Little fish, big pond. Just keep swimming swimming swimming...
Who: Sefton, Aida
Where: Sefton's Room
When: Evening of day 8, month 3, turn 2 of the 7th pass.
What: Aida goes to ask for permission to sit in on Sefton's class. The conversation does not go as she expected. She managed to avoid crying, though!
Sefton's door is slightly ajar -- the observer inclined to peek in through the available gap will spot the Headmaster sprawled on his couch, head resting on one arm, feet resting on the other, reading something from a hide. He's barefoot, hair falling into his eyes, looking far more like a student of the Caucus than its head. The room itself is a study in contrasts -- the desk is piled high with hides, the bed and chests hidden under piles of clothes, but the shelves holding his books are perfectly neat, the volumes lined up row upon row.
A slightly open door does indeed lead to peaking, if only briefly. Yep. Right room. Maybe. The right person is at least present, and that's what counts. Aida spends a moment counting in her head, ensuring that her composure is in place and that what nervousness does linger is as hidden away as it can be. No false starts; she brings a hand up to knock on the door solidly, *then* leans around to peek in again. Since it's open.
"Come." It's Sefton's customary greeting, the word drawn out by his drawl -- it's a challenge: come on in, and make this something interesting if you want to hold me. One hand comes up to rake his hair back from his eyes, and he swings long legs down from the couch so he comes around to a sitting position so that he can look up through eyes suddenly clear of hair to look for his visitor.
Lifting her chin, Aida hesitates only for two heartbeats, and then she's tugging the door open and sliding in, putting on a smile. Two steps are taken into the room before she stops again, the door tugged back to as close to where it was when she opened it as her eyes take the room in. Quick initial glance, then focus on Sefton. "Headmaster," she greets quietly. "I apologize for seeking you out here, but you're a terribly difficult man to corner in passing."
"Am I?" The question is amused, but Sefton comes politely to his feet as she enters, arching his back in a slow stretch. This is Sefton at home, relaxed -- body language more casual, and certainly his attire. Not that there's a long way to step down from an untucked shirt to begin with. "I suppose I am. Let the most determined have my time. On what count are you so determined, Aida?"
Starting to lift a hand up towards the hair at the side of her face, Aida catches herself. Both hands slide behind her back to clasp together there lightly, and she glances away from him briefly only to look right back. It takes her a moment to compose her reply, and there's only one false start that doesn't see any words escaping. The second attempt proves true, and her smile turns up a bit further as she speaks. "I would like permission to sit in on your class," she says, voice thankfully remaining steady. "Regularly."
Sefton hears her out, but there's no change in the more or less friendly, faintly amused expression. He turns away, setting the hide in his hand down on the desk, and turns once more to lean against it, facing her as he speaks. "Permission to sit in, or permission to participate, Aida? I would draw a distinction." There it is, a slight change in tone -- his Instructor's Voice is coming out.
"For now, simply permission to sit in," Aida replies immediately, some of the tension fading out of her shoulders. "If in the future I would like to participate, that would be a separate request. I've notes that I've been studying, but such is not the same as hearing all of it." There's no hesitation there now, no need to pause for thinking it over. Her attention stays on him, her own expression holding in the light smile that is so carefully kept. Not nervous here. Really.
"You have been studying notes of my classes?" Both brows go up there -- a rare point scored, because Sefton's surprised, and visibly so. His lips press together in a quirk of a smile, and that hand comes up once more to rake his hair back from his eyes. "Can I fetch you a drink, Aida? Please, sit." His hand comes away from holding his hair back to gesture at the couch. She's in.
Smile turning up a bit further at that surprise, Aida gives a dip of her head. "I have been," she replies agreeably. The gesture to the couch has her hands unfolding as she slips over, moving to carefully settle herself down on the edge of it. "And something to drink would be lovely, thank you. I'm not picky about what."
Sefton pushes away from his desk, walking over -- sauntering, almost -- to the bookshelves. His hand hovers in front of a row of bottles for a moment, then his fingers wrap around the neck of one that's tall and slim. "Who has been giving you notes?" The question comes as he snags a pair of glasses, setting them down on a shelf so he can unstopper the bottle and pour.
She starts to fold her hands into her lap, sitting straight and all of that; this is discarded after a moment along with another measure of her tension and a heavier exhale of air. Instead, Aida scoots back a bit on the couch, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, twining her fingers together and setting her chin down on them. Not for a moment do her eyes swing away from him. "Neiran has," she replies easily. "Not just your class. I've got quite the stack from him on loan." Her smile warms further, with that notation.
The quiet sound of liquid sloshing into glasses, and Sefton continues to present his broad back to her as he speaks. "I see." And on that drawled observation, he falls silent for several moments, pushing the stopper back in the bottle, and turning to regard her over his shoulder as he pushes the bottle back into place. "Analyse my position for me, Aida. What reasons have I to say yes?"
Patience. For all that she starts to fidget repeatedly while staring at the presented back, Aida catches herself each time and remains still. When he looks back to her, asks his question, she sits up again; this time, her hand comes up to brush back a stray curl. Her answer to this has her head tilting to the side, her expression touching with something thoughtful. "Practically, very few," she eventually admits, no reluctance to her tone. "If any. Those that I could name are not clearly beneficial; I associate with at least one of your students, and may end up being helpful in that there is the potential for me to be helpful to his learning. It would also save you the time and trouble of others coming to ask you or to attempt to persuade you on my behalf. It also introduces a different perspective, and though I will not be participating, discussions do go on outside of the classroom. As far as reasons that I think you should have, there is the fact that I clearly am interested in learning, and am entirely willing to put in whatever effort I need to to do so. I am a very proactive individual, and the better educated I am, the better I benefit the world around me."
Sefton hears her out, leaning back against the shelves with a drink in each hand. A flick of one brow at something she says, but for the most part, not a great deal of evidence that he's impressed. "You make an assumption that I am particularly drawn to including students based on their interest in hearing what I have to say in class. Speak to me of the other side of the equation, before we address your thoughts so far. Reasons to exclude you?"
"No, I did not assume such," Aida states evenly, shaking her head. "It was a reason I said that I *thought* that you should have, not one that you necessarily did." Those words are followed by a briefly wry smile, and then she's falling quiet again for consideration. "The biggest reason against it that I can see is that not only will it likely cause some measure of a stir, but it opens a door that may not be easily shut again. The potential headache is enormous. As well, I have nothing to recommend me, and no actual need for the class. In many ways it would be a wasted seat. There is also a potential that I will prove to be a disruption." A pause, a glance down in thought. Her eyes come back up, and she shrugs one shoulder. "It'd also be encouraging me in being uppity."
Sefton moves forward now to offer her one of the drinks he's holding -- pale orange liquid, sweet, mellow, and very strong. "Not bad. You could tighten your arguments significantly, eliminate several of the weaker, rephrase. You let yourself down by including points so easily rebutted. They incline your listener to believe that all your points might be just as weak, given the correct information."
Aida straightens up the rest of the way to take the glass when it's offered, bringing it up to her lips for a careful sip. The hint of relief that starts to touch her face disappears at his words, replaced by a startled look. She's left speechless for several heartbeats, and then a laugh escapes as another smile appears. "So noted," she replies. "Could you elaborate for me just a bit? I understand what you mean, but I think more information would be helpful."
"An example, then," Sefton agrees, backing up several steps until he can perch himself on the edge of his desk, just the place he sits when teaching in the classroom -- never behind it. "You say that I could avoid the inconvenience of having to hear others speak on this matter. Superfluous. There are very few people in this place I am obliged to listen to at all. If you are thinking of asking Neiran to champion you, I can silence him with a word, and both he and I know this. If you do not, then you undermine yourself further. In regard to your education, there is only one man I should be obliged to hear out, and even his request I would not be obliged to accept. Although, as I hope you will realise, I would."
Listening attentively, Aida brings her glass up to take a more solid drink from it. The protest does appear on her face after a moment, but she manages to squash it just as rapidly as it surfaces. When he's finished speaking, she considers again, thinking her words over (and possibly his) before she replies. "Understood; thank you. However, I will note that I would never ask Neiran to champion me."
"Then you would be missing an opportunity," Sefton observes, pausing for a sip from his own glass. His head tilts back for a moment as the liquid is rolled around his mouth, eyes closing briefly as he swallows. "Neiran has an extra session with me every seven or so. He is known to be one of the students I favour above others. If you would give up his advocacy, I am disappointed. Who else would you have speak on your behalf?"
Aida's lips twitch, amusement clear for a moment before she squashes that too, instead just offering up a smile as she shakes her head. "I said that I would not *ask*," she points out. "Directly asking someone to speak to you on my behalf would not serve me near so well as them deciding to do so on their own."
Sefton waves a hand, dismissing her distinction with that gesture. "You choose the wrong moment to play word games, Aida. I seek information, not delicate distinctions. Neiran, then, would choose to champion you? My point stands. I would be unlikely, at best, to hear him on the subject. He might express disappointment on that count, but he would not endanger his extra lessons."
"Your point does stand," Aida agrees, nodding her head quickly. "I wasn't disputing that it was a factor that would best have been left out. I don't know with certainty that he would. I do believe that I could accomplish getting people to talk to you for me, but you don't have to listen, and it was a flimsy argument in my favor." Her eyes finally shift away from him to settle down on the glass in her hand, and she lifts it up for another drink even as she's studying the liquid.
Sefton has the advantage over Aida both in terms of habitual alcohol consumption and body mass, and slugs back another serious mouthful before he speaks. "You have no good arguments, Aida. None of those in your favour stand up to even a small challenge. One that you make against your inclusion strikes a chord, however. I would, as you say, find myself at the centre of no small protest. Essentially, you ask me to take that on without presenting me with any benefit at all."
Ouch. Aida does flinch at his initial words, though she steadies her expression swiftly, bracing herself. Her eyes stay down as he continues, and when he finishes she nods her head, setting her jaw. "I had not put a great deal of thought into the larger repercussions of what I was asking for," she admits quietly. "I apologize."
Sefton snorts now, peering over the rim of his glass at her for a moment before he tilts his head back for another mouthful. "You wish to study politics, and you came to conduct one of the more important conversations you will have without considering the more wide-ranging repercussions of what you request? Aida, you do not strengthen your case." His drawl is less kind now, almost a reproof.
"There is a reason I need to *study* politics," Aida promptly responds, gaze snapping back up to him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Why I just want to listen. I can't know without learning. I thought I'd thought it through; I was wrong." Again, she brings her glass up for another drink, this one with much less care as to how much she's consuming.
"You," Sefton confirms in that drawl that takes its time, no matter what he speaks of, "were wrong. Go, Aida. Return to me tomorrow evening, and make an effort more worthy of my attention." He polishes off the last of his drink, setting the glass down on the desk behind him. "And do not accept strong drinks when you need your wits about you." His tone makes the words a dismissal, and even as he finishes speaking he's already turning to draw out the chair from his desk, his earlier letter claimed and pulled into reading distance as he prepares to sink into the chair.
Outright shock touching her face, Aida stares at him for a moment. There's a glance to the glass in her hand, then back to him, and then she's sliding up to her feet. "Thank you," she states quietly, slipping over just close enough to the desk to set her glass down before she's turning to head out. Promptly. Oh, so very bewildered.
Where: Sefton's Room
When: Evening of day 8, month 3, turn 2 of the 7th pass.
What: Aida goes to ask for permission to sit in on Sefton's class. The conversation does not go as she expected. She managed to avoid crying, though!
Sefton's door is slightly ajar -- the observer inclined to peek in through the available gap will spot the Headmaster sprawled on his couch, head resting on one arm, feet resting on the other, reading something from a hide. He's barefoot, hair falling into his eyes, looking far more like a student of the Caucus than its head. The room itself is a study in contrasts -- the desk is piled high with hides, the bed and chests hidden under piles of clothes, but the shelves holding his books are perfectly neat, the volumes lined up row upon row.
A slightly open door does indeed lead to peaking, if only briefly. Yep. Right room. Maybe. The right person is at least present, and that's what counts. Aida spends a moment counting in her head, ensuring that her composure is in place and that what nervousness does linger is as hidden away as it can be. No false starts; she brings a hand up to knock on the door solidly, *then* leans around to peek in again. Since it's open.
"Come." It's Sefton's customary greeting, the word drawn out by his drawl -- it's a challenge: come on in, and make this something interesting if you want to hold me. One hand comes up to rake his hair back from his eyes, and he swings long legs down from the couch so he comes around to a sitting position so that he can look up through eyes suddenly clear of hair to look for his visitor.
Lifting her chin, Aida hesitates only for two heartbeats, and then she's tugging the door open and sliding in, putting on a smile. Two steps are taken into the room before she stops again, the door tugged back to as close to where it was when she opened it as her eyes take the room in. Quick initial glance, then focus on Sefton. "Headmaster," she greets quietly. "I apologize for seeking you out here, but you're a terribly difficult man to corner in passing."
"Am I?" The question is amused, but Sefton comes politely to his feet as she enters, arching his back in a slow stretch. This is Sefton at home, relaxed -- body language more casual, and certainly his attire. Not that there's a long way to step down from an untucked shirt to begin with. "I suppose I am. Let the most determined have my time. On what count are you so determined, Aida?"
Starting to lift a hand up towards the hair at the side of her face, Aida catches herself. Both hands slide behind her back to clasp together there lightly, and she glances away from him briefly only to look right back. It takes her a moment to compose her reply, and there's only one false start that doesn't see any words escaping. The second attempt proves true, and her smile turns up a bit further as she speaks. "I would like permission to sit in on your class," she says, voice thankfully remaining steady. "Regularly."
Sefton hears her out, but there's no change in the more or less friendly, faintly amused expression. He turns away, setting the hide in his hand down on the desk, and turns once more to lean against it, facing her as he speaks. "Permission to sit in, or permission to participate, Aida? I would draw a distinction." There it is, a slight change in tone -- his Instructor's Voice is coming out.
"For now, simply permission to sit in," Aida replies immediately, some of the tension fading out of her shoulders. "If in the future I would like to participate, that would be a separate request. I've notes that I've been studying, but such is not the same as hearing all of it." There's no hesitation there now, no need to pause for thinking it over. Her attention stays on him, her own expression holding in the light smile that is so carefully kept. Not nervous here. Really.
"You have been studying notes of my classes?" Both brows go up there -- a rare point scored, because Sefton's surprised, and visibly so. His lips press together in a quirk of a smile, and that hand comes up once more to rake his hair back from his eyes. "Can I fetch you a drink, Aida? Please, sit." His hand comes away from holding his hair back to gesture at the couch. She's in.
Smile turning up a bit further at that surprise, Aida gives a dip of her head. "I have been," she replies agreeably. The gesture to the couch has her hands unfolding as she slips over, moving to carefully settle herself down on the edge of it. "And something to drink would be lovely, thank you. I'm not picky about what."
Sefton pushes away from his desk, walking over -- sauntering, almost -- to the bookshelves. His hand hovers in front of a row of bottles for a moment, then his fingers wrap around the neck of one that's tall and slim. "Who has been giving you notes?" The question comes as he snags a pair of glasses, setting them down on a shelf so he can unstopper the bottle and pour.
She starts to fold her hands into her lap, sitting straight and all of that; this is discarded after a moment along with another measure of her tension and a heavier exhale of air. Instead, Aida scoots back a bit on the couch, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, twining her fingers together and setting her chin down on them. Not for a moment do her eyes swing away from him. "Neiran has," she replies easily. "Not just your class. I've got quite the stack from him on loan." Her smile warms further, with that notation.
The quiet sound of liquid sloshing into glasses, and Sefton continues to present his broad back to her as he speaks. "I see." And on that drawled observation, he falls silent for several moments, pushing the stopper back in the bottle, and turning to regard her over his shoulder as he pushes the bottle back into place. "Analyse my position for me, Aida. What reasons have I to say yes?"
Patience. For all that she starts to fidget repeatedly while staring at the presented back, Aida catches herself each time and remains still. When he looks back to her, asks his question, she sits up again; this time, her hand comes up to brush back a stray curl. Her answer to this has her head tilting to the side, her expression touching with something thoughtful. "Practically, very few," she eventually admits, no reluctance to her tone. "If any. Those that I could name are not clearly beneficial; I associate with at least one of your students, and may end up being helpful in that there is the potential for me to be helpful to his learning. It would also save you the time and trouble of others coming to ask you or to attempt to persuade you on my behalf. It also introduces a different perspective, and though I will not be participating, discussions do go on outside of the classroom. As far as reasons that I think you should have, there is the fact that I clearly am interested in learning, and am entirely willing to put in whatever effort I need to to do so. I am a very proactive individual, and the better educated I am, the better I benefit the world around me."
Sefton hears her out, leaning back against the shelves with a drink in each hand. A flick of one brow at something she says, but for the most part, not a great deal of evidence that he's impressed. "You make an assumption that I am particularly drawn to including students based on their interest in hearing what I have to say in class. Speak to me of the other side of the equation, before we address your thoughts so far. Reasons to exclude you?"
"No, I did not assume such," Aida states evenly, shaking her head. "It was a reason I said that I *thought* that you should have, not one that you necessarily did." Those words are followed by a briefly wry smile, and then she's falling quiet again for consideration. "The biggest reason against it that I can see is that not only will it likely cause some measure of a stir, but it opens a door that may not be easily shut again. The potential headache is enormous. As well, I have nothing to recommend me, and no actual need for the class. In many ways it would be a wasted seat. There is also a potential that I will prove to be a disruption." A pause, a glance down in thought. Her eyes come back up, and she shrugs one shoulder. "It'd also be encouraging me in being uppity."
Sefton moves forward now to offer her one of the drinks he's holding -- pale orange liquid, sweet, mellow, and very strong. "Not bad. You could tighten your arguments significantly, eliminate several of the weaker, rephrase. You let yourself down by including points so easily rebutted. They incline your listener to believe that all your points might be just as weak, given the correct information."
Aida straightens up the rest of the way to take the glass when it's offered, bringing it up to her lips for a careful sip. The hint of relief that starts to touch her face disappears at his words, replaced by a startled look. She's left speechless for several heartbeats, and then a laugh escapes as another smile appears. "So noted," she replies. "Could you elaborate for me just a bit? I understand what you mean, but I think more information would be helpful."
"An example, then," Sefton agrees, backing up several steps until he can perch himself on the edge of his desk, just the place he sits when teaching in the classroom -- never behind it. "You say that I could avoid the inconvenience of having to hear others speak on this matter. Superfluous. There are very few people in this place I am obliged to listen to at all. If you are thinking of asking Neiran to champion you, I can silence him with a word, and both he and I know this. If you do not, then you undermine yourself further. In regard to your education, there is only one man I should be obliged to hear out, and even his request I would not be obliged to accept. Although, as I hope you will realise, I would."
Listening attentively, Aida brings her glass up to take a more solid drink from it. The protest does appear on her face after a moment, but she manages to squash it just as rapidly as it surfaces. When he's finished speaking, she considers again, thinking her words over (and possibly his) before she replies. "Understood; thank you. However, I will note that I would never ask Neiran to champion me."
"Then you would be missing an opportunity," Sefton observes, pausing for a sip from his own glass. His head tilts back for a moment as the liquid is rolled around his mouth, eyes closing briefly as he swallows. "Neiran has an extra session with me every seven or so. He is known to be one of the students I favour above others. If you would give up his advocacy, I am disappointed. Who else would you have speak on your behalf?"
Aida's lips twitch, amusement clear for a moment before she squashes that too, instead just offering up a smile as she shakes her head. "I said that I would not *ask*," she points out. "Directly asking someone to speak to you on my behalf would not serve me near so well as them deciding to do so on their own."
Sefton waves a hand, dismissing her distinction with that gesture. "You choose the wrong moment to play word games, Aida. I seek information, not delicate distinctions. Neiran, then, would choose to champion you? My point stands. I would be unlikely, at best, to hear him on the subject. He might express disappointment on that count, but he would not endanger his extra lessons."
"Your point does stand," Aida agrees, nodding her head quickly. "I wasn't disputing that it was a factor that would best have been left out. I don't know with certainty that he would. I do believe that I could accomplish getting people to talk to you for me, but you don't have to listen, and it was a flimsy argument in my favor." Her eyes finally shift away from him to settle down on the glass in her hand, and she lifts it up for another drink even as she's studying the liquid.
Sefton has the advantage over Aida both in terms of habitual alcohol consumption and body mass, and slugs back another serious mouthful before he speaks. "You have no good arguments, Aida. None of those in your favour stand up to even a small challenge. One that you make against your inclusion strikes a chord, however. I would, as you say, find myself at the centre of no small protest. Essentially, you ask me to take that on without presenting me with any benefit at all."
Ouch. Aida does flinch at his initial words, though she steadies her expression swiftly, bracing herself. Her eyes stay down as he continues, and when he finishes she nods her head, setting her jaw. "I had not put a great deal of thought into the larger repercussions of what I was asking for," she admits quietly. "I apologize."
Sefton snorts now, peering over the rim of his glass at her for a moment before he tilts his head back for another mouthful. "You wish to study politics, and you came to conduct one of the more important conversations you will have without considering the more wide-ranging repercussions of what you request? Aida, you do not strengthen your case." His drawl is less kind now, almost a reproof.
"There is a reason I need to *study* politics," Aida promptly responds, gaze snapping back up to him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Why I just want to listen. I can't know without learning. I thought I'd thought it through; I was wrong." Again, she brings her glass up for another drink, this one with much less care as to how much she's consuming.
"You," Sefton confirms in that drawl that takes its time, no matter what he speaks of, "were wrong. Go, Aida. Return to me tomorrow evening, and make an effort more worthy of my attention." He polishes off the last of his drink, setting the glass down on the desk behind him. "And do not accept strong drinks when you need your wits about you." His tone makes the words a dismissal, and even as he finishes speaking he's already turning to draw out the chair from his desk, his earlier letter claimed and pulled into reading distance as he prepares to sink into the chair.
Outright shock touching her face, Aida stares at him for a moment. There's a glance to the glass in her hand, then back to him, and then she's sliding up to her feet. "Thank you," she states quietly, slipping over just close enough to the desk to set her glass down before she's turning to head out. Promptly. Oh, so very bewildered.