appropriated as part of somebody else's grand scheme. But, as you say, this scheme is for the greater good, and outweighs your personal concerns. And mind, should this ease your displeasure to any degree."
Essdara grins lightly. "About what I, myself, have come to think, to be honest. But it's nice to be able to ask, directly." She shakes her head, "But it's not all bad. I've made some friends I never would have met otherwise, and experienced other things that, for better or worse, wouldn't have happened without your students. I find myself almost, almost approving of the whole thing. 'Course, when some holder brat tells me to shut my mouth and go away, in my own caverns, when I am not even talking to him? Doesn't help."
"Intelligent questions are always welcome from any source," Sefton observes, that thread of amusement threading through his drawl once more. It doesn't diminish significantly as he continues, once again browsing through the offerings on the tray. "Equally, I must observe that discourtesy is unacceptable from all sources, and certainly I do not accept it from those over whom I have some influence. In the future, you will achieve more by reporting such incidents to me than by keeping them close to your heart." For all his professed disapproval, he doesn't sound overly ruffled by his charges' misbehaviour.
Essdara says, "Would I? What would I achieve, were I to do that? Other than a reputation as someone who, presented with a bit of rudeness, runs scurrying off to the nannies? No, I only mention it to illustrate the dual nature of my feelings towards the Caucus." A shrug. "Besides, I, above all, am in no place to whine about rudeness. There's a reason I am not liked where I work.""
Sefton laughs again, reaching for his drink and leaning back in his chair for a moment. "Then I suppose you must suffer in silence, and accept some of the responsibility for their bad behaviour. If they are never reprimanded, then like naughty children, they will never learn." A long swallow of the pale yellow liquid that he's drinking, and his lips quirk as he sets the glass down. "You seem civilised enough to me. But it cannot be that you refuse to bite the hand that feeds, for they have plenty to feed you with in the kitchens. Nor do I think I can possibly be more overwhelming than some of the women you work with. I've seen them."
Essdara grins a little. "I would have to care about you to bite your hand, Headmaster. What you do over here is your business, and nothing I say or do is going to to have any impact, either on you, or on my life. In the kitchens, it is different. I have my opinions, my desires, and my... Ideas, I guess. And I was not afraid to voice them." A shrug, fiddling with the meatroll she certainly isn't eating; talking is far too interesting. "Right, wrong, it doesn't matter, noone wants to hear the opinions of some arrogant little brat. No, I think it's better to just keep quiet, and let the future happen. When I'm not the youngest, or the newest, then maybe I will get somewhere being the loudest."
"Ah, there you are incorrect, Essdara. There are many things you could say to me that would have an impact on your life," Sefton murmurs, tone tending towards what might be the mildest of reproof. "You have not said any of them yet, though, and perhaps this is the key thing." Another mouthful of his drink, and he leans forward to hold a hand over the tray for a moment. A meatroll is selected. "I am afraid your logic passes me by, however. You intend on pursuing your policy of attempting to make your mark via sheer volume, intending only to wait until you are not the most junior of the kitchen staff? Is this a correct assessment?"
Essdara says, "And I assume, of course, you would never give the secret of those things away?" Her tone is amused in the answer, but grows serious as she considers his later words. "No." She says, after a long moment, "No, it's not. It's not about not being the most junior, it's about not being seen as a pretentious child. It is also about actually learning more that things I think about are right, and what are wrong. If I can do better at sifting the possible from the improbable, and actually be seen as an equal, then I will be in a place to be taken seriously. I am not, now.""
"Oh, I don't know. I might be convinced to share." Sefton's openly amused now, taking his time over dissecting his food -- he, too, is more interested in conversation. "It sounds to me as though you are a reformed woman, though. Is it a case of having left it too late? From your words, I suspect that your cohorts have formed an opinion of you, and are loathe to give it up, even in the face of contrary evidence." Another long swallow of his drink -- whatever it is, he's working through it quickly enough.
Essdara grins, "And how would I do that convincing? And, well, I can only work with what I have now. For better or for worse, I have lived my life as I chose. As I always will. If I have one flaw, and I assure you I do, it's that I am determined to live the life I have chosen. My heart, my love, is in food, and there is nothing that will take me away from that."
Sefton laughs, raising a finger. "You can't expect me to answer that as well, Essdara. That would be doing all the work for you, and you've made the mistake of demonstrating the fact that you're not entirely unperceptive." He drains the last of his drink, and reaches for the bottle to unstopper it. "I respect your inclination to remain true to your passion. Many find happiness doing just that, and certainly I see no fault in ambition."
Essdara chuckles softly, "There's only one thing I can think of you could be refering to, and I can't imagine it's what you mean, or that it would be a good idea for anyone involved. And ambition... That's a word for it, I guess, though I've always associated that with a desire for recognition, for glory. I don't have that. I don't care if people know why the changes I want to happen happen... So long as they do." She motions at the platter, "Because that is boring, and bland, and doesn't have to be."
"I think, Essdara, that you misread my meaning," Sefton muses, amusement clearly apparent now -- it curves his lips up, although the unpleasantness that can twist his smile is absent. He's simply entertained. "So you have no desire for recognition at all? You would be content to simply have others enjoy their meals, without knowing why they do so more than in times past? Very noble of you, and very rare, I suspect. The vast majority would seek plaudits of some sort for their work."
Essdara shrugs, "Perhaps I do. I don't pretend to understand much. And, you have the latter right. Though I also admit, I know that there is no such thing as not getting recognition in a place like this, for the things you do right, or wrong. Word will always spread, people will always know. I don't see any need for more than that, if that makes any sense."
Sefton laughs, reaching up to rake his hair back from his eyes once more. It's a habit, it would seem. "I would draw a distinction between intelligence and understanding. You have demonstrated intelligence, even if understanding has escaped you. Of the two, which do you think is the more important?" A slight alternation in his tone -- if she crept into the back of his classroom one day, she'd hear it there, too. The onset of questions, a slight alteration in his drawl -- his instructor's voice.
Essdara shakes her head, "There is a definate differance, and too much of a serpation to compare them that way. Too much of one, too much of the other, and it's not good. It's like saying which is more important of salt and sugar. If I am making cookies, the answer is quite different to if I am making, say, spiced potatos." Always game for an argument. "I do not profess to have much of either, but I've enough for my role in life."
"Do you really suppose?" Sefton's cynical, although his dark eyes do not signal disapproval as he gives up on the food -- bland indeed -- and settles back in his chair. "You believe that there are situations in which understanding is more important? What do you say to the idea that intelligence is something one either possesses, or does not. Understanding can come through conversation, education, experience. Intelligence, not so."
Essdara thinks about that a moment, absently reaching over to set the nibbled meatroll down, though well away from any food it might cross-contaminate. She leans back and gives him a thoughtful look. "I would have to ask your definition of intelligence, then. To many, that can be a range of things. A person who hasn't been taught maths or letters may be considered unintelligent... When they simply haven't been given the chance, or had someone who understands them work with them. I guess you think otherwise." She ponders. "Intelligence, perhaps, then, is the ability to learn? To assimilate information into yourself, and apply it to the things that come along in life?"
"I think that's not a bad definition," Sefton agrees. "I have a library full of works that attempt to define it, but your theory will certainly serve. I would say that a person who cannot read or write is uneducated, not unintelligent. There is certainly a distinction, especially if we define intelligence in terms of capacity. Understanding comes closer to education, I would say." He's enjoying himself now, furnishing further questions almost lazily. "If you are to decide between intelligence and understanding, though, you must define understanding for me next."
Essdara, half expecting the question, smile a little. "I falter there, I guess. Because it would still be part of what I said. Understanding, itself, is the actual ability to use information in a productive way? But that doesn't seem... Adequet. I'm sorry, I don't think I /can/ define it.
"Perhaps we need something narrower if we are to..." Sefton pauses, lips quirking at his next words, "understand the concept of understanding. Perhaps we might call it comprehension of a certain truth, or of a process. Will that serve for this evening?"
Essdara nods, slowly, "I think so." She doesn't sound terribly confident now. "Given that... What was the question again?" She smiles, almost shyly. "I'm... Not used to so much thinking about these kinds of things."
Sefton laughs, returning her grin easily -- his amusement still doesn't seem to be directed at her, which is something. "If we take the definitions you approve of, and say that one has understanding if one has a grasp of a certain fact, truth or proces, and we say that intelligence is less concrete -- that it encompasses the /ability/ to process information only, then I wished to know which you would rather have. The potential that raw intelligence implies, or the comforting knowledge that you have already mastered something that comes with understanding."
Essdara thinks about that a long moment, playing with the hem of her shirt, almost nervously, as she searches for the 'right' answer. Finally, she answers, slowly. "I don't think I would rather have one or the other, simply enough of understanding to suit the intelligence I have. Which, I geuss, is a given, because how oculd you understand something beyond your capacity?" she shakes her head, "I just... I don't seem to be able to seperate them like you want me to."
Sefton laughs, shaking his head -- and again furnishing evidence for his fiancee's case for cutting his hair, for the curls fall into his eyes. He brushes them away absently. "I will simplify, then. You've demonstrated that you're capable of under..." A pause, and he catches himself with a laugh. "Of comprehending what I say. I am asking you, I suppose, to choose between a known quantity and an unknown quantity, where the unknown may be far larger. To my mind, possessing raw intelligence means you may be able to learn on many subjects, to extract information and separate out the important facts. To possess understanding implies a good grasp of fewer topics. It is a safer option, and some would certainly choose safety over a risk with unknown reward."
A quiet moment, though she nods, as she finally gets his meaning. "I do see what you mean now. It's still a hard question, of course. For me, for my life, I don't see a great need to know a variety of things, on many subjects. I'm just a cook, it is better that I un..." Her turn to cut the word off, "That I grasp my craft as much as is possible. But, I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy learning other things. Faranth knows I've spent enough time in the record rooms at night when I couldn't sleep. So I guess... If I had to choose, it would be for intelligence." Again, non-confident, almost hesitant in her answers. She rubs her head just a little as she works through it all, frowning.
Sefton laughs, reaching across the desk for the bottle. "Good girl, Essdara." There's something like approval in that drawl now, and he unstoppers the bottle. "You've got enough of it to wrap your head around that idea, so it's as well that you don't mind possessing some. Would you like a drink, after such hard work?" He's pouring himself one, over the melting shards of the ice he dropped into the glass earlier.
Essdara eyes the bottle, almost warily. "What is it? Not to offend... I just learned long, long ago never to accept drinks from bottles I don't know. Some of the riders have, ah, unique sources of inebriation." To the praise, she manages a slight smile, though it's perilously close to a smirk. "I am pleased to meet with your approval."
Sefton tilts the bottle to examine it -- it is unlabelled, so his word is the only source of information. "It's something they make where I come from -- it's citrus based, quite strong. I can add a little water for you, if you like." He manages that final offer with only a faint hint of the distress it must cause a seasoned drinker. At her next comment, though, he lofts a brow. "You are nothing of the sort, you cheeky thing. I am of the Caucus, and from outside High Reaches to boot. My approval means nothing to you." He's still amused.
Essdara smirks, "I'll take my chances." Bravado, now the challenge is laid. "I have nothing against people not from High Reaches. And the Caucus, as I said, has it's good points, and members." A brief flicker of soemthing across her face. "Never doubt that I don't cherish some of the friends I have made because of the Caucus."
"Brave, or foolish. I suppose we'll see," Sefton muses, reaching for another glass, and pouring her a measure -- it's not as generous as his, but the liquor has a strong bite to it, and he has considerable bodymass on her. "I tease, though. Only someone very foolish would refuse to see any good at all in the Caucus, and you are not that. On the whole, I find cooks too practical to be entirely foolish. Nevertheless, you are not here to seek my approval. You indulge me, rather."
Essdara accepts the drink, and offers a mild wince as she tastes it, eyes widening a bit. "Ok, I'll grant, that's... Bitey. Cooks can be plenty frivolous, never doub that. Spend an hour in a kitchen and you can't help but know it. Worst haven of gossips out there." Disdain, again, for the very thing she is. "Hmm. Am I indulging you? What, then, is your desire, that I am fulfilling? No, I do not seek your approval. Nor do you mine. But, for me at least, you fulfill a need, to not be somewhere I just don't have the heart to be lately." A frank statement from the cook. "So please, indulge away. I am yours for the using."
"Be careful, or we'll discuss the difference between frivilous and foolish," Sefton cautions with a grin, knocking back a considerable swallow from his glass with the ease of long practice. "You indulge me by attempting to understand find distinctions, and by reaching for concepts that I dangle just out of your reach. It is a bad habit, teaching even when there is no class to hand. I seem to have formed it somewhere in the past Turn or so. But you could be somewhere other than the kitchens without undergoing forced education, could you not? Or do you need me for an excuse?"
Essdara says, "There are worse things to discuss, Headmaster. I have entertained my share of both, and then some." A sip of the drink, with another wince. "Need is not the right word. Oppertunity was presented, I took it. As you said, if anyone asks, I was detained by the Headmaster. I could, of course, go elsewhere, but to what end?" And the bitterness comes out, "Perhaps to find a quiet place to bemoan my broken heart? To worry about who of my friends will die in Fall next? Of my family? Or any of the other myriad of things I have to dwell on?" A shrug, "I will take your dangling, at least it keeps my mind busy.""
Sefton listens, and although there's polite -- even interested -- attention, there's not a great deal of sympathy. "You are right, then. Better to dwell on other things than such concerns. Bring me another meal one evening. We'll do the difference between frivilous and foolish, and then see what other distinctions we can find to debate." A pause, and white teeth flash against his olive skin as he grins broadly. "You give me an idea, Essdara. I may develop it at some point in the future, I think. Until then, I am happy to serve as a safe haven."
Essdara raises a brow, and drains the glass before setting it on the desk. To her credit, it doesn't kill her. She stands at the obvious dismissal, with an amused grin. "I am at your disposal, of course. And, Headmaster, while you may present yourself as a haven... I would never go so far as to call it safe." If she is curious about the idea, she doesn't ask. "Another evening, then." She moves for the door.
Sefton laughs out loud, setting his glass down. "Take the tray with you, I won't eat any more of it. Now you've pointed out the general lack of flavour, the meal doesn't seem as appetising as it did previously." He leans in to peer at the tray with scientific interest. "I don't often pay a great deal of attention to what I eat, I must confess." But his interest in the food, unlike hers, is passing. He's more interested in taking her words apart. "You must forgive me, though, if I have made you feel unsafe in any way. It would distress me to do so."
Essdara, ever obedient, turns back to get to the tray. As she walks over, she replies. "Would it? Hmm. Safe is a relative thing. Safe is, also, in it's way, boring. Change is dangerous, and some would say thinking is moreso. So, no, I would not say it is safe here, because you seem determined to make me think. Already, I find that just having been here, a belief I felt has wavered." She takes up the tray, looking over at him. "Am I wrong?"
Those white teeth gleam again in another smile -- Sefton is pleased. It would seem that shaking the foundations of others' beliefs qualifies as a hobby. "Change is dangerous, I suppose. I would say that a stalemate is even more dangerous, but then I am a politics instructor, and perhaps predisposed to think so."
Essdara shrugs, as she once more moves to leave. "What you instruct has no bearing to me. I'm not a student, just... An aquaintance. An amusement. But there are worse things to be." A shrug. "Dunno about stalemates verses change. Seems like usually you can't tell which is better until long after it's too late to matter."
"Then that is something else we should debate," Sefton observes with a smile. "I will add it to the list. You are certainly an amusement, Essdara." And not the sort that young female workers usually provide to men of his station -- a lofted brow suggests that this diversion is perhaps appreciated more. For now, it would seem she is dismissed, for he reaches for both glass and hide once more, taking them up as he eases back into his chair. "Thank you for the discussion."
Essdara offers a slight curtsey at the door, "Thank you for your time, Headmaster. I do seek to amuse where I can." And slips out.
You exit the office.