Debate Camp!
In which Sefton and sundry students and guests debate the proper use of violence as a means to an end.
Feat. Aida, Ginella, G'thon, Issa, Reyce, Roa & Sefton.
We proudly present...
- A two line pose from G'thon!
- Reyce and Ginella agreeing about something!
- Blatant hypocracy!
- Alcohol!
- Sefton ducking questions!
- G'thon faking sincerity!
And much, much more!
Assembled via invitation, command and bribery, drawn in by obedience, curiosity and motives unknown, a selection of Sefton's students -- and others -- are assembled. The Headmaster himself is perched on his desk, just as he might be in his classroom, slightly removed from the circle the other bodies form. Reyce and Issa have taken up positions on the edge of the bed, Ginella on the couch, Aida and Penny on the floor. Drinks have been distributed, and just now, the man from Boll eyes the door thoughtfully. "Roa is obliged to join us late," he drawls. "But we are expecting one more, before we begin."
Assembled via invitation, command and bribery, drawn in by obedience, curiosity and motives unknown, a selection of Sefton's students -- and others -- are assembled. The Headmaster himself is perched on his desk, just as he might be in his classroom, slightly removed from the circle the other bodies form. Reyce and Issa have taken up positions on the edge of the bed, Ginella and Roa a pair of weyrwomen on the couch on the couch, Aida and Penny on the floor. Drinks have been distributed, and just now, the man from Boll eyes the door thoughtfully. "We are expecting one more, before we begin."
The door creeps open without a knock, and in a moment the gap produced between door and frame produces the slender shape of the Weyr's former leader. He slips a hand behind himself to close the door, pale brows slid high in a registration of mild surprise at the crowded state of the headmaster's quarters. "You are more popular even than your reputation suggests," he drily observes with a glance slipped over Sefton. He backs up a step then, settling his weight against his hand upon the door, effectively sealing the exit.
How convenient. "Good evening, sir." Sefton slides down off the desk, coming to his feet to nod a polite greeting. "Can I fetch you a drink? Aida, I believe we had hot water?" A glance towards his assistant, although it doesn't last long -- he's looking over at Issa instead, flashing her a grin. "Issa." A momentary pause. "Tell me, if you will. Is violence ever a justified means to an end?"
Aida gives a nod in response to that look. In a particular direction. Indicating the hot water. "It should still be hot enough for tea," she agrees, shifting her weight so that she can get back up if it looks like she'll be fetching it. While she doesn't greet G'thon verbally, she does flash a smile his way.
Reyce has been a silent presence since entering the room - no exception now. His eyes narrow slightly, thoughtful, on seeing G'thon; they narrow further, suspicious, on hearing Sefton's question. Though he tosses a quick glance Issa's way, the focus of his wary attention soon settles on the Headmaster.
At Sefton's note, Issa nods and maintains the smoothly smiling silence that has settled since her intial greeting. Slightly slouched over the drink held between two hands, she lets her gaze drift over the knots of those gathered, a tallying of Caucus pins. Upon G'thon's entrance, her eyebrows startle upward in a mimic of the former Weyrleader's expression, but her smile spreads in a ready greeting as his eyes slide past her. Unphased by Sefton's sudden pinpointing, she answers with a heavy stress, "/Ever?/ Yes." And she interrupts for a sip. "Though it would depend on the relative end, of course," is added then.
A nod lets Aida know she should make tea, and Sefton leans back against his desk. "The rest of you? Yes or no, without qualification. Answers, please."
Reyce says, "Sure." He's very quick on this one, and doesn't remove his eyes from Sefton. "You, teacher?"
G'thon has a smile to reply to Aida's, and a murmur of gratitude for Sefton. "Tea would be lovely," he says, predictably enough, but no answer for the headmaster's question.
Aida sets her drink aside and hops up promptly, setting about the process of getting together a cup of tea. Quietly.
The smaller weyrwoman, Roa, studies her glass and its full contents before speaking. "Yes."
Sefton holds up a finger, as though to fend off Reyce's reflection of his question, for now, at least. "Aida, no opinion?" Not just here to make tea, it would seem.
"Yes," Aida chirps, glancing over from the tea fixing to offer a bright smile with the words.
Ginella blinks as Sefton wastes no time getting to the controversial stuff, and bites her lip as she watches Issa. When the question is directed at the rest, she frowns, and waits for others to answer first. Maybe he won't notice she's still thinking?
But Sefton notices, of course. He tilts his gaze sidelong, first to rest for a long moment on Ginella, and from there, more politely, to loft a brow at the dragonless man by the door.
Of course. Ginella stalls as long as possible, but finally, not without hesitation, shakes her head: "No."
A low, mild chortle repunctuates G'thon's presence, and he tips his head down as though abashed to be so pointed out. He waits only until Ginella's completed the answers from students - Caucus and otherwise - however, then tips up his chin and looks down his nose at Sefton, eyes too bright. "Ah," he says, of course. "May we define 'violence'?"
Reyce's expression pulls back into a little snick of a snarl, and he raises his drink for a slow sip. He's got a bandage on his right hand, but it doesn't seem to affect his holding the glass.
Issa's eyes skitter over to Ginella and she lobs a softly surprised, "Never?" at the Benden weyrwoman that slips in just before G'thon's request for a definition. She subdues herself then, passing a brief, suspicious glance at G'thon as she leans back and buries her mouth in her glass.
Sefton laughs, lifting his own drink for a slow sip, then raising it to G'thon in a toast, or deferral. "There speaks superior experience. By all means, sir, do so."
Once she's got the cup of tea in hand, Aida turns to survey the room and its occupants for a moment before she puts on another smile and slips over towards the door to offer the cup of tea out for G'thon to take. Those eyes are presently touched with amusement, right at the moment.
Glass slowly turned in her hands, Roa ducks her head down, but this only half-hides the smirk that's creeping up her lips.
"Traditionally defined as the use of physical force to serve a singular or even selfish purpose," G'thon muses. He puts out his hand to receive the tea with a civilised little nod for the amusement in Aida's eyes, then continues, "'Violence' may also refer to abuse of power as well as to vehemence of expression. Certainly with so broad a definition - particularly that last one - violence must be acceptable in most any case." A brow slips up. "In a narrower definition, however, particularly the second," not the first, "I might agree with the weyrwoman Ginella." A tip of his head to her, and then G'thon takes refuge in tea.
"Thank you," Sefton murmurs, drawl prolonging the words, as he settles back on his desk to lean against the wall. "Roa. When is violence justified?"
Aida dips her head to G'thon, then slips back over to the couch to resettle herself on the floor. Her glass is reclaimed, and now she's watching and drinking, listening attentively.
And so her head lifts, and Roa's eyes meet the Headmaster's. "When your life is literally, physically, and immediately threatened, for one. To survive, which I mean in only the literal and immediate sense. And," a tiny smile, "if you are a dragon, to eat."
Sefton's lips quirk, and Roa earns herself a nod -- no more. "Indeed, Roa." A slow sip. "I have a mind to continue evenings such as these, should tonight prove worthwhile. To that end, I should note that I expect all comments made within these walls to remain so confined." His dark eyes shift again. "Reyce? When is violence unjustified?"
Reyce stopped drinking some little while ago, but his glass remains hovering by his lips. At Sefton's address, he lowers it with a shrug. "No idea whatsoever, teacher." Emphasis drops heavy on that last word, but otherwise his tone is mild - indifferent, even.
"Reyce has no idea, Issa," Sefton informs the greenrider beside his student, turning his gaze toward her. "What say you?"
Reyce's eyes slide sideways to look at Issa, but there's nothing to be read in them. He watches her steadily, but impassively.
As another's singled out-- Roa this time-- Issa's eyes switch to her weyrwoman, gaze slipping from away from suspicious and into a simple, significant interest. Then, to Sefton, the guarded look reappearing despite his reassurance of the closed nature of this gathering. Her drink is swirled idly and she doesn't even seem to notice Reyce's eyes on her. "When there is no equivalent threat, immediate or otherwise. To yourself or the greater good." Quiet, that.
"Issa will employ violence," Sefton observes -- apparently to G'thon -- "when she is threatened, or that she would defend is threatened." His gaze shifts, to Roa. "What about pre-emptive action?"
The little weyrwoman's response is immediate and soft. "No." Roa lifts her glass and takes a small sip from it. She hides the wince the alcohol causes respectably.
Issa shifts uncomfortably next to Reyce, her gaze retreating neutrally to the safety of books lined up on their shelves for a moment before, after a bracing sip and swirl of her drink, her attention rejoins the conversation.
Reyce's response? Just another drink.
"Perhaps," allows the former weyrleader over the rim of his teacup, in reply to Sefton - as if he partly disbelieves the greenrider's assertion. "I question again what kind. What about abuse of privilege?" He lowers his tea so his gaze can more clearly come to settle on Issa - and then, curiously, shift to Reyce - and then, swiftly, slide back. That Sefton and Roa are engaged in crossfire seems not to trouble him.
Reyce has not tuned out the conversation that G'thon's return for Issa - and the Weyrleader's attention on himself - doesn't register. Holding the alcohol still in his mouth, he returns the look with a disinterested stare that remains even after G'thon's attention has returned to Issa.
Roa speaks again, though this time it is towards G'thon. "You offered two definitions of violence. We must settle one one, if we're all to debate the same idea."
Aida takes another drink from her own glass, leaning back against the foot of the couch beside Roa's leg and continuing to watch the rest of the room with interest.
"Never?" Sefton is disbelieving, his drawl drawing out the word. "You would wait, Roa, until you are at a disadvantage?" On the heels of his question, however, he allows the small weyrwoman a nod. "We must choose a definition." His gaze drops to the foot of the couch. "Aida, select one."
Issa's eyebrows raise questioningly at G'thon for the second time that night and she responds over the rim of an interrupted drink. "Abuse of privelege," she colors that word with a soft stress and a slow nod, "to protect your life and others." The sip is left interrupted.
"A fair point, Roa." G'thon, apparently content with Issa's reply, turns a somewhat different tone on the Reaches' most junior weyrwoman; a more instructorly tone, perhaps. "And one that may spare you my contesting your reply." Instructorly or not, he can afford a little hazel-eyed twinkle for Roa, before retreating again to his tea.
There's a little bit of a choke when she's named to choose the definition, but Aida manages not to cough on her alcohol. Swallow. Clear throat. "Physical force is too easy," she offers up fairly cheerily. "So I'll go with abuse of power and or privilege."
"Physical force," Sefton repeats, as though mulling over the words, "is too easy." They're left to hang there for a moment, and then he tilts his head towards Roa. "Weyrwoman? You have an unanswered question waiting for you."
Reyce stretches suddenly, lifting the glass above his head and leaning all the way back, almost to the wall. He jumps himself further back on the bed, enough so that he can lean, and balances his drink on his thihg. "So do you, teacher," he points out calmly, his stare finding its way back to Sefton.
G'thon keeps his one-sided smile half-disguised by his teacup, but the sparkle of his eyes is turned on Aida, gratitude in silence for her contribution to troublemaking. Or whatever he's up to.
The weyrwoman in question, Roa, is quiet a moment. "Certainly, if we include vehemence of expression or impassioned speaking, violence is acceptable pre-emptively. But abuse of power? Sir, it is called abuse for a reason. Power should be structured in such a way that, in order to pursue your ideals and safety and beliefs, proper channels, properly used, can be successfully utilized."
Sefton lifts one hand, flicking a gesture at Reyce that's near to dismissive. "Participation earns reward, Reyce," he murmurs, bland, distinterested. He is focussed on Roa. "Power is frequently not structured in such a way," he informs her, white teeth flashing in a grin. "If you find yourself within such a system, what then?"
Issa steadies her glass against the bouncing Reyce has created with his movement; she has enough sense of decorum not to join him, however, and remains perched on the edge. "Should be structured," she parrots Roa with a touch of cynicism, alcohol still ever swirling, sending a surprised little nod in Sefton's direction.
A simple return from Roa to Sefton, "Too broad. Give me a system, and I shall attempt an answer."
"Reward?" Reyce is murmuring to himself, perhaps, but his musings do carry. "I thought this was a discussion, teacher. Not a class."
There's a quirk of Sefton's brow for Issa, in return for that nod. "No imagination, Roa," he chides -- but there's approval in his drawl, now. "Issa, devise a hypothetical for the weyrwoman, if you would?"
"It would be most disingenuous, Reyce, for you especially to assume all rewards come from classwork." G'thon has lowered his tea only enough to make this remark, mild and not unkind in tone, with a brow arched for Reyce's benefit to go along with it. There is gentle emphasis on 'you especially,' as if it needed it.
Aida clears her throat again, attention shifting down to her glass for a moment. It's brought up for another drink, but more importantly to hide the twitch of amusement that threatens at the corners of her lips.
Reyce's eyes narrow again over that emphasis, and he reluctantly drags his stare off Sefton to G'thon. The former Weyrleader gets to enjoy Reyce's silent stare for several moments before the Bendenite speaks, "Discussion goes to prove Ginella's point. Even when they say they're okay with violence, they argue for it being /appropriate/ in some situations. Don't want to argue for it on its own sake. Can't justify it."
Ginella blinks, and turns to look at Reyce: "So you would admit that the use of violence is inappropriate, but still argue for its use in those situations?"
"Or," Ginella adds after a second, "Wouldn't that just be using a broader definition of 'appropriate'?"
Reyce blinks in return, though his focus is still on G'thon - what, Ginella lives? He turns to her after a beat. "Don't know what you mean appropriate. I'm just saying it's not effective. You use it, you get called out, you'll look bad. Probably lose more than you gain."
Roa says, "Only if you use it in a way that allows people to call you on it."
"So as long as it's effective, it's fine with you?" Ginella sounds unsurprised.
And Sefton? Simply eases himself quietly back so he can sit on his desk, back against the wall -- and has a drink. In silence.
"To do otherwise would qualify, I believe, as either subterfuge - or scapegoating, Roa," muses G'thon. "A topic for another session, perhaps?" he adds, and tips up the teacup to vanish his smile.
Reyce's lip twitches up in a snarl again, but it seems delighted. "Exactly." That answer must suffice for both weyrwoman, because he turns to the silent Sefton at this juncture. "Teacher?"
"Not necessarily," Roa counters to G'thon. "Effective abuse of power," and here her eyes slide momentarily to Reyce, "should leave the one abused with no way to cry foul."
Ginella snorts. Surprise, surprise, the violent one likes violence. "That doesn't fol--" she begins to reply to G'thon, but Roa begins, and she nods. "You just decimate whoever it is so entirely that they're incapable of calling you on it," she points out, "It doesn't have to involve people not knowing what you did."
"I..." It would seem like the beginning of the protest, but it's weak and paired with a swift glance to Roa. She grows silently unfocused, thoughtful for a moment, but the conversation moves on without whatever hypothetical creation she would impart and she has to blink to catch back up with what Ginella says. She turns half a glance back at Reyce, then turns back to say, "I thought you didn't want to abuse the power at all, Roa."
Sefton must wade back into the breach for a moment, lowering his glass from his lips to speak. "I wait on Issa's hypothetical," he informs Reyce -- although his gaze shifts to Ginella, and then Aida. Both women are treated to an easy grin. "Is there such a thing as a situation in which those suffering abuse cannot cry foul? Is this not the point at which our other definition, physical violence, enters? A solution to a problem?"
Reyce's snarl twitches up at several points during the exchange between weyrwomen and ex-Weyrleader, but he has his target: Sefton. The headmaster's answer immediately draws the delight in his snarl to full force, but he throws back a gulp of his drink before speaking. Once he's drunk a little, the snarl has calmed to just a twinge at the corner of his lips. "You say it's a closed room, teacher," he says. His lean reverses: before on the wall, now over his knees. "I say prove it. Get off your ass and tell us what /you/. Think."
Ginella shrugs at Sefton: "They could all be dead," she points out, "Or locked up somewhere, where no one can hear them. Though that would most likely involve physical violence, I guess. I don't see how 'abuse of power' doesn't -include- physical violence, though. Isn't that just one of the ways power can be abused?" Reyce's snarl draws a roll of her eyes. Give it up, boy.
Aida shrugs a shoulder, taking another drink from her glass. "When the victim don't realize you're abusing your power is one situation," she suggests. And then her eyes are swinging to Reyce, and she's ducking her head and hiding her grin behind her glass again.
G'thon apparently feels this point adequately proven, and his tea adequately tasted, because he has to lower the cup and cross his arms over his narrow chest, leaning well back against the door, to take in what the students have to say.
"I say," Sefton drawls to Reyce, words so lazy as to deliberately aim to provoke, "that only a closed mind shuts off any solution."
"Perhaps it is better for minds to be slightly closed in certain respects," considers Roa. And then to Issa she adds, "I don't want to abuse power, which is not to say it cannot be and is not done. And that there isn't more or less effective ways to do it."
Reyce's eyes squint up in what could only be called amusement: the provocation does not work. "Fair enough," he answers, and seems - for now - content.
"Perhaps I should ask, if we're discussing such -final- means of quelling dissent," G'thon abruptly muses, and leaves a little quiet before continuing. "Is death necessarily violent?"
So she can't escape it. Issa's eyes drop again, this time to her glass and the single gulp left in it. "An island near Ista," she says finally with a quirk of her lips and a glance for Roa. "A hold, self-sufficient and isolated, save from the Weyr it tithes to." No Holders council here, it seems. "Tyrranical lord starving his people, running the hold into the ground. His son, a favorite, has influence with the people and could unseat the Lord. Otherwise, twenty more years of poverty. Why would he not use the unconventional channels?" Her words are directed solely to Roa and she takes great pains to ignore the snarling Bendenite just to her right and his exchange with Sefton.
Ginella turns to look at G'thon, frowning: "Just because you kill someone quietly in their sleep doesn't mean it isn't violent," she says, rather distastefully. "Inducing death in any sort of direct fashion would have to fall under that heading, wouldn't it?" Issa's model draws her eyes away from the former rider, and she glances at Roa beside her.
"Death can be gentle," Sefton agrees, studying the former Weyrleader for a moment. "I believe Neiran, who is called away from us tonight by duty, would classify it as an insult to the body. I would class it violent, for the purpose of the debate." His head comes up, then, to survey the room. "Answers, around the room. Who allows the son violence, to unseat his father and protect his people? How much violence is permissible? Chasing off? Gentle death?"
Reyce has settled his debt with Sefton, so it's Issa's turn, it would seem. He doesn't appear to be listening to her model, but when she finishes, he says, "Precedent. Knock a Lord off his seat, he could wind up getting himself unseated the same way." A somewhat wry smirk appears just before he covers it behind a drink.
"But that isn't initiating, is it, Issa? This Lord has been violent for the past however many turns. Usurping him is a response and not a start to violence," replies Roa. "His people, this son's people, are dying." She nods towards Reyce as he speaks. "That too. Assuming the Conclave is willing to bother with a tiny hold in the middle of nowhere. Which they wouldn't me."
Issa answers without turning to face Reyce, "Not if he doesn't give reason to be unseated himself." Again, rather quiet.
Reyce says, "Bullshit. All he needs is a son more ambitious than he is."
Aida wrinkles up her nose, draining what's left in her glass and setting it aside. She starts to chirp her answer to Sefton's question promptly, but pauses before those initial words escape. Almost thinking before she opened her mouth. At least she caught it just after. A moment of consideration, and then she chirps, "As little as is possible, in that situation." Beat, and she tips her head back to look up at Roa. "So violence is okay, if it's an answer to violence?" Smile.
"Abuse of privilege," suggests G'thon, mildly, after a nod to Ginella and another to the headmaster, accepting each of their sentences in turn. "Which would be more to your liking?" A glance over the room, to include them all. "To let the son use his influence to unseat his father through the avenues of popular control - sheer numbers - and turn his people into warriors? Or let him do it quietly himself, and let them live in peace?"
Sefton turns his gaze once more to G'thon, treating the former bronzerider to a grin, white teeth flashing momentarily against dark skin. "One knife in the night, or the justification that can be claimed when one can demonstrate that many believe a thing?" The question, apparently, is for Issa -- or at least, his gaze is directed there.
Issa grows silent after that comeback from Reyce, not even rising to acknowledge G'thon's question, her focus drawn by her slowly tilting glass. Then she raises it to her lips and swallows the last remains of her drink. Catching Sefton's stare, she lets her eyebrows sink just slightly and answers simply, "Many," and leaves it at that.
Reyce watches G'thon thoughtfully, giving this response more time than he did Issa's. "Second one. Key thing I'm talking about is, it's a problem when somebody gets the idea he can put himself in power. Those two cases, they're both the son installing himself - just a question of how direct he is about it. Better if he doesn't have," a quick wave towards Sefton, "demonstrable support. Better for him if he does," he concedes after a moment.
Roa says, "To let the son do it himself, quietly, is a temporary solution in the greater scheme. What's to stop another man from doing the same two turns later and behaving even more atrociously than the original villian?" Roa pauses to sip. "To call on the people is harder. But it sends a stronger message and it makes fair treatment a more likely reality. It's their lives too. They can be called to defend them."
"What if the son does not have evidence that his children are suffering directly?" Sefton's drawl again, addressed to G'thon. "What if they are only unhappy? Does he make a decision on their behalf? On what authority? By what standards should he judge his decision?"
Reyce has not let up entirely, despite a moment's distraction. "Good questions, teacher. What do you think on them?"
"You're asking me to preview my lessons," retorts G'thon to Sefton with the ripple of a chortle disturbing the smooth cadence of his voice, then glances at Reyce and - defers to him, and to a glance into his teacup, after which he stands forward from the door and tries to fix Aida with an eye and a raised brow, silent plea.
"I think," Sefton murmurs, eyes failing to leave the ex-Weyrleader, where he stands appealing to the Headmaster's assistant, "that we would benefit from hearing your other Instructor's reply. It is an important question -- whether one man can take it on himself, or should, to make a decision on behalf of others, unasked." His drawl is lazy still, but his gaze is fixed.
Reyce's lip twitches up at the corner. "I'm interested in both," he replies.
Aida, doing her best to stay attentive and quiet, tilts her head at G'thon for a moment, then looks around again. It takes her a moment to register, and then she's pushing up from the floor and slipping over to collect his cup and get it refilled.
"If you involve the people, there's better chance of it going peacefully," Ginella points out, "A knife in the knight... not so much. It does set a dangerous precedent, though," she (gasp,) -agrees- with Reyce, sort of, "They both do. Though involving the many might perhaps make it a little more difficult for such a scene to be repeated." Now, listen to G'thon skirt that oh-so-hypothetical question.
"That's more like it," G'thon tosses back at Sefton, almost as an admonishment. "As much as you dislike answers - thank you, Aida - that require qualification, I shall give one. I would argue for the involvement of the people, albeit at their option. Certainly there are any number of a population who might benefit from uprising without any desire or ability to participate in it."
While the scent of tea from Boll fills the room, Sefton pauses -- for a moment, it seems almost to require an effort for him to shift his gaze, and he turns his head until his attention lands on Issa. "What says our greenrider?" His question is quiet. "If one man is more educated, more experienced than others, can he claim the right to make such a decision?"
The empty glass gets toyed with, rolled between Issa's fingers and tilted around in the light, and gazed at intently. Until another question is pointed her way. "I... agree with G'thon," Issa says repectfully, nodding toward the no-longer Weyrleader. "One man might be the in... initiator," she brushes over the minor falter without batting an eye, "but others follow as they choose." Then, with a suspicious glance at G'thon, she falls silent. And stays that way.
(Issa slips out here for RL)
Reyce tilts his head towards Issa on her reply, but his eyes have been fixed on Sefton for the whole duration of it, and they remain there. He even raises his brows briefly, before taking a drink. And finishing his glass, sadly.
Aida slips back over to G'thon to offer the fresh cup of tea to him with a warm smile; once it's out of her hands she slips back to reclaim her place on the floor. "Someone has to make the decision sometime," she points out. "If there's something that needs to be stopped, or something that needs to happen, somebody has to step up."
"Others must be informed," Sefton murmurs, "before they can choose." He follows Reyce's example in draining his glass, lifting his chin until he catches Aida's eye, then nodding to the line of bottles along the shelf. No rest for the wicked -- or at least for the lowest ranking in the room. "Let us turn Aida's pronouncement to a solid question. A decision was made here, at High Reaches. Who in this room is content to have ceded their vote on the question of how best to deal with a foreign Weyrwoman?"
"But," Roa says to Aida, "If everyone agrees that it ought to be stopped, that someone shouldn't have to act alone." And maybe she'd say more, but then the Headmaster speaks, and Roa's gaze flies, immediately, to him.
Aida gives Sefton a look at the nod to the bottles, though it's coupled with a grin. She hops back up, heading for the indicated bottle. The Headmaster's glass is refilled first, of course, and then with a raise of a brow she glances to other glasses that are getting low, or empty. "Maybe shouldn't have to," she tells Roa. "But people are cowards. 'Shouldn't' and 'should' tend to have very little bearing in reality." Wince. She does shoot a false-cranky look at the bottle in her hands. At Sefton's question, she wrinkles up her nose...but does not offer up a response. She has glasses to attend to, after all. Maybe.
Reyce's glass is empty, but he cradles it in towards his stomach and away from Sefton's appointed serving girl. The question earns typical silence from him, and an unreadable glance at G'thon.
Ginella's glass is not quite empty, but she too remains silent, glancing between G'thon and Sefton.
G'thon takes the tea. It really takes him a moment or two to catch on to the content of the headmaster's question. This is apparent by how slowly the smile slides off of the right-hand side of his mouth. And then he's looking over the students, with an expression that might just as well forbid entirely the raising of hands or saying of ayes. And just a moment after that, he catches himself, and looks into his tea instead, as though he suppresses some miserable emotion, some sense of loss, he'd rather not share in such company.
Sefton watches G'thon for a moment, dark eyes appropriately grave to the topic, and then he lifts his head. "Reyce. You support the right of the holder's son to take action, if he deems that -- in his opinion -- his people are better served by it. Some man or woman in this weyr has made a similar decision on behalf of the riders here. What say you? Is the situation different?"
"Riders and more," says G'thon, extremely softly, and raises his cup to take tea. He winces afterward, as if the brew is too hot, too strong, somehow unsuited, and leans into the door. More like slumps into the door, really, all things considered.
Reyce does not answer for a moment, and then breaks the silence with a short, sinus-clearing sniff. "I don't support it," he corrects, his voice and gaze as mild as if the topic were still hypothetical. "Said I'd prefer it, given the options. Given this example, I'd say whoever made that decision made it badly. They wanted to fix things at High Reaches, they made them worse. They were carrying out a vendetta, they carried it too far."
There is a soft clearing of her throat before Roa speaks. "I believe that situation might be an example of ineffective abuse of power." A sudden sip from her drink before she adds, "But it is a fallacy to say that the choice of Weyr leadership was ever in the hands of the people to begin with. There was what was expected and there was what happened, but the people had no control of it either way."
Reyce's eyes flick to Roa when she speaks up. "We talking about the murder or the transfer?" He wants to know.
"I was talking about the transfer," Roa clarifies.
"I wasn't," Reyce responds.
Aida refills glasses where it seems wanted, caps the bottle and puts it away. She's quiet again, slipping back to pick up her now full glass, sits back down. It's such interesting alcohol, given the way she studies it. And she takes another drink, of course.
"Neither was a good decision," Ginella points out, "They're just on very different scales of bad. The transfer was poorly executed and ineffective, while her murder was just... wrong, obviously."
"Her point," says G'thon, voice strained to the point of cracking between syllables, "might apply equally well to both. To any change of Weyr leadership. To all of it." Oh, here he goes again, blaming the Weyr itself for ignoring things until his lover got deaded. Figures. The progression of outrage warms him up enough that he can finally get his gaze up out of the teacup and fix a glare on Ginella. Now it's personal. "She hardly had time to be effective."
"Exactly," Ginela replies, trying really hard to ignore that glare, "The reaction was such that she was completely unable to have any chance at all. So the transfer, as it was executed, was ineffective. I don't think a transfer that inspires murder can be said to have gone well."
Aida's eyes close at that strain in G'thon's voice, her shoulders stiffening as she goes from quietly sulking to quietly seething in response to Ginella's words, jaw tightening and the whole thing. At least her ire seems pointed down towards the glass she's holding.
Reyce's half-squinted expression could not be described as amused this time, though what it is would be hard to classify. He rolls his gaze over to Sefton, watching the headmaster placidly - if he makes eye contact, he'll go so far as to raise a brow - but this time he doesn't press openly for the man to weigh in.
"She hardly had time," Sefton agrees, his drawl a very quiet echo indeed. He lifts his glass, downing a solid mouthful. "And now the question is theoretical." He raises his voice then, leaning back against the wall once more -- the subject is to be abandoned before it is fully explored, it seems. In his quiet sweet of the room he does meet Reyce's gaze, and in response, perhaps there's a fractional, almost unnoticable shake of his head. Then, as he continues turning his head, "What say you all to our recent trials? Violence served an end. It very effectively impacted on the atmosphere around the weyr."
Well, now everyone hates Ginella, so she tries to clarify, shaking her head at Sefton: "I'm not saying Yevide was ineffective," she says, "She had no time, no opportunity. I mean the act of transfering her was ineffective because it was done in such a way as to present her with an almost impossible situation. That's all I'm saying."
G'thon's glare lasts a few seconds longer, but in the end he cannot apparently deny Ginella's point, and the gaze that descends into his cup now is pensive indeed. Of the trials he can seem to bear no speech for now, and shakes his head before giving up looking at his tea in favor of drinking from it.
Reyce drops his gaze away at that little shake from Sefton, his placidity untroubled by the refusal. "Impacted, yeah. To an end - don't think they got what they wanted out of it." Another little sniff here, his mouth curled unpleasantly up at the corner. "Exactly," he feels compelled to specify, his tone exceedingly dry.
"I agrre," Roa says with a small nod to Ginella. Mostly, probably to Ginella because her eyes keep drifting from G'thon to Sefton and back again. "Do you say, Headmaster, that the outcome of the trial counts as 'violence'? Or that the trials themselves do?"
"I say," Sefton murmurs over the rim of his glass, "that the crimes for which our bronzerider and laundry maid were on trial were violent indeed. And very effective. I am hard pressed to think of another method by which so effective a result might have been wrought."
"But that all depends," notes Roa softly. "Did they get what they wanted? Certainly, they are not around to see the outcome now, even if they did."
Aida finally relaxes gain, lifting her head back up and leaning against the foot of the couch, gaze settling to something passive. She takes a drink from her glass, going back to being attentive and quiet.
Sefton says, "Does it matter that they will not see it happen?"
"I - think I have become distracted," admits G'thon, suddenly, lowering his tea and unslumping from the door so he can put a baleful stare on Sefton first, then Roa. "When we discuss who got or did not get the outcome they desired, do we mean E'sere and - Aivey - or do we mean those who tried them?"
Reyce, in the course of this discussion, is reminded of Issa right next to him; he flicks her a quick little look, but otherwise leaves her - and the debate of the moment - alone.
Sefton has a smile ready for G'thon that's loaded -- a flash of quiet sympathy, cameraderie. "I was speaking of E'sere and Aivey," he murmurs, lifting his drink once more.
"I don't think that it does," Aida speaks up, shaking her head. "Not when the cause is believed in as strongly as it was. Being around to see it would have been a bonus, but they can both likely be satisfied with the outcome in many ways. And the impact upon the rest of us, whether they're witness to it or not is, ah...irrelevant? Sort of?"
"I don't think they got it," Roa says, "What they wanted, I mean. If they wanted an end to forgeign weyrleadership. If Tialith rises, they're back where they started, only with Telgar instead of Igen." Let's nevermind that the Telgari in question is -her-. Sip. Siiiip.
"Do we even know for sure what they wanted?" Ginella asks, nodding a bit at Roa, "It seems like they made an effect with their violence, and I'd agree that there are certain goals that might not have required them to be around to see the outcome... but we'd have to be sure what those goals were. Aivey's goal, especially, is unclear. To me, at least."
"E'sere didn't care one way or the other about foreign leadership," remarks G'thon, quietly, watching Roa with an expression as compassionate, if not as warm and smiling, as that which Sefton offered him. "He expected and desired to be Weyrleader. He is not. There is no lack of clarity there."
The little weyrwoman is back to studying her drink. "No lack of clarity there," Roa repeats softly. There is only the faintest emphasis on that last word.
"Clarity is so rarely easy to seize," Sefton observes from his place on the desk, lifting his glass to finish its contents. "Perhaps we conclude, having found a brief note of it." It's a dismissal, and to confirm it, he shifts forward to come to his feet. "I thank you all for indulging me, and sparing the time."
Reyce, never especially gracious, answers Sefton's parting thanks with a simple shrug, taking Issa's glass from her and bringing both of them (condensation on the bottoms wiped off quickly on his shirt) to plant on the headmaster's desk. That done, he steps back lightly from Sefton's area, flinging a glance around the room to find the greenrider and follow her lead out.
This is G'thon's last cue and he takes it easily enough, palming open the door behind him while his other hand balances the teacup with decades of teacup-balancing experience. "And I thank you for -your- indulgence," says the former weyrleader with a note of ruefulness, almost abashed, as if his emotional moment had been some absurd scene. This poor apology made, he exits, which leaves clear the way for the others.
Dismissal. Aida's shoulders slump for a brief moment, and then she's straightening up again. What's left in her own glass is drained in two go's at it, and then she's pushing up to her own feet and slipping back for a moment before she moves to collect glasses and cups and eventually makes to sneak out as well. Quiet as she can possibly manage. Sneak sneak.
Roa rises and sets her own glass down on the table. It is still three-quarters full. The newest Reachian weyrwoman is so wasteful when it comes to alcohol. Parting words, polite and inconsiquential, are murmured to everyone, a nod to the Headmaster, and she too departs.
Ginella leaves. The end.
Feat. Aida, Ginella, G'thon, Issa, Reyce, Roa & Sefton.
We proudly present...
- A two line pose from G'thon!
- Reyce and Ginella agreeing about something!
- Blatant hypocracy!
- Alcohol!
- Sefton ducking questions!
- G'thon faking sincerity!
And much, much more!
Assembled via invitation, command and bribery, drawn in by obedience, curiosity and motives unknown, a selection of Sefton's students -- and others -- are assembled. The Headmaster himself is perched on his desk, just as he might be in his classroom, slightly removed from the circle the other bodies form. Reyce and Issa have taken up positions on the edge of the bed, Ginella on the couch, Aida and Penny on the floor. Drinks have been distributed, and just now, the man from Boll eyes the door thoughtfully. "Roa is obliged to join us late," he drawls. "But we are expecting one more, before we begin."
Assembled via invitation, command and bribery, drawn in by obedience, curiosity and motives unknown, a selection of Sefton's students -- and others -- are assembled. The Headmaster himself is perched on his desk, just as he might be in his classroom, slightly removed from the circle the other bodies form. Reyce and Issa have taken up positions on the edge of the bed, Ginella and Roa a pair of weyrwomen on the couch on the couch, Aida and Penny on the floor. Drinks have been distributed, and just now, the man from Boll eyes the door thoughtfully. "We are expecting one more, before we begin."
The door creeps open without a knock, and in a moment the gap produced between door and frame produces the slender shape of the Weyr's former leader. He slips a hand behind himself to close the door, pale brows slid high in a registration of mild surprise at the crowded state of the headmaster's quarters. "You are more popular even than your reputation suggests," he drily observes with a glance slipped over Sefton. He backs up a step then, settling his weight against his hand upon the door, effectively sealing the exit.
How convenient. "Good evening, sir." Sefton slides down off the desk, coming to his feet to nod a polite greeting. "Can I fetch you a drink? Aida, I believe we had hot water?" A glance towards his assistant, although it doesn't last long -- he's looking over at Issa instead, flashing her a grin. "Issa." A momentary pause. "Tell me, if you will. Is violence ever a justified means to an end?"
Aida gives a nod in response to that look. In a particular direction. Indicating the hot water. "It should still be hot enough for tea," she agrees, shifting her weight so that she can get back up if it looks like she'll be fetching it. While she doesn't greet G'thon verbally, she does flash a smile his way.
Reyce has been a silent presence since entering the room - no exception now. His eyes narrow slightly, thoughtful, on seeing G'thon; they narrow further, suspicious, on hearing Sefton's question. Though he tosses a quick glance Issa's way, the focus of his wary attention soon settles on the Headmaster.
At Sefton's note, Issa nods and maintains the smoothly smiling silence that has settled since her intial greeting. Slightly slouched over the drink held between two hands, she lets her gaze drift over the knots of those gathered, a tallying of Caucus pins. Upon G'thon's entrance, her eyebrows startle upward in a mimic of the former Weyrleader's expression, but her smile spreads in a ready greeting as his eyes slide past her. Unphased by Sefton's sudden pinpointing, she answers with a heavy stress, "/Ever?/ Yes." And she interrupts for a sip. "Though it would depend on the relative end, of course," is added then.
A nod lets Aida know she should make tea, and Sefton leans back against his desk. "The rest of you? Yes or no, without qualification. Answers, please."
Reyce says, "Sure." He's very quick on this one, and doesn't remove his eyes from Sefton. "You, teacher?"
G'thon has a smile to reply to Aida's, and a murmur of gratitude for Sefton. "Tea would be lovely," he says, predictably enough, but no answer for the headmaster's question.
Aida sets her drink aside and hops up promptly, setting about the process of getting together a cup of tea. Quietly.
The smaller weyrwoman, Roa, studies her glass and its full contents before speaking. "Yes."
Sefton holds up a finger, as though to fend off Reyce's reflection of his question, for now, at least. "Aida, no opinion?" Not just here to make tea, it would seem.
"Yes," Aida chirps, glancing over from the tea fixing to offer a bright smile with the words.
Ginella blinks as Sefton wastes no time getting to the controversial stuff, and bites her lip as she watches Issa. When the question is directed at the rest, she frowns, and waits for others to answer first. Maybe he won't notice she's still thinking?
But Sefton notices, of course. He tilts his gaze sidelong, first to rest for a long moment on Ginella, and from there, more politely, to loft a brow at the dragonless man by the door.
Of course. Ginella stalls as long as possible, but finally, not without hesitation, shakes her head: "No."
A low, mild chortle repunctuates G'thon's presence, and he tips his head down as though abashed to be so pointed out. He waits only until Ginella's completed the answers from students - Caucus and otherwise - however, then tips up his chin and looks down his nose at Sefton, eyes too bright. "Ah," he says, of course. "May we define 'violence'?"
Reyce's expression pulls back into a little snick of a snarl, and he raises his drink for a slow sip. He's got a bandage on his right hand, but it doesn't seem to affect his holding the glass.
Issa's eyes skitter over to Ginella and she lobs a softly surprised, "Never?" at the Benden weyrwoman that slips in just before G'thon's request for a definition. She subdues herself then, passing a brief, suspicious glance at G'thon as she leans back and buries her mouth in her glass.
Sefton laughs, lifting his own drink for a slow sip, then raising it to G'thon in a toast, or deferral. "There speaks superior experience. By all means, sir, do so."
Once she's got the cup of tea in hand, Aida turns to survey the room and its occupants for a moment before she puts on another smile and slips over towards the door to offer the cup of tea out for G'thon to take. Those eyes are presently touched with amusement, right at the moment.
Glass slowly turned in her hands, Roa ducks her head down, but this only half-hides the smirk that's creeping up her lips.
"Traditionally defined as the use of physical force to serve a singular or even selfish purpose," G'thon muses. He puts out his hand to receive the tea with a civilised little nod for the amusement in Aida's eyes, then continues, "'Violence' may also refer to abuse of power as well as to vehemence of expression. Certainly with so broad a definition - particularly that last one - violence must be acceptable in most any case." A brow slips up. "In a narrower definition, however, particularly the second," not the first, "I might agree with the weyrwoman Ginella." A tip of his head to her, and then G'thon takes refuge in tea.
"Thank you," Sefton murmurs, drawl prolonging the words, as he settles back on his desk to lean against the wall. "Roa. When is violence justified?"
Aida dips her head to G'thon, then slips back over to the couch to resettle herself on the floor. Her glass is reclaimed, and now she's watching and drinking, listening attentively.
And so her head lifts, and Roa's eyes meet the Headmaster's. "When your life is literally, physically, and immediately threatened, for one. To survive, which I mean in only the literal and immediate sense. And," a tiny smile, "if you are a dragon, to eat."
Sefton's lips quirk, and Roa earns herself a nod -- no more. "Indeed, Roa." A slow sip. "I have a mind to continue evenings such as these, should tonight prove worthwhile. To that end, I should note that I expect all comments made within these walls to remain so confined." His dark eyes shift again. "Reyce? When is violence unjustified?"
Reyce stopped drinking some little while ago, but his glass remains hovering by his lips. At Sefton's address, he lowers it with a shrug. "No idea whatsoever, teacher." Emphasis drops heavy on that last word, but otherwise his tone is mild - indifferent, even.
"Reyce has no idea, Issa," Sefton informs the greenrider beside his student, turning his gaze toward her. "What say you?"
Reyce's eyes slide sideways to look at Issa, but there's nothing to be read in them. He watches her steadily, but impassively.
As another's singled out-- Roa this time-- Issa's eyes switch to her weyrwoman, gaze slipping from away from suspicious and into a simple, significant interest. Then, to Sefton, the guarded look reappearing despite his reassurance of the closed nature of this gathering. Her drink is swirled idly and she doesn't even seem to notice Reyce's eyes on her. "When there is no equivalent threat, immediate or otherwise. To yourself or the greater good." Quiet, that.
"Issa will employ violence," Sefton observes -- apparently to G'thon -- "when she is threatened, or that she would defend is threatened." His gaze shifts, to Roa. "What about pre-emptive action?"
The little weyrwoman's response is immediate and soft. "No." Roa lifts her glass and takes a small sip from it. She hides the wince the alcohol causes respectably.
Issa shifts uncomfortably next to Reyce, her gaze retreating neutrally to the safety of books lined up on their shelves for a moment before, after a bracing sip and swirl of her drink, her attention rejoins the conversation.
Reyce's response? Just another drink.
"Perhaps," allows the former weyrleader over the rim of his teacup, in reply to Sefton - as if he partly disbelieves the greenrider's assertion. "I question again what kind. What about abuse of privilege?" He lowers his tea so his gaze can more clearly come to settle on Issa - and then, curiously, shift to Reyce - and then, swiftly, slide back. That Sefton and Roa are engaged in crossfire seems not to trouble him.
Reyce has not tuned out the conversation that G'thon's return for Issa - and the Weyrleader's attention on himself - doesn't register. Holding the alcohol still in his mouth, he returns the look with a disinterested stare that remains even after G'thon's attention has returned to Issa.
Roa speaks again, though this time it is towards G'thon. "You offered two definitions of violence. We must settle one one, if we're all to debate the same idea."
Aida takes another drink from her own glass, leaning back against the foot of the couch beside Roa's leg and continuing to watch the rest of the room with interest.
"Never?" Sefton is disbelieving, his drawl drawing out the word. "You would wait, Roa, until you are at a disadvantage?" On the heels of his question, however, he allows the small weyrwoman a nod. "We must choose a definition." His gaze drops to the foot of the couch. "Aida, select one."
Issa's eyebrows raise questioningly at G'thon for the second time that night and she responds over the rim of an interrupted drink. "Abuse of privelege," she colors that word with a soft stress and a slow nod, "to protect your life and others." The sip is left interrupted.
"A fair point, Roa." G'thon, apparently content with Issa's reply, turns a somewhat different tone on the Reaches' most junior weyrwoman; a more instructorly tone, perhaps. "And one that may spare you my contesting your reply." Instructorly or not, he can afford a little hazel-eyed twinkle for Roa, before retreating again to his tea.
There's a little bit of a choke when she's named to choose the definition, but Aida manages not to cough on her alcohol. Swallow. Clear throat. "Physical force is too easy," she offers up fairly cheerily. "So I'll go with abuse of power and or privilege."
"Physical force," Sefton repeats, as though mulling over the words, "is too easy." They're left to hang there for a moment, and then he tilts his head towards Roa. "Weyrwoman? You have an unanswered question waiting for you."
Reyce stretches suddenly, lifting the glass above his head and leaning all the way back, almost to the wall. He jumps himself further back on the bed, enough so that he can lean, and balances his drink on his thihg. "So do you, teacher," he points out calmly, his stare finding its way back to Sefton.
G'thon keeps his one-sided smile half-disguised by his teacup, but the sparkle of his eyes is turned on Aida, gratitude in silence for her contribution to troublemaking. Or whatever he's up to.
The weyrwoman in question, Roa, is quiet a moment. "Certainly, if we include vehemence of expression or impassioned speaking, violence is acceptable pre-emptively. But abuse of power? Sir, it is called abuse for a reason. Power should be structured in such a way that, in order to pursue your ideals and safety and beliefs, proper channels, properly used, can be successfully utilized."
Sefton lifts one hand, flicking a gesture at Reyce that's near to dismissive. "Participation earns reward, Reyce," he murmurs, bland, distinterested. He is focussed on Roa. "Power is frequently not structured in such a way," he informs her, white teeth flashing in a grin. "If you find yourself within such a system, what then?"
Issa steadies her glass against the bouncing Reyce has created with his movement; she has enough sense of decorum not to join him, however, and remains perched on the edge. "Should be structured," she parrots Roa with a touch of cynicism, alcohol still ever swirling, sending a surprised little nod in Sefton's direction.
A simple return from Roa to Sefton, "Too broad. Give me a system, and I shall attempt an answer."
"Reward?" Reyce is murmuring to himself, perhaps, but his musings do carry. "I thought this was a discussion, teacher. Not a class."
There's a quirk of Sefton's brow for Issa, in return for that nod. "No imagination, Roa," he chides -- but there's approval in his drawl, now. "Issa, devise a hypothetical for the weyrwoman, if you would?"
"It would be most disingenuous, Reyce, for you especially to assume all rewards come from classwork." G'thon has lowered his tea only enough to make this remark, mild and not unkind in tone, with a brow arched for Reyce's benefit to go along with it. There is gentle emphasis on 'you especially,' as if it needed it.
Aida clears her throat again, attention shifting down to her glass for a moment. It's brought up for another drink, but more importantly to hide the twitch of amusement that threatens at the corners of her lips.
Reyce's eyes narrow again over that emphasis, and he reluctantly drags his stare off Sefton to G'thon. The former Weyrleader gets to enjoy Reyce's silent stare for several moments before the Bendenite speaks, "Discussion goes to prove Ginella's point. Even when they say they're okay with violence, they argue for it being /appropriate/ in some situations. Don't want to argue for it on its own sake. Can't justify it."
Ginella blinks, and turns to look at Reyce: "So you would admit that the use of violence is inappropriate, but still argue for its use in those situations?"
"Or," Ginella adds after a second, "Wouldn't that just be using a broader definition of 'appropriate'?"
Reyce blinks in return, though his focus is still on G'thon - what, Ginella lives? He turns to her after a beat. "Don't know what you mean appropriate. I'm just saying it's not effective. You use it, you get called out, you'll look bad. Probably lose more than you gain."
Roa says, "Only if you use it in a way that allows people to call you on it."
"So as long as it's effective, it's fine with you?" Ginella sounds unsurprised.
And Sefton? Simply eases himself quietly back so he can sit on his desk, back against the wall -- and has a drink. In silence.
"To do otherwise would qualify, I believe, as either subterfuge - or scapegoating, Roa," muses G'thon. "A topic for another session, perhaps?" he adds, and tips up the teacup to vanish his smile.
Reyce's lip twitches up in a snarl again, but it seems delighted. "Exactly." That answer must suffice for both weyrwoman, because he turns to the silent Sefton at this juncture. "Teacher?"
"Not necessarily," Roa counters to G'thon. "Effective abuse of power," and here her eyes slide momentarily to Reyce, "should leave the one abused with no way to cry foul."
Ginella snorts. Surprise, surprise, the violent one likes violence. "That doesn't fol--" she begins to reply to G'thon, but Roa begins, and she nods. "You just decimate whoever it is so entirely that they're incapable of calling you on it," she points out, "It doesn't have to involve people not knowing what you did."
"I..." It would seem like the beginning of the protest, but it's weak and paired with a swift glance to Roa. She grows silently unfocused, thoughtful for a moment, but the conversation moves on without whatever hypothetical creation she would impart and she has to blink to catch back up with what Ginella says. She turns half a glance back at Reyce, then turns back to say, "I thought you didn't want to abuse the power at all, Roa."
Sefton must wade back into the breach for a moment, lowering his glass from his lips to speak. "I wait on Issa's hypothetical," he informs Reyce -- although his gaze shifts to Ginella, and then Aida. Both women are treated to an easy grin. "Is there such a thing as a situation in which those suffering abuse cannot cry foul? Is this not the point at which our other definition, physical violence, enters? A solution to a problem?"
Reyce's snarl twitches up at several points during the exchange between weyrwomen and ex-Weyrleader, but he has his target: Sefton. The headmaster's answer immediately draws the delight in his snarl to full force, but he throws back a gulp of his drink before speaking. Once he's drunk a little, the snarl has calmed to just a twinge at the corner of his lips. "You say it's a closed room, teacher," he says. His lean reverses: before on the wall, now over his knees. "I say prove it. Get off your ass and tell us what /you/. Think."
Ginella shrugs at Sefton: "They could all be dead," she points out, "Or locked up somewhere, where no one can hear them. Though that would most likely involve physical violence, I guess. I don't see how 'abuse of power' doesn't -include- physical violence, though. Isn't that just one of the ways power can be abused?" Reyce's snarl draws a roll of her eyes. Give it up, boy.
Aida shrugs a shoulder, taking another drink from her glass. "When the victim don't realize you're abusing your power is one situation," she suggests. And then her eyes are swinging to Reyce, and she's ducking her head and hiding her grin behind her glass again.
G'thon apparently feels this point adequately proven, and his tea adequately tasted, because he has to lower the cup and cross his arms over his narrow chest, leaning well back against the door, to take in what the students have to say.
"I say," Sefton drawls to Reyce, words so lazy as to deliberately aim to provoke, "that only a closed mind shuts off any solution."
"Perhaps it is better for minds to be slightly closed in certain respects," considers Roa. And then to Issa she adds, "I don't want to abuse power, which is not to say it cannot be and is not done. And that there isn't more or less effective ways to do it."
Reyce's eyes squint up in what could only be called amusement: the provocation does not work. "Fair enough," he answers, and seems - for now - content.
"Perhaps I should ask, if we're discussing such -final- means of quelling dissent," G'thon abruptly muses, and leaves a little quiet before continuing. "Is death necessarily violent?"
So she can't escape it. Issa's eyes drop again, this time to her glass and the single gulp left in it. "An island near Ista," she says finally with a quirk of her lips and a glance for Roa. "A hold, self-sufficient and isolated, save from the Weyr it tithes to." No Holders council here, it seems. "Tyrranical lord starving his people, running the hold into the ground. His son, a favorite, has influence with the people and could unseat the Lord. Otherwise, twenty more years of poverty. Why would he not use the unconventional channels?" Her words are directed solely to Roa and she takes great pains to ignore the snarling Bendenite just to her right and his exchange with Sefton.
Ginella turns to look at G'thon, frowning: "Just because you kill someone quietly in their sleep doesn't mean it isn't violent," she says, rather distastefully. "Inducing death in any sort of direct fashion would have to fall under that heading, wouldn't it?" Issa's model draws her eyes away from the former rider, and she glances at Roa beside her.
"Death can be gentle," Sefton agrees, studying the former Weyrleader for a moment. "I believe Neiran, who is called away from us tonight by duty, would classify it as an insult to the body. I would class it violent, for the purpose of the debate." His head comes up, then, to survey the room. "Answers, around the room. Who allows the son violence, to unseat his father and protect his people? How much violence is permissible? Chasing off? Gentle death?"
Reyce has settled his debt with Sefton, so it's Issa's turn, it would seem. He doesn't appear to be listening to her model, but when she finishes, he says, "Precedent. Knock a Lord off his seat, he could wind up getting himself unseated the same way." A somewhat wry smirk appears just before he covers it behind a drink.
"But that isn't initiating, is it, Issa? This Lord has been violent for the past however many turns. Usurping him is a response and not a start to violence," replies Roa. "His people, this son's people, are dying." She nods towards Reyce as he speaks. "That too. Assuming the Conclave is willing to bother with a tiny hold in the middle of nowhere. Which they wouldn't me."
Issa answers without turning to face Reyce, "Not if he doesn't give reason to be unseated himself." Again, rather quiet.
Reyce says, "Bullshit. All he needs is a son more ambitious than he is."
Aida wrinkles up her nose, draining what's left in her glass and setting it aside. She starts to chirp her answer to Sefton's question promptly, but pauses before those initial words escape. Almost thinking before she opened her mouth. At least she caught it just after. A moment of consideration, and then she chirps, "As little as is possible, in that situation." Beat, and she tips her head back to look up at Roa. "So violence is okay, if it's an answer to violence?" Smile.
"Abuse of privilege," suggests G'thon, mildly, after a nod to Ginella and another to the headmaster, accepting each of their sentences in turn. "Which would be more to your liking?" A glance over the room, to include them all. "To let the son use his influence to unseat his father through the avenues of popular control - sheer numbers - and turn his people into warriors? Or let him do it quietly himself, and let them live in peace?"
Sefton turns his gaze once more to G'thon, treating the former bronzerider to a grin, white teeth flashing momentarily against dark skin. "One knife in the night, or the justification that can be claimed when one can demonstrate that many believe a thing?" The question, apparently, is for Issa -- or at least, his gaze is directed there.
Issa grows silent after that comeback from Reyce, not even rising to acknowledge G'thon's question, her focus drawn by her slowly tilting glass. Then she raises it to her lips and swallows the last remains of her drink. Catching Sefton's stare, she lets her eyebrows sink just slightly and answers simply, "Many," and leaves it at that.
Reyce watches G'thon thoughtfully, giving this response more time than he did Issa's. "Second one. Key thing I'm talking about is, it's a problem when somebody gets the idea he can put himself in power. Those two cases, they're both the son installing himself - just a question of how direct he is about it. Better if he doesn't have," a quick wave towards Sefton, "demonstrable support. Better for him if he does," he concedes after a moment.
Roa says, "To let the son do it himself, quietly, is a temporary solution in the greater scheme. What's to stop another man from doing the same two turns later and behaving even more atrociously than the original villian?" Roa pauses to sip. "To call on the people is harder. But it sends a stronger message and it makes fair treatment a more likely reality. It's their lives too. They can be called to defend them."
"What if the son does not have evidence that his children are suffering directly?" Sefton's drawl again, addressed to G'thon. "What if they are only unhappy? Does he make a decision on their behalf? On what authority? By what standards should he judge his decision?"
Reyce has not let up entirely, despite a moment's distraction. "Good questions, teacher. What do you think on them?"
"You're asking me to preview my lessons," retorts G'thon to Sefton with the ripple of a chortle disturbing the smooth cadence of his voice, then glances at Reyce and - defers to him, and to a glance into his teacup, after which he stands forward from the door and tries to fix Aida with an eye and a raised brow, silent plea.
"I think," Sefton murmurs, eyes failing to leave the ex-Weyrleader, where he stands appealing to the Headmaster's assistant, "that we would benefit from hearing your other Instructor's reply. It is an important question -- whether one man can take it on himself, or should, to make a decision on behalf of others, unasked." His drawl is lazy still, but his gaze is fixed.
Reyce's lip twitches up at the corner. "I'm interested in both," he replies.
Aida, doing her best to stay attentive and quiet, tilts her head at G'thon for a moment, then looks around again. It takes her a moment to register, and then she's pushing up from the floor and slipping over to collect his cup and get it refilled.
"If you involve the people, there's better chance of it going peacefully," Ginella points out, "A knife in the knight... not so much. It does set a dangerous precedent, though," she (gasp,) -agrees- with Reyce, sort of, "They both do. Though involving the many might perhaps make it a little more difficult for such a scene to be repeated." Now, listen to G'thon skirt that oh-so-hypothetical question.
"That's more like it," G'thon tosses back at Sefton, almost as an admonishment. "As much as you dislike answers - thank you, Aida - that require qualification, I shall give one. I would argue for the involvement of the people, albeit at their option. Certainly there are any number of a population who might benefit from uprising without any desire or ability to participate in it."
While the scent of tea from Boll fills the room, Sefton pauses -- for a moment, it seems almost to require an effort for him to shift his gaze, and he turns his head until his attention lands on Issa. "What says our greenrider?" His question is quiet. "If one man is more educated, more experienced than others, can he claim the right to make such a decision?"
The empty glass gets toyed with, rolled between Issa's fingers and tilted around in the light, and gazed at intently. Until another question is pointed her way. "I... agree with G'thon," Issa says repectfully, nodding toward the no-longer Weyrleader. "One man might be the in... initiator," she brushes over the minor falter without batting an eye, "but others follow as they choose." Then, with a suspicious glance at G'thon, she falls silent. And stays that way.
(Issa slips out here for RL)
Reyce tilts his head towards Issa on her reply, but his eyes have been fixed on Sefton for the whole duration of it, and they remain there. He even raises his brows briefly, before taking a drink. And finishing his glass, sadly.
Aida slips back over to G'thon to offer the fresh cup of tea to him with a warm smile; once it's out of her hands she slips back to reclaim her place on the floor. "Someone has to make the decision sometime," she points out. "If there's something that needs to be stopped, or something that needs to happen, somebody has to step up."
"Others must be informed," Sefton murmurs, "before they can choose." He follows Reyce's example in draining his glass, lifting his chin until he catches Aida's eye, then nodding to the line of bottles along the shelf. No rest for the wicked -- or at least for the lowest ranking in the room. "Let us turn Aida's pronouncement to a solid question. A decision was made here, at High Reaches. Who in this room is content to have ceded their vote on the question of how best to deal with a foreign Weyrwoman?"
"But," Roa says to Aida, "If everyone agrees that it ought to be stopped, that someone shouldn't have to act alone." And maybe she'd say more, but then the Headmaster speaks, and Roa's gaze flies, immediately, to him.
Aida gives Sefton a look at the nod to the bottles, though it's coupled with a grin. She hops back up, heading for the indicated bottle. The Headmaster's glass is refilled first, of course, and then with a raise of a brow she glances to other glasses that are getting low, or empty. "Maybe shouldn't have to," she tells Roa. "But people are cowards. 'Shouldn't' and 'should' tend to have very little bearing in reality." Wince. She does shoot a false-cranky look at the bottle in her hands. At Sefton's question, she wrinkles up her nose...but does not offer up a response. She has glasses to attend to, after all. Maybe.
Reyce's glass is empty, but he cradles it in towards his stomach and away from Sefton's appointed serving girl. The question earns typical silence from him, and an unreadable glance at G'thon.
Ginella's glass is not quite empty, but she too remains silent, glancing between G'thon and Sefton.
G'thon takes the tea. It really takes him a moment or two to catch on to the content of the headmaster's question. This is apparent by how slowly the smile slides off of the right-hand side of his mouth. And then he's looking over the students, with an expression that might just as well forbid entirely the raising of hands or saying of ayes. And just a moment after that, he catches himself, and looks into his tea instead, as though he suppresses some miserable emotion, some sense of loss, he'd rather not share in such company.
Sefton watches G'thon for a moment, dark eyes appropriately grave to the topic, and then he lifts his head. "Reyce. You support the right of the holder's son to take action, if he deems that -- in his opinion -- his people are better served by it. Some man or woman in this weyr has made a similar decision on behalf of the riders here. What say you? Is the situation different?"
"Riders and more," says G'thon, extremely softly, and raises his cup to take tea. He winces afterward, as if the brew is too hot, too strong, somehow unsuited, and leans into the door. More like slumps into the door, really, all things considered.
Reyce does not answer for a moment, and then breaks the silence with a short, sinus-clearing sniff. "I don't support it," he corrects, his voice and gaze as mild as if the topic were still hypothetical. "Said I'd prefer it, given the options. Given this example, I'd say whoever made that decision made it badly. They wanted to fix things at High Reaches, they made them worse. They were carrying out a vendetta, they carried it too far."
There is a soft clearing of her throat before Roa speaks. "I believe that situation might be an example of ineffective abuse of power." A sudden sip from her drink before she adds, "But it is a fallacy to say that the choice of Weyr leadership was ever in the hands of the people to begin with. There was what was expected and there was what happened, but the people had no control of it either way."
Reyce's eyes flick to Roa when she speaks up. "We talking about the murder or the transfer?" He wants to know.
"I was talking about the transfer," Roa clarifies.
"I wasn't," Reyce responds.
Aida refills glasses where it seems wanted, caps the bottle and puts it away. She's quiet again, slipping back to pick up her now full glass, sits back down. It's such interesting alcohol, given the way she studies it. And she takes another drink, of course.
"Neither was a good decision," Ginella points out, "They're just on very different scales of bad. The transfer was poorly executed and ineffective, while her murder was just... wrong, obviously."
"Her point," says G'thon, voice strained to the point of cracking between syllables, "might apply equally well to both. To any change of Weyr leadership. To all of it." Oh, here he goes again, blaming the Weyr itself for ignoring things until his lover got deaded. Figures. The progression of outrage warms him up enough that he can finally get his gaze up out of the teacup and fix a glare on Ginella. Now it's personal. "She hardly had time to be effective."
"Exactly," Ginela replies, trying really hard to ignore that glare, "The reaction was such that she was completely unable to have any chance at all. So the transfer, as it was executed, was ineffective. I don't think a transfer that inspires murder can be said to have gone well."
Aida's eyes close at that strain in G'thon's voice, her shoulders stiffening as she goes from quietly sulking to quietly seething in response to Ginella's words, jaw tightening and the whole thing. At least her ire seems pointed down towards the glass she's holding.
Reyce's half-squinted expression could not be described as amused this time, though what it is would be hard to classify. He rolls his gaze over to Sefton, watching the headmaster placidly - if he makes eye contact, he'll go so far as to raise a brow - but this time he doesn't press openly for the man to weigh in.
"She hardly had time," Sefton agrees, his drawl a very quiet echo indeed. He lifts his glass, downing a solid mouthful. "And now the question is theoretical." He raises his voice then, leaning back against the wall once more -- the subject is to be abandoned before it is fully explored, it seems. In his quiet sweet of the room he does meet Reyce's gaze, and in response, perhaps there's a fractional, almost unnoticable shake of his head. Then, as he continues turning his head, "What say you all to our recent trials? Violence served an end. It very effectively impacted on the atmosphere around the weyr."
Well, now everyone hates Ginella, so she tries to clarify, shaking her head at Sefton: "I'm not saying Yevide was ineffective," she says, "She had no time, no opportunity. I mean the act of transfering her was ineffective because it was done in such a way as to present her with an almost impossible situation. That's all I'm saying."
G'thon's glare lasts a few seconds longer, but in the end he cannot apparently deny Ginella's point, and the gaze that descends into his cup now is pensive indeed. Of the trials he can seem to bear no speech for now, and shakes his head before giving up looking at his tea in favor of drinking from it.
Reyce drops his gaze away at that little shake from Sefton, his placidity untroubled by the refusal. "Impacted, yeah. To an end - don't think they got what they wanted out of it." Another little sniff here, his mouth curled unpleasantly up at the corner. "Exactly," he feels compelled to specify, his tone exceedingly dry.
"I agrre," Roa says with a small nod to Ginella. Mostly, probably to Ginella because her eyes keep drifting from G'thon to Sefton and back again. "Do you say, Headmaster, that the outcome of the trial counts as 'violence'? Or that the trials themselves do?"
"I say," Sefton murmurs over the rim of his glass, "that the crimes for which our bronzerider and laundry maid were on trial were violent indeed. And very effective. I am hard pressed to think of another method by which so effective a result might have been wrought."
"But that all depends," notes Roa softly. "Did they get what they wanted? Certainly, they are not around to see the outcome now, even if they did."
Aida finally relaxes gain, lifting her head back up and leaning against the foot of the couch, gaze settling to something passive. She takes a drink from her glass, going back to being attentive and quiet.
Sefton says, "Does it matter that they will not see it happen?"
"I - think I have become distracted," admits G'thon, suddenly, lowering his tea and unslumping from the door so he can put a baleful stare on Sefton first, then Roa. "When we discuss who got or did not get the outcome they desired, do we mean E'sere and - Aivey - or do we mean those who tried them?"
Reyce, in the course of this discussion, is reminded of Issa right next to him; he flicks her a quick little look, but otherwise leaves her - and the debate of the moment - alone.
Sefton has a smile ready for G'thon that's loaded -- a flash of quiet sympathy, cameraderie. "I was speaking of E'sere and Aivey," he murmurs, lifting his drink once more.
"I don't think that it does," Aida speaks up, shaking her head. "Not when the cause is believed in as strongly as it was. Being around to see it would have been a bonus, but they can both likely be satisfied with the outcome in many ways. And the impact upon the rest of us, whether they're witness to it or not is, ah...irrelevant? Sort of?"
"I don't think they got it," Roa says, "What they wanted, I mean. If they wanted an end to forgeign weyrleadership. If Tialith rises, they're back where they started, only with Telgar instead of Igen." Let's nevermind that the Telgari in question is -her-. Sip. Siiiip.
"Do we even know for sure what they wanted?" Ginella asks, nodding a bit at Roa, "It seems like they made an effect with their violence, and I'd agree that there are certain goals that might not have required them to be around to see the outcome... but we'd have to be sure what those goals were. Aivey's goal, especially, is unclear. To me, at least."
"E'sere didn't care one way or the other about foreign leadership," remarks G'thon, quietly, watching Roa with an expression as compassionate, if not as warm and smiling, as that which Sefton offered him. "He expected and desired to be Weyrleader. He is not. There is no lack of clarity there."
The little weyrwoman is back to studying her drink. "No lack of clarity there," Roa repeats softly. There is only the faintest emphasis on that last word.
"Clarity is so rarely easy to seize," Sefton observes from his place on the desk, lifting his glass to finish its contents. "Perhaps we conclude, having found a brief note of it." It's a dismissal, and to confirm it, he shifts forward to come to his feet. "I thank you all for indulging me, and sparing the time."
Reyce, never especially gracious, answers Sefton's parting thanks with a simple shrug, taking Issa's glass from her and bringing both of them (condensation on the bottoms wiped off quickly on his shirt) to plant on the headmaster's desk. That done, he steps back lightly from Sefton's area, flinging a glance around the room to find the greenrider and follow her lead out.
This is G'thon's last cue and he takes it easily enough, palming open the door behind him while his other hand balances the teacup with decades of teacup-balancing experience. "And I thank you for -your- indulgence," says the former weyrleader with a note of ruefulness, almost abashed, as if his emotional moment had been some absurd scene. This poor apology made, he exits, which leaves clear the way for the others.
Dismissal. Aida's shoulders slump for a brief moment, and then she's straightening up again. What's left in her own glass is drained in two go's at it, and then she's pushing up to her own feet and slipping back for a moment before she moves to collect glasses and cups and eventually makes to sneak out as well. Quiet as she can possibly manage. Sneak sneak.
Roa rises and sets her own glass down on the table. It is still three-quarters full. The newest Reachian weyrwoman is so wasteful when it comes to alcohol. Parting words, polite and inconsiquential, are murmured to everyone, a nod to the Headmaster, and she too departs.
Ginella leaves. The end.