Waiting
Location: Sefton's Office
Time: Lunchtime on Day 17, Month 5, Turn 3
Players: Sefton and Roa
Scene: Lunch between two friends. Mostly.
A class of the most recent students to come to Caucus is slowly exiting the classroom, moving out to the bowl -- some chatter, others laugh, and one or two look shocked, or forlorn even. The class has made an impression on each in some way, that much is obvious. In their wake, looking as arrogantly bored as he so frequently does, comes the Headmaster. He is, as usual, without notes, raking one hand back from his hair, a tall, disheveled, black-clad man who follows behind the neatly clad figures of his students.
Perhaps the weyrwoman was on her way somewhere, wandering through the bowl as she is, but she pauses at the procession of students, one brow hitching upwards as she sees the multitude of expressions on their faces. There are nods and murmurs of greetings, but in the end, it is over to the Headmaster that Roa goes. "You know, I am all of the sudden reminded why I both enjoyed and dreaded your classes. What have you done to them this round?"
Sefton watches Roa watching the students, and as she changes her course for him, he halts, allowing shorter strides to catch his strong. "Weyrwoman," he greets her with a grin, turning the raking back of curls into a rider-style salute. "You are ever inclined to think ill of me. I have done nothing to them at all. They have been engaged in debate, and as always, some are inclined to find it more challenging than others. Are you on your way to lunch?”
There is an eyeroll for the salute, of course, and then the weyrwoman falls into step besides the Headmaster. "Ah," she says around a little smile, "but thinking ill of you so often proves correct. You say debate. I say if it was so, it was only because you provoked the start of it." She takes a few more steps before adding, about lunch, "I suppose I am at that."
"Thinking ill of me is unproductive," Sefton replies loftily. "Of course I provoked the start of it, that is my role in the thing. You can make no accusation of that, Weyrwoman.” He flashes her a lazy, sideways grin as she confirms her destination, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Come and eat with me instead, I have a box just in from my brother. He wishes me to inquire as to whether his tree is still alive."
"But it's amusing," Roa counters with a shrug of her shoulders and a smile that struggles not to show itself. And fails. "I am supposed to be eating lunch so that weyr residents can find me and bemoan their various woes. But I suppose..." she tilts her head to peer up at Sefton, "you are technically in residency, here. And you are full of woes. I'd better oblige. You may tell Kelar that his tree has survived a Reachian winter. Mmm. Unless that would mean he plans to send me another one. In that case, it's died a terrible and withering death."
Sefton is pleased to see her smile, and his own broadens briefly in response. "I am full of woes," he agrees in a lazy drawl, drawing out the words and sounding anything but. "You have filled me up yourself, speaking so ill of my nature. It is a cause of great distress to me. I will tell Kel that it is alive, lest he die a terrible and withering death himself, to see how little you cared for his gift. They are not such easy things to come by, those little trees. They take so many turns to grow, you see."
"So many turns for so small a thing?" the weyrwoman queries. "How so? If Kel wants to thank anybody for its survival, it will have to be Penny. She built the greenhouse for it." She pads companionably besides Sefton as they move across the bowl. "There a couple things I've been meaning to speak to you about."
"So many turns indeed," Sefton replies. "It is an adult tree, you know. You of all people, Weyrwoman, I would not expect to judge a thing on its size." The jibe is gentle, companionable. "They are wired into shape, carefully pruned, taught to grow in a particular way and stopped from growing bigger, I have seen it done. I will mention to him that you can take none of the credit for its survival." He falls silent as they reach the living cavern, lifting his head to survey the crowd. "Had we best repair to my quarters, then?"
"But I grew very quickly. Or, rather, I stopped growing very quickly. There wasn't much waiting involved." She cants her head to the side, looking over at Sefton with a growing frown as he explains how the little trees are formed. "Do you mean to say that my poor little tree could have be a great big one, except that people decided to meddle with it?" Roa shakes her head. "We'd best repair to wherever you intend to feed me, Headmaster. It wouldn't do to leave a weyrwoman hungry."
"I suppose people did," Sefton allows, ignoring her frown, and lifting his head until he catches the eye of one of the kitchen girls hurrying past. He points to himself, to the Weyrwoman, down the hallway towards his quarters, and then continues walking once more. "I suppose it is a philosophical difference. I would say it was diverted to become something else, is all. Nothing more or less beautiful, but only different."
"Yes, but you would not stop to wonder if the tree had a preference. I am not sure that beauty is at the crux of the matter." Roa shakes her head a bit, smirking, as wordless orders are given to a kitchen girl. Then they are outside the Headmaster's office door, and the weyrwoman waits for entrance.
"It is, as I say, a philosophical difference," Sefton replies. He reaches for the door to open it, allowing her to move in ahead of him. It is left ajar in an invitation for the bearer of their lunch, and he scoops up a shirt from the couch to make a seat for her, before leaning back against the edge of his desk. "Tell me what it is that weighs upon your mind, Weyrwoman."
Once the door is opened, Roa steps inside and heads over to the couch. She flops down. "Two things," she informs the Headmaster. "More than that, but two I'd like to discuss with you. The easiest, first. Laelle. I've taken her on as my assistant, and I'd like us to rework her schedule a bit so she has fewer classes and, thus, a longer stay at Caucus."
Sefton's brows rise, and then his hand comes up to rake his curls back from his eyes. "Laelle?" This seems to prompt some surprise, but he demonstrates no inclination to elaborate upon it. "Very well, as you ask it. There are a number of issues I will need to discuss with her." He looks aside, rearranging the hides there so he can more readily shift his weight onto the desk. "She came to us in a different role entirely. Her entrance into Caucus was sponsored by Nerat, and it may be that they do not wish to do so under her new circumstances.”
"Now that was interesting," Roa remarks leaning forward. "Why such surprise? You don't like her?" She shifts, bending down to untie her boots so that she can tuck her legs up beside her. "If Nerat withdraws their sponsorship, is there a way I can sponsor her instead without upsetting that hold?"
Sefton grins, curls falling into his eyes once more as he tilts his head forward, watching her as he does so. "You think the surprise is more interesting than that you are allowed to see it," he observes lazily. "It rather depends on the manner in which Nerat withdraw their sponsorship. It would have been diplomatic to approach them before they learned of it via another channel." He considers the situation before a moment further, before he nods. "I will write." If he intended on saying anything more -- and there is no sign that he did -- he is interrupted by a knock on the door, and a moment after by the appearance of lunch.
"I think that you are doing an admirable job of trying to distract me from the actual question that I asked and that you have yet to answer," Roa replies with a small laugh. But then lunch appears and the weyrwoman quiets as well, waiting until the girl heads back out before pushing off of the couch and moving to snatch up a couple meatrolls. "She and I have written Nerat of her new position some sevens ago. I'm not sure it wouldn't help to hear from the Caucus Headmaster as well, but they are, at least, well informed. So far as I am aware, there has been no complaint, yet."
"Then Lord Faysal is more tolerant than I thought," Sefton murmurs, watching the girl as she departs, and lifting a hand to signal for her to close the door. "Still, if he is prepared to sponsor her while she does your work, then I suppose that is a saving." He leans forward to inspect the meal, and takes a meatroll for himself. "If it has been several sevens, I take it you are finding her satisfactory?
"I am," Roa agrees, "and again you imply that perhaps I should not. You are going to have to speak up, Sef. Either that or stop hinting that you'd like to. In which case...what did Kelar send us?" Us.
"I am hinting no such thing," Sefton replies with his wolf's grin. "I have not had enough contact with her to harbour much of an opinion one way or another. If she eases your workload, then I am happy. I care for you." The words are delivered simply, as though they carry no great import -- as though most of the Caucus would not choke on hearing them. "I am interested only to know why she caught your eye, and held it." He bites down on his meatroll, managing to fit the whole thing into his mouth so he can push away from the desk, and cross over to the end of the bed, so Kelar's latest crate can be pulled out from under a pile of clothes. "Let's find out."
As simply as those words are offered, they still catch the little weyrwoman up as well as a physical barrier might. Her head jerks backwards a bit and she blinks, regarding Sefton with some muddled mixture of sheer perplexity and vague suspicion. Then she clears her throat and studies the crate that has appeared. "You see a stranger walking in the hallway, and simply based on their gait you have formed an opinion about them," Roa opines with a chuckle. "Laelle is smart and she likes to think. I'd rather keep her here and nurture such qualities than send her home and have them squashed."
Sefton turns his head to catch the last of that reaction, and it prompts a small smile -- not one of his wolfish, piratical grins, but something lesser, and sadder. "I suppose that's so," he agrees, to his assessment of the stranger. He hears her out before he replies, the better part of his attention devoted to fishing through the packing material. "Very well, then. I asked her about her areas of interest, and what she hoped to gain from her time with us, in order to assist her by directing her to classes or areas that might aid. I could not convince her to confide even that, and I found her suspicion disobliging, at best. And I was not," he continues, with a more usual grin, "doing anything to elicit her suspicion, before you accuse me. I was behaving."
"You when you are behaving, rather resemble any other man when he is not," Roa teases almost fondly as she leans forward to peer down into the crate with its unknown haul. "Besides which, at this point your reputation precedes you. As I have no need to arrange a curriculum for Laelle, I haven't had to press her on wants and goals. I imagine that makes our relationship a bit easier." A small pause before she adds as she watches Sefton sift, "She brings me muffins."
"Shut up," Sefton responds cheerfully, producing several pieces of fruit from the crate, and settling down on the floor beside it so he can lay them out in a row. "But very well. I shall, of course, bow to your superior judgment. If she brings you muffins and likes to think, then she is without doubt of flawless character. I shall think no further on it."
"I did not say she was flawless. Trust me," there is a small roll of her eyes, "I am aware of at least one flaw. I'm only saying that she'll suit as an assistant. We cannot all live up to your perfection, you know. We can only bask in your presence and hope to attain a tiny sliver of wisdom for it. That, or a piece of fruit." And saying so, Roa leans forward and down to snatch one.
"And so I am roundly taught a lesson for being foolish enough to express my concern," Sefton replies dryly, once more the lazy, amused Headmaster. "I am silenced on the matter. There are peaches here that are not quite ripe. If you put them in the sun with your little tree, they will come on in a couple of days."
"Huh," muses the little weyrwoman, holding up her stolen claim. "Ripening fruit." And for some reason, this makes her smile wryly. "He can't have only sent three peaches in a box that size."
There's a long pause, as though there's a reply Sefton would like to make. "No," he agrees after those moments, shaking his head, and bringing his curls down into his eyes. "There's more." And he unpacks it, with a grin as cheerful as that of the man who packed the crate up: fresh fruit and dried, bottles of something, boxes of tea.
If the reply is not spoken, it is not entirely unnoticed. "What?" asks the weyrwoman with a little laugh. "What did you just swallow down?"
Sefton shakes his head -- and yet, as he finishes pulling the lids off the boxes of tea so she can inspect them, he does speak, his drawl as lazy as ever. "You allow her an enormous amount of access to your life. It brings with it the potential for an enormous amount of damage, and I am not convinced this is a safe place, nor that these are safe times. I trust your judgment. Will you pass me down a meatroll?
"She will, in time. Just now, mostly, she has access to tithe records and inventories. Schedules, from time to time. I'm trying to be careful." Roa leans back, stretching to snatch a meatroll. "Thank you." And then she leans forward to hand the morsel off.
"I trust your judgment," Sefton replies again, and this time, his tone makes the words a dismissal -- whether he has said all he has to say on the matter or not, it is now to be set aside. He accepts the meatroll, and in return, hands up two boxes of tea, swallowing his mouthful so he can speak. "See which one you like best, I'll keep the other."
The teas are picked up and each one is sniffed. One causes her nose to wrinkle a bit, although it's a fairly mild blend she murmurs, "That one's a bit too potent for me, I think. I'll try the other." The unwanted box is handed off and the chosen one is turned slowly. "How's Penny?"
Sefton lifts a brow -- faint surprise, but nothing more -- and accepts the box in return, setting it down. "She's well," he replies easily, resting one elbow on the crate as he makes himself comfortable. "Kel says he should start charging commission, now he sends things for us two, for Penny, for Aida, with enough to spare that I can dispense it to those students who seem to need it. Sometimes for Lorna, if there is fruit." A direct gaze, curls shaken aside for a moment. "She misses Ista."
"Doesn't Kel suppose that the time and effort expended keeping his tree hale and healthy ought to make up for any marks he must use to send things. Oh, unless he meant you. He can charge you anything he likes." Roa peers up from her box of tea to study the Headmaster quietly when he mentions Lorna. "Yes," the weyrwoman agrees softly. "She misses her home very much. I hear you're helping her with her reading."
"I do not imagine Kel would be cheeky enough to charge a lady interest," Sefton replies in his drawl, packing the rejected tea back into the box, and stretching out a hand in a silent request for more of their lunch to be passed down. "I am, when time permits," he agrees. "She is a quick student, but the flaws in the logic of pronunciation outrage her."
"Kel is certainly cheeky enough in other departments. He didn't write me, I don't suppose?" If there is a hopeful twinge in Roa's voice, she does her very best to squelch it. "She's very smart, though the way she comes to understand things can be unusual. I have to admit, I've only ever seen Lorna in a rage once. It was fearsome. I don't envy you, if you've dealt with her furious repeatedly." As it is left up to the weyrwoman to hand off food, she picks a healthy steamed carrot this time to pass over.
"Write you?" Sefton sounds faintly surprised, but there's a twitch of a smile, and he nods to the corner of his desk. "Underneath the green book, I think you'll find. Did you doubt it?" He reaches up for the carrot, inspecting it with disdain. "You women and your obsession with vegetables. All of you. Perhaps I should say rather that Lorna is indignant, rather than in a rage. She finds it most unacceptable." He bites down on the carrot, pulling a face.
"Well, sometimes he doesn't. I suppose sometimes he just hasn't anything to say." Still, she's leaning forward and moving the green book to pick up her letter and tuck it away for later. "I think Lorna, indignant, would be a far better thing to witness. She has caught your interest, then. And more, if Kelar is a unwitting bearer of fruits for her. If you men were allowed to eat only what you wanted, you'd all die of malnourishment. Eat your carrot."
"Or perhaps sometimes he is only busy," Sefton replies with a grin, waving his carrot at her. "He likes to give the impression that he does not work." He mock-scowls at her for her telling off, and bites down obediently on his carrot, pulling faces as he chews, and another as he swallows. "You know very well she has, but nothing will come of it that ought not. She must learn somewhere." Lorna is shrugged off, and he finishes off the rest of the carrot. "You will be hatching out a new weyrwoman for me to teach soon," he observes in his drawl. "I suppose I will have to wait until she is done with weyrlinghood?"
"Perhaps so. Either way, I'm glad he was able to scribble something down." She only watches the faces Sefton pulls with a bemused smirk. "I know that," she notes quietly of Lorna's secrecy, or rather, of Sefton's. And then...oh weyrwomen. She laughs and shakes her head. "Faranth, won't that be something. Well, we'll see. As a junior weyrwoman who attended Caucus, I can say that when you live in the weyr, it's a bit unfair to be asked to do both. Perhaps something can be arranged. I make no promises until the hatchling chooses."
"Kelar troubles himself to far more than scribbles, for you," Sefton replies with a flash of his white teeth. "He is not much of a letter writer, unless pressed, or stirred by something." He finishes off his carrot as she speaks, and reaches up to rake his curls back from his eyes. "You spoil my fun, Roa, threatening to take away such an interesting project."
"Hmmm," comes Roa's soft...something to Sefton's words about his brother. One small hand moves idly to the pocket where she's stowed his missive away. "I didn't say no," she offers. "Only maybe. And when, Sef, have you ever been able to resist the challenge of a 'maybe'? And when has it not been fun to try to sway one?" She arches a brow, studying the Headmaster, his teeth, and his carrot.
"I suppose so," Sefton replies, shaking his head in dismissal. "I am disinclined to debate it, I suppose. A long time to wait, and perhaps I will not fancy the weyrwoman we gain in this hatching." And that, his lazy drawl indicates, is that.
There is a small stretch of quiet as Roa nibbles on a meatroll and considers, head canted a little to the side. "Could be. We'll see, I guess." The meatroll is set down for a moment. "I'm not sure, did I...is anything the matter?"
"That we will, as with all your Tialith's sons and daughters," Sefton replies. For her question, she gets a quick shake of his head, but before speaks again. "I find myself becoming quite one of the locals, so interested in the outcome of a hatching. I have been here almost too long, perhaps."
"Almost," Roa notes quietly, her voice curling around the word. "But not quite. I can think of reasons that a hatching might be of interest to you, besides the native's inclination to simply want to know about these sorts of things. I don't imagine you'll be permanently turning in your sandals for winter boots. At least. Not yet."
"We have cold weather at Fort," Sefton replies, looking across to his plate once more, and lifting a hand that hovers, as though he might select something more to eat. "I will have plenty of reason to wear boots. But Bailie is not done with her learning just yet, so you have me a little longer."
"Something I'm rather grateful for," the weyrwoman notes with a faint smile. "Do you look forward to it? Leaving? Fort?"
Sefton is quiet for a long moment, mouth closed, holding in his reply. If he's vetting it, he makes a decision, and allows the words out in a low drawl. "Sometimes, yes."
"Sometimes," Roa repeats with a little nod, "is not the worst place to start." She looks down and over at the meatroll that's been set aside and says, with no particular awareness that it comes from nowhere, "I should go."
"Perhaps," Sefton drawls softly, in what might be a reply to either of her observations, drawing the word out, playing on the vowels. "Good luck, if that is the thing one wishes a weyrwoman. I suppose the hatchlings will do the work on the day, but I will wish you luck nonetheless. Tialith is adding her bloodline to Reaches, that is something."
She slides forward, cloth murmuring against cloth as Roa pushes into a stand, tea and under ripe peaches in hand and letter in her pocket. "Something, indeed," Roa agrees with a shoulder-roll. "And thank you. Good afternoon, Sef." With something approximating a smile, she makes her way to the door and out of it.
He comes to his feet, polite and automatic, but makes no move to stay her. "Good afternoon," he murmurs, crooking a more genuine smile in reply, though his dark eyes are half concealed behind curls, and give nothing away. He waits until she is half a minute gone, before he sits once more.
Time: Lunchtime on Day 17, Month 5, Turn 3
Players: Sefton and Roa
Scene: Lunch between two friends. Mostly.
A class of the most recent students to come to Caucus is slowly exiting the classroom, moving out to the bowl -- some chatter, others laugh, and one or two look shocked, or forlorn even. The class has made an impression on each in some way, that much is obvious. In their wake, looking as arrogantly bored as he so frequently does, comes the Headmaster. He is, as usual, without notes, raking one hand back from his hair, a tall, disheveled, black-clad man who follows behind the neatly clad figures of his students.
Perhaps the weyrwoman was on her way somewhere, wandering through the bowl as she is, but she pauses at the procession of students, one brow hitching upwards as she sees the multitude of expressions on their faces. There are nods and murmurs of greetings, but in the end, it is over to the Headmaster that Roa goes. "You know, I am all of the sudden reminded why I both enjoyed and dreaded your classes. What have you done to them this round?"
Sefton watches Roa watching the students, and as she changes her course for him, he halts, allowing shorter strides to catch his strong. "Weyrwoman," he greets her with a grin, turning the raking back of curls into a rider-style salute. "You are ever inclined to think ill of me. I have done nothing to them at all. They have been engaged in debate, and as always, some are inclined to find it more challenging than others. Are you on your way to lunch?”
There is an eyeroll for the salute, of course, and then the weyrwoman falls into step besides the Headmaster. "Ah," she says around a little smile, "but thinking ill of you so often proves correct. You say debate. I say if it was so, it was only because you provoked the start of it." She takes a few more steps before adding, about lunch, "I suppose I am at that."
"Thinking ill of me is unproductive," Sefton replies loftily. "Of course I provoked the start of it, that is my role in the thing. You can make no accusation of that, Weyrwoman.” He flashes her a lazy, sideways grin as she confirms her destination, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Come and eat with me instead, I have a box just in from my brother. He wishes me to inquire as to whether his tree is still alive."
"But it's amusing," Roa counters with a shrug of her shoulders and a smile that struggles not to show itself. And fails. "I am supposed to be eating lunch so that weyr residents can find me and bemoan their various woes. But I suppose..." she tilts her head to peer up at Sefton, "you are technically in residency, here. And you are full of woes. I'd better oblige. You may tell Kelar that his tree has survived a Reachian winter. Mmm. Unless that would mean he plans to send me another one. In that case, it's died a terrible and withering death."
Sefton is pleased to see her smile, and his own broadens briefly in response. "I am full of woes," he agrees in a lazy drawl, drawing out the words and sounding anything but. "You have filled me up yourself, speaking so ill of my nature. It is a cause of great distress to me. I will tell Kel that it is alive, lest he die a terrible and withering death himself, to see how little you cared for his gift. They are not such easy things to come by, those little trees. They take so many turns to grow, you see."
"So many turns for so small a thing?" the weyrwoman queries. "How so? If Kel wants to thank anybody for its survival, it will have to be Penny. She built the greenhouse for it." She pads companionably besides Sefton as they move across the bowl. "There a couple things I've been meaning to speak to you about."
"So many turns indeed," Sefton replies. "It is an adult tree, you know. You of all people, Weyrwoman, I would not expect to judge a thing on its size." The jibe is gentle, companionable. "They are wired into shape, carefully pruned, taught to grow in a particular way and stopped from growing bigger, I have seen it done. I will mention to him that you can take none of the credit for its survival." He falls silent as they reach the living cavern, lifting his head to survey the crowd. "Had we best repair to my quarters, then?"
"But I grew very quickly. Or, rather, I stopped growing very quickly. There wasn't much waiting involved." She cants her head to the side, looking over at Sefton with a growing frown as he explains how the little trees are formed. "Do you mean to say that my poor little tree could have be a great big one, except that people decided to meddle with it?" Roa shakes her head. "We'd best repair to wherever you intend to feed me, Headmaster. It wouldn't do to leave a weyrwoman hungry."
"I suppose people did," Sefton allows, ignoring her frown, and lifting his head until he catches the eye of one of the kitchen girls hurrying past. He points to himself, to the Weyrwoman, down the hallway towards his quarters, and then continues walking once more. "I suppose it is a philosophical difference. I would say it was diverted to become something else, is all. Nothing more or less beautiful, but only different."
"Yes, but you would not stop to wonder if the tree had a preference. I am not sure that beauty is at the crux of the matter." Roa shakes her head a bit, smirking, as wordless orders are given to a kitchen girl. Then they are outside the Headmaster's office door, and the weyrwoman waits for entrance.
"It is, as I say, a philosophical difference," Sefton replies. He reaches for the door to open it, allowing her to move in ahead of him. It is left ajar in an invitation for the bearer of their lunch, and he scoops up a shirt from the couch to make a seat for her, before leaning back against the edge of his desk. "Tell me what it is that weighs upon your mind, Weyrwoman."
Once the door is opened, Roa steps inside and heads over to the couch. She flops down. "Two things," she informs the Headmaster. "More than that, but two I'd like to discuss with you. The easiest, first. Laelle. I've taken her on as my assistant, and I'd like us to rework her schedule a bit so she has fewer classes and, thus, a longer stay at Caucus."
Sefton's brows rise, and then his hand comes up to rake his curls back from his eyes. "Laelle?" This seems to prompt some surprise, but he demonstrates no inclination to elaborate upon it. "Very well, as you ask it. There are a number of issues I will need to discuss with her." He looks aside, rearranging the hides there so he can more readily shift his weight onto the desk. "She came to us in a different role entirely. Her entrance into Caucus was sponsored by Nerat, and it may be that they do not wish to do so under her new circumstances.”
"Now that was interesting," Roa remarks leaning forward. "Why such surprise? You don't like her?" She shifts, bending down to untie her boots so that she can tuck her legs up beside her. "If Nerat withdraws their sponsorship, is there a way I can sponsor her instead without upsetting that hold?"
Sefton grins, curls falling into his eyes once more as he tilts his head forward, watching her as he does so. "You think the surprise is more interesting than that you are allowed to see it," he observes lazily. "It rather depends on the manner in which Nerat withdraw their sponsorship. It would have been diplomatic to approach them before they learned of it via another channel." He considers the situation before a moment further, before he nods. "I will write." If he intended on saying anything more -- and there is no sign that he did -- he is interrupted by a knock on the door, and a moment after by the appearance of lunch.
"I think that you are doing an admirable job of trying to distract me from the actual question that I asked and that you have yet to answer," Roa replies with a small laugh. But then lunch appears and the weyrwoman quiets as well, waiting until the girl heads back out before pushing off of the couch and moving to snatch up a couple meatrolls. "She and I have written Nerat of her new position some sevens ago. I'm not sure it wouldn't help to hear from the Caucus Headmaster as well, but they are, at least, well informed. So far as I am aware, there has been no complaint, yet."
"Then Lord Faysal is more tolerant than I thought," Sefton murmurs, watching the girl as she departs, and lifting a hand to signal for her to close the door. "Still, if he is prepared to sponsor her while she does your work, then I suppose that is a saving." He leans forward to inspect the meal, and takes a meatroll for himself. "If it has been several sevens, I take it you are finding her satisfactory?
"I am," Roa agrees, "and again you imply that perhaps I should not. You are going to have to speak up, Sef. Either that or stop hinting that you'd like to. In which case...what did Kelar send us?" Us.
"I am hinting no such thing," Sefton replies with his wolf's grin. "I have not had enough contact with her to harbour much of an opinion one way or another. If she eases your workload, then I am happy. I care for you." The words are delivered simply, as though they carry no great import -- as though most of the Caucus would not choke on hearing them. "I am interested only to know why she caught your eye, and held it." He bites down on his meatroll, managing to fit the whole thing into his mouth so he can push away from the desk, and cross over to the end of the bed, so Kelar's latest crate can be pulled out from under a pile of clothes. "Let's find out."
As simply as those words are offered, they still catch the little weyrwoman up as well as a physical barrier might. Her head jerks backwards a bit and she blinks, regarding Sefton with some muddled mixture of sheer perplexity and vague suspicion. Then she clears her throat and studies the crate that has appeared. "You see a stranger walking in the hallway, and simply based on their gait you have formed an opinion about them," Roa opines with a chuckle. "Laelle is smart and she likes to think. I'd rather keep her here and nurture such qualities than send her home and have them squashed."
Sefton turns his head to catch the last of that reaction, and it prompts a small smile -- not one of his wolfish, piratical grins, but something lesser, and sadder. "I suppose that's so," he agrees, to his assessment of the stranger. He hears her out before he replies, the better part of his attention devoted to fishing through the packing material. "Very well, then. I asked her about her areas of interest, and what she hoped to gain from her time with us, in order to assist her by directing her to classes or areas that might aid. I could not convince her to confide even that, and I found her suspicion disobliging, at best. And I was not," he continues, with a more usual grin, "doing anything to elicit her suspicion, before you accuse me. I was behaving."
"You when you are behaving, rather resemble any other man when he is not," Roa teases almost fondly as she leans forward to peer down into the crate with its unknown haul. "Besides which, at this point your reputation precedes you. As I have no need to arrange a curriculum for Laelle, I haven't had to press her on wants and goals. I imagine that makes our relationship a bit easier." A small pause before she adds as she watches Sefton sift, "She brings me muffins."
"Shut up," Sefton responds cheerfully, producing several pieces of fruit from the crate, and settling down on the floor beside it so he can lay them out in a row. "But very well. I shall, of course, bow to your superior judgment. If she brings you muffins and likes to think, then she is without doubt of flawless character. I shall think no further on it."
"I did not say she was flawless. Trust me," there is a small roll of her eyes, "I am aware of at least one flaw. I'm only saying that she'll suit as an assistant. We cannot all live up to your perfection, you know. We can only bask in your presence and hope to attain a tiny sliver of wisdom for it. That, or a piece of fruit." And saying so, Roa leans forward and down to snatch one.
"And so I am roundly taught a lesson for being foolish enough to express my concern," Sefton replies dryly, once more the lazy, amused Headmaster. "I am silenced on the matter. There are peaches here that are not quite ripe. If you put them in the sun with your little tree, they will come on in a couple of days."
"Huh," muses the little weyrwoman, holding up her stolen claim. "Ripening fruit." And for some reason, this makes her smile wryly. "He can't have only sent three peaches in a box that size."
There's a long pause, as though there's a reply Sefton would like to make. "No," he agrees after those moments, shaking his head, and bringing his curls down into his eyes. "There's more." And he unpacks it, with a grin as cheerful as that of the man who packed the crate up: fresh fruit and dried, bottles of something, boxes of tea.
If the reply is not spoken, it is not entirely unnoticed. "What?" asks the weyrwoman with a little laugh. "What did you just swallow down?"
Sefton shakes his head -- and yet, as he finishes pulling the lids off the boxes of tea so she can inspect them, he does speak, his drawl as lazy as ever. "You allow her an enormous amount of access to your life. It brings with it the potential for an enormous amount of damage, and I am not convinced this is a safe place, nor that these are safe times. I trust your judgment. Will you pass me down a meatroll?
"She will, in time. Just now, mostly, she has access to tithe records and inventories. Schedules, from time to time. I'm trying to be careful." Roa leans back, stretching to snatch a meatroll. "Thank you." And then she leans forward to hand the morsel off.
"I trust your judgment," Sefton replies again, and this time, his tone makes the words a dismissal -- whether he has said all he has to say on the matter or not, it is now to be set aside. He accepts the meatroll, and in return, hands up two boxes of tea, swallowing his mouthful so he can speak. "See which one you like best, I'll keep the other."
The teas are picked up and each one is sniffed. One causes her nose to wrinkle a bit, although it's a fairly mild blend she murmurs, "That one's a bit too potent for me, I think. I'll try the other." The unwanted box is handed off and the chosen one is turned slowly. "How's Penny?"
Sefton lifts a brow -- faint surprise, but nothing more -- and accepts the box in return, setting it down. "She's well," he replies easily, resting one elbow on the crate as he makes himself comfortable. "Kel says he should start charging commission, now he sends things for us two, for Penny, for Aida, with enough to spare that I can dispense it to those students who seem to need it. Sometimes for Lorna, if there is fruit." A direct gaze, curls shaken aside for a moment. "She misses Ista."
"Doesn't Kel suppose that the time and effort expended keeping his tree hale and healthy ought to make up for any marks he must use to send things. Oh, unless he meant you. He can charge you anything he likes." Roa peers up from her box of tea to study the Headmaster quietly when he mentions Lorna. "Yes," the weyrwoman agrees softly. "She misses her home very much. I hear you're helping her with her reading."
"I do not imagine Kel would be cheeky enough to charge a lady interest," Sefton replies in his drawl, packing the rejected tea back into the box, and stretching out a hand in a silent request for more of their lunch to be passed down. "I am, when time permits," he agrees. "She is a quick student, but the flaws in the logic of pronunciation outrage her."
"Kel is certainly cheeky enough in other departments. He didn't write me, I don't suppose?" If there is a hopeful twinge in Roa's voice, she does her very best to squelch it. "She's very smart, though the way she comes to understand things can be unusual. I have to admit, I've only ever seen Lorna in a rage once. It was fearsome. I don't envy you, if you've dealt with her furious repeatedly." As it is left up to the weyrwoman to hand off food, she picks a healthy steamed carrot this time to pass over.
"Write you?" Sefton sounds faintly surprised, but there's a twitch of a smile, and he nods to the corner of his desk. "Underneath the green book, I think you'll find. Did you doubt it?" He reaches up for the carrot, inspecting it with disdain. "You women and your obsession with vegetables. All of you. Perhaps I should say rather that Lorna is indignant, rather than in a rage. She finds it most unacceptable." He bites down on the carrot, pulling a face.
"Well, sometimes he doesn't. I suppose sometimes he just hasn't anything to say." Still, she's leaning forward and moving the green book to pick up her letter and tuck it away for later. "I think Lorna, indignant, would be a far better thing to witness. She has caught your interest, then. And more, if Kelar is a unwitting bearer of fruits for her. If you men were allowed to eat only what you wanted, you'd all die of malnourishment. Eat your carrot."
"Or perhaps sometimes he is only busy," Sefton replies with a grin, waving his carrot at her. "He likes to give the impression that he does not work." He mock-scowls at her for her telling off, and bites down obediently on his carrot, pulling faces as he chews, and another as he swallows. "You know very well she has, but nothing will come of it that ought not. She must learn somewhere." Lorna is shrugged off, and he finishes off the rest of the carrot. "You will be hatching out a new weyrwoman for me to teach soon," he observes in his drawl. "I suppose I will have to wait until she is done with weyrlinghood?"
"Perhaps so. Either way, I'm glad he was able to scribble something down." She only watches the faces Sefton pulls with a bemused smirk. "I know that," she notes quietly of Lorna's secrecy, or rather, of Sefton's. And then...oh weyrwomen. She laughs and shakes her head. "Faranth, won't that be something. Well, we'll see. As a junior weyrwoman who attended Caucus, I can say that when you live in the weyr, it's a bit unfair to be asked to do both. Perhaps something can be arranged. I make no promises until the hatchling chooses."
"Kelar troubles himself to far more than scribbles, for you," Sefton replies with a flash of his white teeth. "He is not much of a letter writer, unless pressed, or stirred by something." He finishes off his carrot as she speaks, and reaches up to rake his curls back from his eyes. "You spoil my fun, Roa, threatening to take away such an interesting project."
"Hmmm," comes Roa's soft...something to Sefton's words about his brother. One small hand moves idly to the pocket where she's stowed his missive away. "I didn't say no," she offers. "Only maybe. And when, Sef, have you ever been able to resist the challenge of a 'maybe'? And when has it not been fun to try to sway one?" She arches a brow, studying the Headmaster, his teeth, and his carrot.
"I suppose so," Sefton replies, shaking his head in dismissal. "I am disinclined to debate it, I suppose. A long time to wait, and perhaps I will not fancy the weyrwoman we gain in this hatching." And that, his lazy drawl indicates, is that.
There is a small stretch of quiet as Roa nibbles on a meatroll and considers, head canted a little to the side. "Could be. We'll see, I guess." The meatroll is set down for a moment. "I'm not sure, did I...is anything the matter?"
"That we will, as with all your Tialith's sons and daughters," Sefton replies. For her question, she gets a quick shake of his head, but before speaks again. "I find myself becoming quite one of the locals, so interested in the outcome of a hatching. I have been here almost too long, perhaps."
"Almost," Roa notes quietly, her voice curling around the word. "But not quite. I can think of reasons that a hatching might be of interest to you, besides the native's inclination to simply want to know about these sorts of things. I don't imagine you'll be permanently turning in your sandals for winter boots. At least. Not yet."
"We have cold weather at Fort," Sefton replies, looking across to his plate once more, and lifting a hand that hovers, as though he might select something more to eat. "I will have plenty of reason to wear boots. But Bailie is not done with her learning just yet, so you have me a little longer."
"Something I'm rather grateful for," the weyrwoman notes with a faint smile. "Do you look forward to it? Leaving? Fort?"
Sefton is quiet for a long moment, mouth closed, holding in his reply. If he's vetting it, he makes a decision, and allows the words out in a low drawl. "Sometimes, yes."
"Sometimes," Roa repeats with a little nod, "is not the worst place to start." She looks down and over at the meatroll that's been set aside and says, with no particular awareness that it comes from nowhere, "I should go."
"Perhaps," Sefton drawls softly, in what might be a reply to either of her observations, drawing the word out, playing on the vowels. "Good luck, if that is the thing one wishes a weyrwoman. I suppose the hatchlings will do the work on the day, but I will wish you luck nonetheless. Tialith is adding her bloodline to Reaches, that is something."
She slides forward, cloth murmuring against cloth as Roa pushes into a stand, tea and under ripe peaches in hand and letter in her pocket. "Something, indeed," Roa agrees with a shoulder-roll. "And thank you. Good afternoon, Sef." With something approximating a smile, she makes her way to the door and out of it.
He comes to his feet, polite and automatic, but makes no move to stay her. "Good afternoon," he murmurs, crooking a more genuine smile in reply, though his dark eyes are half concealed behind curls, and give nothing away. He waits until she is half a minute gone, before he sits once more.