She can't even be mad in the end.
Who: Miniyal and R'vain
Where: Weyrleader's office
When: After dinner on day 2, month 2, turn 3
What: R'vain summons everyone's favorite snoop. This is, of course, yet another scene that shows why these two should not be allowed to reside in the same Weyr as each other. Allowing them alone in the same room? Bad.
1/18/2007 & 1/19/2007
The letter was delivered to Records. He knows she doesn't work there, per se, now; but her associates and her fatheer do. Surely one of them would deliver the message. And what harm might come if they read it along the way? After all, it only says this:
I would like to see you, after dinner, today or tomorrow. The office would be ideal, but send if you prefer some other spot.
It doesn't have a signature. It has the Weyrleader's seal-- what else does it need?
The letter did, indeed, make it to Miniyal eventually. Navan took it and while he didn't look at it, he wouldn't, he did send someone else to deliver it. And Bothal is not the sort to leave something unsnooped. Is it any wonder that him and Miniyal have been friends for sometime? She likely considered not going that first day since she was given an option, but here she is. Because sometimes there are things it is best to get over with. So, she knocks on the door. She must have come around the inside for she has no coat. Oh, wait. That doesn't stop her. Well, there's little blown snow on her clothes or in her hair. *knock knock* goes her hand upon the door after dinner.
Miniyal, probably, would know the way through the council chambers. R'vain, certainly, has prepared adequately for her to come from that route; he's turned the midsize conference table so that he can sit on one of its broad sides and have view of that entrance and the bowlward one as well. He sits that way now, with a selection of hides in his hands-- a group in one, and a single hide lifted in the other. A formation's marks take form over the surfaces of the hides visible, and he seems-- from his glancing back and forth-- to be looking, brows furrowed, from one hide to the other, comparing.
"C'mon in," he rumbles after a moment to realize that sound requires his attention, and only after asking his company in, looks up.
If she must take a moment to worry about why this meeting has been requested she does so in the privacy, such as it is, of the other side of the door. It only takes a minute from admittance granted to admittance taken. Meaning, Miniyal opens the door and steps inside. It closes behind her but she lingers near it. Hands slip into the pockets of her skirt because it is that or she'll likely be nervously plucking at the threads on her sweater. "You wanted to see me?" Curious in her tone, because when has he ever wanted to see her? This can't be good. So nervous somewhat in tone as well.
"I wanted t'talk t'you a bit. You can come on and be invisible if y'got it in y't'do so." R'vain aligns the hides into one stack and jogs their edges more or less level against his knee, then puts them up-- face down-- on the table. Hands free he lifts one to wave a welcome for Miniyal to come take a chair, and uses the other to press himself up from his own. "Getcha a drink?"
"Right. We always have such lovely chats, don't we?" Miniyal keeps most of the sarcasm out of her voice, but she has not had a very good couple of days lately and it's hard for her to force herself to be nice. Must be nice. Weyrleader. It's the little shoulder Corin chiding her that causes her to step farther in. In and to a seat which she takes carefully to be sure she doesn't trip over anything. The floor, her feet, what have you. The usual things she might trip on if she's not very careful. "No, thank you. I am fine." Or at least she doesn't want anything to drink.
"Sorry I ain't been able t'talk t'you sooner since y'came back," R'vain replies, as if indifferent to the question of drink. He goes to the sidetable anyway, opening up a cabinet there so he can pull out a pitcher and two glasses. "You have a nice trip?" He turns around, returning to the table. The glasses, winestem type, go down. The water, clear and obvious, from the pitcher, splashes in with two lazy, abrupt pours.
Because it is better to watch him than not know where he is, Miniyal keeps track of where he walks. Without even meaning to, it is just what she does. "I wasn't aware there was anything we needed to discuss, sir. So there is no need to apologise for anything." Again with the puzzled, but she hides it well, looking down at hands folded carefully in her lap. "Our trip was nice, thank you. It was enjoyable to get away for awhile where there were no obligations for either of us."
"I don't need 'sir' from you," R'vain notes without the emphasis that would make the remark an insult. After that he puts down the pitcher and shoves one of the glasses across the table. The surface is clean, glossy and smooth; it has not suffered the travails of a drunkard Weyrlingmaster, never mind his youthful and taloned charges. The water slides with hardly a disturbance over toward Miniyal, and after that the Weyrleader basically falls into his seat, whump. He grins at her. And doesn't say anything else; let her wait, and be grinned at.
"Whatever you wish, sir." Miniyal smiles, just a touch. "I shall try to remember, however it is a habit to address the weyrleader as such." Whomever he might be. Unspoken words. She ignores the water as she said she did not want anything. So it is not impolite to ignore the offering. And if he wishes to wait silently she will allow it. Hands folded, ankles crossed and legs tucked under the chair she sits. While she does not look at him she finds a spot over his shoulder to focus on so she does not appear to be unable to look at him. And. . .she waits, silently, ignoring the grin.
R'vain ignores, in kind, Miniyal's answer. But in time the grin loses its potency, and R'vain leans back in his chair, drawing up his arms to cross them. The wounded paw's fingers drum against his inner elbow, the shine of his dark blue shirt twitching with each touch. "Y'sent back th'key."
It does not surprise her that she outlasted the game of silence. She has in the past. Miniyal excels at silence even in the face of. . .him. However, when he does speaks he has an answer at the ready. Likely she expected it to come up so had what she would say planned out in her head. "Yes." Clearly it did not take her long to come up with this answer.
R'vain unfolds the tapping hand and reaches for his glass with it. It gives him something to hold, but he does little else with it. "I'm goin' t'have t'find someone else for it, then. You get out whatever y'want?"
"I took nothing from it." Miniyal has no props and so must continue to sit with her hands folded neatly in her lap. There is no fidgeting at all. Other than breathing there's just no movement. Her glance drifts towards him a moment, but then is back to that spot over his shoulder. Look at the wall. Lalala.
Miniyal has a glass of water. If she chooses not to use it, that's not R'vain's fault! "Then I figure y'don't want it. Some of it's sweet, thought y'might." His shoulders rise, then slowly fall, muscles rippling with the steady effort of constraining the motion. "You spoke t'Roa since y'came back?"
A glass of water is not a good prop. It is useful only to possible throw at the weyrleader at a later date in the conversation. "I stopped by to visit her, yes." Miniyal is nice like that and would. . .umm. Offer congratulations. Yes, that is what it was. Well, since it was not she just doesn't say anything. Minimalist conversation.
R'vain pauses a moment, first to grin, then to put up the rim of his glass for a drink; the gesture's comfortable, something he can use to hold back the wattage on his teeth a little bit so he looks only smug, not entirely self-justified. "Good. I know she'd appreciate it." He stretches out the word 'appreciate' far more than necessary. It's like small talk, only the Weyrleader seems to be getting some sort of wicked satisfaction out of it, worse, out of Miniyal's minimalist part in it. "She tell you I mentioned your moment of tryin' t'make somethin' useful out of me?"
"Yes. I sure she appreciated it quite a bit." Miniyal's eyes narrow a bit. Just a fraction, but the rest of her expression remains the same. At that question at the end her eyes do settle on him and the carefully maintained neutrality that existed on her features before flickers away into something else. Anger, annoyance, resigned sadness. "Yes. I'm sure you both enjoyed discussing that. I know I really can't think of how I might thank you for allowing me the privilege of being lectured quite thoroughly about what a horrid person I am. Really. I owe you so much. It made not only my day, but my entire month." So much for minimalism. "And I was all concerned that the peace I'd found on my vacation would linger too long. Thankfully you made sure that didn't happen."
"Min'yal, y'goin' t'get some heartache when people find you out." R'vain shrugs again, less carefully this time, and shifts his gaze from the woman across the table to the water glass in his curved paw. A little turn of his hand and the water starts swirling; it gives him something to watch, and focus enough to steady his expression. The grin dies, leaving a furrowed-brow shadow to handle its wake. "We never even got t'makin' a deal, hardly one swearin' secrets. I'm sorry if my mention inconvenienced you somehow. But she trusts you, and you ain't earned it, and if you got a talkin' to-- " His eyes narrow, and his hand stops moving. He looks up, looks at her, even as she looks at the wall. "Well, I think y'asked for it."
The first response he gets, somewhere in the middle of talking a quiet, wry laugh. However, Miniyal doesn't bother to explain until he seems to be done talking. Her words are prefaced with a shake of her head. "She doesn't trust me. She's never trusted me. If you don't believe me, ask her. And if she says otherwise I'll name her a liar." Head tilting downwards now she gives up even the pretense of trying to converse without seeing him. "I'm sure I asked for it. I usually do." A glance up for a second and then back down after she asks, "Get to talking to whom?"
"She trusted you," growls R'vain, leaning forward enough to unfold the other arm and lean it against the edge of the table, "More than y'gave her cause to. Name her 'fool' if you got to, and I'll name you when I think of a word." His nostrils flare, and he repeats himself a little more clearly. "Get a talkin' to. By Roa. You already got it. S'what you just bitched about, ain't it?"
"No. She didn't trust me. Doesn't trust me." Shaking her head, Miniyal rises to her feet. "You are correct. I did. Which means I don't need a lecture from you of all people. A liar. If she says she trusted me. And you can believe me or not, I don't care. When it comes down to it, in the end, it's not as if it matters. Unless there is something else you wish to growl at me over I believe I will leave now, sir. I'm sure you two will work quite well together and I am thankful I've nothing to do with either of you."
R'vain leans back; the grin returns. "Y'might wish," he retorts. "But you're goin' t'know someone somewhere's counting on you, and I can't imagine that means we've seen th'last of your backside yet. G'wan, I won't keep you. You need anything from me y'know where I am." So indifferent, so casual this offer; like he means it, and like it's nothing. He even picks up a paw, and waves-- bye-bye, Miniyal.
Shaking her head, Miniyal turns to leave. "People are used to being disappointed by me. There's no one left who counts on me for anything." Proper exits are important, if she does one thing well, usually, she can manage that. So she pauses at the door and before opening it to leave turns around, head shaking once more. "I've already seen what you can do for me. And I. . ." A brief stop so she might duck her head, clear her throat, not look ready to cry when she meets his gaze across the room. "I kept thinking I might make you understand. I won't-well. I won't trouble you again. I was mistaken. About everything." And there is likely more she might say, but that's where she stops. Turn around, open door, exit. You know it's bad when she can't even get mad at him.
And when he can't even spit out a reply to stay her before she leaves-- but it might seem more like R'vain, in this case, does not try. He watches, eyes narrowed and green, when her words start to turn wallowing. And when she's gone, he finds his way to hide and stylus again, to get down some observation not shared when he had the chance.
Where: Weyrleader's office
When: After dinner on day 2, month 2, turn 3
What: R'vain summons everyone's favorite snoop. This is, of course, yet another scene that shows why these two should not be allowed to reside in the same Weyr as each other. Allowing them alone in the same room? Bad.
1/18/2007 & 1/19/2007
The letter was delivered to Records. He knows she doesn't work there, per se, now; but her associates and her fatheer do. Surely one of them would deliver the message. And what harm might come if they read it along the way? After all, it only says this:
I would like to see you, after dinner, today or tomorrow. The office would be ideal, but send if you prefer some other spot.
It doesn't have a signature. It has the Weyrleader's seal-- what else does it need?
The letter did, indeed, make it to Miniyal eventually. Navan took it and while he didn't look at it, he wouldn't, he did send someone else to deliver it. And Bothal is not the sort to leave something unsnooped. Is it any wonder that him and Miniyal have been friends for sometime? She likely considered not going that first day since she was given an option, but here she is. Because sometimes there are things it is best to get over with. So, she knocks on the door. She must have come around the inside for she has no coat. Oh, wait. That doesn't stop her. Well, there's little blown snow on her clothes or in her hair. *knock knock* goes her hand upon the door after dinner.
Miniyal, probably, would know the way through the council chambers. R'vain, certainly, has prepared adequately for her to come from that route; he's turned the midsize conference table so that he can sit on one of its broad sides and have view of that entrance and the bowlward one as well. He sits that way now, with a selection of hides in his hands-- a group in one, and a single hide lifted in the other. A formation's marks take form over the surfaces of the hides visible, and he seems-- from his glancing back and forth-- to be looking, brows furrowed, from one hide to the other, comparing.
"C'mon in," he rumbles after a moment to realize that sound requires his attention, and only after asking his company in, looks up.
If she must take a moment to worry about why this meeting has been requested she does so in the privacy, such as it is, of the other side of the door. It only takes a minute from admittance granted to admittance taken. Meaning, Miniyal opens the door and steps inside. It closes behind her but she lingers near it. Hands slip into the pockets of her skirt because it is that or she'll likely be nervously plucking at the threads on her sweater. "You wanted to see me?" Curious in her tone, because when has he ever wanted to see her? This can't be good. So nervous somewhat in tone as well.
"I wanted t'talk t'you a bit. You can come on and be invisible if y'got it in y't'do so." R'vain aligns the hides into one stack and jogs their edges more or less level against his knee, then puts them up-- face down-- on the table. Hands free he lifts one to wave a welcome for Miniyal to come take a chair, and uses the other to press himself up from his own. "Getcha a drink?"
"Right. We always have such lovely chats, don't we?" Miniyal keeps most of the sarcasm out of her voice, but she has not had a very good couple of days lately and it's hard for her to force herself to be nice. Must be nice. Weyrleader. It's the little shoulder Corin chiding her that causes her to step farther in. In and to a seat which she takes carefully to be sure she doesn't trip over anything. The floor, her feet, what have you. The usual things she might trip on if she's not very careful. "No, thank you. I am fine." Or at least she doesn't want anything to drink.
"Sorry I ain't been able t'talk t'you sooner since y'came back," R'vain replies, as if indifferent to the question of drink. He goes to the sidetable anyway, opening up a cabinet there so he can pull out a pitcher and two glasses. "You have a nice trip?" He turns around, returning to the table. The glasses, winestem type, go down. The water, clear and obvious, from the pitcher, splashes in with two lazy, abrupt pours.
Because it is better to watch him than not know where he is, Miniyal keeps track of where he walks. Without even meaning to, it is just what she does. "I wasn't aware there was anything we needed to discuss, sir. So there is no need to apologise for anything." Again with the puzzled, but she hides it well, looking down at hands folded carefully in her lap. "Our trip was nice, thank you. It was enjoyable to get away for awhile where there were no obligations for either of us."
"I don't need 'sir' from you," R'vain notes without the emphasis that would make the remark an insult. After that he puts down the pitcher and shoves one of the glasses across the table. The surface is clean, glossy and smooth; it has not suffered the travails of a drunkard Weyrlingmaster, never mind his youthful and taloned charges. The water slides with hardly a disturbance over toward Miniyal, and after that the Weyrleader basically falls into his seat, whump. He grins at her. And doesn't say anything else; let her wait, and be grinned at.
"Whatever you wish, sir." Miniyal smiles, just a touch. "I shall try to remember, however it is a habit to address the weyrleader as such." Whomever he might be. Unspoken words. She ignores the water as she said she did not want anything. So it is not impolite to ignore the offering. And if he wishes to wait silently she will allow it. Hands folded, ankles crossed and legs tucked under the chair she sits. While she does not look at him she finds a spot over his shoulder to focus on so she does not appear to be unable to look at him. And. . .she waits, silently, ignoring the grin.
R'vain ignores, in kind, Miniyal's answer. But in time the grin loses its potency, and R'vain leans back in his chair, drawing up his arms to cross them. The wounded paw's fingers drum against his inner elbow, the shine of his dark blue shirt twitching with each touch. "Y'sent back th'key."
It does not surprise her that she outlasted the game of silence. She has in the past. Miniyal excels at silence even in the face of. . .him. However, when he does speaks he has an answer at the ready. Likely she expected it to come up so had what she would say planned out in her head. "Yes." Clearly it did not take her long to come up with this answer.
R'vain unfolds the tapping hand and reaches for his glass with it. It gives him something to hold, but he does little else with it. "I'm goin' t'have t'find someone else for it, then. You get out whatever y'want?"
"I took nothing from it." Miniyal has no props and so must continue to sit with her hands folded neatly in her lap. There is no fidgeting at all. Other than breathing there's just no movement. Her glance drifts towards him a moment, but then is back to that spot over his shoulder. Look at the wall. Lalala.
Miniyal has a glass of water. If she chooses not to use it, that's not R'vain's fault! "Then I figure y'don't want it. Some of it's sweet, thought y'might." His shoulders rise, then slowly fall, muscles rippling with the steady effort of constraining the motion. "You spoke t'Roa since y'came back?"
A glass of water is not a good prop. It is useful only to possible throw at the weyrleader at a later date in the conversation. "I stopped by to visit her, yes." Miniyal is nice like that and would. . .umm. Offer congratulations. Yes, that is what it was. Well, since it was not she just doesn't say anything. Minimalist conversation.
R'vain pauses a moment, first to grin, then to put up the rim of his glass for a drink; the gesture's comfortable, something he can use to hold back the wattage on his teeth a little bit so he looks only smug, not entirely self-justified. "Good. I know she'd appreciate it." He stretches out the word 'appreciate' far more than necessary. It's like small talk, only the Weyrleader seems to be getting some sort of wicked satisfaction out of it, worse, out of Miniyal's minimalist part in it. "She tell you I mentioned your moment of tryin' t'make somethin' useful out of me?"
"Yes. I sure she appreciated it quite a bit." Miniyal's eyes narrow a bit. Just a fraction, but the rest of her expression remains the same. At that question at the end her eyes do settle on him and the carefully maintained neutrality that existed on her features before flickers away into something else. Anger, annoyance, resigned sadness. "Yes. I'm sure you both enjoyed discussing that. I know I really can't think of how I might thank you for allowing me the privilege of being lectured quite thoroughly about what a horrid person I am. Really. I owe you so much. It made not only my day, but my entire month." So much for minimalism. "And I was all concerned that the peace I'd found on my vacation would linger too long. Thankfully you made sure that didn't happen."
"Min'yal, y'goin' t'get some heartache when people find you out." R'vain shrugs again, less carefully this time, and shifts his gaze from the woman across the table to the water glass in his curved paw. A little turn of his hand and the water starts swirling; it gives him something to watch, and focus enough to steady his expression. The grin dies, leaving a furrowed-brow shadow to handle its wake. "We never even got t'makin' a deal, hardly one swearin' secrets. I'm sorry if my mention inconvenienced you somehow. But she trusts you, and you ain't earned it, and if you got a talkin' to-- " His eyes narrow, and his hand stops moving. He looks up, looks at her, even as she looks at the wall. "Well, I think y'asked for it."
The first response he gets, somewhere in the middle of talking a quiet, wry laugh. However, Miniyal doesn't bother to explain until he seems to be done talking. Her words are prefaced with a shake of her head. "She doesn't trust me. She's never trusted me. If you don't believe me, ask her. And if she says otherwise I'll name her a liar." Head tilting downwards now she gives up even the pretense of trying to converse without seeing him. "I'm sure I asked for it. I usually do." A glance up for a second and then back down after she asks, "Get to talking to whom?"
"She trusted you," growls R'vain, leaning forward enough to unfold the other arm and lean it against the edge of the table, "More than y'gave her cause to. Name her 'fool' if you got to, and I'll name you when I think of a word." His nostrils flare, and he repeats himself a little more clearly. "Get a talkin' to. By Roa. You already got it. S'what you just bitched about, ain't it?"
"No. She didn't trust me. Doesn't trust me." Shaking her head, Miniyal rises to her feet. "You are correct. I did. Which means I don't need a lecture from you of all people. A liar. If she says she trusted me. And you can believe me or not, I don't care. When it comes down to it, in the end, it's not as if it matters. Unless there is something else you wish to growl at me over I believe I will leave now, sir. I'm sure you two will work quite well together and I am thankful I've nothing to do with either of you."
R'vain leans back; the grin returns. "Y'might wish," he retorts. "But you're goin' t'know someone somewhere's counting on you, and I can't imagine that means we've seen th'last of your backside yet. G'wan, I won't keep you. You need anything from me y'know where I am." So indifferent, so casual this offer; like he means it, and like it's nothing. He even picks up a paw, and waves-- bye-bye, Miniyal.
Shaking her head, Miniyal turns to leave. "People are used to being disappointed by me. There's no one left who counts on me for anything." Proper exits are important, if she does one thing well, usually, she can manage that. So she pauses at the door and before opening it to leave turns around, head shaking once more. "I've already seen what you can do for me. And I. . ." A brief stop so she might duck her head, clear her throat, not look ready to cry when she meets his gaze across the room. "I kept thinking I might make you understand. I won't-well. I won't trouble you again. I was mistaken. About everything." And there is likely more she might say, but that's where she stops. Turn around, open door, exit. You know it's bad when she can't even get mad at him.
And when he can't even spit out a reply to stay her before she leaves-- but it might seem more like R'vain, in this case, does not try. He watches, eyes narrowed and green, when her words start to turn wallowing. And when she's gone, he finds his way to hide and stylus again, to get down some observation not shared when he had the chance.