July 27th, 1890 — Sanditon Servants Ball
Elias Grimstone / Sampson Yates

There was a Servents Ball going on for their lot though Zaid had seen a few people milling about that he knew not to be employed by Sanditon. Zaid had no problem with that but he knew some of the other staff were probably cranky about their intrusion. He watched in mild amusement as one of the more uptight maids went to tell off one of the outliers. Taking his drink in hand, he went in search of someone to bother with chatter.

Spotting Sampson Yates, Zaid grabbed a glass of bubbly to bring over to him. It was a rare treat for most of them but Zaid wouldn't be surprised if it turned out Sampson sometimes snuck a glass for himself when serving dinners and whatever else footmen did.

"Enjoying your night, Yates?" He asked as he offered the glass.

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   Elias Grimstone

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“Well...” Sampson replied with a disparaging shrug; it was better than working, obviously, but he didn’t want to give the impression that this evening was anything to crow about. Could have been better.

Nevertheless, he snatched the glass promptly enough, taking an evaluating sip before shrugging again in thanks. “You? I suppose it’s a change for your lot just to be let inside,” Sam quipped, smirking. The gardeners might not live apart from the rest of the staff in kennels outside, but there was some degree of separation all the same, because they didn’t tread the same floors as footmen did. He’d be surprised if Ragge even knew how to dance.

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   Zaid Ragge

Zaid could not help but be amused at how uppity Yates sounded. "Ah, yes. And we didn't even need to be leashed," he said teasingly. He knew that some of the interior house staff held themselves above the exterior staff. It was an entertainment in itself to see just how huffy he could make Yates go.

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“Ha. Not yet, anyway.” If he were perfectly honest - a rare state for him - Sampson would freely admit he found it entertaining to rile people up. But that depended on them being easily riled, and people like Ragge, the cheerful, happy-go-lucky, sociable sorts (he would bet any money he’d been a Gryffindor, if he’d been educated at all): those sorts were often impervious to sarcasm entirely, and too easygoing for their own good.

But Sam wouldn’t let that stop him, if only because he had nothing, at present, better to do. And even if Zaid was joking, at least he knew his place. “So how are you going to make the most of that luxury?” He probed, glancing around the room to see whether there was anything the gardener might think of nicking. Or any housemaids worth the effort of flirting. Or anyone with whom he might induce the outdoors labouring lads to pick a fight.

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Zaid just laughed again in response to the other mans comment. "Hmm, I think I'll dance with a pretty face or two. Get nice and drunk off some champagne," Zaid mused thoughtfully. Maybe he would get lucky and find himself in a nice bed for the night. Though  he would hardly be doing any sleeping. Not that he was going to share that hope. "And I suppose you will be standing here, judging everyone?"

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Standing here and judging everyone? Ragge thought he was being funny, that that was a dig at him even, maybe; but Sampson’s lip curled up in sneering amusement as if to say of course, you make it so easy, after all. “Please, I can multitask,” Sam remarked instead, taking a sip of champagne and looking at his fingernails on his other hand as if to prove it (or to be sure a gardener’s dirt was not contagious).

“Good luck with that, though,” he added sardonically, looking up to scan the room as if prospects could have possibly changed in that time. Ragge would have his work cut out for him finding someone to dance with, if he pretended to have standards. “I don’t see a single face you could actually call pretty.” Even the best-looking girl amongst the maids had a face like a pug.

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Zaid could not help a light roll of his eyes as the other man looked at his fingernails. Not that he minded too much but it did give him an urge to look out for a chance when he could push the other man into a puddle of mud. Now that would be a laugh.

"How cruel! Miss Sells has a lovely face, especially when you make her giggle or pout." Which was relatively easy to do, truth be told.

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Ragge seemed to think himself very superior, didn’t he? Very magnanimous, like everyone on earth ought to be grateful for his generosity. He was being too kind about Miss Sells by half, and she wasn’t even in earshot. What was Sam supposed to do with that?

He supposed he could twist that compliment into something worth a whispered rumour.

Or be rude again. “And how are you going to make her giggle?” Sampson said contemptuously. Zaid had the rough-and-ready presence of a gardener, but even the maids would have to be thick to fall for his charm.

Not that Sam could do better, given he’d been cruel to half the housemaids’ faces before now, but. If he had so deigned, he could have out-charmed anyone. “Have Sells, then. Next to some of the guests,” - he meant the resort’s summer society crowd, obviously, and not the household dregs here - “she looks like her mother mated with a mountain troll.”

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"Usually all it takes is a smile. I'm told my smile is quite charming," Zaid said with a confident smile on his face. Really, Yates was an amusing creature though admittedly Zaid didn't have much interaction with him in the past to form a complete opinion. But so far, he seemed a grumpy sort.

"Really? You don't think some of our guests are lookers? Most of them are quite rich, too." Not that Zaid had much use for someone elses wealth. But it did tend to mean that they were more stylish and put together.

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“Most of them are quite rich,” Sampson mimicked before he could help himself, drawling the words with a stupid affectation, as the sentence deserved. Did Zaid actually think he was being observant with that remark? Did he think Sampson did not make a note of those rich people everyday of his shitty, shitty life?

Jesus Christ, were all the gardeners so dense? It was like he’d been hit over the head with a shovel one too many times, and now all he had left was dissipating champagne bubbles for a brain and that stupid smarmy smile on his face!

“Oh fuck off, Ragge,” he retorted, because the combination of both had fast burned through his patience and he suddenly despised himself for wasting his evening off enduring such a happy dunce. He would rather be miserable with himself. In case Ragge thought he was joking, Sampson scowled and added belligerently, “I mean it. Fuck off.”

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True to his personality, Zaid only cackled when Yates told him oh-so-eloquently to 'fuck off'. "Gladly," he said, a hidden double meaning in his words as he went off in search of someone else to bug. It didn't take him long to find a pretty, young maid to lead onto the dance floor, his interaction with Yates now history to him.

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