Things are talked about over tea. People are talked about over tea.
Who: Miniyal and G'thon
Where: The best place to plot, their room.
When: late late night on day 12, month 11, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
What: This takes place post dinner with D'ven. Once Miniyal has gotten G'thon over his grouchiness they have a conversation that it is surprising took so long to happen.
11/30/2006
At High Reaches Weyr, it is late late night on day 12, month 11, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
Dinner has long since finished; dessert, too. But some courses are sweeter than dessert and require time spent away from the plates and platters of the meal. For some time, the room Gans and Miniyal dined in with D'ven is quiet. The room just off of it, a little less so.
Some time later Gans emerges in his dressing gown. He does not move quietly; perhaps he expects or knows that she will not be far behind. It's not as if they have to steal about stealthily in order to stop from waking one another. It's not as if they sleep.
"There's still a piece of the tart," he notes to the open room, voice low and a little rough at the edges from first worded use in some time, and goes directly to the cart to shuffle dishes around so there's room for his tea-tray, so there's room for him to begin tea.
From behind him she will trail along. It's what she does in here often enough, follow his lead. It takes a few minutes and he has more than enough time to move things about and to start his tea. When she appears in the doorway that separates the two rooms she hasn't bothered with her own robe. Instead she's wrapped herself in her blue blanket and is just tugging her hair out from under it to let it fall down her back. "I know. I'll split it with you because you've been so nice to me." A teasing grin to accompany the brightness to her eyes.
Crossing the room she pauses by where he stands, behind him so she might rise up and kiss the back of his neck. "I wish I could be there to see D'ven talking to Corin." A grin in her words as she leaves him to fix the tea and fetch her cake. Settling on the divan she laughs softly. "I'm not sure who I feel sorrier for." A pause and then another laugh. "Probably D'ven."
Gans must put water on, as it has been some time since the hot water pot was in fact hot, and after the kiss at the back of his neck he turns around, fixes her with mischievous eyes, says, "It is my pleasure to be nice to you," and putters across the room to the stove to deal with the water. Talk of Corin and D'ven gets a little chortle out of him, and it's with that smile instead of the more salacious one that he turns away from the pot on the stove and comes back to see to the tea leaves and the fruit tart. "Probably D'ven," he agrees. "Corin takes special handling. I have learned by witnessing your father; I suppose he would be the expert by now. Whatever it takes to keep peace - I can't have her trying to bend you against, me, after all." A jest, purely.
"You know, I never really understood how much work Dad put into it all." Pardon her while she slips up and calls him Dad instead of Navan. A shake of her head and Miniyal grins. "Until I had to start figuring you out." She's teasing again, adoring him even though they both know he's as much work as she is to put up with sometimes. "But, enough about them. I'm quite sure they do not spend their nights discussing us and I see no reason why we cannot return the favor." Instead she changes the topic with a simple four words. "Tell me about Roa." Squirming about to get settled more comfortably on the divan she tucks her feet up under her, covering them with the blanket as she curls up in the corner to watch him.
There's more chortling for being compared - however roundabout in fashion - to her mother. And he knows that's the comparison she makes; he might not agree with it, but all she gets to betray that just now is an upraised -look- with sparkling eyes before he's back to splitting the tart-slice into two peices. He lifts one in a cloth napkin rather than bothering with a plat. "So we'll discuss the young weyrwoman instead of your parents?" The brow propped up is a wry one, but Gans knows better than to push his luck too far, and starts toward her with the tart-piece in the cloth in his hands. "Where shall I begin? I presume I need not impose too greatly upon you in reciting matters of record."
She would /never/ compare him to her mother. Ever. Out loud and to him. It's not something she really thinks of because it's not the same thing, but that voice won't be quiet forever. "I want to know what you know about her." Yes, that is what she said already. "Gans." Softly now, Miniyal watching him still as he brings her dessert. Yay. "I don't know enough about her to work for her the way I should. I can learn about her now, but you know things about her that she hasn't told me. She as much said so to me once." And then told her no more. How annoyed she sounds at this. Keeping secrets from her, how dare the weyrwoman?
"She said so." Gans slips into the seat beside her, perching forward on the cushions; he'll still have to get up for tea, once the water's hot. But for now he breaks off a tiny bit of the tart in his pale fingertips and holds it up for her, an offering to lighten what is otherwise serious talk. "And how did she say so? Can you repeat her words?"
"You know I can." He does. And since he does, Miniyal doesn't answer right away. Instead she leans forward to take the bite of tart offered to her, slowly. When she has released his fingers with a final nip she leans back again and closes her eyes. When she opens them again she shrugs. "You may do one of two things, Miniyal. First you may, indeed, consider that I am in your debt for your generosity. Or, otherwise you may ask G'thon why it is that I'm so interested in all of this, and tell him that I have said he may answer truthfully." That part of the statement does not quite make sense to him without the rest of the conversation means little. She just waits quietly for his response.
"Ah, then we have a deal to make, you and I." He is perhaps a little charmed by her lips so recently upon his fingertips; his voice is gentle, hardly ready to push a bargain at all. But the words do try. "I would like to know what generosity won you such a favor from her - or, as it turns out, from me." Gans lifts his eyes from his hands - they're going back to the tart to pry off another tidbit to tempt her mouth with - to her face, and lets her have a very wry and one-sided smile indeed. "Although I must admit I have an idea."
"Do you remember T'rais? From Fort? He taught at the caucus ages ago." She asks and then she does indeed take that next bite of tart. This time she takes his hand in hers and once she has consumed the treat licks the tips of his fingers clean. Releasing his hand with a grin she watches his face. "I met him in records when he was removing the maps he had made for the trial." Like it need be said which trial. Like he will be surprised that there is some fondness in Miniyal's tone for yet another old man. "He let me copy them. He made me join his class. Cartography. Anyway, I showed them to her. I was trying to. . .well, apologise. For how I had acted. I thought that was an easier way than trying to figure out exactly why I felt I should."
"I remember everyone I meet or hear of," replies Gans in a slow, museful manner. "Not exactly as you remember things, but you might consider it similar. I do not maintain information perfectly, but I do not forget personalities." Or names. He's quiet for a while after that, his eyes on her mouth even after his hand's been released to pick away a berry from the top of the tart; this will make his fingers sticky indeed. Of course, he offers the berry to her. "And the records from Harper?"
Eyes bright with teasing merriment, Miniyal nods her head. "Of course you do." Her gaze goes from the berry to his face. There is consideration on if she should answer first or if she should take what is offered. "She's not seen them all. I've a couple held in reserve. I just recently sent her the manifesto. It's not in my best interest to allow her everything at once." Here she pauses a moment and then right before she'll take that berry offered she smiles. "Timing." Then she is focused on eating and the clean up process after. When her mouth releases his fingers, eventually, she leans back with a satisfied smile.
"Ah," replies Gans. It is, perhaps, all he can manage for a moment, while her lips take his fingertips. It might be - this silence - all he could manage for a while longer, watching her mouth even after his hand has returned to his lap - but the soft steamy whistle of the water-pot reawakens him. So he sets the tart and napkin aside and rises, cheeks that palest pink. "And why do you play out her rope like that? Do you distrust her? Do you think her brash, hurried, untempered? I do not disapprove, mind - but knowing what you think of her will help me, when I phrase what I know." He retrieves the water and with it returns to the tea-cart to begin the real business of the tea.
"So she knows." Reaching out when he is gone she breaks off a piece of the tart for herself. The first bite she has enjoyed for itself and not for the process of claiming and clean up that comes after it. Miniyal stretches and rearranges her blanket about her so one shoulder is left bared. "So she understands that I may work for her, but she doesn't own me. And that if she doesn't treat me well I might not tell her everything after all. But mostly? Why not? She needs to learn patience. She needs to wonder when someone is withholding something and figure out why. There have been no conversations between us regarding when and how I deliver my information to her. Which means to me she is content with the situation. Or she doesn't know what I have. How much I know." She pauses here and then grins. "Besides, copying everything out takes time. It's work. In between my duties for her and the things I still occasionally get roped into in records and my personal time." Emphasis on personal time, voice dropping low as she lets the words linger on her lips.
"Then all of the above," summarizes Gans, closing up the teapot with the water inside to steep, overturning two cups and locating the creamer nearby while he's there. He turns around after that, smile wry, eyes kind. "Of course your personal time is very important," he notes, and draws near her again, taking up the tart as he settles into his perched spot beside her to wait a few minutes more on tea. "To me," more emphasis than afterthought. Another bit of tart is soon held out for her to take. "Roa." A change of subject. "Roa is likely a friend to our cause, although it must be said her reasons may once have been personal. I think they may be more idealistic now; of course, that in itself can be a drawback. She is close to the former weyrleader of Telgar, and probably little beloved of S'lien." There's the nose-wrinkle. At least it's not the completely sour groucy grump he'd expressed earlier at dinner.
It had better not be the completely grouchy mood from earlier. Or they'll get nowhere in their talk for she'll have to distract him again. With this thought in mind she leans forward to take her piece of tart. The blanket slides down an inch to expose pale skin although it only hints at indecency without being so. "Idealists are rarely good for any cause." Pointed out before she lets her tongue and lips perform their own distraction with his fingers. It takes time and care and so much attention. When Miniyal straightens up again there's another smile for him, nearly smug. More for her actions than her words. "Why personal? What's it to her?"
Certainly that slip of the blanket's not missed. His hand descends yet again from her mouth, and yet again his focus remains on her lips for a moment afterward - but the backs of pale knuckles drift softly across that exposed bit of skin, then down over the curve the blanket conceals, then to -her- lap this time rather than his own, to settle - chaste, now - upon her leg. "Idealists are useful in that they create ideas, Miniyal. The rest of us must settle for refining them." His gaze drifts up to her eyes, and for a moment it seems an easy answer is poised upon his lips - and then, instead, he tightens his mouth into that crooked smile and thinks of, "The tea. Shall I bring over the milk?" The sweetener she may of course assume will come; he withdraws his hand off of her knee and gets to his feet again.
She's distracted in turn by his touch and so her hand tightens on the blanket. As something to focus on to keep the conversation going rather than have it derail entirely to another activity. Letting out a sigh she leans back and takes a few deep breaths to settle down as the hand stops on her knee and behaves. "I don't think you have to be overly idealistic to have ideas that can help people." Because never in a million would Miniyal admit to being an idealist. She's cynical and a realist! "The problem with idealists is that they tend to wind up drawing people to them. And then leading. And an idealist is a bad leader. I mean, I think so. You need someone more practical because they're the ones who can point out the problems and fix them. I suppose if you had someone in charge who was a figurehead, but people know those. You can't keep that from people." Quiet she goes, as if she were more thinking out loud than actually conversing. "What? Oh. No, thanks. I don't need any."
"This is part of why partnerships are to my liking, Miniyal. Partners may play to their strengths and cover one anothers' weaknesses without any audience thinking the less of them for it." He pauses by the tea-cart, of course, because that's where he'll pick up the pot and pour the two cups waiting. "Has she said anything to you regarding her thoughts on the - manifesto?" Perhaps Gans would have called it something else, if his pause were to be indicative of his thought process. It might only indicate the work of putting down the pot and picking up the cups, saucers, creamer and sweetener all in his hands, however; they're large hands, up to the task, but there's only so fast you can get four containers, three holding liquids, into your grip and then be able to walk across a room with them and have no upsets.
"We haven't discussed anything that I've given to her." Said with a shrug and a readjustment of her blanket to rewrap her shoulders in. "I get the feeling she has people closer to her that she really talks about these things with. I'm just an information gatherer." Which suits Miniyal mostly just fine. "Now, tell me about Roa. Because I'm not answering any more questions until some of mine are answered. You're hiding something from me. What won't you just come out and say?" Under the blanket her arms fold over her chest and she regards him levelly, entirely serious now. "I can't do my job if I don't have the truth and since she will not give it to me I am forced to seek it elsewhere. It would do neither of us any good were I to get fired for snooping overly much in her things. Which means talking to you to learn what I need rather than do just that."
"You are perfectly capable of doing your job without the truth," Gans informs her, expression grave, paused just a pace away from the divan with his hands absolutely loaded with the tea-things. "But you might refuse." He steps forward then and bends from the waist just enough to offer her cup and saucer, then hold the sweetener and creamer for her to take as she needs them. It will be only after that, when he can sit down and begin the amendments for his own cup, that he remarks in a thoughtful rather than an informative tone, "Her father wrote that manifesto."
Head shaking, Miniyal sticks out her tongue. "You think you know me so well." And he does, but she will tease him about it because otherwise she might think too much on how well he knows her and it might bother her. "The truth is required for me to do any job well." Then she will take her tea and add a generous helping of sweetener to it before nodding her head and leaning back. The cup, thankfully, is held in both hands at his statement. Her response? "That makes sense."
Gans stirs his own tea, looking into it so that his thoughtfulness - and his charmed bemusement, which might be more related to her output tongue and remark rather than to the topic of Roa's parentage - are not directly provided to Miniyal to see. Not that they are well-hidden, either; she knows him - as he knows her - well enough that his moods, however mild, are telltale enough, as he allows them to be. "I met her at the trials. She was there with Telgar's weyrleader," which is not the same as 'The Weyrleader Telgar,' in Gans' own lingua. "I happened across her in a hallway and we did get to speak, a little bit. But she was a little girl, and I recall nothing of our conversation that would be pertinent to the current day - nothing except her very presence itself."
"So it's reasonable to say that what happened recently at Telgar to our mysterious greenrider is personal." Miniyal ignores her tea, not even bothering to stir the sweetener lumped at the bottom. "That she likely knew this woman." Frowning a moment she shakes her head. "But she hasn't been away enough to be going to them. I know when she goes someplace." Cause she's spying, yes, we said that. "So someone else is carrying information for her." Think, think, think. Now she does stir her tea, having to focus on the task so she does not clink her spoon against the cup. "Do you think she takes after her father. . I wish I'd known this before I sent her all the information I have. We're dragged straight into the middle of everything if she becomes senior. As junior there's always a chance to keep what happens around here to a minimum with the right work, but if she's running things then we're. . ." Right in the middle, yes.
"Dubious. She was perhaps ten turns old, Miniyal. A child. Not an apprentice, not a witness - a child." Gans puts aside the creamer and sweetener at last and settles well into the divan, putting one arm up along the seatback behind Miniyal, and with the other lifts his cup for a sip of tea. He indulges in that sip, drawing it out long and thoughtful, while Miniyal speaks; he allows a little silence afterward, so that the unspoken words that complete her thought may fill the air. "Where I have expected us to be," he says gently, softly, then.
"We don't have to be. People /want/ us to be. You, her, E'sere. . .who knows who else?" Miniyal is somewhat put out by this. She likes her home quiet because it affords her a chance to be unseen. "As for her being a child, you don't believe that do you? That children do not form attachments and do not remember those that knew them when they were young? No. Especially not someone like her. Me? Maybe. I can't say as there's anyone when I was that age I would be upset personally to hear about. You didn't hear her when she told me of it. It's not just social outrage I think. She didn't sound like I would." The tea is her prop. It allows her to peer into it, to bother with it so she doesn't have to look at him. "I don't think I can do this. If she's going to drag us into something this big she needs someone else to help her. Not me. I can't do this."
"Miniyal." What Gans does with her name, of course, nearly defies words. It is a sigh, a breath, a devotion. His hand slips off of the seatback and onto her shoulder, a gentle reminder of his presence; he strokes the blanket as if it were her skin, so her skin can feel that stroking through it. "It is also personal outrage. She knows people who have been hurt. So do you, Miniyal." A moment's silence here perhaps encourages reflection; he does not let it go on too long. "I think she does not seek vengeance. She's brighter than that. But she does seek redemption. Our world is broken. Our leaders are broken. You want to fix that; so does she. I doubt your methods differ wholly." The smile returns, mild, gentle, without wryness. Supportive, he goes on. "I think you are right about her. She has a messenger. She has a number of them, Miniyal, though likely only one who goes so far." Another pause, another opportunity for reflection. He is so gentle, so withheld, but there is an intensity in these silences that speaks more than his words might. "The thing is, my dear, if we want to act - we may do so with someone else in the charge, or we may take the charge ourselves. You would like a little peace and quiet. Why not let Roa ride the edge, and let us support the lead?"
During the silences she is silent as well. Now she finally takes up her tea cup to drink from it. Thoughtful small sips that allow her to not speak. No speaking is her course of action through all of this. Even after he is silent she remains so. More small sips of tea between staring into the liquid as if it will hold the answers for her. Finally there is a shake of her head and she looks up to meet his eyes. "No. It's not the same. I told you, Gans. I'm broken. I don't feel that way for people. There's a. . .I don't know. There's something that keeps me from really, well, being personally involved with what I see. Even when it's me. Detached is what I do best. It's too painful otherwise." What? Miniyal had twenty-two turns to build walls before she met him. He'll not figure otherwise, but she'll say it anyway. "I can only support her so far. Right now she's all run out there and stop things and change things and save the world, but I don't see any evidence she's thought on it. I don't think she has a plan. You need a plan or you just. . .wind up on an island. She's got charisma, but I'm not sure she can be a leader strong enough to do what she thinks she wants to do. I'm not sure anyone is."
Gans drinks tea, too; it fills the quiet nicely. But in time he puts his cup down and arches a brow at her; perhaps at something particular she said. And then he smiles crookedly, self-consciously, eyes sparkling without mischief. He lets all of that go, however, to say only, "She needs a partner. Let us find her one."
Head tipping to the side, Miniyal watches him. All of his responses are noted, but she doesn't ask about any of them. "I still say she is too close to Sefton. It'll lead to trouble. It probably already has and we just don't know it. The man is horrid." Hey, any chance to comment on the one person she consistently despises is good. "You're thinking of D'ven. The whole favorite thing. I'm not sure he's a good choice although I realise we only have so many options. Is he practical enough to keep her from. . .doing who knows what? People are so annoying. I mean, they just are." Now she's annoyed at the whole world and she glares into her tea before taking a drink. Stupid world. Stupid people.
"Perhaps the man is horrid. But he has his good points." Gans slips his hand across the yoke of her shoulders, beneath the fall of her hair and down her nearer arm, then into his lap. "And I am not thinking of D'ven. He might make an adequate weyrleader; he would make just as adequate a wingleader, or wingrider. He will adapt to what is shown him, but only so much." He slips a little sideways on the divan and angles toward her to try to catch her eyes with his. "What do you fear she'll do?"
"Maybe to those he thinks is worth something. But trust me, the man is a bully." And we know Miniyal hates bullies. "The sort of person the world could do without." Shaking her head she stares into her tea a moment before looking up to watch him move and then meets his gaze. "Who then? As for what I fear she'll do? Convince too many to follow her. The kinds of changes we're talking about take time. You have to ease people into these things. It doesn't happen overnight. That was their problem. You don't force things on people. You convince them that is what is best for them. I'm not entirely sure she understands that. She's so young."
"Reasonable concerns," muses Gans, but doesn't address the matter of choosing a partner for the young weyrwoman. Instead he returns to the matter of Sefton, smoothly, as if the subject had not been something else; as if there were no change. "He is a social bully, perhaps. I might call him manipulative; clever; charming. He can be subtle, when he chooses to be. Have you seen him mistreat someone of - lesser worth, in his eyes? I have told you about Roa." And now Gans gets up, sipping his tea as soon as he's on the foot. "Tell me about our headmaster."
"Social or physical, Gans. You act as if it makes a difference. Do you not think that someone who is bullied in a way that leaves no physical marks is not just as traumatized as someone who is beaten by someone?" Because he might. In which case she will be very disappointed. How she watches him as she speaks, measuring every movement he makes and taking in every breath. The cup and its contents are forgotten in her hand as she talks. "I have not seen him do much. He tends to keep to himself I think. Drawing in only those he seeks to be clever with. To manipulate. A fine leader, I say. Just what we need to be teaching people. But I've said that before and won't bother repeating myself. We both know I have as little to do with him as possible. I believe we've spoken. . .twice. Both times he has insured he got his way without regard to anything else. So I name him bully and I stand by it. If you ask me he sees as everyone as lesser in his eyes. He thinks he's so clever you know. And maybe he is, but that doesn't give him the right to use people to his own amusement. And I don't see any reason to believe what I saw was not what he truly is. If it is not? Then he's an even bigger problem for wanting people to think that of him." So there. But she doesn't say the words. Merely implies them with the tilt of her chin and the even regard she shares over her tea cup.
"It could be argued that politics is merely the capacity to manipulate people in such a manner that they prefer such manipulation to the alternatives." Gans ignores the regard. He might know it's there - but he strides over to the tea-tray and there pours his new cup, adds cream - the milk is left by the divan - and stirs, just to have something to do and to stare at while he talks, rather slowly. "And what was his way, these two times?"
"It could be argued that people who make a living manipulating other people are one step away from being a tyrant on their own because they lose track of those other people as human beings and instead see them as pawns in their own game." Miniyal is speaking slowly as if she's trying to edit her words as they come out. "I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to talk about /him/."
"Ah," replies Gans, as if he has been just reminded. "I suppose that could be argued, yes. But such likely tyrants fall to their own devices in short time, and discover new ways to use their skills. Perhaps we're all just waiting for the headmaster's fall from grace." Yes. He's talking about Sefton. Very much about Sefton. He leaves the cup he's poured there, but takes up the pot and turns around with it, a gesture offering the spout from across the room. "Let's talk about something else, then. Who would you choose to balance Roa? - And would you like more tea?"
"No, thank you. I still have tea." She does, it's going cold but she's not really drinking it so it's no matter. "I don't know. I haven't really thought about it much." Roa. Not the tea. In case he's not keeping up. Miniyal takes up her cup and sips from it ignoring the cooling liquid as it's nothing more than a prop for her conversation. "Someone she will listen to. Someone whom she trusts to share her ideas with so they can be discussed. Patience is key. But at the same time they can't be afraid to move forward. I'm not sure. She needs someone who will prop her up when things go poorly but is not afraid to tell her when she's screwed up. I guess. . .I don't know. I know what I think the person should be, but I don't really know people. Not. . .you know. I don't know."
Gans turns around and replaces the teapot on its trivet. "And do you suppose she wouldn't have found someone with those qualities already? She's fairly charismatic." A pause while he looks at his tea and, in the end, decides to take it into his hands and carry it back to the divan with him. "Like her father. Do you think she wouldn't have attracted her counterpart already?"
Frowning thoughtfully, Miniyal finally shrugs. "If so I don't think they're doing such a good job yet. And, I'm not sure that comparison is a great one to make considering some of the people her father attracted. He either didn't control them well enough or was just. . .totally clueless. I mean, their methods were. . .you can't make lasting social changes on a foundation of violence and fear." Here she stops and then shakes her head. "I don't want to discuss this anymore either. I think we should take a break from talking. I'm calling a no talking period. But, because we're partners that means I am going to allow you to choose how we spend our time instead." The only help she offers is the slight slip of the blanket once more from one shoulder. Clearly she wishes to play a board game.
Where: The best place to plot, their room.
When: late late night on day 12, month 11, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
What: This takes place post dinner with D'ven. Once Miniyal has gotten G'thon over his grouchiness they have a conversation that it is surprising took so long to happen.
11/30/2006
At High Reaches Weyr, it is late late night on day 12, month 11, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
Dinner has long since finished; dessert, too. But some courses are sweeter than dessert and require time spent away from the plates and platters of the meal. For some time, the room Gans and Miniyal dined in with D'ven is quiet. The room just off of it, a little less so.
Some time later Gans emerges in his dressing gown. He does not move quietly; perhaps he expects or knows that she will not be far behind. It's not as if they have to steal about stealthily in order to stop from waking one another. It's not as if they sleep.
"There's still a piece of the tart," he notes to the open room, voice low and a little rough at the edges from first worded use in some time, and goes directly to the cart to shuffle dishes around so there's room for his tea-tray, so there's room for him to begin tea.
From behind him she will trail along. It's what she does in here often enough, follow his lead. It takes a few minutes and he has more than enough time to move things about and to start his tea. When she appears in the doorway that separates the two rooms she hasn't bothered with her own robe. Instead she's wrapped herself in her blue blanket and is just tugging her hair out from under it to let it fall down her back. "I know. I'll split it with you because you've been so nice to me." A teasing grin to accompany the brightness to her eyes.
Crossing the room she pauses by where he stands, behind him so she might rise up and kiss the back of his neck. "I wish I could be there to see D'ven talking to Corin." A grin in her words as she leaves him to fix the tea and fetch her cake. Settling on the divan she laughs softly. "I'm not sure who I feel sorrier for." A pause and then another laugh. "Probably D'ven."
Gans must put water on, as it has been some time since the hot water pot was in fact hot, and after the kiss at the back of his neck he turns around, fixes her with mischievous eyes, says, "It is my pleasure to be nice to you," and putters across the room to the stove to deal with the water. Talk of Corin and D'ven gets a little chortle out of him, and it's with that smile instead of the more salacious one that he turns away from the pot on the stove and comes back to see to the tea leaves and the fruit tart. "Probably D'ven," he agrees. "Corin takes special handling. I have learned by witnessing your father; I suppose he would be the expert by now. Whatever it takes to keep peace - I can't have her trying to bend you against, me, after all." A jest, purely.
"You know, I never really understood how much work Dad put into it all." Pardon her while she slips up and calls him Dad instead of Navan. A shake of her head and Miniyal grins. "Until I had to start figuring you out." She's teasing again, adoring him even though they both know he's as much work as she is to put up with sometimes. "But, enough about them. I'm quite sure they do not spend their nights discussing us and I see no reason why we cannot return the favor." Instead she changes the topic with a simple four words. "Tell me about Roa." Squirming about to get settled more comfortably on the divan she tucks her feet up under her, covering them with the blanket as she curls up in the corner to watch him.
There's more chortling for being compared - however roundabout in fashion - to her mother. And he knows that's the comparison she makes; he might not agree with it, but all she gets to betray that just now is an upraised -look- with sparkling eyes before he's back to splitting the tart-slice into two peices. He lifts one in a cloth napkin rather than bothering with a plat. "So we'll discuss the young weyrwoman instead of your parents?" The brow propped up is a wry one, but Gans knows better than to push his luck too far, and starts toward her with the tart-piece in the cloth in his hands. "Where shall I begin? I presume I need not impose too greatly upon you in reciting matters of record."
She would /never/ compare him to her mother. Ever. Out loud and to him. It's not something she really thinks of because it's not the same thing, but that voice won't be quiet forever. "I want to know what you know about her." Yes, that is what she said already. "Gans." Softly now, Miniyal watching him still as he brings her dessert. Yay. "I don't know enough about her to work for her the way I should. I can learn about her now, but you know things about her that she hasn't told me. She as much said so to me once." And then told her no more. How annoyed she sounds at this. Keeping secrets from her, how dare the weyrwoman?
"She said so." Gans slips into the seat beside her, perching forward on the cushions; he'll still have to get up for tea, once the water's hot. But for now he breaks off a tiny bit of the tart in his pale fingertips and holds it up for her, an offering to lighten what is otherwise serious talk. "And how did she say so? Can you repeat her words?"
"You know I can." He does. And since he does, Miniyal doesn't answer right away. Instead she leans forward to take the bite of tart offered to her, slowly. When she has released his fingers with a final nip she leans back again and closes her eyes. When she opens them again she shrugs. "You may do one of two things, Miniyal. First you may, indeed, consider that I am in your debt for your generosity. Or, otherwise you may ask G'thon why it is that I'm so interested in all of this, and tell him that I have said he may answer truthfully." That part of the statement does not quite make sense to him without the rest of the conversation means little. She just waits quietly for his response.
"Ah, then we have a deal to make, you and I." He is perhaps a little charmed by her lips so recently upon his fingertips; his voice is gentle, hardly ready to push a bargain at all. But the words do try. "I would like to know what generosity won you such a favor from her - or, as it turns out, from me." Gans lifts his eyes from his hands - they're going back to the tart to pry off another tidbit to tempt her mouth with - to her face, and lets her have a very wry and one-sided smile indeed. "Although I must admit I have an idea."
"Do you remember T'rais? From Fort? He taught at the caucus ages ago." She asks and then she does indeed take that next bite of tart. This time she takes his hand in hers and once she has consumed the treat licks the tips of his fingers clean. Releasing his hand with a grin she watches his face. "I met him in records when he was removing the maps he had made for the trial." Like it need be said which trial. Like he will be surprised that there is some fondness in Miniyal's tone for yet another old man. "He let me copy them. He made me join his class. Cartography. Anyway, I showed them to her. I was trying to. . .well, apologise. For how I had acted. I thought that was an easier way than trying to figure out exactly why I felt I should."
"I remember everyone I meet or hear of," replies Gans in a slow, museful manner. "Not exactly as you remember things, but you might consider it similar. I do not maintain information perfectly, but I do not forget personalities." Or names. He's quiet for a while after that, his eyes on her mouth even after his hand's been released to pick away a berry from the top of the tart; this will make his fingers sticky indeed. Of course, he offers the berry to her. "And the records from Harper?"
Eyes bright with teasing merriment, Miniyal nods her head. "Of course you do." Her gaze goes from the berry to his face. There is consideration on if she should answer first or if she should take what is offered. "She's not seen them all. I've a couple held in reserve. I just recently sent her the manifesto. It's not in my best interest to allow her everything at once." Here she pauses a moment and then right before she'll take that berry offered she smiles. "Timing." Then she is focused on eating and the clean up process after. When her mouth releases his fingers, eventually, she leans back with a satisfied smile.
"Ah," replies Gans. It is, perhaps, all he can manage for a moment, while her lips take his fingertips. It might be - this silence - all he could manage for a while longer, watching her mouth even after his hand has returned to his lap - but the soft steamy whistle of the water-pot reawakens him. So he sets the tart and napkin aside and rises, cheeks that palest pink. "And why do you play out her rope like that? Do you distrust her? Do you think her brash, hurried, untempered? I do not disapprove, mind - but knowing what you think of her will help me, when I phrase what I know." He retrieves the water and with it returns to the tea-cart to begin the real business of the tea.
"So she knows." Reaching out when he is gone she breaks off a piece of the tart for herself. The first bite she has enjoyed for itself and not for the process of claiming and clean up that comes after it. Miniyal stretches and rearranges her blanket about her so one shoulder is left bared. "So she understands that I may work for her, but she doesn't own me. And that if she doesn't treat me well I might not tell her everything after all. But mostly? Why not? She needs to learn patience. She needs to wonder when someone is withholding something and figure out why. There have been no conversations between us regarding when and how I deliver my information to her. Which means to me she is content with the situation. Or she doesn't know what I have. How much I know." She pauses here and then grins. "Besides, copying everything out takes time. It's work. In between my duties for her and the things I still occasionally get roped into in records and my personal time." Emphasis on personal time, voice dropping low as she lets the words linger on her lips.
"Then all of the above," summarizes Gans, closing up the teapot with the water inside to steep, overturning two cups and locating the creamer nearby while he's there. He turns around after that, smile wry, eyes kind. "Of course your personal time is very important," he notes, and draws near her again, taking up the tart as he settles into his perched spot beside her to wait a few minutes more on tea. "To me," more emphasis than afterthought. Another bit of tart is soon held out for her to take. "Roa." A change of subject. "Roa is likely a friend to our cause, although it must be said her reasons may once have been personal. I think they may be more idealistic now; of course, that in itself can be a drawback. She is close to the former weyrleader of Telgar, and probably little beloved of S'lien." There's the nose-wrinkle. At least it's not the completely sour groucy grump he'd expressed earlier at dinner.
It had better not be the completely grouchy mood from earlier. Or they'll get nowhere in their talk for she'll have to distract him again. With this thought in mind she leans forward to take her piece of tart. The blanket slides down an inch to expose pale skin although it only hints at indecency without being so. "Idealists are rarely good for any cause." Pointed out before she lets her tongue and lips perform their own distraction with his fingers. It takes time and care and so much attention. When Miniyal straightens up again there's another smile for him, nearly smug. More for her actions than her words. "Why personal? What's it to her?"
Certainly that slip of the blanket's not missed. His hand descends yet again from her mouth, and yet again his focus remains on her lips for a moment afterward - but the backs of pale knuckles drift softly across that exposed bit of skin, then down over the curve the blanket conceals, then to -her- lap this time rather than his own, to settle - chaste, now - upon her leg. "Idealists are useful in that they create ideas, Miniyal. The rest of us must settle for refining them." His gaze drifts up to her eyes, and for a moment it seems an easy answer is poised upon his lips - and then, instead, he tightens his mouth into that crooked smile and thinks of, "The tea. Shall I bring over the milk?" The sweetener she may of course assume will come; he withdraws his hand off of her knee and gets to his feet again.
She's distracted in turn by his touch and so her hand tightens on the blanket. As something to focus on to keep the conversation going rather than have it derail entirely to another activity. Letting out a sigh she leans back and takes a few deep breaths to settle down as the hand stops on her knee and behaves. "I don't think you have to be overly idealistic to have ideas that can help people." Because never in a million would Miniyal admit to being an idealist. She's cynical and a realist! "The problem with idealists is that they tend to wind up drawing people to them. And then leading. And an idealist is a bad leader. I mean, I think so. You need someone more practical because they're the ones who can point out the problems and fix them. I suppose if you had someone in charge who was a figurehead, but people know those. You can't keep that from people." Quiet she goes, as if she were more thinking out loud than actually conversing. "What? Oh. No, thanks. I don't need any."
"This is part of why partnerships are to my liking, Miniyal. Partners may play to their strengths and cover one anothers' weaknesses without any audience thinking the less of them for it." He pauses by the tea-cart, of course, because that's where he'll pick up the pot and pour the two cups waiting. "Has she said anything to you regarding her thoughts on the - manifesto?" Perhaps Gans would have called it something else, if his pause were to be indicative of his thought process. It might only indicate the work of putting down the pot and picking up the cups, saucers, creamer and sweetener all in his hands, however; they're large hands, up to the task, but there's only so fast you can get four containers, three holding liquids, into your grip and then be able to walk across a room with them and have no upsets.
"We haven't discussed anything that I've given to her." Said with a shrug and a readjustment of her blanket to rewrap her shoulders in. "I get the feeling she has people closer to her that she really talks about these things with. I'm just an information gatherer." Which suits Miniyal mostly just fine. "Now, tell me about Roa. Because I'm not answering any more questions until some of mine are answered. You're hiding something from me. What won't you just come out and say?" Under the blanket her arms fold over her chest and she regards him levelly, entirely serious now. "I can't do my job if I don't have the truth and since she will not give it to me I am forced to seek it elsewhere. It would do neither of us any good were I to get fired for snooping overly much in her things. Which means talking to you to learn what I need rather than do just that."
"You are perfectly capable of doing your job without the truth," Gans informs her, expression grave, paused just a pace away from the divan with his hands absolutely loaded with the tea-things. "But you might refuse." He steps forward then and bends from the waist just enough to offer her cup and saucer, then hold the sweetener and creamer for her to take as she needs them. It will be only after that, when he can sit down and begin the amendments for his own cup, that he remarks in a thoughtful rather than an informative tone, "Her father wrote that manifesto."
Head shaking, Miniyal sticks out her tongue. "You think you know me so well." And he does, but she will tease him about it because otherwise she might think too much on how well he knows her and it might bother her. "The truth is required for me to do any job well." Then she will take her tea and add a generous helping of sweetener to it before nodding her head and leaning back. The cup, thankfully, is held in both hands at his statement. Her response? "That makes sense."
Gans stirs his own tea, looking into it so that his thoughtfulness - and his charmed bemusement, which might be more related to her output tongue and remark rather than to the topic of Roa's parentage - are not directly provided to Miniyal to see. Not that they are well-hidden, either; she knows him - as he knows her - well enough that his moods, however mild, are telltale enough, as he allows them to be. "I met her at the trials. She was there with Telgar's weyrleader," which is not the same as 'The Weyrleader Telgar,' in Gans' own lingua. "I happened across her in a hallway and we did get to speak, a little bit. But she was a little girl, and I recall nothing of our conversation that would be pertinent to the current day - nothing except her very presence itself."
"So it's reasonable to say that what happened recently at Telgar to our mysterious greenrider is personal." Miniyal ignores her tea, not even bothering to stir the sweetener lumped at the bottom. "That she likely knew this woman." Frowning a moment she shakes her head. "But she hasn't been away enough to be going to them. I know when she goes someplace." Cause she's spying, yes, we said that. "So someone else is carrying information for her." Think, think, think. Now she does stir her tea, having to focus on the task so she does not clink her spoon against the cup. "Do you think she takes after her father. . I wish I'd known this before I sent her all the information I have. We're dragged straight into the middle of everything if she becomes senior. As junior there's always a chance to keep what happens around here to a minimum with the right work, but if she's running things then we're. . ." Right in the middle, yes.
"Dubious. She was perhaps ten turns old, Miniyal. A child. Not an apprentice, not a witness - a child." Gans puts aside the creamer and sweetener at last and settles well into the divan, putting one arm up along the seatback behind Miniyal, and with the other lifts his cup for a sip of tea. He indulges in that sip, drawing it out long and thoughtful, while Miniyal speaks; he allows a little silence afterward, so that the unspoken words that complete her thought may fill the air. "Where I have expected us to be," he says gently, softly, then.
"We don't have to be. People /want/ us to be. You, her, E'sere. . .who knows who else?" Miniyal is somewhat put out by this. She likes her home quiet because it affords her a chance to be unseen. "As for her being a child, you don't believe that do you? That children do not form attachments and do not remember those that knew them when they were young? No. Especially not someone like her. Me? Maybe. I can't say as there's anyone when I was that age I would be upset personally to hear about. You didn't hear her when she told me of it. It's not just social outrage I think. She didn't sound like I would." The tea is her prop. It allows her to peer into it, to bother with it so she doesn't have to look at him. "I don't think I can do this. If she's going to drag us into something this big she needs someone else to help her. Not me. I can't do this."
"Miniyal." What Gans does with her name, of course, nearly defies words. It is a sigh, a breath, a devotion. His hand slips off of the seatback and onto her shoulder, a gentle reminder of his presence; he strokes the blanket as if it were her skin, so her skin can feel that stroking through it. "It is also personal outrage. She knows people who have been hurt. So do you, Miniyal." A moment's silence here perhaps encourages reflection; he does not let it go on too long. "I think she does not seek vengeance. She's brighter than that. But she does seek redemption. Our world is broken. Our leaders are broken. You want to fix that; so does she. I doubt your methods differ wholly." The smile returns, mild, gentle, without wryness. Supportive, he goes on. "I think you are right about her. She has a messenger. She has a number of them, Miniyal, though likely only one who goes so far." Another pause, another opportunity for reflection. He is so gentle, so withheld, but there is an intensity in these silences that speaks more than his words might. "The thing is, my dear, if we want to act - we may do so with someone else in the charge, or we may take the charge ourselves. You would like a little peace and quiet. Why not let Roa ride the edge, and let us support the lead?"
During the silences she is silent as well. Now she finally takes up her tea cup to drink from it. Thoughtful small sips that allow her to not speak. No speaking is her course of action through all of this. Even after he is silent she remains so. More small sips of tea between staring into the liquid as if it will hold the answers for her. Finally there is a shake of her head and she looks up to meet his eyes. "No. It's not the same. I told you, Gans. I'm broken. I don't feel that way for people. There's a. . .I don't know. There's something that keeps me from really, well, being personally involved with what I see. Even when it's me. Detached is what I do best. It's too painful otherwise." What? Miniyal had twenty-two turns to build walls before she met him. He'll not figure otherwise, but she'll say it anyway. "I can only support her so far. Right now she's all run out there and stop things and change things and save the world, but I don't see any evidence she's thought on it. I don't think she has a plan. You need a plan or you just. . .wind up on an island. She's got charisma, but I'm not sure she can be a leader strong enough to do what she thinks she wants to do. I'm not sure anyone is."
Gans drinks tea, too; it fills the quiet nicely. But in time he puts his cup down and arches a brow at her; perhaps at something particular she said. And then he smiles crookedly, self-consciously, eyes sparkling without mischief. He lets all of that go, however, to say only, "She needs a partner. Let us find her one."
Head tipping to the side, Miniyal watches him. All of his responses are noted, but she doesn't ask about any of them. "I still say she is too close to Sefton. It'll lead to trouble. It probably already has and we just don't know it. The man is horrid." Hey, any chance to comment on the one person she consistently despises is good. "You're thinking of D'ven. The whole favorite thing. I'm not sure he's a good choice although I realise we only have so many options. Is he practical enough to keep her from. . .doing who knows what? People are so annoying. I mean, they just are." Now she's annoyed at the whole world and she glares into her tea before taking a drink. Stupid world. Stupid people.
"Perhaps the man is horrid. But he has his good points." Gans slips his hand across the yoke of her shoulders, beneath the fall of her hair and down her nearer arm, then into his lap. "And I am not thinking of D'ven. He might make an adequate weyrleader; he would make just as adequate a wingleader, or wingrider. He will adapt to what is shown him, but only so much." He slips a little sideways on the divan and angles toward her to try to catch her eyes with his. "What do you fear she'll do?"
"Maybe to those he thinks is worth something. But trust me, the man is a bully." And we know Miniyal hates bullies. "The sort of person the world could do without." Shaking her head she stares into her tea a moment before looking up to watch him move and then meets his gaze. "Who then? As for what I fear she'll do? Convince too many to follow her. The kinds of changes we're talking about take time. You have to ease people into these things. It doesn't happen overnight. That was their problem. You don't force things on people. You convince them that is what is best for them. I'm not entirely sure she understands that. She's so young."
"Reasonable concerns," muses Gans, but doesn't address the matter of choosing a partner for the young weyrwoman. Instead he returns to the matter of Sefton, smoothly, as if the subject had not been something else; as if there were no change. "He is a social bully, perhaps. I might call him manipulative; clever; charming. He can be subtle, when he chooses to be. Have you seen him mistreat someone of - lesser worth, in his eyes? I have told you about Roa." And now Gans gets up, sipping his tea as soon as he's on the foot. "Tell me about our headmaster."
"Social or physical, Gans. You act as if it makes a difference. Do you not think that someone who is bullied in a way that leaves no physical marks is not just as traumatized as someone who is beaten by someone?" Because he might. In which case she will be very disappointed. How she watches him as she speaks, measuring every movement he makes and taking in every breath. The cup and its contents are forgotten in her hand as she talks. "I have not seen him do much. He tends to keep to himself I think. Drawing in only those he seeks to be clever with. To manipulate. A fine leader, I say. Just what we need to be teaching people. But I've said that before and won't bother repeating myself. We both know I have as little to do with him as possible. I believe we've spoken. . .twice. Both times he has insured he got his way without regard to anything else. So I name him bully and I stand by it. If you ask me he sees as everyone as lesser in his eyes. He thinks he's so clever you know. And maybe he is, but that doesn't give him the right to use people to his own amusement. And I don't see any reason to believe what I saw was not what he truly is. If it is not? Then he's an even bigger problem for wanting people to think that of him." So there. But she doesn't say the words. Merely implies them with the tilt of her chin and the even regard she shares over her tea cup.
"It could be argued that politics is merely the capacity to manipulate people in such a manner that they prefer such manipulation to the alternatives." Gans ignores the regard. He might know it's there - but he strides over to the tea-tray and there pours his new cup, adds cream - the milk is left by the divan - and stirs, just to have something to do and to stare at while he talks, rather slowly. "And what was his way, these two times?"
"It could be argued that people who make a living manipulating other people are one step away from being a tyrant on their own because they lose track of those other people as human beings and instead see them as pawns in their own game." Miniyal is speaking slowly as if she's trying to edit her words as they come out. "I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to talk about /him/."
"Ah," replies Gans, as if he has been just reminded. "I suppose that could be argued, yes. But such likely tyrants fall to their own devices in short time, and discover new ways to use their skills. Perhaps we're all just waiting for the headmaster's fall from grace." Yes. He's talking about Sefton. Very much about Sefton. He leaves the cup he's poured there, but takes up the pot and turns around with it, a gesture offering the spout from across the room. "Let's talk about something else, then. Who would you choose to balance Roa? - And would you like more tea?"
"No, thank you. I still have tea." She does, it's going cold but she's not really drinking it so it's no matter. "I don't know. I haven't really thought about it much." Roa. Not the tea. In case he's not keeping up. Miniyal takes up her cup and sips from it ignoring the cooling liquid as it's nothing more than a prop for her conversation. "Someone she will listen to. Someone whom she trusts to share her ideas with so they can be discussed. Patience is key. But at the same time they can't be afraid to move forward. I'm not sure. She needs someone who will prop her up when things go poorly but is not afraid to tell her when she's screwed up. I guess. . .I don't know. I know what I think the person should be, but I don't really know people. Not. . .you know. I don't know."
Gans turns around and replaces the teapot on its trivet. "And do you suppose she wouldn't have found someone with those qualities already? She's fairly charismatic." A pause while he looks at his tea and, in the end, decides to take it into his hands and carry it back to the divan with him. "Like her father. Do you think she wouldn't have attracted her counterpart already?"
Frowning thoughtfully, Miniyal finally shrugs. "If so I don't think they're doing such a good job yet. And, I'm not sure that comparison is a great one to make considering some of the people her father attracted. He either didn't control them well enough or was just. . .totally clueless. I mean, their methods were. . .you can't make lasting social changes on a foundation of violence and fear." Here she stops and then shakes her head. "I don't want to discuss this anymore either. I think we should take a break from talking. I'm calling a no talking period. But, because we're partners that means I am going to allow you to choose how we spend our time instead." The only help she offers is the slight slip of the blanket once more from one shoulder. Clearly she wishes to play a board game.