Backdated: Happy Happy Joy Joy
Who: Miniyal and G'thon
Where: Their room
When: BACKDATE (courtesy of the Way Back Machine) - day 14, month 10, turn 2 of the 7th Pass
What: This is the post Star Social scene. Why? Because there was an over the top with happiness Min to come out and play. How often does that happen??? Much love to Gans for indulging me with this.
11/27/2006 & 11/28/2006
day 14, month 10, turn 2 of the 7th Pass
Once abandoned so cruelly Miniyal spent some time lingering at the social, but eventually decided it was much too cold to remain alone. Not cold enough to keep her from walking back, but the chance to clear her mind of consumed alcohol was good. Besides, she was in a good mood, too good to ruin it seeking out a ride back. Upon reaching the weyr the first thing she did was send a note to let her abandoner know she was back and to not bother seeking her out at the clearing.
That was when she got back. Now she is safely, warmly in their room. Her boots are tossed in opposite directions and she's not bothered changing out of her party clothes other than to lose a couple of layers and wind up in her heavy sweater and skirt. Oh, and the purple socks on her feet that match nothing she wears, but are thick and warm. Miniyal sits on the floor, wrapped in her blue blanket. Surrounding her are ribbons, her collection. She looks to be in the process of sewing on several of them at once, as if she cannot decide which project to do. Near by is a cup of tea, half empty and cooling as she seems to be paying it little attention.
Outside the room someone walking down the hall might hear her voice because since she returned, as she found her things, fixed tea, kept the water warm, settled onto the floor, she's been singing. Not loud enough to appear as if she wants people to hear, but loud enough to show she doesn't care if someone does. Her voice is pleasant enough, untrained, but pleasant. Suited at least to the type of song she sings. One she learned listening to her parents sing it when she was growing up because they are the sort who would sing popular love songs to each other. Which one can infer means either her voice is suited to singing songs about love and happiness or that it is suited to singing songs at least as old as her if not older.
Either way she sings them from her spot on the floor as she selects brightly colored threads to be worked into brightly colored ribbons.
His conversation with Hallara was lengthy. That much, of course, would have been obvious. The counselor is well-known for doing a little research on each incoming member of Caucus, and for sharing that research at any excuse with any instructor willing to listen, so Gans has now been initiated. It would be lovely if Hallara were a little less forgetful; if she could keep her facts and guesses and research items all straight and discrete between students in her mind. It would be faster, too.
In any case, Gans has been some time at this business, good manners refusing him easy opportunities to slip away from the counselor and back to the social, back to the woman left there, the woman he'd rather have been dazzling with stars and sweet wine somewhere out of the way of the party's more - social - attendees. Eventually he does get back to the gathering, receive his message, and depart.
His stride is swift, using full advantage of the length of his legs; he has no company, no shorter counterpart to whom he must match his pace. And he is, perhaps, a little bit in a hurry. He appears in the doorway, therefore, a bit abruptly; he stands there smiling his crooked smile, plainly listening. And then, suppressing his breath and quieting his steps, he creeps in trying not to be heard, trying not to interrupt her pleasure and her singing.
With no way to track time, it's easy to lose track of, well, the time. So Miniyal has no idea how long she's been sitting here. Sewing on her ribbons and singing her songs perhaps it's not so much the lack of time keeping that has her so lost in what she does. It's quite possible that instead it's simply the fact she's not in a usual mood. Unusual is putting it mildly, really. If she can recall a time before now when she felt this way it's only in the way people recall something that happened when they were a very small child.
He might have succeeded another time. But since she has been waiting for the door to open and for him to return there is little chance he'll make it very far before she notices he has come home. She doesn't notice until he's actually in the room at least. However, it doesn't take long before her head lifts and she sees that, finally, he has come home. If anything she smiles more brightly as the song trails off in the middle of a verse. "Gans!" squealed, exclaimed, joyous realization that he is /here/ now. Her ribbons are scattered as she jumps to her feet. The blanket drifts to the ground and the ribbons go everywhere. Some cling to her skirt, some cling to the blanket, a couple half slide under the divan. One half falls into her forgotten cup of tea, the end stained when it hits the liquid.
None of this is noticed because she is much too busy crossing the room. Which is done quickly so she might wrap her arms around his neck and haul him down for a kiss. Which precludes any talking on anyone's part for quite some while. Eventually she will let them both breathe again, still smiling, still happy.
Surprise, surprise. He has presence of mind enough, as his neck's bent and his head drawn down for her mouth to claim his, to put a hand behind him and nudge the door the rest of the way closed; the soft snick of the latch latching is hardly significant enough to disturb the rest. His arms go about her, hands first sliding from her waist to the small of her back, then up; when she lets his lips free for this purpoted breathing thing, it takes him a moment to think of doing it. The breath he draws is sweetened by that one-sided smile.
"And here I thought you might be upset I've been so late," murmurs Gans, sliding his hands back down a little farther than they started, then back from about her so he can half-step back for a better look upon her. "Your ribbons," he notes, but the words are unaccompanied by the gesture of a glance past her shoulder that would be intended to draw her attention to them.
"I shall be cross at you another time for it, I promise." The words are accompanied by a laugh that is no less joyous than any other part of her right now. It belies her words better than any wry, teasing, roll of the eyes and the like could do. "I am not upset. I do not know how I /could/ be upset no matter what. Not tonight. Not right now. It is an amazing night, don't you think? Wonderful." She did stop drinking, yes. Some time ago. Besides, there is no hint of alcohol in her happiness. Instead she drops her arms from his neck so they might loop about his waist. This allows her to make that half-step he took useless as she takes her own forward. From there she laughs again before stepping back, this time releasing him from her arms so she might capture his hands in hers. They are both kissed before she looks at him again. "You have no idea what happened! But it was glorious. It was amazing. Unthinkable!" Bouncing where she stands she gives his hands a tug to lead him further into the room. "Sit! I'll make you tea. I'll tell you what happened!"
"It was - I am sure it was - the stars - " She's going too fast. Congratulations: Gans is unable to get in edgewise a properly appreciative murmur of polite nothingness in completion without hurrying, and of course he will not hurry his polite nothings, so he laughs instead and dances their half-step dance with her, back as she closes the space between them, then forward to close it again and follow that tug of her hands in his. Pink graces his cheeks, the aftereffect of her effervescence, particularly of those kisses to his hands. "Dare I even ask? What have you been up to, my dear?" For a time he's obedient, heading once she's released him for the divan - but he stops partway there and turns about to watch her, bemused.
That she has him unable to make those little responses only makes her laugh again. Brilliantly. "I have been up to nothing. I have simply been having a wonderful night." Pausing a moment she hops in place, bounces back to him for another kiss that doesn't last more than a few moments, and then is off to make tea. "You're not sitting." Pointed out as Miniyal looks over her shoulder with a wink. "And I cannot tell you about my wonderful evening if I must crane my neck at you." She pouts, so obviously playing as she heads back for the divan to remove the ribbon from her cup and carry the cup to where it won't be stepped on. "You will never guess who I spoke with when I was on my way back here. Guess. Go on! Guess!" Hop. hop. Sentences punctuated with one every time it ends.
"And you are not craning," replies Gans, once it's proper to do so; but after that, as she takes away her beribboned cup, he does settle onto the divan. He watches her with a bemused fascination, completely taken by the hopping and the energy; a pale brow creeps high up his forehead. "Guess," he repeats, as if he might like to inspire another hop. "Someone you are pleased to have seen. Or, in having seen, you have acquired some pleasurable outcome. Because quite clearly, you are pleased." He shifts aside on the divan, angling toward her and putting his back to the corner of the seat, crossing a leg over the other. He smirks, too. "I almost fear to suspect. Not your father?"
It is a good thing she has no cup in her hands because she does indeed hop again. If she were upset she would be pacing restlessly, but because she is happy she is. . .hopping. "I was not very pleased at first, but since it turned out wonderfully I do not mind!" Hop. Then she must stop the hopping to tend to the tea. She doesn't speak as she fixes his cup of tea, making him wait. Not for long, granted, but Miniyal is clearly enjoying drawing this out. Once she has his cup, not bothering with another for herself, she heads for the divan. Grinning at him she holds the cup out, just out of reach. "Tea. Say please." There would be hopping here, but hot tea sloshing from cup to saucer to fingers would ruin the moment.
"Not very pleased - not your mother?" The second brow arches up to join the first. He puts out his hands, of course, to receive the tea - and when she makes sport of manners about it he laughs a little, a delighted and droll chortle held low. He dips his chin and gazes up at her from downturned eyes, peeking, brows still high. "Please." No more than a murmur, bemused. "Not Roa, I assume."
The cup must be handed over before she can answer. The reason is that she must have her hands free so that she might hop again. Laughing at his request she claps her hands together once and nudges his foot with hers. Why? Why not? Once he has his tea firmly in hand, Miniyal laughs again and leans down for a kiss upon his cheek. Only when she is done with that does her head shake again. "Better! I ran into Reyce and Issa. No, that's not true!" Well, it's not. Laughing she settles down onto the divan herself, legs tucked under her and turned so she might face him. "I was leaving, right? And I saw them. And I went up to talk to them. On purpose!"
"So very pleased," remarks Gans as she bends for that kiss, then sets the tea aside in one hand as she settles and draws up her feet beneath herself. "You spoke to Issa and Reyce? And it went well. At least I'm getting that distinct impression." The hand not now encumbered with tea has every opportunity to reach out and try to take one of hers, to rest on her knee instead if need be. "What did they have to say, then?"
"Not very much. Hardly anything!" Miniyal lets her hand be taken, fingers lacing with his as she bounces where she sits. Just for a moment and then mindful of the tea she settles back down. At least physically as there is still the whole aura of pent up excitement and joy to be dealt with. But she suppresses it to just a smile and the brilliant shine to her eyes. "I walked right up to them and told them that it had been a lovely evening and we must do it again. Then I congratulated Issa on her win and walked off." She stops here, clearly having more to add, but not adding it just yet. A storyteller knows when to pause.
"Do it again." There's a rich, droll sort of note to Gans' surprise, but that in no way detracts from the plain fact that he's startled. "Her win. Her win? Oh, Miniyal." He treasures her name, and his eyes brighten and sparkle for hers, but he tips his head down a little so his gaze is upcast, expressing through gesture the wry amusement that his few words can't fully capture. "And they were gracious and agreed without meaning it, I suppose?" Because she's so happy. Surely she'd be happy if the greenrider and Benden's bastard had been gracious, and yet released any expectation of later obligation.
Laughing quietly, she listens as she leans forward to better be able to lift his hand to her mouth. There she nips playfully at his index finger before dropping their joined hands into her lap. "I didn't give them time actually. I left. Besides, it was polite to offer to do it again. I doubt they will take me up on it, but if they do, well, they do so because they do so because I said it." Not that she would be pleased to do it again, but it was her gauntlet to throw down and that was a win of its own. "Anyway! I left them, but Reyce followed me." Another pause here because Miniyal enjoys watching him react to what she says and speaking too fast, telling the story too fast, would ruin the whole thing.
His jaw loosens a little as she nips at his finger; as ever, his eyes are drawn to whatever he touches, and they linger on her lips a little after she's let his hand back down into her lap. Gans slips a little closer to her after that, turning so his back's more against the seatback than the arm of the divan. "Reyce followed you?" A beat late, and with an arched brow; there's nothing flattering about his thoughts on Issa's lover if the tightening of his fingers around Miniyal's are any indication of them. "And?"
"And we traded a couple of sentences." Said as if instead she is merely remarking upon the fact she found a new book to read. Grinning brightly, Miniyal takes advantage of the shift in his position to move closer to him as well and quite happily leans against him while still being able to watch him. Shaking her head she leans up so she might kiss his cheek. "It went fine. He did nothing wrong and I did brilliantly! He told me 'I gave you a hard time. Misread you. That's my fault. Won't happen again.' I said it was fine and he said it didn't matter and thanks. It was sort of a weird thing. Like we were both apologising without apologising. And then that was it!"
His hand loosens from hers, but only on 'did nothing wrong'; his concern remains tangible even when she kisses his cheek. "It'll happen again," murmurs Gans after a time, but he shakes his head and the observation is more droll prediction than a warning. He draws his fingers away from Miniyal's but only so he can raise his arm and let her in to nestle against his side, in the curve of his embrace. "And you feel better about it now, I assume."
"So? I mean, of course it will. He's an ass. But. . .but it doesn't matter. I mean, it matters, but not to me." For now. Quite happily rearranging herself so his arm is around her Miniyal lets out a content sigh. "I mean, I didn't run away or get upset and wasn't. . .I don't know. Scared. It was just like, whatever happened happened, you know? I wasn't. . .really. . .I don't know. I didn't /care/. I don't care. He could only make me feel bad if I wanted to let him and I didn't."
"I'm not sure if I have decided yet whether he is because he is, or if he does not mean to be." An ass, surely, but Gans sees no need to repeat that part just now; there's no need for mockery. His eyes do twinkle, though; as ever, careless language amuses him, and in Miniyal's case makes him ever more fond. His hand strokes across her far shoulder, and he takes at a relatively safe-from-snickers moment a sip of his tea, then rebalances the cup in the other palm. "That is an excellent outlook. I advise sticking to it." He does not tease, but the words are very warm.
Her happiness doesn't diminish as she listens, but there's a bit of something more serious in her expression as she takes in his last sentences. "I'm going to try. It probably won't work, but I'm going to try." Even knowing she'll likely fail at this new outlook is not enough to really upset Miniyal tonight. Not when she's done so well up until now. Turning her head she kisses the hand on her shoulder. "Thank you."
Where: Their room
When: BACKDATE (courtesy of the Way Back Machine) - day 14, month 10, turn 2 of the 7th Pass
What: This is the post Star Social scene. Why? Because there was an over the top with happiness Min to come out and play. How often does that happen??? Much love to Gans for indulging me with this.
11/27/2006 & 11/28/2006
day 14, month 10, turn 2 of the 7th Pass
Once abandoned so cruelly Miniyal spent some time lingering at the social, but eventually decided it was much too cold to remain alone. Not cold enough to keep her from walking back, but the chance to clear her mind of consumed alcohol was good. Besides, she was in a good mood, too good to ruin it seeking out a ride back. Upon reaching the weyr the first thing she did was send a note to let her abandoner know she was back and to not bother seeking her out at the clearing.
That was when she got back. Now she is safely, warmly in their room. Her boots are tossed in opposite directions and she's not bothered changing out of her party clothes other than to lose a couple of layers and wind up in her heavy sweater and skirt. Oh, and the purple socks on her feet that match nothing she wears, but are thick and warm. Miniyal sits on the floor, wrapped in her blue blanket. Surrounding her are ribbons, her collection. She looks to be in the process of sewing on several of them at once, as if she cannot decide which project to do. Near by is a cup of tea, half empty and cooling as she seems to be paying it little attention.
Outside the room someone walking down the hall might hear her voice because since she returned, as she found her things, fixed tea, kept the water warm, settled onto the floor, she's been singing. Not loud enough to appear as if she wants people to hear, but loud enough to show she doesn't care if someone does. Her voice is pleasant enough, untrained, but pleasant. Suited at least to the type of song she sings. One she learned listening to her parents sing it when she was growing up because they are the sort who would sing popular love songs to each other. Which one can infer means either her voice is suited to singing songs about love and happiness or that it is suited to singing songs at least as old as her if not older.
Either way she sings them from her spot on the floor as she selects brightly colored threads to be worked into brightly colored ribbons.
His conversation with Hallara was lengthy. That much, of course, would have been obvious. The counselor is well-known for doing a little research on each incoming member of Caucus, and for sharing that research at any excuse with any instructor willing to listen, so Gans has now been initiated. It would be lovely if Hallara were a little less forgetful; if she could keep her facts and guesses and research items all straight and discrete between students in her mind. It would be faster, too.
In any case, Gans has been some time at this business, good manners refusing him easy opportunities to slip away from the counselor and back to the social, back to the woman left there, the woman he'd rather have been dazzling with stars and sweet wine somewhere out of the way of the party's more - social - attendees. Eventually he does get back to the gathering, receive his message, and depart.
His stride is swift, using full advantage of the length of his legs; he has no company, no shorter counterpart to whom he must match his pace. And he is, perhaps, a little bit in a hurry. He appears in the doorway, therefore, a bit abruptly; he stands there smiling his crooked smile, plainly listening. And then, suppressing his breath and quieting his steps, he creeps in trying not to be heard, trying not to interrupt her pleasure and her singing.
With no way to track time, it's easy to lose track of, well, the time. So Miniyal has no idea how long she's been sitting here. Sewing on her ribbons and singing her songs perhaps it's not so much the lack of time keeping that has her so lost in what she does. It's quite possible that instead it's simply the fact she's not in a usual mood. Unusual is putting it mildly, really. If she can recall a time before now when she felt this way it's only in the way people recall something that happened when they were a very small child.
He might have succeeded another time. But since she has been waiting for the door to open and for him to return there is little chance he'll make it very far before she notices he has come home. She doesn't notice until he's actually in the room at least. However, it doesn't take long before her head lifts and she sees that, finally, he has come home. If anything she smiles more brightly as the song trails off in the middle of a verse. "Gans!" squealed, exclaimed, joyous realization that he is /here/ now. Her ribbons are scattered as she jumps to her feet. The blanket drifts to the ground and the ribbons go everywhere. Some cling to her skirt, some cling to the blanket, a couple half slide under the divan. One half falls into her forgotten cup of tea, the end stained when it hits the liquid.
None of this is noticed because she is much too busy crossing the room. Which is done quickly so she might wrap her arms around his neck and haul him down for a kiss. Which precludes any talking on anyone's part for quite some while. Eventually she will let them both breathe again, still smiling, still happy.
Surprise, surprise. He has presence of mind enough, as his neck's bent and his head drawn down for her mouth to claim his, to put a hand behind him and nudge the door the rest of the way closed; the soft snick of the latch latching is hardly significant enough to disturb the rest. His arms go about her, hands first sliding from her waist to the small of her back, then up; when she lets his lips free for this purpoted breathing thing, it takes him a moment to think of doing it. The breath he draws is sweetened by that one-sided smile.
"And here I thought you might be upset I've been so late," murmurs Gans, sliding his hands back down a little farther than they started, then back from about her so he can half-step back for a better look upon her. "Your ribbons," he notes, but the words are unaccompanied by the gesture of a glance past her shoulder that would be intended to draw her attention to them.
"I shall be cross at you another time for it, I promise." The words are accompanied by a laugh that is no less joyous than any other part of her right now. It belies her words better than any wry, teasing, roll of the eyes and the like could do. "I am not upset. I do not know how I /could/ be upset no matter what. Not tonight. Not right now. It is an amazing night, don't you think? Wonderful." She did stop drinking, yes. Some time ago. Besides, there is no hint of alcohol in her happiness. Instead she drops her arms from his neck so they might loop about his waist. This allows her to make that half-step he took useless as she takes her own forward. From there she laughs again before stepping back, this time releasing him from her arms so she might capture his hands in hers. They are both kissed before she looks at him again. "You have no idea what happened! But it was glorious. It was amazing. Unthinkable!" Bouncing where she stands she gives his hands a tug to lead him further into the room. "Sit! I'll make you tea. I'll tell you what happened!"
"It was - I am sure it was - the stars - " She's going too fast. Congratulations: Gans is unable to get in edgewise a properly appreciative murmur of polite nothingness in completion without hurrying, and of course he will not hurry his polite nothings, so he laughs instead and dances their half-step dance with her, back as she closes the space between them, then forward to close it again and follow that tug of her hands in his. Pink graces his cheeks, the aftereffect of her effervescence, particularly of those kisses to his hands. "Dare I even ask? What have you been up to, my dear?" For a time he's obedient, heading once she's released him for the divan - but he stops partway there and turns about to watch her, bemused.
That she has him unable to make those little responses only makes her laugh again. Brilliantly. "I have been up to nothing. I have simply been having a wonderful night." Pausing a moment she hops in place, bounces back to him for another kiss that doesn't last more than a few moments, and then is off to make tea. "You're not sitting." Pointed out as Miniyal looks over her shoulder with a wink. "And I cannot tell you about my wonderful evening if I must crane my neck at you." She pouts, so obviously playing as she heads back for the divan to remove the ribbon from her cup and carry the cup to where it won't be stepped on. "You will never guess who I spoke with when I was on my way back here. Guess. Go on! Guess!" Hop. hop. Sentences punctuated with one every time it ends.
"And you are not craning," replies Gans, once it's proper to do so; but after that, as she takes away her beribboned cup, he does settle onto the divan. He watches her with a bemused fascination, completely taken by the hopping and the energy; a pale brow creeps high up his forehead. "Guess," he repeats, as if he might like to inspire another hop. "Someone you are pleased to have seen. Or, in having seen, you have acquired some pleasurable outcome. Because quite clearly, you are pleased." He shifts aside on the divan, angling toward her and putting his back to the corner of the seat, crossing a leg over the other. He smirks, too. "I almost fear to suspect. Not your father?"
It is a good thing she has no cup in her hands because she does indeed hop again. If she were upset she would be pacing restlessly, but because she is happy she is. . .hopping. "I was not very pleased at first, but since it turned out wonderfully I do not mind!" Hop. Then she must stop the hopping to tend to the tea. She doesn't speak as she fixes his cup of tea, making him wait. Not for long, granted, but Miniyal is clearly enjoying drawing this out. Once she has his cup, not bothering with another for herself, she heads for the divan. Grinning at him she holds the cup out, just out of reach. "Tea. Say please." There would be hopping here, but hot tea sloshing from cup to saucer to fingers would ruin the moment.
"Not very pleased - not your mother?" The second brow arches up to join the first. He puts out his hands, of course, to receive the tea - and when she makes sport of manners about it he laughs a little, a delighted and droll chortle held low. He dips his chin and gazes up at her from downturned eyes, peeking, brows still high. "Please." No more than a murmur, bemused. "Not Roa, I assume."
The cup must be handed over before she can answer. The reason is that she must have her hands free so that she might hop again. Laughing at his request she claps her hands together once and nudges his foot with hers. Why? Why not? Once he has his tea firmly in hand, Miniyal laughs again and leans down for a kiss upon his cheek. Only when she is done with that does her head shake again. "Better! I ran into Reyce and Issa. No, that's not true!" Well, it's not. Laughing she settles down onto the divan herself, legs tucked under her and turned so she might face him. "I was leaving, right? And I saw them. And I went up to talk to them. On purpose!"
"So very pleased," remarks Gans as she bends for that kiss, then sets the tea aside in one hand as she settles and draws up her feet beneath herself. "You spoke to Issa and Reyce? And it went well. At least I'm getting that distinct impression." The hand not now encumbered with tea has every opportunity to reach out and try to take one of hers, to rest on her knee instead if need be. "What did they have to say, then?"
"Not very much. Hardly anything!" Miniyal lets her hand be taken, fingers lacing with his as she bounces where she sits. Just for a moment and then mindful of the tea she settles back down. At least physically as there is still the whole aura of pent up excitement and joy to be dealt with. But she suppresses it to just a smile and the brilliant shine to her eyes. "I walked right up to them and told them that it had been a lovely evening and we must do it again. Then I congratulated Issa on her win and walked off." She stops here, clearly having more to add, but not adding it just yet. A storyteller knows when to pause.
"Do it again." There's a rich, droll sort of note to Gans' surprise, but that in no way detracts from the plain fact that he's startled. "Her win. Her win? Oh, Miniyal." He treasures her name, and his eyes brighten and sparkle for hers, but he tips his head down a little so his gaze is upcast, expressing through gesture the wry amusement that his few words can't fully capture. "And they were gracious and agreed without meaning it, I suppose?" Because she's so happy. Surely she'd be happy if the greenrider and Benden's bastard had been gracious, and yet released any expectation of later obligation.
Laughing quietly, she listens as she leans forward to better be able to lift his hand to her mouth. There she nips playfully at his index finger before dropping their joined hands into her lap. "I didn't give them time actually. I left. Besides, it was polite to offer to do it again. I doubt they will take me up on it, but if they do, well, they do so because they do so because I said it." Not that she would be pleased to do it again, but it was her gauntlet to throw down and that was a win of its own. "Anyway! I left them, but Reyce followed me." Another pause here because Miniyal enjoys watching him react to what she says and speaking too fast, telling the story too fast, would ruin the whole thing.
His jaw loosens a little as she nips at his finger; as ever, his eyes are drawn to whatever he touches, and they linger on her lips a little after she's let his hand back down into her lap. Gans slips a little closer to her after that, turning so his back's more against the seatback than the arm of the divan. "Reyce followed you?" A beat late, and with an arched brow; there's nothing flattering about his thoughts on Issa's lover if the tightening of his fingers around Miniyal's are any indication of them. "And?"
"And we traded a couple of sentences." Said as if instead she is merely remarking upon the fact she found a new book to read. Grinning brightly, Miniyal takes advantage of the shift in his position to move closer to him as well and quite happily leans against him while still being able to watch him. Shaking her head she leans up so she might kiss his cheek. "It went fine. He did nothing wrong and I did brilliantly! He told me 'I gave you a hard time. Misread you. That's my fault. Won't happen again.' I said it was fine and he said it didn't matter and thanks. It was sort of a weird thing. Like we were both apologising without apologising. And then that was it!"
His hand loosens from hers, but only on 'did nothing wrong'; his concern remains tangible even when she kisses his cheek. "It'll happen again," murmurs Gans after a time, but he shakes his head and the observation is more droll prediction than a warning. He draws his fingers away from Miniyal's but only so he can raise his arm and let her in to nestle against his side, in the curve of his embrace. "And you feel better about it now, I assume."
"So? I mean, of course it will. He's an ass. But. . .but it doesn't matter. I mean, it matters, but not to me." For now. Quite happily rearranging herself so his arm is around her Miniyal lets out a content sigh. "I mean, I didn't run away or get upset and wasn't. . .I don't know. Scared. It was just like, whatever happened happened, you know? I wasn't. . .really. . .I don't know. I didn't /care/. I don't care. He could only make me feel bad if I wanted to let him and I didn't."
"I'm not sure if I have decided yet whether he is because he is, or if he does not mean to be." An ass, surely, but Gans sees no need to repeat that part just now; there's no need for mockery. His eyes do twinkle, though; as ever, careless language amuses him, and in Miniyal's case makes him ever more fond. His hand strokes across her far shoulder, and he takes at a relatively safe-from-snickers moment a sip of his tea, then rebalances the cup in the other palm. "That is an excellent outlook. I advise sticking to it." He does not tease, but the words are very warm.
Her happiness doesn't diminish as she listens, but there's a bit of something more serious in her expression as she takes in his last sentences. "I'm going to try. It probably won't work, but I'm going to try." Even knowing she'll likely fail at this new outlook is not enough to really upset Miniyal tonight. Not when she's done so well up until now. Turning her head she kisses the hand on her shoulder. "Thank you."