A gift with Meaning.
Who: Miniyal and G'thon
Where: Kitchen
When: Lunchtime on day 11, month 8, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
What: Thanks to a certain dragon, Miniyal doesn't get a chance to visit with anyone on her birthday. The following day that is somewhat fixed when she just happens to run into G'thon in the kitchen. On accident. Completely. He does, at least, cheer her up. As well as deliver something to her.
4/17/2007
At High Reaches Weyr, it is lunchtime on day 11, month 8, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
Perhaps he intended to come to her the day before. The day before, after all, was her birthday. But there's been a little chaos in the world of weyrlings, and even Gans isn't - apparently - immune to the fallout of that chaos. If he sought her out on her birthday, he failed. Today, at the hour the weyrlings are released for lunch, he tries again: by lurking in the kitchens, poised tall and silent near the door that opens onto the living caverns, grim in his greatcoat. His presence makes some of the staff anxious. To this unfortunate but necessary side effect of his waiting, Gans pays no mind.
The knowledge that it was her birthday only added to the problems that were caused by unruly dragons. It didn't help her mood at all and since the night before was increasingly miserable it stands to reason that entering into the living cavern for lunch, because she has to, is the current personification of misery. Miniyal does her best to pretend she is not as bothered as she really is, but it's a losing endeavor. She might not even have noticed there was someone in the kitchen who should not have been before he had to do something. Except, that someone who works in the kitchen, and likely is hoping a certain mother doesn't find out, just happens to walk by the weyrling as she heads to a table to whisper something to her. So, the misery pauses and then touches the sleeve of the nervous looking weyrling next to her. A few words and the boy smiles and while she doesn't she does manage to break away from the group. It's not the first time she's sought out extra treats for those she bothers to notice. It's a good cover to explain why she now heads for the kitchens.
It's a tricky thing to do, lurking by the doorway so that anyone who comes through may be seen and, if they're the person one is looking for, all but pounced upon. Gans' pouncing, of course, is stately at best. "Miniyal," he says, rolling out the syllables like a favorite quilt on the bed. He turns toward her instantly with his wry half-smile ready, a hand outstretched. "Can you buy a moment?" With Corin's coin, no doubt.
She knew he was in the kitchen, but likely she didn't expect to be pounced upon. However stately it was done. For him she finds a smile and if it takes a moment for it to truly settle over her features, well, he'll just have to forgive her. The one thing that takes no time is the finding of his hand with hers. "Gans. I- of course." She looks around the kitchen, busy with getting lunch out and working on dinner and gives his hand the slightest tug. "Over there." The corner by the ovens. Not many people go there as it gets warm when they are in use. Still, it's not /so/ bad right now. Just uncomfortable.
Gans is easily directed, even toward warm. Maybe especially toward warm; his hand is cool beneath hers, not that this is new. "I heard Peloth is already working on living up to expectations," he remarks quietly, drolly, as they pass through the working areas toward the ovens, his attention mostly on Miniyal and partly on their path, but not at all on the people who work around them.
The people around them might cast a curious look or two their way, but for the most part they let them be. Other than to move out of the way. If Miniyal is less than welcome in records these days it seems the kitchen has decided to grant her some refuge because of it. To save people having to detour around them too much she sticks close to him. It lets him feel exactly how tense she really is which gives away the falseness of the calm in her voice. "She is- I'm afraid to wonder what expectations are expected of her. I already know I'm expected to fail."
"You're expected to stumble," Gans corrects, entirely undisturbed, his voice just as dry and pleasant as it was before. His hand beneath hers tightens slightly; that's all the comfort he offers, his unflappable certainty aside. Once in their decided corner, he turns toward her, letting a proper margin of space divide their bodies, his hand and hers between them. "To struggle, perhaps. To have moments. But you impressed a queen, Miniyal, and you are expected to succeed. Peloth - " His smile increases, and something very amused sparkles in his eyes. "Well, she is expected to be your match, and then some."
"I'm pretty sure that's not- I'm sorry. I'm a bit. She's-" Miniyal frowns, giving her head a shake. "She's upset and I'm upset and every time one of us starts to think we might not be upset. . .well. She's beside herself is all. And we both know, you know, how messed up I am." Another shake of her head as she squeezes his hand. "I'm sorry. How're you doing? How's your class going?" Diversion. It always was her favorite tactic. Even if it didn't always work.
"Class is going well. Is she upset about her - a brother, wasn't it?" Gans is hard to divert - with no better weapons than a hand in his and words, anyway. "No need to be sorry, my dear. I have always thought you overestimate your messed-up-edness." Only he would use her term and fit it to grammar so precisely, with such acute pronounciation. Especially when he is so pleased with himself as he is now. "I have something for you."
It is true her best weapons are not available to her for awhile yet. And, none of them are ones she'd use in public anyway. Especially under the eyes of those her mother works with. "Brother, yes. S'ol's Xalth. You know, umm, the one with the temper. The bronze anyway. But, no. She's not upset over him. She's upset because she got me in trouble." And she might comment on how he continues to underestimate her state of being messed up, but then he springs those magic words. "Really?" For the first time he gets a real smile.
"We haven't met," Gans replies, expression curious, extremely interested. Facetiously interested. He can be patient, after all. He knows what he has for her; the mystery is for her, and he will pleasantly stretch it out by being very sociable about Miniyal's classmate. "The dragon, you mean, has the temper? His rider does not? Was his temper involved?" Oh, this occurs to him as a thought, something to be worried about indeed, and all of that occurring and worrying crosses his face in a clear enough manner that she's meant to understand quite clearly that he's teasing her by ignoring the topic of her present. "Peloth isn't hurt, is she?"
"Gans." It is not a simple speaking of his name. It is drawn out, pouting, pleading. Her present, whatever it is, taunts her in the unknowing. Miniyal watches him, pleading with her look as well. Once again, cursing her inability to truly weasel the information out of him. "The dragon has the temper. The rider? No, he has one, but he's managed to convince himself he doesn't. Everyone does." So, she'll play his game. The sooner it ends the sooner she gets her gift. "There was temper after. And I don't think S'ol will be speaking to me much. He was glaring at the both of us like it was our fault. It wasn't. Besides, I'm the one that got hurt, not him!" She must free her hand so she can pull up the sleeve of her shirt and expose the bandage. "I told them I couldn't use a knife, but whatever. Peloth is fine. She's just upset. She's lost extra bath time."
"Oh - " Her wound, or her bandage at any rate, win from Gans actual concern. His hand is free because Miniyal let it go; both hands, thus, are able to reach for her wounded arm to try to cradle it, as if it might require his help to hold it up. A cool thumb strokes her wrist, and he raises his gaze again to her face, more solemn. "Do you think some fairly solid gloves might help?" The problem with knives, with her using them - well, he knows a little bit better than to directly address that.
It's not a large bandage at least, but she's certainly not above taking sympathy. Especially from him. So, Miniyal lets him have her arm and uses it as an excuse to step a fraction of an inch closer. Otherwise it's awkward, yes? Yes, that's all. She's still a proper distance from him after all. "I don't think anything will help. I don't normally have to butcher because of my problem, but the brat killed it so I had to cut it up. I'm fine. It's not bad. I just don't have any luck with knives is all." Pausing, she tilts her head and looks up at him. "So, I hope that's not what you got me for my birthday." Hint, hint.
Gans turns one hand over so he can curve it over the inside of her arm, below the bandage, and drift it down toward her hand. His palm settles over hers then, his other hand cradling her knuckles. "No, but I could certainly get them for some ordinary day if you need them," he replies, gaining back a fraction of his one-sided smile.
"No, I'd rather have something I could use." Miniyal smiles again, twice now. If she's still bothered by a lot, and how can she of all people not be, there is less evidence of that fact. "And, if you're going to drag this out maybe I'll have to demand a favor of you in return." Her tone goes down, teasing, and just loud enough to carry to him. Of course, to be sure she has to step just a little bit closer. Still nowhere near being improper, but probably closer than she should be considering she is already in trouble.
Gans is just starting to chuckle softly at Miniyal's suggestion when the possibility that there is more than a simple meaning to her words dawns on him; it's her increasing proximity that does it. "Ah," he replies, becoming a little more grave. "You know I would do anything within my power for you." So he tips down his head, keeping appropriate enough distance - just close enough to let her share a secret.
Miniyal doesn't try to move any closer, not in here. Not when, even if her mother is not watching, someone is watching who knows her mother. "If you go to Harper anytime soon you might visit with Kazimir for me. And, if you happen to find out what he has waiting for me. . ." See? She doesn't want much at all. "I suppose if you cannot do that then I shall have to suffer with just getting my birthday present." Another hopeful look. How can one resist?
"I can do that," Gans replies, drawing back his head to look on his erstwhile lover with a very crooked, very wry smile. "I can visit, at any rate; whether I can discover what he might have for you may depend on how clever I might be able to be." Confession, if a pleasant one, that Kazimir - as batty as he is - might have his number, once in a while. "But just in case I am not wise enough - " He squeezes her hand, then withdraws his hands. One slips into his greatcoat under the lapel, into the breast pocket. It comes out with a tiny, black velvet bag, drawstring-closed. Tiny. Dwarfed in his pale fingertips. He holds it up, like she might have to nick it from him. "Normally," he announces, with great gravity, "I would wait for a weyrwoman to be ready to join the queen's wing before giving her this. But it's not my place to instruct you in any regard, so - "
"If not I shall just have to suffer for another turn. He's a horrid man for doing that to me, by the way and you can tell him that!" Miniyal teases in tone as well as the look she gives him. Likely she doesn't think calling the Masterharper a horrid man is a good idea even if one is joking. At least not as a message passed on. "And if you go there and he doesn't tell you anything I don't even want to know you went because I will be horribly jealous about the whole thing since I am stuck here." And unwelcome in records. Not that she can go anywhere at the moment. Not that any of that matters since he produces a present. "Oh!" She will reach for it, not quite trying to snatch it from him, but barely so. "Thank you!" And because she is Miniyal there is a little look downwards and a touch of sadness. "I didn't even- For your birthday."
"I shall be sure to tell him." Chances of Gans repeating what Miniyal has said to Kazimir: low, but not entirely dismissible. He does not linger long on the subject, now that the present is - present. "I am perfectly content not having birthdays," says Gans with all due and dry seriousness, and lets go the little satchel from his fingertips into hers.
There is a war going on right now. She could feel bad about not having got him a birthday present. Or she can he happy over her own present. Well, normally Miniyal might settle on misery, but she's had plenty enough since yesterday. And she can choose, with him, to be happy over being sad. Most of the time. So, she lets it go and opens up the bag in her hand. "I will make it up to you next year. I promise. I was trying to be careful since I'd stolen time already for us."
"No need," murmurs Gans, instinctively taking a lesser role for a moment among things that demand her attention. Front and center: her gift.
The chain is delicate, and it pours out of the bag like liquid silver. The links are braided for strength, but so fine and closely knit that they feel like satin string to the touch. A little wreath of silver forms the loop for a drop pendant, a teardrop-shaped setting that contains a single brilliant, dark blue sapphire. It is a small thing, graceful and tiny, lovely enough to be formal and unassuming enough to be worn daily.
And to Miniyal, its shape and make - if neither the color of the stone nor the metal of the chain - might be the strangest bit familiar.
Under other circumstances she might have reacted differently. Of course, she doesn't hold back that much right now. Observers be damned for the moment. "Thank you. It's beautiful." Miniyal whispers the words and her hand tightens around the chain before she gives up on propriety long enough to slide into the space between them for a hug. A hug and the quickest of kisses. Hardly anything to even notice. Really. Because as soon as she is done she steps back again. "Thank you!" And she examines her gift more now that the thanking, for now, is done.
Gans doesn't fight her, though he won't be seen being overly encouraging, either; far be it from him to be a bad influence on a weyrling. But he returns the hug properly and allows the kiss, then examines -her- while she examines her present. "I would be most honored if you were to wear it the first time you attend a dinner in honor of her eggs hatching," he muses softly, smilingly, after a little while in silent regard.
Right, he can't appear to be a bad influence. He must /seem/ proper. "You're too good to me." It has been a common enough statement in their time together. "Thank you. I will wear it- always. And certainly for any and every occasion that arises. How could I not? It's perfect." If there is a slight coyness to her tone as Miniyal holds it out she just has to be allowed it. "Put it on for me?"
"Of course." This, too, he could accomplish with all propriety. There is no need for a twinkling gaze as he takes the dainty chain from her fingers, no need for lingering as he drapes it across her throat, the pendant nestling neatly below the hollow. No need for his cool fingers to stroke her neck as he tucks them beneath the nape of her pulled-back-practically hair, nor to rest there for a moment once the clasp is done. There is no need for these things, but he can manage them, and still seem proper enough, so they are done. Then he resettles her hair, takes back his hands and waits for her to turn again so he can approve of her wearing the necklace with, "Perfect."
"Thank you," gets murmured quietly once the necklace has been settled. As everything was quite proper there's no reason at all for Miniyal to be anything but settled and calm. Yep. So all she does is smile at him once she's turned back around and one hand rises to touch the stone against her skin. "Not just for. . .I mean, thank for this, but thank you. It's been hard and I don't know. I mean, just. Thanks. For everything. I should, umm. I mean, they will be waiting and I'm already in trouble and I should. . .go. I'll try to see you soon. When we're out of trouble." So she steps back, a completely safe distance. "I love you. Thank you." For him, a final smile, and if the twinkle in her eyes lasts past when she leaves him and on to when she returns to the living cavern to hand out treats to the others, well, it's not going to hurt anything.
Where: Kitchen
When: Lunchtime on day 11, month 8, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
What: Thanks to a certain dragon, Miniyal doesn't get a chance to visit with anyone on her birthday. The following day that is somewhat fixed when she just happens to run into G'thon in the kitchen. On accident. Completely. He does, at least, cheer her up. As well as deliver something to her.
4/17/2007
At High Reaches Weyr, it is lunchtime on day 11, month 8, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
Perhaps he intended to come to her the day before. The day before, after all, was her birthday. But there's been a little chaos in the world of weyrlings, and even Gans isn't - apparently - immune to the fallout of that chaos. If he sought her out on her birthday, he failed. Today, at the hour the weyrlings are released for lunch, he tries again: by lurking in the kitchens, poised tall and silent near the door that opens onto the living caverns, grim in his greatcoat. His presence makes some of the staff anxious. To this unfortunate but necessary side effect of his waiting, Gans pays no mind.
The knowledge that it was her birthday only added to the problems that were caused by unruly dragons. It didn't help her mood at all and since the night before was increasingly miserable it stands to reason that entering into the living cavern for lunch, because she has to, is the current personification of misery. Miniyal does her best to pretend she is not as bothered as she really is, but it's a losing endeavor. She might not even have noticed there was someone in the kitchen who should not have been before he had to do something. Except, that someone who works in the kitchen, and likely is hoping a certain mother doesn't find out, just happens to walk by the weyrling as she heads to a table to whisper something to her. So, the misery pauses and then touches the sleeve of the nervous looking weyrling next to her. A few words and the boy smiles and while she doesn't she does manage to break away from the group. It's not the first time she's sought out extra treats for those she bothers to notice. It's a good cover to explain why she now heads for the kitchens.
It's a tricky thing to do, lurking by the doorway so that anyone who comes through may be seen and, if they're the person one is looking for, all but pounced upon. Gans' pouncing, of course, is stately at best. "Miniyal," he says, rolling out the syllables like a favorite quilt on the bed. He turns toward her instantly with his wry half-smile ready, a hand outstretched. "Can you buy a moment?" With Corin's coin, no doubt.
She knew he was in the kitchen, but likely she didn't expect to be pounced upon. However stately it was done. For him she finds a smile and if it takes a moment for it to truly settle over her features, well, he'll just have to forgive her. The one thing that takes no time is the finding of his hand with hers. "Gans. I- of course." She looks around the kitchen, busy with getting lunch out and working on dinner and gives his hand the slightest tug. "Over there." The corner by the ovens. Not many people go there as it gets warm when they are in use. Still, it's not /so/ bad right now. Just uncomfortable.
Gans is easily directed, even toward warm. Maybe especially toward warm; his hand is cool beneath hers, not that this is new. "I heard Peloth is already working on living up to expectations," he remarks quietly, drolly, as they pass through the working areas toward the ovens, his attention mostly on Miniyal and partly on their path, but not at all on the people who work around them.
The people around them might cast a curious look or two their way, but for the most part they let them be. Other than to move out of the way. If Miniyal is less than welcome in records these days it seems the kitchen has decided to grant her some refuge because of it. To save people having to detour around them too much she sticks close to him. It lets him feel exactly how tense she really is which gives away the falseness of the calm in her voice. "She is- I'm afraid to wonder what expectations are expected of her. I already know I'm expected to fail."
"You're expected to stumble," Gans corrects, entirely undisturbed, his voice just as dry and pleasant as it was before. His hand beneath hers tightens slightly; that's all the comfort he offers, his unflappable certainty aside. Once in their decided corner, he turns toward her, letting a proper margin of space divide their bodies, his hand and hers between them. "To struggle, perhaps. To have moments. But you impressed a queen, Miniyal, and you are expected to succeed. Peloth - " His smile increases, and something very amused sparkles in his eyes. "Well, she is expected to be your match, and then some."
"I'm pretty sure that's not- I'm sorry. I'm a bit. She's-" Miniyal frowns, giving her head a shake. "She's upset and I'm upset and every time one of us starts to think we might not be upset. . .well. She's beside herself is all. And we both know, you know, how messed up I am." Another shake of her head as she squeezes his hand. "I'm sorry. How're you doing? How's your class going?" Diversion. It always was her favorite tactic. Even if it didn't always work.
"Class is going well. Is she upset about her - a brother, wasn't it?" Gans is hard to divert - with no better weapons than a hand in his and words, anyway. "No need to be sorry, my dear. I have always thought you overestimate your messed-up-edness." Only he would use her term and fit it to grammar so precisely, with such acute pronounciation. Especially when he is so pleased with himself as he is now. "I have something for you."
It is true her best weapons are not available to her for awhile yet. And, none of them are ones she'd use in public anyway. Especially under the eyes of those her mother works with. "Brother, yes. S'ol's Xalth. You know, umm, the one with the temper. The bronze anyway. But, no. She's not upset over him. She's upset because she got me in trouble." And she might comment on how he continues to underestimate her state of being messed up, but then he springs those magic words. "Really?" For the first time he gets a real smile.
"We haven't met," Gans replies, expression curious, extremely interested. Facetiously interested. He can be patient, after all. He knows what he has for her; the mystery is for her, and he will pleasantly stretch it out by being very sociable about Miniyal's classmate. "The dragon, you mean, has the temper? His rider does not? Was his temper involved?" Oh, this occurs to him as a thought, something to be worried about indeed, and all of that occurring and worrying crosses his face in a clear enough manner that she's meant to understand quite clearly that he's teasing her by ignoring the topic of her present. "Peloth isn't hurt, is she?"
"Gans." It is not a simple speaking of his name. It is drawn out, pouting, pleading. Her present, whatever it is, taunts her in the unknowing. Miniyal watches him, pleading with her look as well. Once again, cursing her inability to truly weasel the information out of him. "The dragon has the temper. The rider? No, he has one, but he's managed to convince himself he doesn't. Everyone does." So, she'll play his game. The sooner it ends the sooner she gets her gift. "There was temper after. And I don't think S'ol will be speaking to me much. He was glaring at the both of us like it was our fault. It wasn't. Besides, I'm the one that got hurt, not him!" She must free her hand so she can pull up the sleeve of her shirt and expose the bandage. "I told them I couldn't use a knife, but whatever. Peloth is fine. She's just upset. She's lost extra bath time."
"Oh - " Her wound, or her bandage at any rate, win from Gans actual concern. His hand is free because Miniyal let it go; both hands, thus, are able to reach for her wounded arm to try to cradle it, as if it might require his help to hold it up. A cool thumb strokes her wrist, and he raises his gaze again to her face, more solemn. "Do you think some fairly solid gloves might help?" The problem with knives, with her using them - well, he knows a little bit better than to directly address that.
It's not a large bandage at least, but she's certainly not above taking sympathy. Especially from him. So, Miniyal lets him have her arm and uses it as an excuse to step a fraction of an inch closer. Otherwise it's awkward, yes? Yes, that's all. She's still a proper distance from him after all. "I don't think anything will help. I don't normally have to butcher because of my problem, but the brat killed it so I had to cut it up. I'm fine. It's not bad. I just don't have any luck with knives is all." Pausing, she tilts her head and looks up at him. "So, I hope that's not what you got me for my birthday." Hint, hint.
Gans turns one hand over so he can curve it over the inside of her arm, below the bandage, and drift it down toward her hand. His palm settles over hers then, his other hand cradling her knuckles. "No, but I could certainly get them for some ordinary day if you need them," he replies, gaining back a fraction of his one-sided smile.
"No, I'd rather have something I could use." Miniyal smiles again, twice now. If she's still bothered by a lot, and how can she of all people not be, there is less evidence of that fact. "And, if you're going to drag this out maybe I'll have to demand a favor of you in return." Her tone goes down, teasing, and just loud enough to carry to him. Of course, to be sure she has to step just a little bit closer. Still nowhere near being improper, but probably closer than she should be considering she is already in trouble.
Gans is just starting to chuckle softly at Miniyal's suggestion when the possibility that there is more than a simple meaning to her words dawns on him; it's her increasing proximity that does it. "Ah," he replies, becoming a little more grave. "You know I would do anything within my power for you." So he tips down his head, keeping appropriate enough distance - just close enough to let her share a secret.
Miniyal doesn't try to move any closer, not in here. Not when, even if her mother is not watching, someone is watching who knows her mother. "If you go to Harper anytime soon you might visit with Kazimir for me. And, if you happen to find out what he has waiting for me. . ." See? She doesn't want much at all. "I suppose if you cannot do that then I shall have to suffer with just getting my birthday present." Another hopeful look. How can one resist?
"I can do that," Gans replies, drawing back his head to look on his erstwhile lover with a very crooked, very wry smile. "I can visit, at any rate; whether I can discover what he might have for you may depend on how clever I might be able to be." Confession, if a pleasant one, that Kazimir - as batty as he is - might have his number, once in a while. "But just in case I am not wise enough - " He squeezes her hand, then withdraws his hands. One slips into his greatcoat under the lapel, into the breast pocket. It comes out with a tiny, black velvet bag, drawstring-closed. Tiny. Dwarfed in his pale fingertips. He holds it up, like she might have to nick it from him. "Normally," he announces, with great gravity, "I would wait for a weyrwoman to be ready to join the queen's wing before giving her this. But it's not my place to instruct you in any regard, so - "
"If not I shall just have to suffer for another turn. He's a horrid man for doing that to me, by the way and you can tell him that!" Miniyal teases in tone as well as the look she gives him. Likely she doesn't think calling the Masterharper a horrid man is a good idea even if one is joking. At least not as a message passed on. "And if you go there and he doesn't tell you anything I don't even want to know you went because I will be horribly jealous about the whole thing since I am stuck here." And unwelcome in records. Not that she can go anywhere at the moment. Not that any of that matters since he produces a present. "Oh!" She will reach for it, not quite trying to snatch it from him, but barely so. "Thank you!" And because she is Miniyal there is a little look downwards and a touch of sadness. "I didn't even- For your birthday."
"I shall be sure to tell him." Chances of Gans repeating what Miniyal has said to Kazimir: low, but not entirely dismissible. He does not linger long on the subject, now that the present is - present. "I am perfectly content not having birthdays," says Gans with all due and dry seriousness, and lets go the little satchel from his fingertips into hers.
There is a war going on right now. She could feel bad about not having got him a birthday present. Or she can he happy over her own present. Well, normally Miniyal might settle on misery, but she's had plenty enough since yesterday. And she can choose, with him, to be happy over being sad. Most of the time. So, she lets it go and opens up the bag in her hand. "I will make it up to you next year. I promise. I was trying to be careful since I'd stolen time already for us."
"No need," murmurs Gans, instinctively taking a lesser role for a moment among things that demand her attention. Front and center: her gift.
The chain is delicate, and it pours out of the bag like liquid silver. The links are braided for strength, but so fine and closely knit that they feel like satin string to the touch. A little wreath of silver forms the loop for a drop pendant, a teardrop-shaped setting that contains a single brilliant, dark blue sapphire. It is a small thing, graceful and tiny, lovely enough to be formal and unassuming enough to be worn daily.
And to Miniyal, its shape and make - if neither the color of the stone nor the metal of the chain - might be the strangest bit familiar.
Under other circumstances she might have reacted differently. Of course, she doesn't hold back that much right now. Observers be damned for the moment. "Thank you. It's beautiful." Miniyal whispers the words and her hand tightens around the chain before she gives up on propriety long enough to slide into the space between them for a hug. A hug and the quickest of kisses. Hardly anything to even notice. Really. Because as soon as she is done she steps back again. "Thank you!" And she examines her gift more now that the thanking, for now, is done.
Gans doesn't fight her, though he won't be seen being overly encouraging, either; far be it from him to be a bad influence on a weyrling. But he returns the hug properly and allows the kiss, then examines -her- while she examines her present. "I would be most honored if you were to wear it the first time you attend a dinner in honor of her eggs hatching," he muses softly, smilingly, after a little while in silent regard.
Right, he can't appear to be a bad influence. He must /seem/ proper. "You're too good to me." It has been a common enough statement in their time together. "Thank you. I will wear it- always. And certainly for any and every occasion that arises. How could I not? It's perfect." If there is a slight coyness to her tone as Miniyal holds it out she just has to be allowed it. "Put it on for me?"
"Of course." This, too, he could accomplish with all propriety. There is no need for a twinkling gaze as he takes the dainty chain from her fingers, no need for lingering as he drapes it across her throat, the pendant nestling neatly below the hollow. No need for his cool fingers to stroke her neck as he tucks them beneath the nape of her pulled-back-practically hair, nor to rest there for a moment once the clasp is done. There is no need for these things, but he can manage them, and still seem proper enough, so they are done. Then he resettles her hair, takes back his hands and waits for her to turn again so he can approve of her wearing the necklace with, "Perfect."
"Thank you," gets murmured quietly once the necklace has been settled. As everything was quite proper there's no reason at all for Miniyal to be anything but settled and calm. Yep. So all she does is smile at him once she's turned back around and one hand rises to touch the stone against her skin. "Not just for. . .I mean, thank for this, but thank you. It's been hard and I don't know. I mean, just. Thanks. For everything. I should, umm. I mean, they will be waiting and I'm already in trouble and I should. . .go. I'll try to see you soon. When we're out of trouble." So she steps back, a completely safe distance. "I love you. Thank you." For him, a final smile, and if the twinkle in her eyes lasts past when she leaves him and on to when she returns to the living cavern to hand out treats to the others, well, it's not going to hurt anything.