Hi, honey. How was your day?
Who: Miniyal and G'thon
Where: The floor. (How improper)
When: Right after this scene with Ashwin on day 12, month 12, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
What: After being caught being a snoop all sorts of things come out. . .jealousy and annoyance and hurt and in the end indecency.
12/13/2006 & 12/14/2006
It's early enough in the afternoon still that it's possible that there is someone in the room with G'thon when Miniyal arrives. She normally doesn't appear until dinnertime after all. This time it's still several hours away from that time of day. Her days normally have a nice set schedule. Off to work in the morning and back for lunch and sometimes tea too. Then she is gone again until dinner. Nice, safe schedule. However today that's not the case and she finds herself outside the room.
Even though it is her room she courteously knocks before stepping inside. He'll be used to her knocking in the day before coming in. A warning to him and whomever he might possibly have inside that she is coming in. She doesn't wait after knocking, of course, but she does knock. So, with a quick rapping of knuckles to herald her announcement she opens the door and steps inside the room. Her feet pause near the door because it is habit. Normally if he is busy she would excuse herself and go away. Today is different and company or not she stalks to the divan and throws herself down on it, expression unreadable.
He is busy, but busy in solitude, reposed behind a desk stacked with hides - it would appear he has actually demanded a written lesson from his students - one document in his lap, a pen in his hand, ink next to the stack on the desk, tea next to the ink, one of the books Roa brought him next to the tea. The most amusing of those books, probably. He looks up from his work at the knock; smiles lopsidedly at her entrance; starts to lean forward and clear his lap as she strides in - and pauses like that as she hunts down the divan and flops onto it.
"Ah," Gans says after a pregnant moment, resettling into his chair, then turning it so it faces the divan, so that from that (safe) distance he may regard her, warmly. "It is delightful as always to see you, my dear."
It takes a moment for his words to even register. Whatever has her in her state, calm as it appears to be, has left her unable to quite process the sounds as actual words. Shaking her head and the pushing hair off her face, Miniyal blinks and then looks over, focusing on him. "Oh. You're here." Ah, she's very observant. Another shake of her head and she summons up a smile. "Sorry. Hi. How's your day going? If you're working I'll be quiet. I'll just sit here and stuff." And think. About all sorts of things to only worsen her mood. She doesn't have to /say/ it when she's in this sort of mood. It's not an unusual mood exactly.
"I am indeed," murmurs Gans, in reply to her remarking upon his presence; he's droll, of course, and there's genuine fondness in the wry demeanor with which he regards her. In a moment he leans over and puts up his work on the desk, then rises to his feet. "I am doing a very poor job of working. How about I get you a brandy and you sit there and talk. I shall pretend, other than the brandy and any sort of snack I might muster up, not to be here; and you may pretend the same."
Blink. There is something in what he says or how he says it that causes Miniyal to tip her head to the side and look at him. "I'm not hungry. A drink would be nice." Leaning down to tug off her boots she then tucks her feet up under her and folds her hands in her lap. "No." Said once she's settled as her head lifts from contemplating the ink under her nails. "I mean, it's alright. I don't want to pretend you're not here. We can talk. Ummm. I should probably tell you anyway." Those words, or variants, he has heard in the past. Someone has gotten herself into trouble of some sort.
"All right then." This, like her replies, comes after a beat for consideration; Gans knows better, or controls himself better, than to turn in that beat and look at her. Instead he keeps moving toward the brandy, and speaks when it occurs to him to do so. "I am at your service." As he has said, just as pleasantly if sometimes more suggestively, before. Today he really -is,- though, in a moment; he pours the brandy and brings it to her, and bends - not to knee nor to sit with her - from the waist to offer it her. "Are you sure you wouldn't like something to nibble on? I can't imagine it would be offended if I provided it, and you didn't."
"No. I'm really fine." Said after she has her drink, but before she takes a small sip from it. Tilting her head a fraction so she can smile up at him there is a soft shake of her head. "I am fine until dinner. It's not so long until then." But she till considers and finally there is a small nod. "Maybe something." It is how she gets by with not eating much of meals. She picks throughout the day. "Thank you." Miniyal smiles and holds her glass in her lap, letting the smile fade as soon as she's dropped her head to peer into the liquid. "I might be in trouble. Maybe. I'm. . .unsure."
Gans straightens, ready to let his actions serve her word - he fits his hands behind his back and waits, however, his gaze downcast and his chin uptilted, watching her until, of course, she gives in to whatever little treats he might be able to provide. So he turns on that, murmuring an 'of course' to her 'thank you,' and heads for his shelves, where treats might be hidden. "Trouble is like that sometimes," he observes while setting aside books that have strayed from their shelves to these equally good but incorrect ones, hides, a scroll, and so forth to acquire a little wooden box. It is a familiar sort of box, or will be to Miniyal. From it might come those candied fruit jellies he once plied her with, a very long time ago. "Hard to tell if that's really what it is or not." He comes back toward her then with the box in his palms, thumbs slipping the lid aside.
When he straightens up and goes to fetch her a treat she watches him. It is safe to do so once he might not be watching her. Lips curve up into a smile as he straightens things up and Miniyal allows herself a moment to forget whatever trouble might be coming her way. Watching him relaxes her somewhat and by the time he's turned back to her she is not quite so worried in her expression and demeanor. She even manages a smile when noticing the box, lifting her gaze from it to him. "What if you did something that you're not. . .upset about, but people might get the wrong idea?" Miniyal worries at her lip and takes another drink from her glass before she looks at him again. "But if someone else finds out. . .there could be trouble. But I'm not sure if she will find out. I may have prevented it. . .I wasn't /trying/ to get in trouble. I promise. I just misjudged the timing."
"Something you consider ethically permissible, but others might not?" Gans is utterly calm, and a little bemused, too. He bends again beside her and offers the box out in his hands; the jellies, crusted with sweetener and fragrant with scents of fruit and the rare herb like lavender or coriander for savor, sparkle and glint within. "I have candied ginger too," he confides, like a precious secret, and his eyes for a moment sparkle at her with more than a servant's professional regard. "Is this someone else who might find out particular? I know you can't have meant it, Miniyal." Oh! Her name. An opportunity to remind her that, even playing her servant, he loves her; he loves to love her. "If you had you'd be proud to tell me what trouble you're in." Mischief makes this dry, and creeps up a quarter-size smile in the corner of his mouth.
"You have to do things sometimes in the course of your work that others might not agree with. And it hurts no one so there is no reason not to." Biting her lip she looks in the box and reaches for a treat. Well, two. "You spoil me." He does and she loves it. There is, after all, some of her mother in Miniyal and she is ever happy sometimes to enjoy the feeling of someone doing things just for her, just to please her. "This is fine. Best not to have too much sweets. Not before a meal." Echoes from her childhood, but said with some amount of belief. Some lessons are learned well. Then the whole absurdity of the situation makes her laugh before she nibbles on one of her jellies. "I love these." As if he were not aware of this weakness amongst others. With a sigh she tilts her head downwards. "I may have been caught going through Roa's desk in her weyr. Well, I was seen at her desk. My timing's not so off or he might have caught me going through something else. I mistimed his schedule. I won't make that mistake again. I don't know if he'll mention it to her. I'm not proud if it costs me my job. I don't have anything else to do." A pause here as she finishes her candy and then stares at the other in her hand. "You will be disappointed in me." Said as if that means nothing. As if she doesn't care if he is disappointed. How her tone lies.
"I like do," Gans murmurs, just so she knows that he knows he's spoiling her, and knows better than to complain. He kneels then, and breaks the illusion of servitude to become instead her suitor, balancing the box on the divan beside her and one of his pale long hands, bold over the bend of her knee. He looks up at her and listens intently, putting up the opposite elbow against the cushion of the divan. "Her lover caught you," he infers after a long - but slightly smiling - silence. It is a request for confirmation. And then: "I would not be. You have your own pursuits, and no need of marks." Because she has him; however, that's not the point here. "But I -would- be most curious how you came to be - employed - to go through her desk."
"You would be. But you wouldn't say so. You'd act like it didn't matter, but it would." There is. . .something in Miniyal's tone that hints of Issues. Ones she will certainly not bring forth, but are there under the surface just waiting to find the perfect wrong moment to come out and say hi. Shaking her head she takes another drink before saying anything else. "There's several reasons. I mean, how can I know what she's doing if she doesn't tell me? She didn't even give me her schedule. I had to go find it myself. Diya always made sure I knew what was going on. Unless she didn't want to me to know, but I had my suspicions anyway." Here is a pause for her to nibble on her candy. Looking down at that candy she lets out a sigh. "So I had to take it upon myself to be sure I am aware of everything that is going on with her. Otherwise how can I be expected to pick up the pieces when she makes a mistake? Or cover for her if I need to? I mean, I don't mind doing that, but I have to know ahead of time to be convincing. If she would tell me things I would not have to go behind her back." See? Simple. Logical.
Of course he has one of those little 'Ah' faces to respond to her assumptions about his disappointment - but he puts it away in a moment and recommences being the apt listener, the attentive companion. In the end he muses, drily, "So to ensure you are the best partner to her that you can be, you discover all you can about her. I can certainly see the reasoning in it, my dear." His palm curves over her knee, then arches so just fingertips rest there, and then those fingertips go creeping one by one down the side of her calf. "And did you explain this to him?"
"I'm not her partner. She doesn't trust me." And what's not to trust in a sneaky spy like Miniyal who expects to learn everything and give nothing in return? Really! The nerve of some people. "It's fine. I don't trust me. It's not a big deal but don't assume we'll ever be anything, her and I." There, she's said it. Frowning into her glass her eyes can't help but drift to those fingers creeping down her leg. Lips twitch as she almost smiles at it, but the things on her mind keep that from happening. "No! No, of course not!" Now her head lifts so she might look at him directly. "If people do not ask you a question, do not offer information. If you do not wish to tell the truth then say nothing at all." It sounds as if she is repeating something learned long ago. Self-taught, but learned. "No. I merely told him why I was there. To deliver a revised schedule. One that would afford her time off during every seven. I figured that would distract him. I mean, he can't see her too much as much as she does."
Gans' fingers stop their crawl, only to slide smooth the rest of the way down to her ankle and bend around there, a gentle clasp. "Good enough," he approves of her handling of Ashwin - but wryly he approves, with eyes a little dancing. "It is curious to me," he says, and in tone makes clear he intends to have a -few- words now, and that she shall listen while he does so; he withdraws his hand from her ankle after a squeeze and takes up the box in his other hand, then straightens to standing in a smooth motion, talking - he's good at that - all the while. "- how you would hope for her trust, or angle for it, without granting her any of the same. Not!" A hand, the one not with the candy, up for silence. "Not that you should cease your searching, or seek to know her any less. But Miniyal - " Lest she forget, while he lectures, that Gans loves her; at the very least, that he loves her name, and loves to whisper it in her ears, mouth it against her skin, trace it with fingertips over her spine - "Miniyal. Have you asked her for the knowledge you want?"
Lifting her glass for another drink, she gives her attention to him. Just the tiniest of disappointed sighs when his hand leaves her. Another drink when his words start coming and Miniyal peers into her glass as if trying to determine if she has enough alcohol to get through the lecture. "How can I trust her if she doesn't trust me?" Silly, Gans. Expecting her to put herself out in any way before being absolutely sure of the other person. Well, with perhaps the notable exception of him. But there were extenuating circumstances. "Of course." Is there a trace of something approaching bitter in her tone? Oh, just a wee bit. "The one time I asked her for something she would not give it. She told me to ask you." Ok, there was more than a trace of bitterness in that. Enough that she empties her glass and slips to the side of where he stands so she might rise to her feet. "But it's my fault. Because it certainly couldn't be hers. That would be ridiculous to think that." The glass is empty and must be filled so she stalks over to where she might do that, even in her suppressed anger not splashing anything outside her glass. She's a good drinker. Once her glass is no longer empty she sets off across the room to pace around from here to there.
"She tested you," points out Gans, and after a moment he follows her - after sweeping up the candy box from the divan so he can carry it not to the shelf where it belongs, but to the brandy, and then sort of Miniyalward since she won't stay by the brandy. "And I answered you. Have you told her that yet?" Chase, chase, chase. He has long legs. It requires no extra work to catch up to her, to step around her, to just -be- there with the box offering her candy - and then, to pluck up out of the box a particular strip, greenish pale, his favorite. He makes obvious play of tempting her with it. "I am assuming that her effort to draw me into it was significant, Miniyal. Not an evasion."
"She should have told me." There is no wiggle room in this. Miniyal has a point to make too and she will no matter what. The candy is offered and ignored because she steps aside again. Lifting her glass she drinks from it and then turns on her heel to stalk off somewhere else. There will be no stopping her. She does not answer his query. Which is answer enough. She has not told Roa that she knows. The glass is lifted again for another drink as she turns to pace off another direction. "Well, she made her point, didn't she?" The point that was made in Miniyal's mind is probably not the one that was intended. "I didn't exactly need that point made to me, you know. I'm not as blind as all that. I can see what's going on." Don't mind her. Don't mind the hint of that little voice in her head goading her on.
Fine, snub the candy. Gans eats it himself. He's chewing on it when she paces off, and when vitriol starts to leak subtle into her words. But vitriol is rarely, really, subtle. There is a pause; for this, he will not quite speak with his mouth full. But when he can speak politely he does so, turning to pace toward the bookshelves while talking. "What, then, do you see going on?"
There is no need for him to make her say it. Really, what is he thinking? But if he's going to press the issue then Miniyal will have another drink from her brandy and stop her pacing. Long enough to look at him and then she paces more. Towards the door and then she turns and paces back towards the door that does not lead out of the room. There she stops and finishes her drink, twisting the glass in her hands as she cross the room once more, circling the table and winding up close by the divan once more. As she walks she is quiet, as if her brain will not allow her this function along with speech. "I know I am not as good as her. That she's. . .I don't know. Better than me. She understands stuff I don't and probably understands you better and how to. . .to talk to people and get things done." Now she stomps her foot and shakes her head. "And I cannot be like her and I sorry for that. But it's not fair to expect me to be able to do that and to. . .to make me work for her. That was not fair. Or right." Because he forced her to, clearly. Her tone is all sadness with anger mixed in. She doesn't look anywhere near him. Nope. Interesting feet she has.
Three times he opens his mouth for a repartee and three times he only mouths 'ah' and lets her go on, eyes a little wider on each repetition. By the time she's done he's already heading for the decanter with the brandy in it himself. "I have no desire for you to be like Roa," says Gans, and there is no small amount of surprise in it, and not a single note droll or wry; there is, instead, something a little like - well, not hurt. It's always utterly clear when he's hurt. He's - put out. Miffed. Not angry. Not disappointed. But a little less than tickled pink. A pale hand wraps a lowballer and overturns it, then unstoppers the brandy and pours it, and over the sound of the splash he speaks further. "I rather prefer you as you are. I should think you know me well enough to suppose that I would not set up housekeeping with a woman I wish to remake in some other image. As for the work - " Ah, the work. He turns around with the brandy in his hand and allows the miffedness to leave him; he can be dry a bit about -this.- It does not offend his honor. "If you feel I have forced you into it, and you wish to be free of it, then you must tell me so, for it would be my responsibility to assist in every way I know."
"You think there are things wrong with me." Can she do hurt? Oh, of course she can do hurt. It's one of her best abilities. With a little help from the quiet voice in her head that has really been waiting for a chance to speak up for some time now. Biting her lip Miniyal blinks away a few tears because now is not the time for it. "It's not. . .I can't do it. I can't even. . .she's like you. And I'm not and you don't even need me. Not for anything outside of this room because I still can't do anything right." Biting her lip she suppresses more tears. Yay for repression. "And I can't quit. We have a deal. I can't quit and even if I do that's it, you know. What am I supposed to do? Go back to records? Again. Have everyone /again/ realise that I can't do it. That I failed again. That I'm useless. . .again." Now she cries, unable or unwilling to stop those tears from escaping and leaving tracks down her cheeks as she permits the ultimate in bad manners, in her mind, and just sits down on the floor where she is so she can set her glass aside and cry unencumbered by breakable things.
It's the first tears she blinks away that have him coming toward her, his expression stricken. Gans hasn't even time, really, nevermind presence of mind to explain, not until he's there. As suddenly as she crumpled he's there beside her on his knees, his arms out, the brandy beside hers and forgotten. It's -their- floor; why should they not use it as they wish? "I need you," he says, because this is first and foremost. "Oh, Faranth, Miniyal." The names go together carelessly, the one earnest in its helplessness and the other in its aching adoration. "I do need you. Please. Please?" Please come into his arms. He dares a hand at her shoulder, and the hand trembles there, hesitating, then slips farther back, encouraging, begging her into his ready embrace.
Biting her lip she doesn't speak, might not even hear. She's quite happily, well, maybe not happily, lost in her own misery. Eyes closing she continues to sit unmoving even when it does finally does settle into her brain that he's talking. Not that it does any good. Eyes opening, Miniyal shakes her head. "You don't." Whispered, miserable, two words that break her own heart. "You don't need me. I can't even. . .I still can't even talk to you without messing up and screwing things up and he's right. He's right and you don't need me. I don't understand you and she-I just don't know what to do. And you wanted me to be her assistant and I don't want to do that. But even you don't think I can do anything but that and if you don't believe in me how. . ." Accusations come shortly before her head drops and she wraps her arms around herself. She would like to be held, but she's saying mean things about him and clearly that is not the way it works.
"What do you -want- to be? I believe you can do anything if you want it, Miniyal, but have a little patience with me for thinking you might want to work with someone I know shares some similar goals!" Oh, he's frustrated. But it's not nearly as bad as the hurt, and the hurt he's only able to even bear by shuffling closer on sixty-seven-turn-old knees and trying, now, to actually bodily draw her up against him so he can bury his face in her hair where, in all good faith, it won't matter if he tears up, because hair can't see such things. "I need you. Shut him up, Miniyal, on that one, because I do. Please."
"I didn't believe him. All this time the last thing he said was I'd mess this up. That I'd lose you." Whispered as she gives in to what he wants. In all fairness, it's what she wants as well and there's a quiet muffled sob against his chest as her arms lock around him and she chokes back anymore sobs. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I messed up. I'm sorry I keep messing up all the time. I don't mean to and I don't want to." Here Miniyal pauses to draw in a shaky breath, squirming that much closer to him for that much more comfort in his embrace. "I don't want to hurt you. I'm sorry. I need you."
"You are not losing me." His arms close around her, but just for a moment; the one around her back of course holds its ground, but he withdraws the other and lifts a slender hand to slide back chestnut locks from her temple. With his head bent and his face in her hair, Gans murmurs a repetitive cadence of comfort. "You haven't. Don't be. It's all right." And then he just falls silent, one knee sliding around her backside and the other jostled by her leg, and holds her as close as he might there. Her breath is shaky; his is warm and sweet and lets out little kisses through her hair onto her scalp, but it shakes, too.
She can do quiet, quiet is something that works in her favor, yes? If she doesn't talk she cannot mess up more and say the wrong thing and make things worse. So, Miniyal just keeps her arms around him, her head against his chest as she cries silently. The only indication she has not stopped is the damp spot on his shirt. This is how she sits, for some time. "I'm sorry." A whisper against him as the tears finally dry up. A weary sounding whisper because she is more tired of herself than anyone else could ever be and she knows this.
"No." No sorry allowed. Gans' voice is gentle and sweet, as tough there's a little smile in it. "No need." The hand that has been brushing back her hair draws down the side of her face to her chin, then points fingertips there, begging her face uptilt. He lifts his own head in doing this, and then there'd be a kiss for her to accept - a soggy, crying kiss, and though his face is dry his eyes sparkle with threat of tears and his nose is a little pink - so the kiss is brief, but a kiss just the same.
"I love you," he says after that, settling back a little so the bend of his knees is tighter but the center of his gravity requires less strain to hold. Not that he's letting her go, not any time soon - but he does take his hand from her face so he can fish a handkerchief out of his pocket to offer her. "Never be sorry for telling me what you feel, what's on your mind, what's in your heart. But let's slow down a little, all right? Let's pick one thing at a time and work out some fixes."
In its own way? The understanding and sympathy only serves to make things worse for a moment. So for a moment she resists the pressure of fingers on her chin so she can keep her head down. But only for a moment because she knows what comes next and she wants what comes next. After the kiss she manages a smile, as brief as she might give to anyone, but there is an echoing of it in her eyes and no one sees that as much as he. Taking the handkerchief, Miniyal doesn't do much but stare at it for several moments as if she has to recall what she is mean to do with it. He says those three words, after all. They root once more in her head and in her heart and leave her unable to think until she recalls that she should be breathing and so does so. "We shouldn't be sitting on the floor." Mentioned as if that's all that is wrong even if she follows those words with a quiet sniffling into the handkerchief. "It's not proper."
Gans settles back a little farther and looks at her for a long moment with a bemused expression, brows arched, eyes bright and not just from unshed tears, mouth twitching against the temptation of a smile. In time he remarks, pleasantly: "Who cares?" And then he leans just far enough that he can catch up one of the brandies in his hand - he does not trouble to check which - and offer it to her. "Perhaps you are not Roa's partner, Miniyal, but you are mine; or I would have you be. I want this to be your security, your pleasure, your comfort, your home. I want you to be able to trust me." The arm around her bends so his hand can creep along her shoulder toward her neck, caressing as it goes, as though he'd knead stress from her muscles with so light a touch. Perhaps he would. "If you left this work, I would think no less of you. I have no grand design for your employment. I have no grand design for who she might employ. I just want your happiness and our success." A pause. Finally he allows the smile, wan as it is. "I'm going on."
"You shouldn't be sitting on the floor." Explained as she takes the glass and peers into it. "And it's not proper. And that's important." Corin did a fine job on manners even if she never got to the part about letting them go sometimes. The importance stated as it was now Miniyal takes a small drink from the glass offered her. She worries, of course, about him. A man his age should not be crawling around on the floor, but she will not say that because the age difference still lingers unspoken of as always. "You go on." Agreement and more as she peers up at him with a faint, fond smile. "You talk and I listen. I do. Sometimes it's just hard because it doesn't make sense. Not your words. . .but what's behind them. There's always something else it feels like and I don't get it. There's always something I don't get and there always will be. And for that I am sorry."
A little overturning of his hand, once she's taken the brandy from it, dismisses (only for a moment) the whole business of being on the floor. "Something else," Gans repeats, thoughtful, adjusting his hips sideways and his legs beneath them the other sideways so he can rearrange his seating - no longer knelt, but lopsidedly sat, now, still close enough to play his fingers through the longest few inches of her hair. "Something I'm holding back? I could hazard a guess. But you have to let go of propriety a while, for me. I've spent a lifetime being proper. Let me sit on the floor."
"Fine. You can sit on the floor." Pouting, just a little as she relents on this matter. However, the look she casts upwards over the rim of her glass is slightly teasing, as much as she can manage at the moment. "When you are stiff and sore later tonight from sitting on the floor do not expect me to coddle you and make you feel better." That said the glass is set aside and Miniyal worries at her lower lip. "Maybe. I don't know. I just wish it was easier. Anything. It just doesn't feel like anything is ever easy and people always say if it's easy it's not worth it, but those people never had to feel like everything was so hard."
A brow slides up a little, suggestive of what Gans might have to say about being coddled, or sore, or whatever, later tonight, from sitting on the floor now. But he saves comment for later, because her second remark begs reply, and a simple one, too: "How do you think that?"
Head tilting over to the side as she reaches for the glass, Miniyal just shrugs. Following it up with a slow draining of the remains of the brandy in the glass. Running her finger around the rim of the glass she finally sets it aside and shrugs again. "I just feel like everytime I make any progress getting better at anything I wind up falling back even farther. And I don't see what is wrong with easy is all. How come everything has to be hard?" If she were standing her foot would stomp. Since she is seated she can only shake her head. "It's not as if I expect everything to just. . .to just always be simple, but I just want one easy thing. Just one. Is that wrong?"
"No." He's smiling, but the smile's sympathetic, even a little sad. "I had rather hoped to provide that, you know." Dry, there. Gans picks up the second of the brandy glasses and shifts on the floor so he's sitting beside her, his arm around her, and turns his head so he can nose at her hair. The brandy he holds between them, not quite offering it, not quite withholding it for himself. "Something you don't have to worry about so much, that wouldn't be so hard."
"I know." Commiserating with him on the lack of easy going on. "It's not that you do anything wrong." Now she is earnest, not even paying attention to the brandy. Instead she turns her head after he nuzzles so she can look at him. "You don't do anything wrong. It's so. . .frustrating." She looks frustrated and at the same time amused. "I worry about it only because I can't help. . .being afraid. I know you say you won't leave and I believe you but I don't think I deserve you. And I want you to, well, I don't know. I guess not think I am a failure even though I am always failing at things. She'll probably fire me over this." Miniyal is apologetic in tone even if by now she's looking back down at her hands and leaning her head against him so there's no chance of eye contact going on.
"She would be wiser not to," observes Gans in a deep and resonant certainty. "And I might be disappointed in her if she did. But you've done what you felt you must and you haven't said a word about how he reacted, so I imagine you managed to comport yourself well enough." Untroubled by lack of eye contact he leans closer, nosing through her locks so he can play a soft little kiss at her ear, smiling there. "Don't talk yourself into it, Miniyal. When you started you weren't even sure there'd be trouble at all. Perhaps there won't be."
Her arm moves so she can wrap it around his waist and lean that little bit more into him. "I'm not sure how he reacted. I'm not good at telling. He laughed at something I said." Well, it puzzled her so Miniyal must mention it. "Besides. It's not how he reacted that is the problem. It's what she'll do when I tell her." Because it is a given that she will tell after all. "There's almost always trouble when you tell someone you did something they think is wrong. But there's no getting around it." Another half turn lets her get both arms around him. The fact she can nuzzle against him like this now is just a benefit. One she takes advantage of when she falls silent. "I didn't do too bad I guess." Offered up after a moment's thought.
"But you haven't told her prior to this," Gans observes - it could not quite be called a protest - and turns his head away from her hair and her ear so he can wet his lips with a sip from the brandy; then he draws up one slender (all right: bony) knee so he can hang the hand with the glass in it over its apex and turn toward her again, intimate, mild-smiling. "I'm sure you did beautifully, my dear, especially if he laughed. But why the change of heart?"
"Well, no. It's hard to actually do things behind someone's back if you tell them." Really, he's so silly sometimes. Miniyal sounds amused for a moment, but then her tone shifts back to something more serious. "No one knew before. Now someone does. He could tell her anytime. I won't have anyone thinking I am a coward. I will own up to what I did and whatever she decides, she decides. That's all I can do." A quiet sigh as she shrugs her shoulders and blinks. "I don't know. Besides, she should be more aware of her surroundings. She doesn't even know I was doing it and it's not like I was doing it on my own, you know. I couldn't possibly keep track of her all day on my own. As near as I can tell she had no clue. Which is wrong."
"Then you understand why she would do better to keep you on than dismiss you," retorts Gans, mild still, but with a hint of the resonance that spoke that opinion before. His eyes shine bemusement and he offers her the brandy-glass that he's just sipped from, since the other's empty and put aside. "She might start to have an inkling as to what she can learn. Which reminds me: you haven't told her that I answered your question, then?"
Oh, look, there's more brandy. Since the glass is offered and all she will take it and drink from it. "I'm still not sure that is what I want. To stay on. It's very boring." Which is, in the end, Miniyal's major problem with her work. At some point it all becomes dull and so she skips on to something else that will bore her too. She might be aware of this, but she might not. "No. I haven't told her I even asked. When she told me I should I said I wasn't interested in hearing it from you. And since she has not bothered to ever tell me herself I see no reason to let her know that I am aware of the information I am aware of. It is her own fault for not telling me." So, there. Another drink from the glass before she offers it back. See, she can to give up alcohol!
Gans takes the glass, though he speaks before putting it again to his lips. "As much as I'm inclined to agree with you, she had you ask me for a reason." A reason Miniyal is apparently welcome to think about on her own for the few seconds it takes her lover to take and swallow a small sip of the brandy. Then he'll help her a bit: "She wished one of two things. First, she may have wanted to test me. I have no knowledge of whether I've passed, if so, and I think her codifying was a little clumsy, but it's her secret, not mine, and not mine to say how well she guards it." Twinkle, and another sip, faster. "Second, she may have wanted to test you and me and us together, in a fashion; essentially, to know if I would share such information with you. I have no idea what she'll make of the results - " He shakes his head, and now offers her the brandy back for the last draught in the bottom of the glass. "But if she's not told, we have no idea what she's up to in asking."
Shoulders slumping a fraction, Miniyal sighs quietly. "So I have to tell her I know. You know, I'm not sure I would have sent her everything I did if I had known ahead of time." Biting her lip she takes the glass and finishes it off, setting it aside without thinking. "I haven't told you anything I am not supposed to. I mean, she tells me to not share and I don't. I guess I can tell her I know." But she doesn't sound happy about it at all. Giving up a secret. Willingly? Hardly something she's going to enjoy. "Before I tell her what else I did. I am still not sure it's the right idea telling her I know. But why wouldn't you tell me? I know she said it was alright, but she won't be mad at you, will she? I wouldn't want to make anyone mad at you. If you think she might be mad then I won't tell her. I won't do that."
"I don't think she will be," says Gans, softly, putting his hand over on her knee now that he doesn't have the glass to tend with; the other hand creeps across her back, fingers tiptoeing as they did down her calf some time ago. "Tell her I answered. Don't tell her what you know. The question was open; it could be considered leading, but only when one knows the answer. I might have told you only that she considers the goals of the Instigators pertinent to her current situation and ours as a society, and that therefore she's curious about why they failed." A brow twitches but is denied the chance to slide clear up, and his mouth bends up a fraction on the right-hand side. "I did not. But I could have."
She smiles at the feel of his hand on her knee and the way his fingers move across her back. "If she asks directly what you told me I have to tell her." Her morals may be warped, but there are some points that they are resolute on. Evasion is fine, but outright lies do not work. "Do you think she's actually going to learn from their mistakes?" Miniyal asks with a touch of concern in her tone. "How could people do what they did? On both sides. It was so. . .it was all wrong. It was all wrong and we haven't changed, have we? Things are still just as bad. After what happened at Telgar. . .I mean, how can people allow that to go on? How can people not be outraged at the treatment of another human being that way? It's bad enough you make one mistake and we toss you aside to die, but to. . .to hurt someone like that."
"S'lien," responds Gans, and the word - the name - is without malice, without kindness; it is as blank as anything he may say can ever be, but it rests solely the answers to all of Miniyal's questions on one man alone. Then, as if it expended great energy to make this response, he draws a breath and lets his hand drift down from her back to the floor so he can lean in on it, toward her. "Of course things have changed." His head bows, but the smile increases, and there's light in his eyes he almost seems inclined to hide from her. "I am not sure they've changed for the better, but if they have not, I think it safe to say they have made more people more aware; that times are more desperate now than they have ever been before; that in fact - " And here he looks up, the private delight gone in favor of an unusual expression indeed: sudden enlightenment. "In fact. Conflict has brought us to crossroads. The trouble of our times is an opportunity."
"I don't see how things have gotten better. We're still killing people." Miniyal lets out a sigh, shaking her head. "And people think it is alright. They have no problem with what goes on." Tilting her head she pauses and then leans towards him for a brief kiss. Not meant to end the conversation, but just because she wants to. Because she can and that means she may as well. "It's wrong," said quietly after she has thought of it some more. "Not enough people are aware. That's the real problem. How can they care about things they don't know about? Why should they care? People don't care and you can't force them to care. That's why they failed. Well, that and they resorted to violence and terror and you don't change things in that state. No. . .they were pretty stupid about it."
Perhaps her kiss softens his fervor, because after it he just looks on her while she talks with adoring eyes, not -too- wry. Just a little bit. And says, in the end, gentle and softly - asking her, as it were, to share a secret of some intimacy - "How would you do it? How, at least, would you begin?"
Biting her lip she pulls away a fraction. Searching his face, Miniyal is silent before she nods and then leans back against him with a murmur of contentment. "Quietly," she finally decides to give. "First you need to find concrete examples of what is wrong. Situations you can point to and say 'This is wrong. This should not be happening. These people need to stop.' Then you connect people to those involved. Find something they have in common. At the same time you find something they have in common with you. So you're not strangers. You make them trust you. You don't hurt them. Or anyone. You don't appear threatening. Ever. No matter what is done to you. You have to make people think they're realising on their own what is wrong and not having it pointed out like they've been too dumb to see it all along."
"Ah," he says, after a long moment - to be sure that she's done for long enough that he should speak, most likely. But his eyes haven't lost their sparkle, and he leans toward her to plant a kiss on her cheek, then back so he can regard her with mock gravity of expression. "I think you will have to explain to me in greater detail how you find and make the connections; how you encourage realizations. But that first step - identifying the injustices - sounds very much achievable." Miniyal has the shortest split-second here while Gans takes a breath in which she could realize what he's about to do. He's given the verbal cues. He's got the mischievous look. But she'd have to be fast. "I in fact have a project underway very much like that. Perhaps you'd like to help?" His hand on her knee caresses. "All I need is a sentence - and a little time to discuss it."
She is so good at listening. Even when she's not sure what she hears sometimes she is so very good at listening. It's a skill she taught herself, observed in her parents, practiced for turns in records as she queried people about maps she was copying from them. So Miniyal listens and she can't stop him before it's too late. What she can do is shake her head and smile. "I'm not in your class. Try again, dear." Ha! Take that!
"You don't have to be," tosses back Gans, droll. "I won't even ask you to present." Because he's good to her. Also because he's good to her, his hand curves, conforming long cool palm to the shape of her knee, then slides upward, a gentle stroke. A pleading one, perhaps. A promising one, certainly. "I won't promise not to add your sentence to my list, though."
He plays so dirty. His words have her starting to shake her head and indeed, she does do that. However, that touch brings with it a bit of distraction. Enough so that Miniyal blinks and sucks in her breath which leaves her speechless. Oh, look. He's touching her again. "I'm not sure. . .you're trying to trick me. You think if I give you a sentence it will make me work on it and once I've worked on it I won't be able to be quiet about it. Because you think you know me so well. Well. . .it's not going to work. I'm telling you that right now. There's no way you can convince me to do this." She is not daring him to do so. She is not!
"Incorrect," replies Gans, gently, smiling. His hand creeps a little farther, stroking, then back down half the way it came, stroking. "My goal is to have a broad and well-considered set of injustices to get a certain group of people thinking and talking about. I am asking you to provide me with an example, and with a conversation." He says 'conversation' in an almost suggestive tone; it does not help that his hand slides upward again and that he leans in to press his lips to her jaw, just below her earlobe. "Not that I would deny you the opportunity to sit my class if you wish."
"You can't trick me so easily anymore, you know. I am onto all your tricks." Especially those that involve hands and lips. Those tricks have no effect on Miniyal at all. Well, maybe there is a slight flutter of breath and a bit less space between them all at once. "Your teaching assistant?" she teases as she says this. "And I know you wouldn't. There's little of you that is denied me." Her hand wraps around his waist and she lets out a quiet little sigh. "I'll need plenty of time at Harper. That half a seven will just be the beginning of it."
There is only one part to all of that which Gans deems worthy of direct answer. Still, the reply he gives her could be taken in a number of ways; it could, if she chose, answer almost any of her remarks. That he says it softly, tucking his nose behind her ear so as to let the words brush his lips across her skin, face ducked into a cascade of chestnut strands, likely does not help. "If you wish it."
Oh. There is more cheating going on now. "Whatever I wish?" She can play this game too. The hand that settled on his waist gives a slight tug. The benefits to being on the floor are that one can't fall very far if they should happen to lose their balance. Not that her intention at all would be to get him to lose his balance and wind up against her or even. . .gasp, stretched out on the floor with her. "I want you to tell me something." Her voice is low, suggestive, but there's a seriousness in her eyes that belies the teasing. "Why do you love me? When did you? Are you sure?" If the last question was not meant to be said she cannot help but to say it. There is an apology for it already waiting to be said, but she holds it back. That, at least, she is quiet on.
"Anything," Gans tells the side of her neck, bending his head to descend a line of kisses there - until she tugs at him. He's a slender thing; what weight he has is due to muscle leftover from his riding days and the pure necessary parts of the body, particularly of a body so tall. Still, her pulling wins its smaller intent and the hand behind her that holds him more or less propped slips, sending him up against her side. It sends the hand on her thigh sliding higher, too, or maybe that's just to steady him - and he's laughing a little, soft as a whisper, after that. It's only that she starts asking questions that has him doing anything other than murmuring wordless assent to her request to be told something; anything other than spreading his line of kisses farther down to the curve of her collarbone. Her questions belay those actions, and he straightens just enough that he can get a look at her face. His brows have slid up, but his regard remains otherwise warm, pleasant, fond; and his answers are simple enough. "Because you're you. I have no idea when. And I am quite sure."
"You answer questions," said in a low thoughtful voice as one hand slides up to wrap around the back of his neck. "You answer them without giving away anything. Is it any wonder you are not easy for me?" There is a smile in Miniyal's words even if it doesn't curve her lips overly much. "You should tell me more. Tell me something now." Only this time she doesn't give him any direction to steer his words towards. Or any time to actually say them before she finds his lips for a brief teasing sort of kiss. "How improper are we going to be down here? Because I'm thinking we could be all sorts of not proper with just a little bit of mind set to it." Her other hand, still at his waist, tugs again. They have some time, after all, until their dinner arrives.
It's just as well that all he can find to 'tell' her in that split second is a little murmur of appreciation for the curve of her hand along the back of his neck. Gans takes her kiss, and would have more of it - and looks mischieviously put out not to get more; so it's an arch expression he regards her with when Miniyal begins anew the topic of being on the floor. Arch, but sly. "I suppose the only way we shall discover the extent of that impropriety would be through experimentation." It's a mouthful of words, but Gans rolls them out like silk brocade, smooth and rich and slippery - then leans forward, the arm behind her shifting to become the cradle that he'll lay her out in, once he's claimed that unfinished kiss.
Where: The floor. (How improper)
When: Right after this scene with Ashwin on day 12, month 12, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
What: After being caught being a snoop all sorts of things come out. . .jealousy and annoyance and hurt and in the end indecency.
12/13/2006 & 12/14/2006
It's early enough in the afternoon still that it's possible that there is someone in the room with G'thon when Miniyal arrives. She normally doesn't appear until dinnertime after all. This time it's still several hours away from that time of day. Her days normally have a nice set schedule. Off to work in the morning and back for lunch and sometimes tea too. Then she is gone again until dinner. Nice, safe schedule. However today that's not the case and she finds herself outside the room.
Even though it is her room she courteously knocks before stepping inside. He'll be used to her knocking in the day before coming in. A warning to him and whomever he might possibly have inside that she is coming in. She doesn't wait after knocking, of course, but she does knock. So, with a quick rapping of knuckles to herald her announcement she opens the door and steps inside the room. Her feet pause near the door because it is habit. Normally if he is busy she would excuse herself and go away. Today is different and company or not she stalks to the divan and throws herself down on it, expression unreadable.
He is busy, but busy in solitude, reposed behind a desk stacked with hides - it would appear he has actually demanded a written lesson from his students - one document in his lap, a pen in his hand, ink next to the stack on the desk, tea next to the ink, one of the books Roa brought him next to the tea. The most amusing of those books, probably. He looks up from his work at the knock; smiles lopsidedly at her entrance; starts to lean forward and clear his lap as she strides in - and pauses like that as she hunts down the divan and flops onto it.
"Ah," Gans says after a pregnant moment, resettling into his chair, then turning it so it faces the divan, so that from that (safe) distance he may regard her, warmly. "It is delightful as always to see you, my dear."
It takes a moment for his words to even register. Whatever has her in her state, calm as it appears to be, has left her unable to quite process the sounds as actual words. Shaking her head and the pushing hair off her face, Miniyal blinks and then looks over, focusing on him. "Oh. You're here." Ah, she's very observant. Another shake of her head and she summons up a smile. "Sorry. Hi. How's your day going? If you're working I'll be quiet. I'll just sit here and stuff." And think. About all sorts of things to only worsen her mood. She doesn't have to /say/ it when she's in this sort of mood. It's not an unusual mood exactly.
"I am indeed," murmurs Gans, in reply to her remarking upon his presence; he's droll, of course, and there's genuine fondness in the wry demeanor with which he regards her. In a moment he leans over and puts up his work on the desk, then rises to his feet. "I am doing a very poor job of working. How about I get you a brandy and you sit there and talk. I shall pretend, other than the brandy and any sort of snack I might muster up, not to be here; and you may pretend the same."
Blink. There is something in what he says or how he says it that causes Miniyal to tip her head to the side and look at him. "I'm not hungry. A drink would be nice." Leaning down to tug off her boots she then tucks her feet up under her and folds her hands in her lap. "No." Said once she's settled as her head lifts from contemplating the ink under her nails. "I mean, it's alright. I don't want to pretend you're not here. We can talk. Ummm. I should probably tell you anyway." Those words, or variants, he has heard in the past. Someone has gotten herself into trouble of some sort.
"All right then." This, like her replies, comes after a beat for consideration; Gans knows better, or controls himself better, than to turn in that beat and look at her. Instead he keeps moving toward the brandy, and speaks when it occurs to him to do so. "I am at your service." As he has said, just as pleasantly if sometimes more suggestively, before. Today he really -is,- though, in a moment; he pours the brandy and brings it to her, and bends - not to knee nor to sit with her - from the waist to offer it her. "Are you sure you wouldn't like something to nibble on? I can't imagine it would be offended if I provided it, and you didn't."
"No. I'm really fine." Said after she has her drink, but before she takes a small sip from it. Tilting her head a fraction so she can smile up at him there is a soft shake of her head. "I am fine until dinner. It's not so long until then." But she till considers and finally there is a small nod. "Maybe something." It is how she gets by with not eating much of meals. She picks throughout the day. "Thank you." Miniyal smiles and holds her glass in her lap, letting the smile fade as soon as she's dropped her head to peer into the liquid. "I might be in trouble. Maybe. I'm. . .unsure."
Gans straightens, ready to let his actions serve her word - he fits his hands behind his back and waits, however, his gaze downcast and his chin uptilted, watching her until, of course, she gives in to whatever little treats he might be able to provide. So he turns on that, murmuring an 'of course' to her 'thank you,' and heads for his shelves, where treats might be hidden. "Trouble is like that sometimes," he observes while setting aside books that have strayed from their shelves to these equally good but incorrect ones, hides, a scroll, and so forth to acquire a little wooden box. It is a familiar sort of box, or will be to Miniyal. From it might come those candied fruit jellies he once plied her with, a very long time ago. "Hard to tell if that's really what it is or not." He comes back toward her then with the box in his palms, thumbs slipping the lid aside.
When he straightens up and goes to fetch her a treat she watches him. It is safe to do so once he might not be watching her. Lips curve up into a smile as he straightens things up and Miniyal allows herself a moment to forget whatever trouble might be coming her way. Watching him relaxes her somewhat and by the time he's turned back to her she is not quite so worried in her expression and demeanor. She even manages a smile when noticing the box, lifting her gaze from it to him. "What if you did something that you're not. . .upset about, but people might get the wrong idea?" Miniyal worries at her lip and takes another drink from her glass before she looks at him again. "But if someone else finds out. . .there could be trouble. But I'm not sure if she will find out. I may have prevented it. . .I wasn't /trying/ to get in trouble. I promise. I just misjudged the timing."
"Something you consider ethically permissible, but others might not?" Gans is utterly calm, and a little bemused, too. He bends again beside her and offers the box out in his hands; the jellies, crusted with sweetener and fragrant with scents of fruit and the rare herb like lavender or coriander for savor, sparkle and glint within. "I have candied ginger too," he confides, like a precious secret, and his eyes for a moment sparkle at her with more than a servant's professional regard. "Is this someone else who might find out particular? I know you can't have meant it, Miniyal." Oh! Her name. An opportunity to remind her that, even playing her servant, he loves her; he loves to love her. "If you had you'd be proud to tell me what trouble you're in." Mischief makes this dry, and creeps up a quarter-size smile in the corner of his mouth.
"You have to do things sometimes in the course of your work that others might not agree with. And it hurts no one so there is no reason not to." Biting her lip she looks in the box and reaches for a treat. Well, two. "You spoil me." He does and she loves it. There is, after all, some of her mother in Miniyal and she is ever happy sometimes to enjoy the feeling of someone doing things just for her, just to please her. "This is fine. Best not to have too much sweets. Not before a meal." Echoes from her childhood, but said with some amount of belief. Some lessons are learned well. Then the whole absurdity of the situation makes her laugh before she nibbles on one of her jellies. "I love these." As if he were not aware of this weakness amongst others. With a sigh she tilts her head downwards. "I may have been caught going through Roa's desk in her weyr. Well, I was seen at her desk. My timing's not so off or he might have caught me going through something else. I mistimed his schedule. I won't make that mistake again. I don't know if he'll mention it to her. I'm not proud if it costs me my job. I don't have anything else to do." A pause here as she finishes her candy and then stares at the other in her hand. "You will be disappointed in me." Said as if that means nothing. As if she doesn't care if he is disappointed. How her tone lies.
"I like do," Gans murmurs, just so she knows that he knows he's spoiling her, and knows better than to complain. He kneels then, and breaks the illusion of servitude to become instead her suitor, balancing the box on the divan beside her and one of his pale long hands, bold over the bend of her knee. He looks up at her and listens intently, putting up the opposite elbow against the cushion of the divan. "Her lover caught you," he infers after a long - but slightly smiling - silence. It is a request for confirmation. And then: "I would not be. You have your own pursuits, and no need of marks." Because she has him; however, that's not the point here. "But I -would- be most curious how you came to be - employed - to go through her desk."
"You would be. But you wouldn't say so. You'd act like it didn't matter, but it would." There is. . .something in Miniyal's tone that hints of Issues. Ones she will certainly not bring forth, but are there under the surface just waiting to find the perfect wrong moment to come out and say hi. Shaking her head she takes another drink before saying anything else. "There's several reasons. I mean, how can I know what she's doing if she doesn't tell me? She didn't even give me her schedule. I had to go find it myself. Diya always made sure I knew what was going on. Unless she didn't want to me to know, but I had my suspicions anyway." Here is a pause for her to nibble on her candy. Looking down at that candy she lets out a sigh. "So I had to take it upon myself to be sure I am aware of everything that is going on with her. Otherwise how can I be expected to pick up the pieces when she makes a mistake? Or cover for her if I need to? I mean, I don't mind doing that, but I have to know ahead of time to be convincing. If she would tell me things I would not have to go behind her back." See? Simple. Logical.
Of course he has one of those little 'Ah' faces to respond to her assumptions about his disappointment - but he puts it away in a moment and recommences being the apt listener, the attentive companion. In the end he muses, drily, "So to ensure you are the best partner to her that you can be, you discover all you can about her. I can certainly see the reasoning in it, my dear." His palm curves over her knee, then arches so just fingertips rest there, and then those fingertips go creeping one by one down the side of her calf. "And did you explain this to him?"
"I'm not her partner. She doesn't trust me." And what's not to trust in a sneaky spy like Miniyal who expects to learn everything and give nothing in return? Really! The nerve of some people. "It's fine. I don't trust me. It's not a big deal but don't assume we'll ever be anything, her and I." There, she's said it. Frowning into her glass her eyes can't help but drift to those fingers creeping down her leg. Lips twitch as she almost smiles at it, but the things on her mind keep that from happening. "No! No, of course not!" Now her head lifts so she might look at him directly. "If people do not ask you a question, do not offer information. If you do not wish to tell the truth then say nothing at all." It sounds as if she is repeating something learned long ago. Self-taught, but learned. "No. I merely told him why I was there. To deliver a revised schedule. One that would afford her time off during every seven. I figured that would distract him. I mean, he can't see her too much as much as she does."
Gans' fingers stop their crawl, only to slide smooth the rest of the way down to her ankle and bend around there, a gentle clasp. "Good enough," he approves of her handling of Ashwin - but wryly he approves, with eyes a little dancing. "It is curious to me," he says, and in tone makes clear he intends to have a -few- words now, and that she shall listen while he does so; he withdraws his hand from her ankle after a squeeze and takes up the box in his other hand, then straightens to standing in a smooth motion, talking - he's good at that - all the while. "- how you would hope for her trust, or angle for it, without granting her any of the same. Not!" A hand, the one not with the candy, up for silence. "Not that you should cease your searching, or seek to know her any less. But Miniyal - " Lest she forget, while he lectures, that Gans loves her; at the very least, that he loves her name, and loves to whisper it in her ears, mouth it against her skin, trace it with fingertips over her spine - "Miniyal. Have you asked her for the knowledge you want?"
Lifting her glass for another drink, she gives her attention to him. Just the tiniest of disappointed sighs when his hand leaves her. Another drink when his words start coming and Miniyal peers into her glass as if trying to determine if she has enough alcohol to get through the lecture. "How can I trust her if she doesn't trust me?" Silly, Gans. Expecting her to put herself out in any way before being absolutely sure of the other person. Well, with perhaps the notable exception of him. But there were extenuating circumstances. "Of course." Is there a trace of something approaching bitter in her tone? Oh, just a wee bit. "The one time I asked her for something she would not give it. She told me to ask you." Ok, there was more than a trace of bitterness in that. Enough that she empties her glass and slips to the side of where he stands so she might rise to her feet. "But it's my fault. Because it certainly couldn't be hers. That would be ridiculous to think that." The glass is empty and must be filled so she stalks over to where she might do that, even in her suppressed anger not splashing anything outside her glass. She's a good drinker. Once her glass is no longer empty she sets off across the room to pace around from here to there.
"She tested you," points out Gans, and after a moment he follows her - after sweeping up the candy box from the divan so he can carry it not to the shelf where it belongs, but to the brandy, and then sort of Miniyalward since she won't stay by the brandy. "And I answered you. Have you told her that yet?" Chase, chase, chase. He has long legs. It requires no extra work to catch up to her, to step around her, to just -be- there with the box offering her candy - and then, to pluck up out of the box a particular strip, greenish pale, his favorite. He makes obvious play of tempting her with it. "I am assuming that her effort to draw me into it was significant, Miniyal. Not an evasion."
"She should have told me." There is no wiggle room in this. Miniyal has a point to make too and she will no matter what. The candy is offered and ignored because she steps aside again. Lifting her glass she drinks from it and then turns on her heel to stalk off somewhere else. There will be no stopping her. She does not answer his query. Which is answer enough. She has not told Roa that she knows. The glass is lifted again for another drink as she turns to pace off another direction. "Well, she made her point, didn't she?" The point that was made in Miniyal's mind is probably not the one that was intended. "I didn't exactly need that point made to me, you know. I'm not as blind as all that. I can see what's going on." Don't mind her. Don't mind the hint of that little voice in her head goading her on.
Fine, snub the candy. Gans eats it himself. He's chewing on it when she paces off, and when vitriol starts to leak subtle into her words. But vitriol is rarely, really, subtle. There is a pause; for this, he will not quite speak with his mouth full. But when he can speak politely he does so, turning to pace toward the bookshelves while talking. "What, then, do you see going on?"
There is no need for him to make her say it. Really, what is he thinking? But if he's going to press the issue then Miniyal will have another drink from her brandy and stop her pacing. Long enough to look at him and then she paces more. Towards the door and then she turns and paces back towards the door that does not lead out of the room. There she stops and finishes her drink, twisting the glass in her hands as she cross the room once more, circling the table and winding up close by the divan once more. As she walks she is quiet, as if her brain will not allow her this function along with speech. "I know I am not as good as her. That she's. . .I don't know. Better than me. She understands stuff I don't and probably understands you better and how to. . .to talk to people and get things done." Now she stomps her foot and shakes her head. "And I cannot be like her and I sorry for that. But it's not fair to expect me to be able to do that and to. . .to make me work for her. That was not fair. Or right." Because he forced her to, clearly. Her tone is all sadness with anger mixed in. She doesn't look anywhere near him. Nope. Interesting feet she has.
Three times he opens his mouth for a repartee and three times he only mouths 'ah' and lets her go on, eyes a little wider on each repetition. By the time she's done he's already heading for the decanter with the brandy in it himself. "I have no desire for you to be like Roa," says Gans, and there is no small amount of surprise in it, and not a single note droll or wry; there is, instead, something a little like - well, not hurt. It's always utterly clear when he's hurt. He's - put out. Miffed. Not angry. Not disappointed. But a little less than tickled pink. A pale hand wraps a lowballer and overturns it, then unstoppers the brandy and pours it, and over the sound of the splash he speaks further. "I rather prefer you as you are. I should think you know me well enough to suppose that I would not set up housekeeping with a woman I wish to remake in some other image. As for the work - " Ah, the work. He turns around with the brandy in his hand and allows the miffedness to leave him; he can be dry a bit about -this.- It does not offend his honor. "If you feel I have forced you into it, and you wish to be free of it, then you must tell me so, for it would be my responsibility to assist in every way I know."
"You think there are things wrong with me." Can she do hurt? Oh, of course she can do hurt. It's one of her best abilities. With a little help from the quiet voice in her head that has really been waiting for a chance to speak up for some time now. Biting her lip Miniyal blinks away a few tears because now is not the time for it. "It's not. . .I can't do it. I can't even. . .she's like you. And I'm not and you don't even need me. Not for anything outside of this room because I still can't do anything right." Biting her lip she suppresses more tears. Yay for repression. "And I can't quit. We have a deal. I can't quit and even if I do that's it, you know. What am I supposed to do? Go back to records? Again. Have everyone /again/ realise that I can't do it. That I failed again. That I'm useless. . .again." Now she cries, unable or unwilling to stop those tears from escaping and leaving tracks down her cheeks as she permits the ultimate in bad manners, in her mind, and just sits down on the floor where she is so she can set her glass aside and cry unencumbered by breakable things.
It's the first tears she blinks away that have him coming toward her, his expression stricken. Gans hasn't even time, really, nevermind presence of mind to explain, not until he's there. As suddenly as she crumpled he's there beside her on his knees, his arms out, the brandy beside hers and forgotten. It's -their- floor; why should they not use it as they wish? "I need you," he says, because this is first and foremost. "Oh, Faranth, Miniyal." The names go together carelessly, the one earnest in its helplessness and the other in its aching adoration. "I do need you. Please. Please?" Please come into his arms. He dares a hand at her shoulder, and the hand trembles there, hesitating, then slips farther back, encouraging, begging her into his ready embrace.
Biting her lip she doesn't speak, might not even hear. She's quite happily, well, maybe not happily, lost in her own misery. Eyes closing she continues to sit unmoving even when it does finally does settle into her brain that he's talking. Not that it does any good. Eyes opening, Miniyal shakes her head. "You don't." Whispered, miserable, two words that break her own heart. "You don't need me. I can't even. . .I still can't even talk to you without messing up and screwing things up and he's right. He's right and you don't need me. I don't understand you and she-I just don't know what to do. And you wanted me to be her assistant and I don't want to do that. But even you don't think I can do anything but that and if you don't believe in me how. . ." Accusations come shortly before her head drops and she wraps her arms around herself. She would like to be held, but she's saying mean things about him and clearly that is not the way it works.
"What do you -want- to be? I believe you can do anything if you want it, Miniyal, but have a little patience with me for thinking you might want to work with someone I know shares some similar goals!" Oh, he's frustrated. But it's not nearly as bad as the hurt, and the hurt he's only able to even bear by shuffling closer on sixty-seven-turn-old knees and trying, now, to actually bodily draw her up against him so he can bury his face in her hair where, in all good faith, it won't matter if he tears up, because hair can't see such things. "I need you. Shut him up, Miniyal, on that one, because I do. Please."
"I didn't believe him. All this time the last thing he said was I'd mess this up. That I'd lose you." Whispered as she gives in to what he wants. In all fairness, it's what she wants as well and there's a quiet muffled sob against his chest as her arms lock around him and she chokes back anymore sobs. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I messed up. I'm sorry I keep messing up all the time. I don't mean to and I don't want to." Here Miniyal pauses to draw in a shaky breath, squirming that much closer to him for that much more comfort in his embrace. "I don't want to hurt you. I'm sorry. I need you."
"You are not losing me." His arms close around her, but just for a moment; the one around her back of course holds its ground, but he withdraws the other and lifts a slender hand to slide back chestnut locks from her temple. With his head bent and his face in her hair, Gans murmurs a repetitive cadence of comfort. "You haven't. Don't be. It's all right." And then he just falls silent, one knee sliding around her backside and the other jostled by her leg, and holds her as close as he might there. Her breath is shaky; his is warm and sweet and lets out little kisses through her hair onto her scalp, but it shakes, too.
She can do quiet, quiet is something that works in her favor, yes? If she doesn't talk she cannot mess up more and say the wrong thing and make things worse. So, Miniyal just keeps her arms around him, her head against his chest as she cries silently. The only indication she has not stopped is the damp spot on his shirt. This is how she sits, for some time. "I'm sorry." A whisper against him as the tears finally dry up. A weary sounding whisper because she is more tired of herself than anyone else could ever be and she knows this.
"No." No sorry allowed. Gans' voice is gentle and sweet, as tough there's a little smile in it. "No need." The hand that has been brushing back her hair draws down the side of her face to her chin, then points fingertips there, begging her face uptilt. He lifts his own head in doing this, and then there'd be a kiss for her to accept - a soggy, crying kiss, and though his face is dry his eyes sparkle with threat of tears and his nose is a little pink - so the kiss is brief, but a kiss just the same.
"I love you," he says after that, settling back a little so the bend of his knees is tighter but the center of his gravity requires less strain to hold. Not that he's letting her go, not any time soon - but he does take his hand from her face so he can fish a handkerchief out of his pocket to offer her. "Never be sorry for telling me what you feel, what's on your mind, what's in your heart. But let's slow down a little, all right? Let's pick one thing at a time and work out some fixes."
In its own way? The understanding and sympathy only serves to make things worse for a moment. So for a moment she resists the pressure of fingers on her chin so she can keep her head down. But only for a moment because she knows what comes next and she wants what comes next. After the kiss she manages a smile, as brief as she might give to anyone, but there is an echoing of it in her eyes and no one sees that as much as he. Taking the handkerchief, Miniyal doesn't do much but stare at it for several moments as if she has to recall what she is mean to do with it. He says those three words, after all. They root once more in her head and in her heart and leave her unable to think until she recalls that she should be breathing and so does so. "We shouldn't be sitting on the floor." Mentioned as if that's all that is wrong even if she follows those words with a quiet sniffling into the handkerchief. "It's not proper."
Gans settles back a little farther and looks at her for a long moment with a bemused expression, brows arched, eyes bright and not just from unshed tears, mouth twitching against the temptation of a smile. In time he remarks, pleasantly: "Who cares?" And then he leans just far enough that he can catch up one of the brandies in his hand - he does not trouble to check which - and offer it to her. "Perhaps you are not Roa's partner, Miniyal, but you are mine; or I would have you be. I want this to be your security, your pleasure, your comfort, your home. I want you to be able to trust me." The arm around her bends so his hand can creep along her shoulder toward her neck, caressing as it goes, as though he'd knead stress from her muscles with so light a touch. Perhaps he would. "If you left this work, I would think no less of you. I have no grand design for your employment. I have no grand design for who she might employ. I just want your happiness and our success." A pause. Finally he allows the smile, wan as it is. "I'm going on."
"You shouldn't be sitting on the floor." Explained as she takes the glass and peers into it. "And it's not proper. And that's important." Corin did a fine job on manners even if she never got to the part about letting them go sometimes. The importance stated as it was now Miniyal takes a small drink from the glass offered her. She worries, of course, about him. A man his age should not be crawling around on the floor, but she will not say that because the age difference still lingers unspoken of as always. "You go on." Agreement and more as she peers up at him with a faint, fond smile. "You talk and I listen. I do. Sometimes it's just hard because it doesn't make sense. Not your words. . .but what's behind them. There's always something else it feels like and I don't get it. There's always something I don't get and there always will be. And for that I am sorry."
A little overturning of his hand, once she's taken the brandy from it, dismisses (only for a moment) the whole business of being on the floor. "Something else," Gans repeats, thoughtful, adjusting his hips sideways and his legs beneath them the other sideways so he can rearrange his seating - no longer knelt, but lopsidedly sat, now, still close enough to play his fingers through the longest few inches of her hair. "Something I'm holding back? I could hazard a guess. But you have to let go of propriety a while, for me. I've spent a lifetime being proper. Let me sit on the floor."
"Fine. You can sit on the floor." Pouting, just a little as she relents on this matter. However, the look she casts upwards over the rim of her glass is slightly teasing, as much as she can manage at the moment. "When you are stiff and sore later tonight from sitting on the floor do not expect me to coddle you and make you feel better." That said the glass is set aside and Miniyal worries at her lower lip. "Maybe. I don't know. I just wish it was easier. Anything. It just doesn't feel like anything is ever easy and people always say if it's easy it's not worth it, but those people never had to feel like everything was so hard."
A brow slides up a little, suggestive of what Gans might have to say about being coddled, or sore, or whatever, later tonight, from sitting on the floor now. But he saves comment for later, because her second remark begs reply, and a simple one, too: "How do you think that?"
Head tilting over to the side as she reaches for the glass, Miniyal just shrugs. Following it up with a slow draining of the remains of the brandy in the glass. Running her finger around the rim of the glass she finally sets it aside and shrugs again. "I just feel like everytime I make any progress getting better at anything I wind up falling back even farther. And I don't see what is wrong with easy is all. How come everything has to be hard?" If she were standing her foot would stomp. Since she is seated she can only shake her head. "It's not as if I expect everything to just. . .to just always be simple, but I just want one easy thing. Just one. Is that wrong?"
"No." He's smiling, but the smile's sympathetic, even a little sad. "I had rather hoped to provide that, you know." Dry, there. Gans picks up the second of the brandy glasses and shifts on the floor so he's sitting beside her, his arm around her, and turns his head so he can nose at her hair. The brandy he holds between them, not quite offering it, not quite withholding it for himself. "Something you don't have to worry about so much, that wouldn't be so hard."
"I know." Commiserating with him on the lack of easy going on. "It's not that you do anything wrong." Now she is earnest, not even paying attention to the brandy. Instead she turns her head after he nuzzles so she can look at him. "You don't do anything wrong. It's so. . .frustrating." She looks frustrated and at the same time amused. "I worry about it only because I can't help. . .being afraid. I know you say you won't leave and I believe you but I don't think I deserve you. And I want you to, well, I don't know. I guess not think I am a failure even though I am always failing at things. She'll probably fire me over this." Miniyal is apologetic in tone even if by now she's looking back down at her hands and leaning her head against him so there's no chance of eye contact going on.
"She would be wiser not to," observes Gans in a deep and resonant certainty. "And I might be disappointed in her if she did. But you've done what you felt you must and you haven't said a word about how he reacted, so I imagine you managed to comport yourself well enough." Untroubled by lack of eye contact he leans closer, nosing through her locks so he can play a soft little kiss at her ear, smiling there. "Don't talk yourself into it, Miniyal. When you started you weren't even sure there'd be trouble at all. Perhaps there won't be."
Her arm moves so she can wrap it around his waist and lean that little bit more into him. "I'm not sure how he reacted. I'm not good at telling. He laughed at something I said." Well, it puzzled her so Miniyal must mention it. "Besides. It's not how he reacted that is the problem. It's what she'll do when I tell her." Because it is a given that she will tell after all. "There's almost always trouble when you tell someone you did something they think is wrong. But there's no getting around it." Another half turn lets her get both arms around him. The fact she can nuzzle against him like this now is just a benefit. One she takes advantage of when she falls silent. "I didn't do too bad I guess." Offered up after a moment's thought.
"But you haven't told her prior to this," Gans observes - it could not quite be called a protest - and turns his head away from her hair and her ear so he can wet his lips with a sip from the brandy; then he draws up one slender (all right: bony) knee so he can hang the hand with the glass in it over its apex and turn toward her again, intimate, mild-smiling. "I'm sure you did beautifully, my dear, especially if he laughed. But why the change of heart?"
"Well, no. It's hard to actually do things behind someone's back if you tell them." Really, he's so silly sometimes. Miniyal sounds amused for a moment, but then her tone shifts back to something more serious. "No one knew before. Now someone does. He could tell her anytime. I won't have anyone thinking I am a coward. I will own up to what I did and whatever she decides, she decides. That's all I can do." A quiet sigh as she shrugs her shoulders and blinks. "I don't know. Besides, she should be more aware of her surroundings. She doesn't even know I was doing it and it's not like I was doing it on my own, you know. I couldn't possibly keep track of her all day on my own. As near as I can tell she had no clue. Which is wrong."
"Then you understand why she would do better to keep you on than dismiss you," retorts Gans, mild still, but with a hint of the resonance that spoke that opinion before. His eyes shine bemusement and he offers her the brandy-glass that he's just sipped from, since the other's empty and put aside. "She might start to have an inkling as to what she can learn. Which reminds me: you haven't told her that I answered your question, then?"
Oh, look, there's more brandy. Since the glass is offered and all she will take it and drink from it. "I'm still not sure that is what I want. To stay on. It's very boring." Which is, in the end, Miniyal's major problem with her work. At some point it all becomes dull and so she skips on to something else that will bore her too. She might be aware of this, but she might not. "No. I haven't told her I even asked. When she told me I should I said I wasn't interested in hearing it from you. And since she has not bothered to ever tell me herself I see no reason to let her know that I am aware of the information I am aware of. It is her own fault for not telling me." So, there. Another drink from the glass before she offers it back. See, she can to give up alcohol!
Gans takes the glass, though he speaks before putting it again to his lips. "As much as I'm inclined to agree with you, she had you ask me for a reason." A reason Miniyal is apparently welcome to think about on her own for the few seconds it takes her lover to take and swallow a small sip of the brandy. Then he'll help her a bit: "She wished one of two things. First, she may have wanted to test me. I have no knowledge of whether I've passed, if so, and I think her codifying was a little clumsy, but it's her secret, not mine, and not mine to say how well she guards it." Twinkle, and another sip, faster. "Second, she may have wanted to test you and me and us together, in a fashion; essentially, to know if I would share such information with you. I have no idea what she'll make of the results - " He shakes his head, and now offers her the brandy back for the last draught in the bottom of the glass. "But if she's not told, we have no idea what she's up to in asking."
Shoulders slumping a fraction, Miniyal sighs quietly. "So I have to tell her I know. You know, I'm not sure I would have sent her everything I did if I had known ahead of time." Biting her lip she takes the glass and finishes it off, setting it aside without thinking. "I haven't told you anything I am not supposed to. I mean, she tells me to not share and I don't. I guess I can tell her I know." But she doesn't sound happy about it at all. Giving up a secret. Willingly? Hardly something she's going to enjoy. "Before I tell her what else I did. I am still not sure it's the right idea telling her I know. But why wouldn't you tell me? I know she said it was alright, but she won't be mad at you, will she? I wouldn't want to make anyone mad at you. If you think she might be mad then I won't tell her. I won't do that."
"I don't think she will be," says Gans, softly, putting his hand over on her knee now that he doesn't have the glass to tend with; the other hand creeps across her back, fingers tiptoeing as they did down her calf some time ago. "Tell her I answered. Don't tell her what you know. The question was open; it could be considered leading, but only when one knows the answer. I might have told you only that she considers the goals of the Instigators pertinent to her current situation and ours as a society, and that therefore she's curious about why they failed." A brow twitches but is denied the chance to slide clear up, and his mouth bends up a fraction on the right-hand side. "I did not. But I could have."
She smiles at the feel of his hand on her knee and the way his fingers move across her back. "If she asks directly what you told me I have to tell her." Her morals may be warped, but there are some points that they are resolute on. Evasion is fine, but outright lies do not work. "Do you think she's actually going to learn from their mistakes?" Miniyal asks with a touch of concern in her tone. "How could people do what they did? On both sides. It was so. . .it was all wrong. It was all wrong and we haven't changed, have we? Things are still just as bad. After what happened at Telgar. . .I mean, how can people allow that to go on? How can people not be outraged at the treatment of another human being that way? It's bad enough you make one mistake and we toss you aside to die, but to. . .to hurt someone like that."
"S'lien," responds Gans, and the word - the name - is without malice, without kindness; it is as blank as anything he may say can ever be, but it rests solely the answers to all of Miniyal's questions on one man alone. Then, as if it expended great energy to make this response, he draws a breath and lets his hand drift down from her back to the floor so he can lean in on it, toward her. "Of course things have changed." His head bows, but the smile increases, and there's light in his eyes he almost seems inclined to hide from her. "I am not sure they've changed for the better, but if they have not, I think it safe to say they have made more people more aware; that times are more desperate now than they have ever been before; that in fact - " And here he looks up, the private delight gone in favor of an unusual expression indeed: sudden enlightenment. "In fact. Conflict has brought us to crossroads. The trouble of our times is an opportunity."
"I don't see how things have gotten better. We're still killing people." Miniyal lets out a sigh, shaking her head. "And people think it is alright. They have no problem with what goes on." Tilting her head she pauses and then leans towards him for a brief kiss. Not meant to end the conversation, but just because she wants to. Because she can and that means she may as well. "It's wrong," said quietly after she has thought of it some more. "Not enough people are aware. That's the real problem. How can they care about things they don't know about? Why should they care? People don't care and you can't force them to care. That's why they failed. Well, that and they resorted to violence and terror and you don't change things in that state. No. . .they were pretty stupid about it."
Perhaps her kiss softens his fervor, because after it he just looks on her while she talks with adoring eyes, not -too- wry. Just a little bit. And says, in the end, gentle and softly - asking her, as it were, to share a secret of some intimacy - "How would you do it? How, at least, would you begin?"
Biting her lip she pulls away a fraction. Searching his face, Miniyal is silent before she nods and then leans back against him with a murmur of contentment. "Quietly," she finally decides to give. "First you need to find concrete examples of what is wrong. Situations you can point to and say 'This is wrong. This should not be happening. These people need to stop.' Then you connect people to those involved. Find something they have in common. At the same time you find something they have in common with you. So you're not strangers. You make them trust you. You don't hurt them. Or anyone. You don't appear threatening. Ever. No matter what is done to you. You have to make people think they're realising on their own what is wrong and not having it pointed out like they've been too dumb to see it all along."
"Ah," he says, after a long moment - to be sure that she's done for long enough that he should speak, most likely. But his eyes haven't lost their sparkle, and he leans toward her to plant a kiss on her cheek, then back so he can regard her with mock gravity of expression. "I think you will have to explain to me in greater detail how you find and make the connections; how you encourage realizations. But that first step - identifying the injustices - sounds very much achievable." Miniyal has the shortest split-second here while Gans takes a breath in which she could realize what he's about to do. He's given the verbal cues. He's got the mischievous look. But she'd have to be fast. "I in fact have a project underway very much like that. Perhaps you'd like to help?" His hand on her knee caresses. "All I need is a sentence - and a little time to discuss it."
She is so good at listening. Even when she's not sure what she hears sometimes she is so very good at listening. It's a skill she taught herself, observed in her parents, practiced for turns in records as she queried people about maps she was copying from them. So Miniyal listens and she can't stop him before it's too late. What she can do is shake her head and smile. "I'm not in your class. Try again, dear." Ha! Take that!
"You don't have to be," tosses back Gans, droll. "I won't even ask you to present." Because he's good to her. Also because he's good to her, his hand curves, conforming long cool palm to the shape of her knee, then slides upward, a gentle stroke. A pleading one, perhaps. A promising one, certainly. "I won't promise not to add your sentence to my list, though."
He plays so dirty. His words have her starting to shake her head and indeed, she does do that. However, that touch brings with it a bit of distraction. Enough so that Miniyal blinks and sucks in her breath which leaves her speechless. Oh, look. He's touching her again. "I'm not sure. . .you're trying to trick me. You think if I give you a sentence it will make me work on it and once I've worked on it I won't be able to be quiet about it. Because you think you know me so well. Well. . .it's not going to work. I'm telling you that right now. There's no way you can convince me to do this." She is not daring him to do so. She is not!
"Incorrect," replies Gans, gently, smiling. His hand creeps a little farther, stroking, then back down half the way it came, stroking. "My goal is to have a broad and well-considered set of injustices to get a certain group of people thinking and talking about. I am asking you to provide me with an example, and with a conversation." He says 'conversation' in an almost suggestive tone; it does not help that his hand slides upward again and that he leans in to press his lips to her jaw, just below her earlobe. "Not that I would deny you the opportunity to sit my class if you wish."
"You can't trick me so easily anymore, you know. I am onto all your tricks." Especially those that involve hands and lips. Those tricks have no effect on Miniyal at all. Well, maybe there is a slight flutter of breath and a bit less space between them all at once. "Your teaching assistant?" she teases as she says this. "And I know you wouldn't. There's little of you that is denied me." Her hand wraps around his waist and she lets out a quiet little sigh. "I'll need plenty of time at Harper. That half a seven will just be the beginning of it."
There is only one part to all of that which Gans deems worthy of direct answer. Still, the reply he gives her could be taken in a number of ways; it could, if she chose, answer almost any of her remarks. That he says it softly, tucking his nose behind her ear so as to let the words brush his lips across her skin, face ducked into a cascade of chestnut strands, likely does not help. "If you wish it."
Oh. There is more cheating going on now. "Whatever I wish?" She can play this game too. The hand that settled on his waist gives a slight tug. The benefits to being on the floor are that one can't fall very far if they should happen to lose their balance. Not that her intention at all would be to get him to lose his balance and wind up against her or even. . .gasp, stretched out on the floor with her. "I want you to tell me something." Her voice is low, suggestive, but there's a seriousness in her eyes that belies the teasing. "Why do you love me? When did you? Are you sure?" If the last question was not meant to be said she cannot help but to say it. There is an apology for it already waiting to be said, but she holds it back. That, at least, she is quiet on.
"Anything," Gans tells the side of her neck, bending his head to descend a line of kisses there - until she tugs at him. He's a slender thing; what weight he has is due to muscle leftover from his riding days and the pure necessary parts of the body, particularly of a body so tall. Still, her pulling wins its smaller intent and the hand behind her that holds him more or less propped slips, sending him up against her side. It sends the hand on her thigh sliding higher, too, or maybe that's just to steady him - and he's laughing a little, soft as a whisper, after that. It's only that she starts asking questions that has him doing anything other than murmuring wordless assent to her request to be told something; anything other than spreading his line of kisses farther down to the curve of her collarbone. Her questions belay those actions, and he straightens just enough that he can get a look at her face. His brows have slid up, but his regard remains otherwise warm, pleasant, fond; and his answers are simple enough. "Because you're you. I have no idea when. And I am quite sure."
"You answer questions," said in a low thoughtful voice as one hand slides up to wrap around the back of his neck. "You answer them without giving away anything. Is it any wonder you are not easy for me?" There is a smile in Miniyal's words even if it doesn't curve her lips overly much. "You should tell me more. Tell me something now." Only this time she doesn't give him any direction to steer his words towards. Or any time to actually say them before she finds his lips for a brief teasing sort of kiss. "How improper are we going to be down here? Because I'm thinking we could be all sorts of not proper with just a little bit of mind set to it." Her other hand, still at his waist, tugs again. They have some time, after all, until their dinner arrives.
It's just as well that all he can find to 'tell' her in that split second is a little murmur of appreciation for the curve of her hand along the back of his neck. Gans takes her kiss, and would have more of it - and looks mischieviously put out not to get more; so it's an arch expression he regards her with when Miniyal begins anew the topic of being on the floor. Arch, but sly. "I suppose the only way we shall discover the extent of that impropriety would be through experimentation." It's a mouthful of words, but Gans rolls them out like silk brocade, smooth and rich and slippery - then leans forward, the arm behind her shifting to become the cradle that he'll lay her out in, once he's claimed that unfinished kiss.