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Who: Sefton and Nakra
When: Night after the engagement party at Fort
Where: Sefton's quarters
What: Two very old friends resume an old habit of drinking together, and discuss their future a little.
Sefton's Room
The primary advantage of this room is that it's big, and it needs to be. A large bed in one corner is piled up with furs, and next to it sits a long desk covered in piles of books, scrolls and hides. A battered sofa provides somewhere to sit, and thick tapestries and rugs ward off the cold, covering the better part of the walls and floor. A long stretch of bookshelves takes up most of the wall-space, Sefton's considerable library neatly housed there. A pair of chests sit near the base of the shelves, both open -- he's unpacked his books, but he still hasn't unpacked his clothes.
Sefton is expecting company. His room hasn't been tidied -- this would be too much to be expected -- but the most important preparations have been made. A bucket of ice sits on the lowest of the bookshelves, along with a pair of glasses. His bottles of spirits are set in their usual places along the top shelf. The man himself is sprawled on the couch with a book, frowning faintly, hair in his eyes.
Any preparations would've been wasted on Nakra. Her shapeless large shirt and breeches are the crumpled, worse for wear, and she wears a strangely weary after party look. "Hail the conquering hero!" She's had a head start, but even after a good many glasses of wine she's still musical. That's how you can spot a fully-trained Harper. The door is opened with cheerful abandon and Nakra stumbles in with a monumental lack of grace that has nothing to do with the quantities of alcohol consumed. "A toast! To your success and succession."
Sefton laughs, setting the book aside and heaving himself to his feet. "As you command, m'Lady," he murmurs in a deferential manner that would be suited to the most lofty of companions. "Back the next evening for another round. Very impressive." He stretches up to the top shelf, pulling down a bottle and unstoppering it with his teeth as he uses his free hand to drop ice into their glasses. "I didn't get more than a mouthful at a time last night, so busy talking to the lot of them. Here." Sloshing in a generous measure, he sets the bottle aside and holds out her glass. "To success."
Nakra takes the glass and lifts it to clink against his. "Success. I always knew you'd have it." She takes a sip before chuckling. "There's no point in drinking unless you do it seriously. Speaking of which, this is seriously good. Where's it from?" Nakra, however, is no good at biding her time and before waiting for a reply she adds: "Good enough that another toast is in order. To you and Bailie!"
Sefton laughs, touching his glass against hers, and downing half his drink in one mouthful. "It's from Fort. Got to get to know the locals, you know?" Leaning back against the shelves, he examines the glass with an approving grin as he speaks. "Is it arrogant to say I always knew I'd have it too? I never thought of Fort, though. Or Headmaster. Mitali had to force me here in the first place." With a shrug, he finishes off his glass, turning back to the shelves. "What do you think of my Bailie, then?"
"Of course." Nakra headtilts slightly. "You realise that even your drinking choices are political, although good?" She isn't judging; Nakra just feels it's her duty to draw his attention to these things about himself. "But, no, it's not arrogance since it's part of what gets you what you deserve, I reckon." Another sip is a momentarily delay before she comments: "I've hardly met her enough to have an opinion yet, but anyone looking at your face last night would be pretty certain about how you feel about her. Political isn't exactly the term I'd use for that." She's teasing now, and enjoying the opportunity.
Sefton laughs again, turning his head away as he refills his glass, and buying a moment. "That surprised me, you know. Political was how it started. Over time, though, I find myself..." He trails off with a shrug, forced to turn back as he finishes replenishing his drink. Is that the faintest hint of a flush? Surely he's too practiced for that. "I have a soft spot for her. I consider myself fortunate to face the prospect of a wife whose company I enjoy. I did not expect it." He exhales, puffing his cheeks out, then tilts a grin at her that's loaded with mischief. "Will we have you at Fort with us, when we go there? Master Kazimir wouldn't deny me the posting."
"I'm surprised, too. Surprised, relieved, happy." Nakra swirls the amber liquid, ice clinking against the glass. "I worried about you. You know that I'm just about as romantic as the average herdbeast midwinter. But this - this'll make your life so much easier." She steers away from her awkwardness with a grin of glee. "I think you could talk me into it. Quite easily."
Sefton downs another large mouthful, again nodding his approval. "Another couple of these, I should catch up with you. Strong stuff." Raking his hair back from his eyes, he studies her profile for a moment. "You did worry, didn't you? You're the only one who does, you know. None of them can imagine a moment's hesitation, but you can." The observation is quiet, good-humoured. "We'll have you at Fort to educate and guard my horde of children. I think Bailie will bear me daughters pretty enough to need someone to keep an eye on them. And then we can drink in the evenings."
"The stronger the better. Excepting, of course, some of those liquors from Southern Boll. One whif of those is enough to burn holes through my stomach." Nakra's attempt at a joke is quite poor, and she gives up and simply shrugs. "It's my job. Someone has to worry, Sefton, not about your success or your politics, but your happiness." There's a lopsided smile. "I'm sentimental tonight - should I blame it on the drink? But, certainly. I'll have to ask for danger pay, though, if they turn out to be as devious and intelligant as their father in combination with their mother's looks. On reflection, I feel rather sorry for Pern's future generations and even more certain I'll need those evening drinks."
Sefton laughs properly now, raising his glass in what must be a toast to at something she's said. "Whatever would the students say if they could hear us? We're the heartless ones, don't forget it." Downing the rest of his drink, he crunches down on a block of ice before he speaks again. "I think the children will be quite good fun, once they're able to hold an intelligent conversation. We'll find someone else to deal with them until then." 'We', presumably, being Sefton and Nakra. "But if you're worrying about my happiness, you must be more than two drinks ahead of me. I'm hurry up. Do you want a refill?"
[Scene ends because Sefton and Nakra's football team just made the semi-finals on TV, and they need to go rave and do post-game dissection.]
When: Night after the engagement party at Fort
Where: Sefton's quarters
What: Two very old friends resume an old habit of drinking together, and discuss their future a little.
Sefton's Room
The primary advantage of this room is that it's big, and it needs to be. A large bed in one corner is piled up with furs, and next to it sits a long desk covered in piles of books, scrolls and hides. A battered sofa provides somewhere to sit, and thick tapestries and rugs ward off the cold, covering the better part of the walls and floor. A long stretch of bookshelves takes up most of the wall-space, Sefton's considerable library neatly housed there. A pair of chests sit near the base of the shelves, both open -- he's unpacked his books, but he still hasn't unpacked his clothes.
Sefton is expecting company. His room hasn't been tidied -- this would be too much to be expected -- but the most important preparations have been made. A bucket of ice sits on the lowest of the bookshelves, along with a pair of glasses. His bottles of spirits are set in their usual places along the top shelf. The man himself is sprawled on the couch with a book, frowning faintly, hair in his eyes.
Any preparations would've been wasted on Nakra. Her shapeless large shirt and breeches are the crumpled, worse for wear, and she wears a strangely weary after party look. "Hail the conquering hero!" She's had a head start, but even after a good many glasses of wine she's still musical. That's how you can spot a fully-trained Harper. The door is opened with cheerful abandon and Nakra stumbles in with a monumental lack of grace that has nothing to do with the quantities of alcohol consumed. "A toast! To your success and succession."
Sefton laughs, setting the book aside and heaving himself to his feet. "As you command, m'Lady," he murmurs in a deferential manner that would be suited to the most lofty of companions. "Back the next evening for another round. Very impressive." He stretches up to the top shelf, pulling down a bottle and unstoppering it with his teeth as he uses his free hand to drop ice into their glasses. "I didn't get more than a mouthful at a time last night, so busy talking to the lot of them. Here." Sloshing in a generous measure, he sets the bottle aside and holds out her glass. "To success."
Nakra takes the glass and lifts it to clink against his. "Success. I always knew you'd have it." She takes a sip before chuckling. "There's no point in drinking unless you do it seriously. Speaking of which, this is seriously good. Where's it from?" Nakra, however, is no good at biding her time and before waiting for a reply she adds: "Good enough that another toast is in order. To you and Bailie!"
Sefton laughs, touching his glass against hers, and downing half his drink in one mouthful. "It's from Fort. Got to get to know the locals, you know?" Leaning back against the shelves, he examines the glass with an approving grin as he speaks. "Is it arrogant to say I always knew I'd have it too? I never thought of Fort, though. Or Headmaster. Mitali had to force me here in the first place." With a shrug, he finishes off his glass, turning back to the shelves. "What do you think of my Bailie, then?"
"Of course." Nakra headtilts slightly. "You realise that even your drinking choices are political, although good?" She isn't judging; Nakra just feels it's her duty to draw his attention to these things about himself. "But, no, it's not arrogance since it's part of what gets you what you deserve, I reckon." Another sip is a momentarily delay before she comments: "I've hardly met her enough to have an opinion yet, but anyone looking at your face last night would be pretty certain about how you feel about her. Political isn't exactly the term I'd use for that." She's teasing now, and enjoying the opportunity.
Sefton laughs again, turning his head away as he refills his glass, and buying a moment. "That surprised me, you know. Political was how it started. Over time, though, I find myself..." He trails off with a shrug, forced to turn back as he finishes replenishing his drink. Is that the faintest hint of a flush? Surely he's too practiced for that. "I have a soft spot for her. I consider myself fortunate to face the prospect of a wife whose company I enjoy. I did not expect it." He exhales, puffing his cheeks out, then tilts a grin at her that's loaded with mischief. "Will we have you at Fort with us, when we go there? Master Kazimir wouldn't deny me the posting."
"I'm surprised, too. Surprised, relieved, happy." Nakra swirls the amber liquid, ice clinking against the glass. "I worried about you. You know that I'm just about as romantic as the average herdbeast midwinter. But this - this'll make your life so much easier." She steers away from her awkwardness with a grin of glee. "I think you could talk me into it. Quite easily."
Sefton downs another large mouthful, again nodding his approval. "Another couple of these, I should catch up with you. Strong stuff." Raking his hair back from his eyes, he studies her profile for a moment. "You did worry, didn't you? You're the only one who does, you know. None of them can imagine a moment's hesitation, but you can." The observation is quiet, good-humoured. "We'll have you at Fort to educate and guard my horde of children. I think Bailie will bear me daughters pretty enough to need someone to keep an eye on them. And then we can drink in the evenings."
"The stronger the better. Excepting, of course, some of those liquors from Southern Boll. One whif of those is enough to burn holes through my stomach." Nakra's attempt at a joke is quite poor, and she gives up and simply shrugs. "It's my job. Someone has to worry, Sefton, not about your success or your politics, but your happiness." There's a lopsided smile. "I'm sentimental tonight - should I blame it on the drink? But, certainly. I'll have to ask for danger pay, though, if they turn out to be as devious and intelligant as their father in combination with their mother's looks. On reflection, I feel rather sorry for Pern's future generations and even more certain I'll need those evening drinks."
Sefton laughs properly now, raising his glass in what must be a toast to at something she's said. "Whatever would the students say if they could hear us? We're the heartless ones, don't forget it." Downing the rest of his drink, he crunches down on a block of ice before he speaks again. "I think the children will be quite good fun, once they're able to hold an intelligent conversation. We'll find someone else to deal with them until then." 'We', presumably, being Sefton and Nakra. "But if you're worrying about my happiness, you must be more than two drinks ahead of me. I'm hurry up. Do you want a refill?"
[Scene ends because Sefton and Nakra's football team just made the semi-finals on TV, and they need to go rave and do post-game dissection.]