How very brave our heroine was in facing the villain
Who: Miniyal and Sefton
Where: Sefton's room
When: Post dinnertime on day 8, month 8, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
What: Because she continued to be pushed down the list of appointments, Miniyal forces herself to confront, well, speak to, Sefton regarding the appointment of G'thon to the caucus as an instructor.As usual, things do not quite turn out how she intended. Definitely wishful thinking on her part that the meeting would go quickly and simply.
10/15/2006
At High Reaches Weyr, it is day 8, month 8, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
The clamour is finally dying down in the living cavern as the last shift of the evening meal draws to a close, although those who have stayed to talk, drink, play cards, tell stories and pass the time in company are still providing enough noise to rattle up the passageway where Sefton's quarters lie. The door to his room is ajar, a signal to his students that he is available. Within, he can be seen sprawled on the couch with his back to the door, bare feet up on one arm, head on the other, letter in one hand and drink in the other.
There really does come a time when an outstanding issue reaches a point when it must be resolved. Or so Miniyal has been telling herself all day. /All/ day. Because it takes a long time to get herself psyched up for what she is on her way to do. Leaving records and on her way to her own dinner she lingers in a hall instead. Dinner may be getting cold and someone may be waiting for her, but she is a woman on a mission. Who looks as if she'd rather be anywhere else. Still, outside Sefton's door is a location that can only be maintained for a short time before that door left ajar is wrapped on softly and she calls out, "Excuse me? Headmaster?"
Sefton doesn't look up from his letter, although he lifts the hand that holds the drink, extending a finger for a moment to bid his visitor hold her place. There are a number of voices for whom the Headmaster will instantly cease his reading. This, it would seem, has not registered as one of them. Half a minute later he does so, however, swinging his legs sideways so he can plant his feet on the ground, and tilting his head towards the door. "Come." His habitual drawled greeting -- part invitation, part challenge. Come, and make it interesting.
Holding still silently and waiting is a talent Miniyal has perfected over the turns. There is no one better at it in the weyr. Unless there is currently a corpse lurking somewhere. And she would still smell better. So she is content to wait without fidgeting or fussing or getting annoyed at having to do so. When finally told /not/ to do so she steps into the room and spares the surroundings none of her attention, instead looking for the room's occupant. "I'm sorry to come calling here, but I continue to be rescheduled for my appointment and thought perhaps I might simply impose myself upon you."
It is perhaps as well she does not inspect her surroundings, for they're a mess. Someone's made an attempt at bringing some style to Sefton's quarters by way of matching rugs and cushions, expensive bedclothes. Sefton's spoiled the effect with piles of clothes, an unmade bed, mess everywhere. Except for his bookshelves, of course. He comes to his feet politely as Miniyal's identity is registered, and she's accorded a polite inclination of his head. "An excellent idea, Miniyal." There's something faintly amused in his drawl. "I applaud the initiative. Aida does her best with my schedule, but I would do better a few extra hours each day at my disposal. Can I fetch you a drink?"
Miniyal does her best to continue with her No Fidgeting Decision. Which results in her folding her hands in front of her, trying not to twist up the fabric of her dress. It does leave her somewhat at a loss when a lock of hair escapes from behind one ear. But, tucking it back into place is not /really/ fidgeting and so she allows herself this before hands are folded once more. "Oh, no thank you. I don't anticipate this taking long." She /hopes/ anyway, judging by her tone. "Well, I'm rather low on most people's priority list so I was not overly surprised to continue to be rescheduled with everything going on." A soft lift of the shoulders accompanies this statement, a 'what can you do?' sort of shrug.
"As you wish," Sefton allows, pausing for a swallow from his glass, turning away to set the letter down on his desk. So close, he leans one hip against the desk, indicating the couch he has abandoned with a nod. "Please, take a seat, and tell me what it is that I can do to make up for my neglect."
A glance, now, is given around the room. Making note of what is where and of the general state of it before she moves to the sofa to sit down. Miniyal once more tucks back a lock of hair, although it was not in need of such action. Following this she folds her hands in her lap, posture quite perfect really as she looks over towards Sefton. The picture of good etiquette. She can go through the motions anyway. "Ah, well, I was here in regards to G'thon. He had told me that there had, at one point, been a mention of his teaching at the caucus. I was simply coming to inquire what was going on in that area."
Sefton makes himself comfortable, leaning back against the desk, one hand back to support himself. The other is curled around his glass, which is held in against his chest. He's as rumpled as ever, shirt in need of ironing, hair in his eyes, bare toes curling comfortably into the rug. With a shake of his head he clears his eyes for a moment, long enough to regard her, and treat her to a slow, easy grin. "And do you come of your own accord, Miniyal, or at his request?"
"I do not believe he is the sort of man who would send someone on an errand such as this. Not when he can so easily attend to it himself," Miniyal answers, another shrug at her words and she tips her head ever so slightly towards one side. "I've come because I am. . .curious. Because I cannot believe that there would be a good reason why someone with his abilities would not be put in a position where he might serve a useful purpose." There is a pause here and a glance down at her hands as if weighing her next words carefully. "With all that has been going on I do believe a purpose again would do him good."
"Mmmm." Oh, Sefton is studying her, and as her gaze drops to her hands for a moment, his shifts, rapidly working over her, fixing for a moment on her hands, on her shoulders, her posture. Then his eyes flicker past her, to rest on the tapestry behind her. "And his recent errands for the Weyrleader, Miniyal? What do you say of those?"
There is little, other than the nearly unnatural stillness to her that gives very much away with her body language. Miniyal's manners, when she can concentrate on them are, well, impeccable. She knows how to sit, how to converse, how to pretend to be a social creature. The execution usually falls flat however, a well-trained actress with little practice. "Nothing," she replies, once more looking at him if not meeting his gaze. She'll not do that often with people she likes after all, let alone ones that make her nervous. "He is keeper of his own conscience and while I do not agree with many things he has done I accept he has his reasons that are valid to him."
"He is keeper of his own conscience," Sefton repeats, his drawl drawing out the words, playing over the vowels, making the most of every inflection. That thread of amusements runs through his voice still. Here comes the diversion, however -- Miniyal should know better than to expect an interview that goes straight to the point. "What of your future, Miniyal? You have left your position. You will take up another?"
Head tilting once more, this time to the other side, Miniyal glances, curious enough to risk eye contact, at Sefton directly. "My future will play out as it will," she answers minus one of her trademark shrugs. "I am exploring what options I have and until them I an content to return to my former duties in records. There are always tasks in there that need a steady hand. The new head of records has not seen to tell me to seek work elsewhere." Well, daddy probably wouldn't.
"I see." What Sefton sees, he does not say, but something in his tone indicates that a conclusion has been drawn. "You feel it would do him good to take up a position within the Caucus. To immerse himself in the teaching of classes. Particularly in the current environment." His sentences are short, faint inflections turning them into a list. "Particularly as an alternative option to his recent choices."
"I think," Miniyal says as she adjusts herself. As if her back were not already straight, chin somewhat tilted upwards, hands folded just so. It's so much complete movement as an indrawn breath reinforcing her position. "That Gans' time is valuable and it is being wasted. I am not trying to change what he does when he is not engaged in work. I simply believe that he needs work. He is not the sort of man who is accustomed to idleness. Nor does it suit him I believe. I have come here as a friend to see if the Caucus might give him that work as he seems eager to take it up." She doesn't even wrinkle up her nose speaking of the caucus. She must have practiced sounding neutral about it.
Sefton listens and nods, nods and listens, allows her to spill out her words without any interruption. When she concludes, his glass comes up for a slow sip, and he swills the liquid around in his mouth, before tilting his head back to swallow. "You come here as a friend," he repeats, allowing the word to hang in the air for a few moments. "Your concern does you credit, Miniyal. If you like, I will arrange for a meeting with him tomorrow. I will ensure his classes begin by the end of the seven, funnel my most talented students into them, and plunge him into work."
Miniyal is wise enough to be wary and therefore it is a cautious look she directs towards Sefton. "A friend, yes. I believe you know the term? Someone whom one has an attachment with that is not based simply on what the other person might do for them." A small smile at this, slight and gone before it registers for long in the world. "I would only like that," she says after a moment's thought, "If it was your intention all along to find this work for him. That it has lingered for this amount of time without a yay or nay is simply something I wish to rectify. I did not come here seeking an appointment for him, Sefton. I merely wished to know of one that had been discussed. However, yes, I would be pleased to see him at some work again. As I said, he has a great many talents which are wasted right now."
"A great many talents," Sefton repeats, pausing for another mouthful from his glass. It's nearly empty. "You have a great many talents yourself, Miniyal. It might be said with some accuracy that just now, yours are wasted as well." And then his dark eyes are levelled at her, a shake clearing his curls from his eyeline, so he can fix his gaze quite firmly on her face, drawl dropping slightly lower. "I want you for a student, Miniyal."
Miniyal blinks, stares, and simply says, "No."
Sefton must have been expecting the reply, surely, for there's not a flicker. "Tell me why." The question -- or the order, even -- is quiet, his drawl as lazy as ever.
"Because I have no interest in it," Miniyal answers with a shrug. Looking away again, her eyes roam the room because it gives her an excuse to. . .well, look away. "Thank you for your time, Headmaster. I am sorry to have interrupted your evening." Here she rises, clearly preparing to make her getaway. Because it is time for that. So. Very. Much. Time.
Sefton's voice is as courteous when he speaks as though he were addressing the most high-ranking of his students, and as she rises he pushes away from the desk to straighten in what might be automatic good manners, or might be something more calcualted. "I would keep you a moment, if you will permit me."
Another of Miniyal's talents perfected over turns of practice is knowing when to flee. Alas, this talent? So often conflicts with her need to know every little thing that she might be able to learn about someone by what they say. As these two desires war within her she hesitates in her flight, remaining a mere step away from the sofa upon which she so recently sat. "I am expected at dinner," she replies, although makes no move to depart. Curiosity has won again. For which she will surely be sorry.
"One can eat at any time," Sefton observes neutrally, not yet leaning back against the desk where he was relaxing.
Miniyal's arms fold over her chest a moment, a touch defiant and a touch protective. However, with a shake of her head she sits back down on the sofa, perfectly rigid posture refound and adhered to. Mama would be so proud. "A moment," she repeats his word back to him. Although it is doubtful they would agree on just how long a moment truly comes out to.
Nevertheless, she's sitting down, and Sefton eases back against the desk. "I will have Aida begin to organise G'thon's classes in the morning as her first task. I will have her shift meetings to devote her time to this," he observes. "I will personally speak to the students I would like to see entering his classroom. All of this, as a sign of good faith." A slow mouthful of his drink, although he doesn't allow the silence to draw out too long. "Behind every strong refusal is a solid reason. I show you my good faith. Suspend the game for a moment, and tell me your reason."
Just giving away information like this is so not the way things are done! Really, what is he thinking? Mouth open to deny any game, Miniyal closes it and shakes her head. Looking down at her hands she lets silence on her part drag on. There is no fidgeting once more, she is still and silent, almost as if she were not even there. However, because she does wish to get to dinner she finally lets out a quiet sigh. Up comes her head again and looks at Sefton. "I have risen as far as I shall. And then left what height I gained because it did not suit me. The purpose of the caucus, as we are so often told, is to teach and shape the future leaders of Pern. I am a recordskeeper. I do not need lessons to continue to be one. Therefore, I have no need to waste my time dealing with an organization I find annoying and pointless."
This is Sefton's world -- he sets the parameters of the conversation, dictates how it will proceed. Unusual information is exchanged, and the person to whom he speaks sinks deeper into the way he has chosen for the conversation to commence. He offers frankness, or the appearance of it, and in return draws from his companion something unusual -- or the appearance of it. "Explain to me why you find it annoying, and pointless?" The question is nothing quite so much as gentle. "It is my work to improve it."
"Then you have your work cut out for you," Miniyal says with a smile, polite and allowed to linger longer than any true expression might stay. "And I should not keep you from your work." Once more she rises, this time taking twice the number of steps from the sofa before she pauses and graces him with another of those false smiles. "I have shared all I believe I will with you. I cede the conversational battlefield to you, Headmaster. Again I thank you for your time."
And just like that, Sefton's uncharacteristic air of solemnity is gone, a broad grin splitting his face. "I enjoy a challenge, Miniyal," he observes, his drawl once more warm, amused, so familiar as nearly to tease. "I do not concede on this one just yet." A hand comes up to wave dismissal. "Go, and eat. We will continue this conversation another time."
Towards the door she goes, pausing there to turn and look over once more. Shaking her head she smiles faintly, a touch more real, but still lasting long enough to not quite be so. "No, we won't," says she who insists on the last word. And, having given it, Miniyal steps out into the hall to find her way to her own room.
Where: Sefton's room
When: Post dinnertime on day 8, month 8, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
What: Because she continued to be pushed down the list of appointments, Miniyal forces herself to confront, well, speak to, Sefton regarding the appointment of G'thon to the caucus as an instructor.As usual, things do not quite turn out how she intended. Definitely wishful thinking on her part that the meeting would go quickly and simply.
10/15/2006
At High Reaches Weyr, it is day 8, month 8, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
The clamour is finally dying down in the living cavern as the last shift of the evening meal draws to a close, although those who have stayed to talk, drink, play cards, tell stories and pass the time in company are still providing enough noise to rattle up the passageway where Sefton's quarters lie. The door to his room is ajar, a signal to his students that he is available. Within, he can be seen sprawled on the couch with his back to the door, bare feet up on one arm, head on the other, letter in one hand and drink in the other.
There really does come a time when an outstanding issue reaches a point when it must be resolved. Or so Miniyal has been telling herself all day. /All/ day. Because it takes a long time to get herself psyched up for what she is on her way to do. Leaving records and on her way to her own dinner she lingers in a hall instead. Dinner may be getting cold and someone may be waiting for her, but she is a woman on a mission. Who looks as if she'd rather be anywhere else. Still, outside Sefton's door is a location that can only be maintained for a short time before that door left ajar is wrapped on softly and she calls out, "Excuse me? Headmaster?"
Sefton doesn't look up from his letter, although he lifts the hand that holds the drink, extending a finger for a moment to bid his visitor hold her place. There are a number of voices for whom the Headmaster will instantly cease his reading. This, it would seem, has not registered as one of them. Half a minute later he does so, however, swinging his legs sideways so he can plant his feet on the ground, and tilting his head towards the door. "Come." His habitual drawled greeting -- part invitation, part challenge. Come, and make it interesting.
Holding still silently and waiting is a talent Miniyal has perfected over the turns. There is no one better at it in the weyr. Unless there is currently a corpse lurking somewhere. And she would still smell better. So she is content to wait without fidgeting or fussing or getting annoyed at having to do so. When finally told /not/ to do so she steps into the room and spares the surroundings none of her attention, instead looking for the room's occupant. "I'm sorry to come calling here, but I continue to be rescheduled for my appointment and thought perhaps I might simply impose myself upon you."
It is perhaps as well she does not inspect her surroundings, for they're a mess. Someone's made an attempt at bringing some style to Sefton's quarters by way of matching rugs and cushions, expensive bedclothes. Sefton's spoiled the effect with piles of clothes, an unmade bed, mess everywhere. Except for his bookshelves, of course. He comes to his feet politely as Miniyal's identity is registered, and she's accorded a polite inclination of his head. "An excellent idea, Miniyal." There's something faintly amused in his drawl. "I applaud the initiative. Aida does her best with my schedule, but I would do better a few extra hours each day at my disposal. Can I fetch you a drink?"
Miniyal does her best to continue with her No Fidgeting Decision. Which results in her folding her hands in front of her, trying not to twist up the fabric of her dress. It does leave her somewhat at a loss when a lock of hair escapes from behind one ear. But, tucking it back into place is not /really/ fidgeting and so she allows herself this before hands are folded once more. "Oh, no thank you. I don't anticipate this taking long." She /hopes/ anyway, judging by her tone. "Well, I'm rather low on most people's priority list so I was not overly surprised to continue to be rescheduled with everything going on." A soft lift of the shoulders accompanies this statement, a 'what can you do?' sort of shrug.
"As you wish," Sefton allows, pausing for a swallow from his glass, turning away to set the letter down on his desk. So close, he leans one hip against the desk, indicating the couch he has abandoned with a nod. "Please, take a seat, and tell me what it is that I can do to make up for my neglect."
A glance, now, is given around the room. Making note of what is where and of the general state of it before she moves to the sofa to sit down. Miniyal once more tucks back a lock of hair, although it was not in need of such action. Following this she folds her hands in her lap, posture quite perfect really as she looks over towards Sefton. The picture of good etiquette. She can go through the motions anyway. "Ah, well, I was here in regards to G'thon. He had told me that there had, at one point, been a mention of his teaching at the caucus. I was simply coming to inquire what was going on in that area."
Sefton makes himself comfortable, leaning back against the desk, one hand back to support himself. The other is curled around his glass, which is held in against his chest. He's as rumpled as ever, shirt in need of ironing, hair in his eyes, bare toes curling comfortably into the rug. With a shake of his head he clears his eyes for a moment, long enough to regard her, and treat her to a slow, easy grin. "And do you come of your own accord, Miniyal, or at his request?"
"I do not believe he is the sort of man who would send someone on an errand such as this. Not when he can so easily attend to it himself," Miniyal answers, another shrug at her words and she tips her head ever so slightly towards one side. "I've come because I am. . .curious. Because I cannot believe that there would be a good reason why someone with his abilities would not be put in a position where he might serve a useful purpose." There is a pause here and a glance down at her hands as if weighing her next words carefully. "With all that has been going on I do believe a purpose again would do him good."
"Mmmm." Oh, Sefton is studying her, and as her gaze drops to her hands for a moment, his shifts, rapidly working over her, fixing for a moment on her hands, on her shoulders, her posture. Then his eyes flicker past her, to rest on the tapestry behind her. "And his recent errands for the Weyrleader, Miniyal? What do you say of those?"
There is little, other than the nearly unnatural stillness to her that gives very much away with her body language. Miniyal's manners, when she can concentrate on them are, well, impeccable. She knows how to sit, how to converse, how to pretend to be a social creature. The execution usually falls flat however, a well-trained actress with little practice. "Nothing," she replies, once more looking at him if not meeting his gaze. She'll not do that often with people she likes after all, let alone ones that make her nervous. "He is keeper of his own conscience and while I do not agree with many things he has done I accept he has his reasons that are valid to him."
"He is keeper of his own conscience," Sefton repeats, his drawl drawing out the words, playing over the vowels, making the most of every inflection. That thread of amusements runs through his voice still. Here comes the diversion, however -- Miniyal should know better than to expect an interview that goes straight to the point. "What of your future, Miniyal? You have left your position. You will take up another?"
Head tilting once more, this time to the other side, Miniyal glances, curious enough to risk eye contact, at Sefton directly. "My future will play out as it will," she answers minus one of her trademark shrugs. "I am exploring what options I have and until them I an content to return to my former duties in records. There are always tasks in there that need a steady hand. The new head of records has not seen to tell me to seek work elsewhere." Well, daddy probably wouldn't.
"I see." What Sefton sees, he does not say, but something in his tone indicates that a conclusion has been drawn. "You feel it would do him good to take up a position within the Caucus. To immerse himself in the teaching of classes. Particularly in the current environment." His sentences are short, faint inflections turning them into a list. "Particularly as an alternative option to his recent choices."
"I think," Miniyal says as she adjusts herself. As if her back were not already straight, chin somewhat tilted upwards, hands folded just so. It's so much complete movement as an indrawn breath reinforcing her position. "That Gans' time is valuable and it is being wasted. I am not trying to change what he does when he is not engaged in work. I simply believe that he needs work. He is not the sort of man who is accustomed to idleness. Nor does it suit him I believe. I have come here as a friend to see if the Caucus might give him that work as he seems eager to take it up." She doesn't even wrinkle up her nose speaking of the caucus. She must have practiced sounding neutral about it.
Sefton listens and nods, nods and listens, allows her to spill out her words without any interruption. When she concludes, his glass comes up for a slow sip, and he swills the liquid around in his mouth, before tilting his head back to swallow. "You come here as a friend," he repeats, allowing the word to hang in the air for a few moments. "Your concern does you credit, Miniyal. If you like, I will arrange for a meeting with him tomorrow. I will ensure his classes begin by the end of the seven, funnel my most talented students into them, and plunge him into work."
Miniyal is wise enough to be wary and therefore it is a cautious look she directs towards Sefton. "A friend, yes. I believe you know the term? Someone whom one has an attachment with that is not based simply on what the other person might do for them." A small smile at this, slight and gone before it registers for long in the world. "I would only like that," she says after a moment's thought, "If it was your intention all along to find this work for him. That it has lingered for this amount of time without a yay or nay is simply something I wish to rectify. I did not come here seeking an appointment for him, Sefton. I merely wished to know of one that had been discussed. However, yes, I would be pleased to see him at some work again. As I said, he has a great many talents which are wasted right now."
"A great many talents," Sefton repeats, pausing for another mouthful from his glass. It's nearly empty. "You have a great many talents yourself, Miniyal. It might be said with some accuracy that just now, yours are wasted as well." And then his dark eyes are levelled at her, a shake clearing his curls from his eyeline, so he can fix his gaze quite firmly on her face, drawl dropping slightly lower. "I want you for a student, Miniyal."
Miniyal blinks, stares, and simply says, "No."
Sefton must have been expecting the reply, surely, for there's not a flicker. "Tell me why." The question -- or the order, even -- is quiet, his drawl as lazy as ever.
"Because I have no interest in it," Miniyal answers with a shrug. Looking away again, her eyes roam the room because it gives her an excuse to. . .well, look away. "Thank you for your time, Headmaster. I am sorry to have interrupted your evening." Here she rises, clearly preparing to make her getaway. Because it is time for that. So. Very. Much. Time.
Sefton's voice is as courteous when he speaks as though he were addressing the most high-ranking of his students, and as she rises he pushes away from the desk to straighten in what might be automatic good manners, or might be something more calcualted. "I would keep you a moment, if you will permit me."
Another of Miniyal's talents perfected over turns of practice is knowing when to flee. Alas, this talent? So often conflicts with her need to know every little thing that she might be able to learn about someone by what they say. As these two desires war within her she hesitates in her flight, remaining a mere step away from the sofa upon which she so recently sat. "I am expected at dinner," she replies, although makes no move to depart. Curiosity has won again. For which she will surely be sorry.
"One can eat at any time," Sefton observes neutrally, not yet leaning back against the desk where he was relaxing.
Miniyal's arms fold over her chest a moment, a touch defiant and a touch protective. However, with a shake of her head she sits back down on the sofa, perfectly rigid posture refound and adhered to. Mama would be so proud. "A moment," she repeats his word back to him. Although it is doubtful they would agree on just how long a moment truly comes out to.
Nevertheless, she's sitting down, and Sefton eases back against the desk. "I will have Aida begin to organise G'thon's classes in the morning as her first task. I will have her shift meetings to devote her time to this," he observes. "I will personally speak to the students I would like to see entering his classroom. All of this, as a sign of good faith." A slow mouthful of his drink, although he doesn't allow the silence to draw out too long. "Behind every strong refusal is a solid reason. I show you my good faith. Suspend the game for a moment, and tell me your reason."
Just giving away information like this is so not the way things are done! Really, what is he thinking? Mouth open to deny any game, Miniyal closes it and shakes her head. Looking down at her hands she lets silence on her part drag on. There is no fidgeting once more, she is still and silent, almost as if she were not even there. However, because she does wish to get to dinner she finally lets out a quiet sigh. Up comes her head again and looks at Sefton. "I have risen as far as I shall. And then left what height I gained because it did not suit me. The purpose of the caucus, as we are so often told, is to teach and shape the future leaders of Pern. I am a recordskeeper. I do not need lessons to continue to be one. Therefore, I have no need to waste my time dealing with an organization I find annoying and pointless."
This is Sefton's world -- he sets the parameters of the conversation, dictates how it will proceed. Unusual information is exchanged, and the person to whom he speaks sinks deeper into the way he has chosen for the conversation to commence. He offers frankness, or the appearance of it, and in return draws from his companion something unusual -- or the appearance of it. "Explain to me why you find it annoying, and pointless?" The question is nothing quite so much as gentle. "It is my work to improve it."
"Then you have your work cut out for you," Miniyal says with a smile, polite and allowed to linger longer than any true expression might stay. "And I should not keep you from your work." Once more she rises, this time taking twice the number of steps from the sofa before she pauses and graces him with another of those false smiles. "I have shared all I believe I will with you. I cede the conversational battlefield to you, Headmaster. Again I thank you for your time."
And just like that, Sefton's uncharacteristic air of solemnity is gone, a broad grin splitting his face. "I enjoy a challenge, Miniyal," he observes, his drawl once more warm, amused, so familiar as nearly to tease. "I do not concede on this one just yet." A hand comes up to wave dismissal. "Go, and eat. We will continue this conversation another time."
Towards the door she goes, pausing there to turn and look over once more. Shaking her head she smiles faintly, a touch more real, but still lasting long enough to not quite be so. "No, we won't," says she who insists on the last word. And, having given it, Miniyal steps out into the hall to find her way to her own room.