In which admissions are made...
It is not often I point to a log and go: Yes, that one, we nailed it.
So, this one. We nailed it.
Penny comes to tell Sefton that she's been asked to design a walkway. They talk, and digress into other areas, namely the uses of serving girls (enter innuendo) and after a fashion, their relationship. There is verbal fencing, innuendo, much that goes unsaid, and some very revealing things that, for once, are said out loud.
Sefton's Room
The door, as usual, is just a little ajar, inviting students to enter should they dare. Through it, the Headmaster can be spotted. He's sprawled on his bed, knees bent so he can rest a wide book on them. He's not reading it, however, head tilted back so he can stare up at the ceiling.
Penny's knock serves as a warning, and also to open the door a little wider, so that she can survey the room. It's a quick glance, her manner somewhat agitated -- and indeed, she looks a little bedraggled, her hair still undone and her Boll-style skirt now somewhat dusty from being outside. Cheeks are flushed even through her darker skin. "Sef!" Another glance, another check to make sure she didn't miss someone in her once over, and then she's scurrying on in, shutting the door behind her with an unintentional slam. "Put your book down!"
"Sweetness," Sefton drawls, turning his head to regard her with a lazy grin. "My evening meal will be along in a little, let's not give the poor girl anything unnecessary to see." He obliges her, though, slowly easing his book shut, and hauling himself up to sit so he can lean forward and set it down at the end of the bed, before he eases back against the pillows. "What do you have to tell me?"
"Blast the girl with your evening meal," Penny declares breathlessly, going over to scramble onto the bed next to him, on her knees. "Lock the door if you want." She can be a sunny sort of person when she wishes to be, but this is a good mood that rivals even her best. She is determined to get a kiss, tucking herself in close, quite enthusiastic in her good cheer.
"I happen to be extremely well disposed to the girl with my evening meal," Sefton replies, reaching up to curve an experimental hand around her hip. "I am hungry." She gets her kiss, and he draws it out, fingers tightening on her for a moment -- so easy, as always, to get a reaction from him. So easy, for her. "I will lock it once she has delivered it," he replies, when he finally breaks the kiss. "Not so close until then, Sweetness."
For a moment it seems from the slight twisting of her frame under his hand that she might wish to shift into his lap, but she restrains herself -- no doubt because he pulls away. Covering his hand against her hip for a moment, Penny turns her smile on him for a few seconds. "I," she says, still breathless, though perhaps now for more reasons than just having run all the way here, "have a new project."
"A new project?" Sefton must sense her excitement, but his drawl is lazy, teasing. As though he indulges someone much younger than she, his reaction all exaggeration and pretend amazement. "Whoever has been unwise enough to let you near a project of any sort, then?"
"Stop making fun!" Penny protests, but she is too pleased by her good fortune to sulk at him even for a little bit. "The Weyrleaders want a covered walkway around the bowl." She is stumbling over her words a little bit, but the basic idea is there. "They will bring in masters from the Hall to oversee construction, of course, but the design-- the -design-! -- will be mine." She is so pleased that she can't sit still, a trait dating way back into childhood, and she pulls away from him so she can get up from the bed again to pace. "My engineering, my decisions, -my- walkway." You'd think she'd just inherited a Lord's ransom in marks or been informed that she is the next overlord of the world.
Sefton listens politely, for all his eyes are still laughing, his mouth begging to be allowed to join them. "Well done," he drawls quietly, producing for her a more genuine smile. "Quite a coup, Sweetness." He doesn't move, but one hand goes out in a request for her to place hers in it. "Your father will be very well pleased with you."
"My father will be dismayed that someone is encouraging me in my folly," Penny corrects him, turning on her heel to grin at him. "You're still laughing at me," she points out, raising an eyebrow and pointedly ignoring his extended hand. "If you don't quit patronizing me I shall..." But she can't quite think of a threat dire enough to affect him. "I'll -leave-," she promises. "And then--" She stops, her brow furrowing with a suddenly-remembered bit of the conversation. "Wait. Who's the girl who brings you your dinner?" Extremely well disposed?
"I shall stop immediately," Sefton promises, just as lazy, just as amused, his dark eyes gleaming. "Both the laughing and the patronising, and any other thing that displeases you. I live but to please you, of course." And to lie, judging by both continued laughter and continued tone. One brow lofts for a moment in the wake of her question, lips twisting to another grin. "Why do you ask that, sweet thing?"
Perhaps she was debating whether or not to be suspicious of this mysterious dinner girl, but evidently the idea is not quite tempting enough to bring her down from her high. So instead she goes to him again, flopping back onto the bed and snuggling close again, quite affectionate in her cheerfulness. "Mmm," she says, noncommittally, turning her head so she can nuzzle into his neck. She's completely ignoring his instruction to keep her distance until his dinner arrives. "Just wondering if I am supposed to be jealous. I will if you ask me to, you know." So obedient to his slightest whim.
"Mmmm," Sefton echoes, shifting his weight so he can roll over and wrap an arm around her, nuzzling into her neck. "I would vastly prefer it if you were not jealous," he replies, hooking a leg around hers. "It will be far easier to bed her if you are not running interference, I would imagine." His drawl is rich with teasing, good-humoured and amused.
"Stop it, you're not funny." But she's laughing anyway as her fingers creep into his hair, and she turns so she can flop down and pull him with her. She is smiling at him despite her protests, a smile that has calmed significantly since the beaming thing of a few minutes ago; now it is merely warm as she looks up at him. "You are happy for me, aren't you? It is a small thing to you, but not to me." There is a touch of uncertainty there.
"I disagree," Sefton replies, allowing her to pull him into her, and leaning down to brush his lips against hers. "We will require a casting vote. Shall we ask the girl with the food, when she brings it?" He falls silent for her question, and something of the sharp note in his dark eyes fades out, replaced by something softer. "I am happy for you, and I am proud of you," he replies, with the sincerity that comes so easily to his voice at times. His eyes, though, rest square on her face. "How many journeymen have such a project to their name?"
Penny tilts her chip up to receive that kiss, and while the continuation of his teasing causes her lips to quirk, the solmenity of her question keeps her from grinning outright. She listens, watching his face, shifting under him a little. A hand lifts to trace along his cheek, and she interrupts her own scrutiny to murmur, "You are so good at lies and half-truths. How will I ever know you aren't lying to me, too?" A serious question, perhaps, but she leans up for another kiss to save him having to answer it. She knows how well he can be patronising about things that are insignificant in his view of the world.
"You never will know," Sefton replies lightly, in the wake of the kiss. His lips brush her cheek, and he whispers into her temple. "You have to believe me without proof, Sweetness. I know you do." He might have said more, but he's interrupted by a soft knock at the door. "One moment," he drawls, raising his voice, and unwinding himself slowly from her, so he can begin to climb off the end of the bed, past the book he set down there.
Believe him she does, if her body language is any clue -- her only response is a faint groan of annoyance when the knock at the door comes. She lies there for a moment longer and then sits up, running a hand through her hair and getting to her feet, moving away from the bed to sit instead in one of the chairs facing Sefton's desk.
Sefton claims his book as it threatens to slide off the end of the bed, and then rises so he can cross over to the door. He opens it just far enough to look outside, and has a lazy grin for who he finds there. He murmurs something, drawing a laugh, and so earns a few extra moments for Penny to settle herself. Then he steps back to gesture for a girl with a tray to enter, as elaborately as though she is the highest ranking of his students. She's blushing, and pauses halfway to the desk to bob a flustered curtsey to Penny.
Penny waves away the curtsey and flashes the girl a smile, giving her a sort of curious inspection. "Good evening," she greets, warmly enough, drawing a knee up so she can link her arms around it and rest her chin there, waiting for dinner to be deposited. "We should all be so lucky as the Headmaster to have a thoughtful person to deliver us dinner."
"The Headmaster is lucky indeed," Sefton agrees in a very slow, very lazy drawl. That draws another blush, and she quickly sets down the tray, resettled her skirts quite unnecessarily, and and backs up out of room, to disappear and draw the door closed behind her. Sefton saunters in her wake to reach up, and -- eyes squarely on Penny -- slide the lock closed.
Penny watches the girl as she departs, her blushes and her fluster, and then shifts her gaze toward Sefton again with one eyebrow lifted critically. The expression shifts, however, when he starts looking at her again, and as the lock clicks home there is a subtle change to her breathing, an attempt to control it that gets discarded after a few moments anyway. She unlinks her arms from around her knee so that she can stand again. "Very lucky," she murmurs.
Sefton could speak, but he chooses not to. Instead, his dark eyes remain on her face, and at the change in her breathing, his grin slowly broadens, feline and nearly predatory. One brow lifts, in a silent query for her words, but he remains still, watching her.
"Dinner," Penny elaborates in answer to that silent query, looking at him now through her lashes. She swallows. "Comes to his door, all ready and waiting." Her hands rest lightly on the back of her chair now, one betraying twitch to show a desire for movement.
"Mmmm," Sefton replies, the flat of one palm still resting against the door. "The privileges of rank, Sweetness." A lazy, self-assured drawl. In the back of his voice, there's laughter.
He with his hand on the door, her with her hands firmly on the back of the chair she had been sitting in. Stalemate. Penny swallows again, lifting her chin a little, determined. "Well," she says, with an attempt at briskness that wouldn't fool even the most gullible. "You'll want to eat." Her head tilts a little, and she smiles. "You did say you were hungry."
Sefton surveys her for several heartbeats, his dark eyes dancing. "As you like," he drawls, pushing obediently away from the door, and crossing the room so he can move past her -- close past her, without touching her -- to settle into the chair her hands rest on, so he can lean forward to inspect his tray.
"I can't think of any reason you could want me to stay." Penny's voice is a bit dry now, eyes snapping just a bit as he moves past her. Her hands twitch, as if she might pull them away from the chair, but she resists the impulse. "Can you?" Despite the way her face is flushing slowly under its darker color, she is fighting a smile now that he is no longer looking at her.
"Well," Sefton replies, still inspecting his meal -- it's not fancy, comprising sandwiches, fruit, cookies, pastries. A series of small things that can be held and eaten while he works, rather than requiring him to set aside his toil in order to eat. "You have told me of your triumph. Had we other ground to cover, Sweetness?"
Oh, right. Her project. Penny blinks, momentarily derailed, and looks up from her inspection of his shoulders. "My triumph... I had forgotten." And she truly does seem distracted, her hands leaving the back of the chair. "I have so much I need to go do."
"You had forgotten?" Sefton's tone is light, laughing, and he turns his head so she can see his profile, taking up a section of fruit. "Easily distracted, Sweetness. What took your attention away from it?" The slice of apple is snapped into two, and he looks down to it, hair falling into his eyes. "Perhaps you ought to go, then."
"Your dinner girl," Penny replies, just as lightly. "She's quite pretty, very distracting to look at." She glances toward the bed, and its rumpled covers and furs. "I ought to," she agrees. She leans down over his shoulder, hair sliding forward to curtain her face, so she can try to take one of the halves of apple slice from his hand. "You won't mind." The apple, or her leaving.
"If there is the slightest possibility you might be distracted by my dinner girl," Sefton replies, amused, "then by all means, tell me so. I can have her back here in a matter of moments." Suggestive now, his drawl, and he yields up the apple, turning his head just a little as she leans down so he can press his cheek to hers. "As you wish, then."
"I don't know," Penny murmurs. "She might make you obsolete, and then you would have no one to... bring you dinner." She freezes though, at that touch of his cheek, her fingers faltering in the process of drawing back the piece of fruit. Easier to play his game, when he is not touching her. She swallows, and then says quite evenly, "Sefton, if you don't let me win eventually it will only end in my departure, and I'm sorry to say that my leaving would leave you quite forlorn indeed." He taught her the dance, he has to live with the consequences.
"I would be content to stand back," Sefton replies, amusement in his tone. "Observation is education, I was once told. I thought it a rather pithy thing to say, but not untrue." He bites down on his half of the apple piece, and chews while she speaks, before he turns his head, so he can tilt a dark glance sideways at her. "And you, Sweetness? I suppose you would have your walkway to comfort you."
"What, and fetch your own dinner?" Penny's tone is shocked. It settles though, and she looks down again so that her hair conceals her face. She learns many things from her teacher. "I would have my walkway to comfort me," she agrees, quietly. "Calculated supports and stone."
"That... was not entirely what I had in mind," Sefton replies, one hand coming up to rake his hair back from his eyes. He turns his head more fully, so he can watch her, the laughter gone from his drawl. "Reliable support is an enviable thing to possess," he murmurs.
"No matter how well thought-out, there is always the chance that the whole structure might come tumbling down about your ears," replies Penny, casting a sideways glance at him. "In the end it is only important how much faith you have in your creation."
"Do you think?" Sefton looks back towards his meal, but turns sideways in his chair instead, towards her. "I think far more than faith will hold up anything you build, Sweetness." There's a faint smile playing around his mouth, dark eyes now resting squarely on her face once more.
Penny straightens a little, shifting so she can look at him as well. Her head tilts to the side as she regards him, and his words bring an amused quirk to her lips, her eyes softening just a little as she watches him for a few moments. "Liar," she whispers eventually, before bending her head to seek out a kiss.
He gives her that kiss, drawing it out into something slow and tender, before he pulls back almost reluctantly, so he can murmur his reply. "Yes," he agrees, his drawl making the word longer. "But not about this. If we lost all faith in what we have, it would continue regardless. We cannot deny it." His words are very quiet, gentle.
"I was trying to let you off the hook," Penny murmurs, teasing, fond. But she isn't escaping so easily either, and she swallows after he speaks, quiet for a time as she looks at him. "I believe you." Eventually she straightens as her hand seeks his -- the apple piece she stole is dropped back onto the tray, and forgotten. "Come," she says, and gives a slow tug on his hand, a quiet plea for him to rise from his chair. "Prove it to me."
The meal forgotten, the Headmaster -- Sefton -- comes to his feet in a slow movement, and allows her tug to bring him up close against her. His quarters aren't large -- he's never shifted, despite his elevation in rank -- and it only takes a few steps to reach the bed. He backs her up, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek, so that as he eases her back onto the bed, he's kissing her already.
So, this one. We nailed it.
Penny comes to tell Sefton that she's been asked to design a walkway. They talk, and digress into other areas, namely the uses of serving girls (enter innuendo) and after a fashion, their relationship. There is verbal fencing, innuendo, much that goes unsaid, and some very revealing things that, for once, are said out loud.
Sefton's Room
The door, as usual, is just a little ajar, inviting students to enter should they dare. Through it, the Headmaster can be spotted. He's sprawled on his bed, knees bent so he can rest a wide book on them. He's not reading it, however, head tilted back so he can stare up at the ceiling.
Penny's knock serves as a warning, and also to open the door a little wider, so that she can survey the room. It's a quick glance, her manner somewhat agitated -- and indeed, she looks a little bedraggled, her hair still undone and her Boll-style skirt now somewhat dusty from being outside. Cheeks are flushed even through her darker skin. "Sef!" Another glance, another check to make sure she didn't miss someone in her once over, and then she's scurrying on in, shutting the door behind her with an unintentional slam. "Put your book down!"
"Sweetness," Sefton drawls, turning his head to regard her with a lazy grin. "My evening meal will be along in a little, let's not give the poor girl anything unnecessary to see." He obliges her, though, slowly easing his book shut, and hauling himself up to sit so he can lean forward and set it down at the end of the bed, before he eases back against the pillows. "What do you have to tell me?"
"Blast the girl with your evening meal," Penny declares breathlessly, going over to scramble onto the bed next to him, on her knees. "Lock the door if you want." She can be a sunny sort of person when she wishes to be, but this is a good mood that rivals even her best. She is determined to get a kiss, tucking herself in close, quite enthusiastic in her good cheer.
"I happen to be extremely well disposed to the girl with my evening meal," Sefton replies, reaching up to curve an experimental hand around her hip. "I am hungry." She gets her kiss, and he draws it out, fingers tightening on her for a moment -- so easy, as always, to get a reaction from him. So easy, for her. "I will lock it once she has delivered it," he replies, when he finally breaks the kiss. "Not so close until then, Sweetness."
For a moment it seems from the slight twisting of her frame under his hand that she might wish to shift into his lap, but she restrains herself -- no doubt because he pulls away. Covering his hand against her hip for a moment, Penny turns her smile on him for a few seconds. "I," she says, still breathless, though perhaps now for more reasons than just having run all the way here, "have a new project."
"A new project?" Sefton must sense her excitement, but his drawl is lazy, teasing. As though he indulges someone much younger than she, his reaction all exaggeration and pretend amazement. "Whoever has been unwise enough to let you near a project of any sort, then?"
"Stop making fun!" Penny protests, but she is too pleased by her good fortune to sulk at him even for a little bit. "The Weyrleaders want a covered walkway around the bowl." She is stumbling over her words a little bit, but the basic idea is there. "They will bring in masters from the Hall to oversee construction, of course, but the design-- the -design-! -- will be mine." She is so pleased that she can't sit still, a trait dating way back into childhood, and she pulls away from him so she can get up from the bed again to pace. "My engineering, my decisions, -my- walkway." You'd think she'd just inherited a Lord's ransom in marks or been informed that she is the next overlord of the world.
Sefton listens politely, for all his eyes are still laughing, his mouth begging to be allowed to join them. "Well done," he drawls quietly, producing for her a more genuine smile. "Quite a coup, Sweetness." He doesn't move, but one hand goes out in a request for her to place hers in it. "Your father will be very well pleased with you."
"My father will be dismayed that someone is encouraging me in my folly," Penny corrects him, turning on her heel to grin at him. "You're still laughing at me," she points out, raising an eyebrow and pointedly ignoring his extended hand. "If you don't quit patronizing me I shall..." But she can't quite think of a threat dire enough to affect him. "I'll -leave-," she promises. "And then--" She stops, her brow furrowing with a suddenly-remembered bit of the conversation. "Wait. Who's the girl who brings you your dinner?" Extremely well disposed?
"I shall stop immediately," Sefton promises, just as lazy, just as amused, his dark eyes gleaming. "Both the laughing and the patronising, and any other thing that displeases you. I live but to please you, of course." And to lie, judging by both continued laughter and continued tone. One brow lofts for a moment in the wake of her question, lips twisting to another grin. "Why do you ask that, sweet thing?"
Perhaps she was debating whether or not to be suspicious of this mysterious dinner girl, but evidently the idea is not quite tempting enough to bring her down from her high. So instead she goes to him again, flopping back onto the bed and snuggling close again, quite affectionate in her cheerfulness. "Mmm," she says, noncommittally, turning her head so she can nuzzle into his neck. She's completely ignoring his instruction to keep her distance until his dinner arrives. "Just wondering if I am supposed to be jealous. I will if you ask me to, you know." So obedient to his slightest whim.
"Mmmm," Sefton echoes, shifting his weight so he can roll over and wrap an arm around her, nuzzling into her neck. "I would vastly prefer it if you were not jealous," he replies, hooking a leg around hers. "It will be far easier to bed her if you are not running interference, I would imagine." His drawl is rich with teasing, good-humoured and amused.
"Stop it, you're not funny." But she's laughing anyway as her fingers creep into his hair, and she turns so she can flop down and pull him with her. She is smiling at him despite her protests, a smile that has calmed significantly since the beaming thing of a few minutes ago; now it is merely warm as she looks up at him. "You are happy for me, aren't you? It is a small thing to you, but not to me." There is a touch of uncertainty there.
"I disagree," Sefton replies, allowing her to pull him into her, and leaning down to brush his lips against hers. "We will require a casting vote. Shall we ask the girl with the food, when she brings it?" He falls silent for her question, and something of the sharp note in his dark eyes fades out, replaced by something softer. "I am happy for you, and I am proud of you," he replies, with the sincerity that comes so easily to his voice at times. His eyes, though, rest square on her face. "How many journeymen have such a project to their name?"
Penny tilts her chip up to receive that kiss, and while the continuation of his teasing causes her lips to quirk, the solmenity of her question keeps her from grinning outright. She listens, watching his face, shifting under him a little. A hand lifts to trace along his cheek, and she interrupts her own scrutiny to murmur, "You are so good at lies and half-truths. How will I ever know you aren't lying to me, too?" A serious question, perhaps, but she leans up for another kiss to save him having to answer it. She knows how well he can be patronising about things that are insignificant in his view of the world.
"You never will know," Sefton replies lightly, in the wake of the kiss. His lips brush her cheek, and he whispers into her temple. "You have to believe me without proof, Sweetness. I know you do." He might have said more, but he's interrupted by a soft knock at the door. "One moment," he drawls, raising his voice, and unwinding himself slowly from her, so he can begin to climb off the end of the bed, past the book he set down there.
Believe him she does, if her body language is any clue -- her only response is a faint groan of annoyance when the knock at the door comes. She lies there for a moment longer and then sits up, running a hand through her hair and getting to her feet, moving away from the bed to sit instead in one of the chairs facing Sefton's desk.
Sefton claims his book as it threatens to slide off the end of the bed, and then rises so he can cross over to the door. He opens it just far enough to look outside, and has a lazy grin for who he finds there. He murmurs something, drawing a laugh, and so earns a few extra moments for Penny to settle herself. Then he steps back to gesture for a girl with a tray to enter, as elaborately as though she is the highest ranking of his students. She's blushing, and pauses halfway to the desk to bob a flustered curtsey to Penny.
Penny waves away the curtsey and flashes the girl a smile, giving her a sort of curious inspection. "Good evening," she greets, warmly enough, drawing a knee up so she can link her arms around it and rest her chin there, waiting for dinner to be deposited. "We should all be so lucky as the Headmaster to have a thoughtful person to deliver us dinner."
"The Headmaster is lucky indeed," Sefton agrees in a very slow, very lazy drawl. That draws another blush, and she quickly sets down the tray, resettled her skirts quite unnecessarily, and and backs up out of room, to disappear and draw the door closed behind her. Sefton saunters in her wake to reach up, and -- eyes squarely on Penny -- slide the lock closed.
Penny watches the girl as she departs, her blushes and her fluster, and then shifts her gaze toward Sefton again with one eyebrow lifted critically. The expression shifts, however, when he starts looking at her again, and as the lock clicks home there is a subtle change to her breathing, an attempt to control it that gets discarded after a few moments anyway. She unlinks her arms from around her knee so that she can stand again. "Very lucky," she murmurs.
Sefton could speak, but he chooses not to. Instead, his dark eyes remain on her face, and at the change in her breathing, his grin slowly broadens, feline and nearly predatory. One brow lifts, in a silent query for her words, but he remains still, watching her.
"Dinner," Penny elaborates in answer to that silent query, looking at him now through her lashes. She swallows. "Comes to his door, all ready and waiting." Her hands rest lightly on the back of her chair now, one betraying twitch to show a desire for movement.
"Mmmm," Sefton replies, the flat of one palm still resting against the door. "The privileges of rank, Sweetness." A lazy, self-assured drawl. In the back of his voice, there's laughter.
He with his hand on the door, her with her hands firmly on the back of the chair she had been sitting in. Stalemate. Penny swallows again, lifting her chin a little, determined. "Well," she says, with an attempt at briskness that wouldn't fool even the most gullible. "You'll want to eat." Her head tilts a little, and she smiles. "You did say you were hungry."
Sefton surveys her for several heartbeats, his dark eyes dancing. "As you like," he drawls, pushing obediently away from the door, and crossing the room so he can move past her -- close past her, without touching her -- to settle into the chair her hands rest on, so he can lean forward to inspect his tray.
"I can't think of any reason you could want me to stay." Penny's voice is a bit dry now, eyes snapping just a bit as he moves past her. Her hands twitch, as if she might pull them away from the chair, but she resists the impulse. "Can you?" Despite the way her face is flushing slowly under its darker color, she is fighting a smile now that he is no longer looking at her.
"Well," Sefton replies, still inspecting his meal -- it's not fancy, comprising sandwiches, fruit, cookies, pastries. A series of small things that can be held and eaten while he works, rather than requiring him to set aside his toil in order to eat. "You have told me of your triumph. Had we other ground to cover, Sweetness?"
Oh, right. Her project. Penny blinks, momentarily derailed, and looks up from her inspection of his shoulders. "My triumph... I had forgotten." And she truly does seem distracted, her hands leaving the back of the chair. "I have so much I need to go do."
"You had forgotten?" Sefton's tone is light, laughing, and he turns his head so she can see his profile, taking up a section of fruit. "Easily distracted, Sweetness. What took your attention away from it?" The slice of apple is snapped into two, and he looks down to it, hair falling into his eyes. "Perhaps you ought to go, then."
"Your dinner girl," Penny replies, just as lightly. "She's quite pretty, very distracting to look at." She glances toward the bed, and its rumpled covers and furs. "I ought to," she agrees. She leans down over his shoulder, hair sliding forward to curtain her face, so she can try to take one of the halves of apple slice from his hand. "You won't mind." The apple, or her leaving.
"If there is the slightest possibility you might be distracted by my dinner girl," Sefton replies, amused, "then by all means, tell me so. I can have her back here in a matter of moments." Suggestive now, his drawl, and he yields up the apple, turning his head just a little as she leans down so he can press his cheek to hers. "As you wish, then."
"I don't know," Penny murmurs. "She might make you obsolete, and then you would have no one to... bring you dinner." She freezes though, at that touch of his cheek, her fingers faltering in the process of drawing back the piece of fruit. Easier to play his game, when he is not touching her. She swallows, and then says quite evenly, "Sefton, if you don't let me win eventually it will only end in my departure, and I'm sorry to say that my leaving would leave you quite forlorn indeed." He taught her the dance, he has to live with the consequences.
"I would be content to stand back," Sefton replies, amusement in his tone. "Observation is education, I was once told. I thought it a rather pithy thing to say, but not untrue." He bites down on his half of the apple piece, and chews while she speaks, before he turns his head, so he can tilt a dark glance sideways at her. "And you, Sweetness? I suppose you would have your walkway to comfort you."
"What, and fetch your own dinner?" Penny's tone is shocked. It settles though, and she looks down again so that her hair conceals her face. She learns many things from her teacher. "I would have my walkway to comfort me," she agrees, quietly. "Calculated supports and stone."
"That... was not entirely what I had in mind," Sefton replies, one hand coming up to rake his hair back from his eyes. He turns his head more fully, so he can watch her, the laughter gone from his drawl. "Reliable support is an enviable thing to possess," he murmurs.
"No matter how well thought-out, there is always the chance that the whole structure might come tumbling down about your ears," replies Penny, casting a sideways glance at him. "In the end it is only important how much faith you have in your creation."
"Do you think?" Sefton looks back towards his meal, but turns sideways in his chair instead, towards her. "I think far more than faith will hold up anything you build, Sweetness." There's a faint smile playing around his mouth, dark eyes now resting squarely on her face once more.
Penny straightens a little, shifting so she can look at him as well. Her head tilts to the side as she regards him, and his words bring an amused quirk to her lips, her eyes softening just a little as she watches him for a few moments. "Liar," she whispers eventually, before bending her head to seek out a kiss.
He gives her that kiss, drawing it out into something slow and tender, before he pulls back almost reluctantly, so he can murmur his reply. "Yes," he agrees, his drawl making the word longer. "But not about this. If we lost all faith in what we have, it would continue regardless. We cannot deny it." His words are very quiet, gentle.
"I was trying to let you off the hook," Penny murmurs, teasing, fond. But she isn't escaping so easily either, and she swallows after he speaks, quiet for a time as she looks at him. "I believe you." Eventually she straightens as her hand seeks his -- the apple piece she stole is dropped back onto the tray, and forgotten. "Come," she says, and gives a slow tug on his hand, a quiet plea for him to rise from his chair. "Prove it to me."
The meal forgotten, the Headmaster -- Sefton -- comes to his feet in a slow movement, and allows her tug to bring him up close against her. His quarters aren't large -- he's never shifted, despite his elevation in rank -- and it only takes a few steps to reach the bed. He backs her up, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek, so that as he eases her back onto the bed, he's kissing her already.