In which our heroine. . .stands up for herself. And our hero? He is perfect.
Who: G'thon, Miniyal, Corin (NPC), Navan (NPC)
Where: Corin and Navan's quarters. (See? We do leave his room! Haha! Now I wish we hadn't.)
When: Approx day 18, month 7, turn 2 of the 7th Pass at dinnertime.
What: Corin and Navan have Miniyal and G'thon to dinner. It is, predictably, a disaster. However, for reasons unsuspected.
10/5/2006
Approx day 18, month 7, turn 2 of the 7th Pass at dinnertime.
Corin and Navan have been in the same room for some time. Several tens of turns have left their stamp upon it. Corin's paintings and her sewing basket, Navan's books and more books. All of it neatly arranged and just so. That is Navan's doing. Corin sometimes lets things get out of hand, but he quickly rights it. The war is softly waged and neither shall ever win. But it is their hobby and one that they find joy in.
Tonight, the room is quite clean. Well-lit with a table set for four and a meal that comes from the kitchens at the behest of one of the longtime crafters there for the former weyrleader and her daughter. Yes, so shocking, but we do what we can. At least she's seeing someone and we thought that would never happen after. . .him. Him who has yet to be named in conversation. The breaker of Min's heart.
Speaking of Min, she has led the way to this room, nervously tugging at the pale blue dress she put on for the event, up goes the bodice because clearly it shows too much skin. Down goes the waist because it is too high. Her hair alone she does not mess with because it has been brushed until it shines and left free. How nervous is she? She has babbled the whole way. Little stories and snippets of information about the people on the other side of the door she stands on. Those people seated right now as Navan recited a poem to Corin to calm his own nerves. The sound of his voice does not carry to where Miniyal and Gans stands, but she stammers to a stop anyway and looks up at him. "I'm sorry," she whispers before knocking. For? All of this it seems.
"I am not," replies Gans, and bends to steal from her a kiss, to wrap the shape of his palm to the tuck of the bodice, settling it where it belongs against the curves of her waist. Or perhaps the purpose of his hand is only to hold her, to comfort her with one of his carelessly intimate touches, while his mouth reminds her of his affection. In any case, the movement is swift and the kiss is brief, and then the former weyrleader is straightening, brushing imaginary lint with a stroke of pale hands from the black of his greatcoat. Strange match they make, he in his grim and stately black, she in her pretty pale blue. Strange match they make in any number of other ways, too, however, and Gans is unabashed about finding her non-knocking hand with his, that they might greet her parents such.
"Yes, but you're clearly much too enamored of me for your own good," Min teases before that kiss. When it ends some of the nerves have left her to dissipate under his touch and his attention. She warned him as best she could about Corin's inability to not poke into people's lives. Navan? He'll mostly sit silently, unapproving if need be. Her hand in his trembles for all her put up calm and he gets a brief smile before the door opens and she turns to greet her mother. "Corin," she says softly, smiling. "I hope we're not late?"
Corin beams at the couple, taking note of the hands almost immediately. Stepping back and letting the door swing open she says, "Not at all. We were just relaxing. Please, come in." In the room Navan sets his book down and rises from his seat to come stand behind his wife as the guest couple step inside. There is no approval from him when he sees them, but Navan approves of very little but his wife and her he treasures.
"Good evening, madam." He could be accused of laying it on thick, what with the bend of his head and the pleasant gratitude that brightens his eyes when he raises his gaze again. But Corin and Navan have lived at High Reaches for turns, and they might have an inkling that the former weyrleader has always behaved more or less like so. "Sir." A tip of his chin, less formal and less deep but no less grave, for Navan. Then his attention comes back to Miniyal's mother, acquiring a little fondness in creases around the corners of his eyes. "I hope you won't mind - I took this opportunity to bring you each a little something." With nearly tangible reluctance he glances, warm, at Miniyal, a silent signal, then takes back from her fingers his hand so he can more easily slip out from under the other arm two packages. "Just expressions of my gratitude. Perhaps I can set them somewhere - ?" Far, of course, be it from Gans to press upon his hosts his little trifling gifts should they not be ready to receive them.
"Oh, you did not have to!" Corin objects, beaming widely, taken in. Charm does its work. Once everyone has stepped inside the door is pushed closed before she turns to give her daughter a kiss on the cheek and then will take her gift. Her eyes sparkle merrily and she then gives her husband a nudge, requiring a remark from him. Navan will, of course, remark after giving his daughter a nod of the head that serves as greeting. He sees everything, not blinded by charm like the females in the room. "No, you didn't," he says dryly, meeting Gans' eyes with his own and watching him a moment before he too will accept the gift.
As there has been no screaming or bloodshed, ok, that is not likely, Miniyal lets out the breath she was holding. Because she knows the room and the people who live here she slips away, heading to the table to find the wine and pour it. Not just because she needs a drink either. There are little things to be done to finish making a table ready and these she does, watching the three older people nervously, eyes lingering the longest of the former weyrleader, smiling when she does so which he might notice, Corin will not, and Navan most certainly does.
"Perhaps, but I couldn't resist." Gans allows Corin to take from his hand her package, then does the same for Navan. Each is wrapped in thin hide parchment, tied with subtle brown ribbons, studies in bland.
Miniyal, of course, knows already their contents: for Navan, a book, precious and rare, from Gans' eccentric collection; for Corin, a small box of paints, meant as a traveling-case but suitable for work anywhere really. The book is the memoir of a harper master long since dead, one who fancied himself, possibly correctly, in line for the post now Kazimir's. The paints are fit to Corin's use, whether because the former weyrleader was eventually able to get out of Miniyal the nature of her mother's hobby or because he himself investigated.
Gans takes a moment to meet Navan's eyes, his smile steady if lopsided. They will be civil, perhaps, for Corin's sake. After that the old man turns, graceful, to find where it is Miniyal has crept off to, and his smile reaches his eyes to discover her in the midst of finishing the table setting. "Shall I help you, my dear?"
Corin opens her gift and is suitably impressed. She ohhhs over it and G'thon is given a kiss on the cheek for it. "That is so kind. Did Miniyal tell you? Miniyal, you knew he was going to bring something and we didn't do a thing for him!" she chides towards her daughter once she too has located her. The paints are examined most carefully, delight on her face. Navan's gift is examined as well and he watches his wife with a shake of his head. She is so. . .Corin. The book draws his attention and he must examine it carefully, delicately. He is touched, perhaps, but he will not say so. He simply examines his gift and then looks up to give G'thon a brief nod. "Thank you, sir," he says. Lots of sirs going on here tonight. The book he carries to a table by his chair where it sits.
"Oh, no. I'm just. . .it's. . .yes." Miniyal is flustered. Clearly so. But the table is ready and she adds, "We can sit. Sorry, Corin. I don't mean to. . .well, it's not my table." Oh, going /so/ well. Navan looks from his daughter to her friend and there's a soft snort, but he says nothing. Instead he walks to the table and pulls out Corin's chair which she eventually notices and sets her paints down to be seated.
"You have done all kinds of things for me, Corin," retorts Gans, gently chastising, fond already, head tilted down and gaze uplifted from that angle so he may regard her with bemusement after she's had her chance to kiss him and investigate her paints. It is a more level gaze he offers Navan, of course - he has learned - but he does dare a small smile for the man, showing a little pleasure at the fact that his gift, at least, has earned acceptance. At last he turns to Miniyal and, as though he had asked the question about helping rhetorically, approaches her to put out a hand and still one of hers with his fingers curved over hers. Then he sidesteps a pace, lifts his hand and finds with it the back of a chair, and draws it out - plainly, for his lover to sit in. "This looks delightful," remarks Gans then, using the moment it will take Miniyal to realize the purpose of that drawn-back chair and take him up on the offer to glance over the food. "I fear you are far too kind." Pretty words, the right things to say, and therefore said for Corin's sake, no doubt.
Corin seats herself in the chair Navan holds out for her and then he pushes it in, fingers brushing her shoulders, a grand gesture for him. Corin dimples at her husband, at the former weyrleader, even at her daughter. She is happy and probably not as oblivious as she seems, but she's a happy woman. "Thank you. I had a friend help me prepare it special for tonight. I wanted to do something nice."
Doing her best to ignore the look from her father, Miniyal smiles at Gans, thankful, and sits down in the chair intended for her. "Thank you, Gans" she mumbles softly although perhaps her tone should have been modulated. Because her parents do not need to hear how her voice softens at his name, at the way her eyes light up with pleasure at saying the word. Navan, certainly, notices and clears his throat as he seats himself at the table. "Yes, we're pleased you /both/ could join us." A shame you did not do it before is merely thought in his words. "We've been looking forward to this. Corin has been waiting." Meaning, you are in trouble for making her wait. But, it seems they are /both/ in trouble. Miniyal mumbles an apology at least, but it is lost in her taking up her wine for a drink.
"And I am sorry for the delay," allows Gans, immediately, sparing Miniyal the need to do better than mumble. It is, after all, his fault they have been so long delayed in meeting for this dinner. "Corin," addressing her directly, again with chin downtilted, "I beg you forgive me." He allows himself to lay it on thick just now, thick even as compared to his usual, and will let the woman know he's doing it just to please her, taking the gamble that this will suit her ever so much more than the apology itself could do. "I have been very much looking forward to it myself. Given recent events, however, I thought it best not to trouble you too immediately." He will not let Corin or Navan, directly, see the sad shadow that crosses his face upon this excuse; he turns that toward Miniyal, a window into his trust for her, then glances instead at his own wineglass, signaling retreat. It lasts only a moment, and somewhat recovered, he looks up again, finding Navan now with his eyes. "In any case, I am honored to attend your table. Thank you for inviting us."
"Oh, don't worry about it," Corin says quickly as she begins the serving process. It's a fine meal, too. Better than what they are eating in the living cavern and better even than might be sent to his room. "Things have been so hard for you and we understand, don't we, Navan?" Navan, in the process of sipping his own wine merely nods, a look given to the older man that flickers towards his daughter. That he is watching them is noticed by Miniyal who therefore sits up straight and appears, appears only, as if she is perfectly at ease.
Corin is simply charmed, so very charmed. "And, you mustn't let Navan get to you. He is merely upset that he had to get dressed up is all. It's not as if we could have you over and wear any old thing." Not that they are truly dressed up, just wearing something nice. "Corin," Navan says with a warning note in his voice, fond even with it. "So, Ganathon," he says as he fills his plate. "What are you doing with yourself these days? You went to the Hall recently?" A look towards his daughter whom he had to give the day off so she might go along. The daughter who is intent on looking at her plate when she is not watching Gans.
He has not eaten all day. Perhaps he's been anxious. Miniyal would understand if he has been. More likely, he intends to make the best show of eating this fine food Corin's provided that he can. In any case, he succeeds in conveying delight as the food is served. "Oh, it smells lovely," he observes at an appropriate moment, and chortles lightly at another one - when Corin tries to dismiss her husband's somewhat stony demeanor. But the dismissal, as it is destined to do, fails, and Navan has his chance to ask his question, to address the dragonless man by the name he was born with. Gans, graceful as ever, does not wince. He merely answers, and with what may be startling honesty. "Not as much as I might like, I fear. Not yet. I am at the moment pursuing a possible position with the Caucus." Perhaps that is meant to explain his visit to the harpers, as well.
Being less socially skilled than him, Miniyal is not able to hide the wince at the way in which her father addresses her lover. Her mouth opens to speak, but she is wise enough to close it. But it's hard for Navan to miss the look he is given, annoyed, from his daughter. To which he merely nods at her and listens as G'thon speaks of what he plans to do. Corin hands plates around to people and seems ready to leap in with idle chatter the moment she is able to, but for now lets the menfolk talk.
"Ah. Suppose that's decent enough work. What sort of position? Teaching I assume? You have the history for it I suppose. Not the same thing, but if you can wrangle weyrlings I suppose even Blooded young people won't be too much trouble." Corin gives her husband a pat on the hand for his mad social skills and then smiles at G'thon. "I think it's lovely you're finding something to do. It must be so hard not being busy. Poor Miniyal just seems to waste most of her days now that she's not in charge of the records room. Of course, I admit I never really thought her suited for it. Navan will do a fine job and we're certainly pleased you let her try, but, well. . ." Well, she failed. Or quit anyway. Through all of this Miniyal picks at her food and empties her wine glass. Nervous drinker.
"Teaching, yes." Perhaps Gans considers it his best bet not to describe what, precisely, he expects to teach. "And yes, I have suggested to the headmaster that my experience with weyrling training - as well as my own experience in records work - may help me with such a position. I have submitted a sample syllabus and course outline." He takes a plate handed by and inserts, softspoken, a charmed murmur of thanks to the lady of the house. "But I go on." Where Corin failed to go on, Gans can just keep on talking, right through a subject change - he reaches over one hand to try to find one of Miniyal's. "I can't take credit for that, Corin." Twinkle, dip chin, et cetera. "Heriet really made it happen. I - can't say I'd consider days spent working for the benefit of the Weyr and striving to discover one's next calling wasted, however. I suppose I can't afford to!" He allows that to become a wry jest indeed, glancing at Navan to let the man in on the joke, one made at Gans' own expense.
Her hand is easy to find because Min has pulled it away to sit at the end of the table, doing nothing. When she feels his hand she arranges hers so she can squeeze tightly, her lifeline in this new topic. Eyes closing a moment she sighs and looks up at her mother. "Corin, stop," she says softly. And that is all because, really. What more does she have to say? What should she say? How can she speak when she's busy trying to not listen to the words inside her head and outside her head?
Navan nods his head, listening to what is said, but not stopping his wife from speaking. Because that's not how he operates. The words spoken by G'thon are considered and met with a nod before he picks up the bottle of wine and refills his daughter's glass. "Well, Min did a fine job, yes. And, I agree with Corin that it wasn't the right job for her. It's an old man's job." This time he gives a wry look to Gans, holding his gaze a moment before nodding, barely perceptively. There is a moment of acceptance. Ever so brief as it might be. So very brief.
"Well," Corin says brightly, moving on again. "The good news is things will be settling down here one hopes. What with that sweet little Roa here now, yes? Everyone seems to like her well enough." Not meaning at all that they didn't like the last transfer, brought in by the man seated here. "She's such a dear, we see her in the kitchen all the time. I suppose that will end soon enough with her new work."
Gans squeezes Miniyal's fingers in return, sparing a glance her way - deeply understanding, not the least bit chastising, in fact possibly a bit indulgent - as she chides her mother. Note how he leaves Navan to refill Miniyal's glass. How he offers the man one of his deeper smiles, the kind that brightens his eyes, then dips his head - a bow, acquiescent - at that moment's acceptance; how he is the first to look away, out of respect if not quite abashment, not anymore. How he looks up at Corin, letting her have the same smile Navan got, knowing it will differ in the eyes of this new beholder. "We are indebted to Telgar for her," agrees the former weyrleader, politic. "She and her young queen seem quite to embody the hope everyone so very much needs right now." A beat, and he lets this absolute propriety slip away, while his hand likewise slips away from Miniyal's so he can begin with leisure gestures to eat. "Perhaps so. But she's always seemed quite approachable. She was so good as to visit me, a couple days after her transfer was complete. I doubt, once things have settled a little, she will have forgotten her old friends." Dry, a little, there.
The return of the squeeze releases a breath Miniyal was holding and she sits up, adjusting her posture just enough so she's back to proper. The wine is left in her glass for now and she steals a smile to Gans, thankful. She still picks at her food, but that could simply be because she's going to try to cover for how little the former weyrleader will eat. To keep him from being scolded by Corin. The things one does for someone else. She is so quiet when Roa is brought up, speaking of nothing and listening instead to what others think.
Navan shakes his head and follows it up with a sip of wine. "Been here a long time. Not sure someone, approachable or not, is going fix this mess. We need a strong Reaches leader is what we need. Not more outsiders, thankful as we may be to have them. But she's still young and untried herself." Then he tries his food, murmuring fond endearments to his wife over them.
Corin is pleased and dimples at her husband before watching her guests critically to be sure they are eating. "It's lovely you have people calling," she tells Gans with a smile, still charmed. She seems willing to remain charmed permanently. At least that is all she will ever show at this meal. "We would miss her if she didn't come back. Just like they'd be lost without Miniyal in records I am sure. She's been there for so long. Quite nearly thirteen turns. Oh, Miniyal! You haven't told us if you've plans for your birthday? It's so close. We've got the best present for you this year!"
The former weyrleader is doing a fairly admirable job of eating - for him. For anyone else it might qualify as subsistence level at best. But Gans is subsisting, and for him, this is good enough. "I agree with you, Navan." The old man tips a nod to the somewhat younger one and pauses in eating to aside a compliment for a particular dish to Corin, something he suspects she herself may have had a hand in making. He clears his throat a bit, glancing back at Navan with a charmed apology light in his eyes, as if to say he's sorry for being so entranced by the food that he's interrupted his own conversational point. And continues after that: "I believe the best we can wish for is a senior who embodies our hopes - and a weyrleader with the skills and experience to help the Weyr work toward them."
Corin's exclamation is even more interesting, of course. It directly involves Miniyal. And Gans is, obviously, smitten with their daughter. So it is with bright eyes and a smile indeed that he latches on: "Her birthday." And with a mock-chastising, chin-up, gazing-down-the-length-of-his-nose look at the woman herself: "I believe I owe you a little something for your birthday, don't I?"
"Mama!" is past her lips before Miniyal can censure herself to the more often used Corin. That she reverts to a childhood name is somewhat telling, although it is anyone's guess what it tells. That her cheeks turn pink clearly indicates she was hoping that the man she arrived with would not learn about her birthday for whatever reason she might have. "No," she mumbles softly, stealing a glance again towards Gans. "You don't owe me anything, alright? It's. . .nothing. Really. Can we not celebrate?" This last is directed to the table at large, so bothered that she takes up her wine and empties half the glass at once. Glancing at Navan she begs quietly with nothing more than a lowered eyelids and a small pout.
Alas for her, Navan is much too good to fall for that. Unless it is Corin. She would get away with it. "Oh, Miniyal cut it out," he chides quietly with a shake of his head. "You know if you give something you can expect to get something." Then the bulb goes off over his head and he regards G'thon quietly. She hadn't told him. This is interesting. And he studies the other man over the rim of his wine glass. He stops only when Corin nudges his arm and demands a refill on her own wine. But the little gears in his head are turning.
"We can celebrate quietly," offers Gans, his eyes delighted. Wicked delight. He pauses in his minimalist dining to let down the fork gently onto the edge of the plate, freeing a hand to reach over and pat his lover's arm. "I wouldn't miss the chance, my dear." This moment is private - but he stages it well, allowing her parents to have a glimpse of affection both honest and deep, only dressed up slightly for their consumption. He glances up at Corin after that and lets his smile become wry: "I will have to trouble you later for ideas, ma'am." A glance at Navan includes him, silently; perhaps that glance indicts him, too. But it is brief, and Gans returns to his meal with pleasure after it.
"It's like a neverending nightmare," is mumbled under the breath of the youngest member of the dining group. "I am not telling you when it is," she informs Gans with a look meant to be severe and ruined by the pat on her arm. Because he's touched her and so she must smile which softens her expression and makes it more, well, anything but stern. Clearing her throat, Miniyal seems aware once more that her parents are observing this touching moment and clears her throat, looking away with a blush on her cheeks. The glances that are shared between lover and parents are not seen, thankfully. Who knows how she wound interpret them. "What's for dessert?" she mumbles, having hardly touched her food.
Navan watches, oh, so cautiously. Carefully. There is nothing that will not be seen and stored away for later consideration. He begins to speak, but Corin beats him to it. "Oh, well, of course you two should celebrate together. We've had twenty-two birthdays to keep Miniyal all to yourselves." Which is pathetic really, but she says it as if it's just fact, not even noticing how it makes her daughter flinch. "We'll just give you your gifts that morning and leave the rest of the day to the two of you." Upon hearing the dessert request she eyes her daughter's plate critically. "Now, Mini, you have hardly touched your dinner. And dessert? I thought you were being more careful of what you ate?" Oh, good. Now she's mentioned that A. her daughter has no friends to celebrate with, B. she's so very much younger than the 'friend' she has, and C. the weight issue. It's sheer force of will alone that does not have Min sinking under the table completely and refusing to come out until both her parents are dead. She settles for emptying her wine glass and mumbling, "Nevermind. I'm not hungry. Thank you."
"Nonsense." Gans turns the full force of his lopsided smile and sparkling eyes on Corin, as she is the most likely mark for both, and as things seem suddenly desperately in need of charm indeed. "I would not dream of depriving Miniyal of her parents on such a day. You shall have exactly whatever celebration you would normally have and I shall wait for my own opportunity." If those last two words sound just the slightest bit sly, the slyness is all for Miniyal: he directs his gaze upon her there, and again reaches for her, this time his hand below the table, fingers seeking a chaste caress over the cap of the knee. Two feet up from that everything is expressly proper - Gans turns the charm again on Corin and lowers his chin, letting his twinkles come at her from that angle. "That's my fault, ma'am. I have a sweet tooth - I'm a bad influence." There's an opening for Navan if he ever wanted one. And Gans leaves it open, even, having nothing more to say - and just a little squeeze for Miniyal's knee to shore her up for it should her father rise to the opportunity.
Through it all, parental words, excuses made for her, all of it, Miniyal is quiet. She doesn't touch her food, she doesn't even notice the look given to her by Gans. If she notices his hand on her there is no indication which is. . .odd. Which is something he will notice. The more people speak around her and about her the straighter she sits. And when silence reigns and when Navan is staring at G'thon, she speaks. "No," said so very softly and with so much conviction. "Gans, love, it is not your fault." And let's hope he doesn't flinch at the endearment because, well, talk about ruining everything. "It is no one's fault. I'm fat, alright? Corin?" And here she turns to address her mother who is looking somewhat horrified. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not the daughter you wanted. That I'm not pretty and social and. . .and whatever else you dreamed of in a kid. But you married Navan and you knew what he was like. I'm sorry I took after him." And here she turns to address that him. "And, Navan? I'm sorry I'm not a son. I'm sorry I came at all because I know you hate to share Corin with anyone. I've lived my life knowing you both are disappointed in me and hating myself for it. But, I'm done. I love you. Both. I always will. But if you cannot treat me like an adult then we must take steps to spend less time together. Because I am adult."
Corin opens her mouth, stopped short by Min's hand rising and Navan's hand resting on his wife's arm. "I don't know what I am going to do with my life. And you reminding me of that? Doesn't help. I know that as long as he wants me I will be with Gans. That is something you have to accept." Here she rises to her feet, for one instant graceful in her movement, detached enough from herself for that at least. "He is not Velin." Well, mind the stumble over the name and the way Corin looks anxious. "And I am not sixteen. I'm sorry I cannot stay for dessert. I have to be going. I hope you will at least think on what I have said." Turning to Gans she extends her hand to him. "I would like to go, please," she says more quietly, for him. So that only he will hear the tremor in her voice. Hopefully only he will notice the way her hands ball into her dress to hide the trembling. And Corin and Navan? Sit stunned. Although there is a glint in Navan's eyes as he watches his daughter and her lover. There will be, perhaps, another visit when Corin is not around.
"Ah," says Gans, when he's told it's not his fault. And for quite some time, like Miniyal's parents, that is the last thing the former weyrleader gets to say. There is, at least, no wince at being called 'love.' There are, in fact, no winces at all. The oldest member of this odd dinner party simply watches, his eyes a little wide but not quite wide enough to convey shock. He is simply attentive, completely and utterly attentive, drawing his hands into his lap and even turning a little so that nothing she says, not a single motion she makes, may escape his study.
And then she is done, and suggesting their departure. So he slides back his chair and rises, silent, smooth, unhindered by the scars he certainly must have in abundance. One pale, long hand goes to support Miniyal's. The other pushes forward his chair, polite. He looks at her a moment, then looks upon her parents. That regard is, most likely, heavier upon Navan; it is a little difficult for him to look directly at Corin, lest she plead with him through her eyes. In this place where an apology would belittle Miniyal and set her against him, where supporting her statements would make him utterly her parents' rival for her affections, Gans takes a mild and middle line, ever the diplomat.
"I will take care of her as much as she lets me," he says. "It was a delicious meal. Thank you for having us."
And then he turns toward Miniyal and farther toward the door, his hand raising beneath hers, his elbow bending, drawing her in that they might depart as they came, together.
Manners dictate when a guest departs the host rises. And so Corin does, still unable to speak and looking at Navan as if he will fix this, whatever needs fixing. Navan rises as well, reaching for his wife's hand so he might comfort her, his expression remaining on their departing guests. There are no other words to be said it seems and so he allows them to go. Corin might speak, but he stays her with a glance and a shake of the head. So she watches, silently, for once not trying to have the last word.
Whatever bravery those words cost her, she doesn't show. Miniyal is silent as they leave and barely leans against him as they find their way out of the room. She doesn't look back, she can't. Because she would cave most likely. And when they are out of the room? She still says nothing, not so close to the door because Corin might be there, ear pressed to the other side. It's not until they have made some distance towards his room that she stops and with a muffled sort of sob turns into him to lay her head against his chest and, well, cry for a moment. Silently, but she does it. When she is done she lifts her head and gives him a watery smile. "I'm sorry," because it should end, this horrid night, how it began, yes?
Gans is silent until he needs her not to be. He walks until she needs him to stop and embrace her; and when she needs that, he does so. He holds her until she looks up at him, and when he tips his head down to meet her gaze with his, he has waiting there for her a small, private smile. "No need." And he bends his head a little more, to kiss one cheek, then the other, to take up tears with his lips if need be. He raises his head then and gazes upon her, his eyes fond and warm and so beyond forgiving; he'd done that as soon as he'd figured out what he would say, back there with Navan and Corin. So now he just says, "Let's go home," and fits his arm around her back, that he might hold her all the way to his - apparently their - quarters.
He is, always, what she needs. At least tonight when he was perfect and just what Miniyal needed to be brave. To stand up to her parents for the first time. Possibly the last, but definitely done. Silence greets all his words, but it is silence that is accompanied by a smile, so endearing and so happy with him. Maybe just a little happy with herself, but it's too soon to really see that for her. And so, with his arm around her she will go with him back to his room. A thousand words crowd her brain right now but she is not sharing them. The only things she shares are devoted glances towards him and when they reach his room a kiss.
He opens the door; he lets her precede him inside. Behind them he closes the door, and shares more kisses, and other things that will ease their minds, things that will soothe her heart. Things from the cool caress of his palms in all the right places to dry remarks about their respective skills at the chess table in the wee hours of morning, when sleep eludes them.
One thing he does not share with her. It is a tiny thing, something he can accomplish in ten minutes or less while Miniyal tries to sleep, or reads, or tends to duties elsewhere - whatever chance he might have, he takes, and does this, because it must be done.
It is a letter, a tiny one, made on a wee slip of fine trimmed parchment, sealed with his ancient Weyrleader's seal. It is delivered to Corin and Navan's apartments by a randomly selected child, and it reads:
Thank you so much for having us. It was a delightful meal and I very much enjoyed the opportunity to speak with you both. I regret that we were unable to stay for dessert; I do look forward to any chance to sample Corin's cooking!
I hope you will both feel free to stop by for tea. If you send me a morning's notice I will be sure to have some pastries to go with the tea.
Of course, it bears his signature. It is a small thing. A nicety. Proper.
Where: Corin and Navan's quarters. (See? We do leave his room! Haha! Now I wish we hadn't.)
When: Approx day 18, month 7, turn 2 of the 7th Pass at dinnertime.
What: Corin and Navan have Miniyal and G'thon to dinner. It is, predictably, a disaster. However, for reasons unsuspected.
10/5/2006
Approx day 18, month 7, turn 2 of the 7th Pass at dinnertime.
Corin and Navan have been in the same room for some time. Several tens of turns have left their stamp upon it. Corin's paintings and her sewing basket, Navan's books and more books. All of it neatly arranged and just so. That is Navan's doing. Corin sometimes lets things get out of hand, but he quickly rights it. The war is softly waged and neither shall ever win. But it is their hobby and one that they find joy in.
Tonight, the room is quite clean. Well-lit with a table set for four and a meal that comes from the kitchens at the behest of one of the longtime crafters there for the former weyrleader and her daughter. Yes, so shocking, but we do what we can. At least she's seeing someone and we thought that would never happen after. . .him. Him who has yet to be named in conversation. The breaker of Min's heart.
Speaking of Min, she has led the way to this room, nervously tugging at the pale blue dress she put on for the event, up goes the bodice because clearly it shows too much skin. Down goes the waist because it is too high. Her hair alone she does not mess with because it has been brushed until it shines and left free. How nervous is she? She has babbled the whole way. Little stories and snippets of information about the people on the other side of the door she stands on. Those people seated right now as Navan recited a poem to Corin to calm his own nerves. The sound of his voice does not carry to where Miniyal and Gans stands, but she stammers to a stop anyway and looks up at him. "I'm sorry," she whispers before knocking. For? All of this it seems.
"I am not," replies Gans, and bends to steal from her a kiss, to wrap the shape of his palm to the tuck of the bodice, settling it where it belongs against the curves of her waist. Or perhaps the purpose of his hand is only to hold her, to comfort her with one of his carelessly intimate touches, while his mouth reminds her of his affection. In any case, the movement is swift and the kiss is brief, and then the former weyrleader is straightening, brushing imaginary lint with a stroke of pale hands from the black of his greatcoat. Strange match they make, he in his grim and stately black, she in her pretty pale blue. Strange match they make in any number of other ways, too, however, and Gans is unabashed about finding her non-knocking hand with his, that they might greet her parents such.
"Yes, but you're clearly much too enamored of me for your own good," Min teases before that kiss. When it ends some of the nerves have left her to dissipate under his touch and his attention. She warned him as best she could about Corin's inability to not poke into people's lives. Navan? He'll mostly sit silently, unapproving if need be. Her hand in his trembles for all her put up calm and he gets a brief smile before the door opens and she turns to greet her mother. "Corin," she says softly, smiling. "I hope we're not late?"
Corin beams at the couple, taking note of the hands almost immediately. Stepping back and letting the door swing open she says, "Not at all. We were just relaxing. Please, come in." In the room Navan sets his book down and rises from his seat to come stand behind his wife as the guest couple step inside. There is no approval from him when he sees them, but Navan approves of very little but his wife and her he treasures.
"Good evening, madam." He could be accused of laying it on thick, what with the bend of his head and the pleasant gratitude that brightens his eyes when he raises his gaze again. But Corin and Navan have lived at High Reaches for turns, and they might have an inkling that the former weyrleader has always behaved more or less like so. "Sir." A tip of his chin, less formal and less deep but no less grave, for Navan. Then his attention comes back to Miniyal's mother, acquiring a little fondness in creases around the corners of his eyes. "I hope you won't mind - I took this opportunity to bring you each a little something." With nearly tangible reluctance he glances, warm, at Miniyal, a silent signal, then takes back from her fingers his hand so he can more easily slip out from under the other arm two packages. "Just expressions of my gratitude. Perhaps I can set them somewhere - ?" Far, of course, be it from Gans to press upon his hosts his little trifling gifts should they not be ready to receive them.
"Oh, you did not have to!" Corin objects, beaming widely, taken in. Charm does its work. Once everyone has stepped inside the door is pushed closed before she turns to give her daughter a kiss on the cheek and then will take her gift. Her eyes sparkle merrily and she then gives her husband a nudge, requiring a remark from him. Navan will, of course, remark after giving his daughter a nod of the head that serves as greeting. He sees everything, not blinded by charm like the females in the room. "No, you didn't," he says dryly, meeting Gans' eyes with his own and watching him a moment before he too will accept the gift.
As there has been no screaming or bloodshed, ok, that is not likely, Miniyal lets out the breath she was holding. Because she knows the room and the people who live here she slips away, heading to the table to find the wine and pour it. Not just because she needs a drink either. There are little things to be done to finish making a table ready and these she does, watching the three older people nervously, eyes lingering the longest of the former weyrleader, smiling when she does so which he might notice, Corin will not, and Navan most certainly does.
"Perhaps, but I couldn't resist." Gans allows Corin to take from his hand her package, then does the same for Navan. Each is wrapped in thin hide parchment, tied with subtle brown ribbons, studies in bland.
Miniyal, of course, knows already their contents: for Navan, a book, precious and rare, from Gans' eccentric collection; for Corin, a small box of paints, meant as a traveling-case but suitable for work anywhere really. The book is the memoir of a harper master long since dead, one who fancied himself, possibly correctly, in line for the post now Kazimir's. The paints are fit to Corin's use, whether because the former weyrleader was eventually able to get out of Miniyal the nature of her mother's hobby or because he himself investigated.
Gans takes a moment to meet Navan's eyes, his smile steady if lopsided. They will be civil, perhaps, for Corin's sake. After that the old man turns, graceful, to find where it is Miniyal has crept off to, and his smile reaches his eyes to discover her in the midst of finishing the table setting. "Shall I help you, my dear?"
Corin opens her gift and is suitably impressed. She ohhhs over it and G'thon is given a kiss on the cheek for it. "That is so kind. Did Miniyal tell you? Miniyal, you knew he was going to bring something and we didn't do a thing for him!" she chides towards her daughter once she too has located her. The paints are examined most carefully, delight on her face. Navan's gift is examined as well and he watches his wife with a shake of his head. She is so. . .Corin. The book draws his attention and he must examine it carefully, delicately. He is touched, perhaps, but he will not say so. He simply examines his gift and then looks up to give G'thon a brief nod. "Thank you, sir," he says. Lots of sirs going on here tonight. The book he carries to a table by his chair where it sits.
"Oh, no. I'm just. . .it's. . .yes." Miniyal is flustered. Clearly so. But the table is ready and she adds, "We can sit. Sorry, Corin. I don't mean to. . .well, it's not my table." Oh, going /so/ well. Navan looks from his daughter to her friend and there's a soft snort, but he says nothing. Instead he walks to the table and pulls out Corin's chair which she eventually notices and sets her paints down to be seated.
"You have done all kinds of things for me, Corin," retorts Gans, gently chastising, fond already, head tilted down and gaze uplifted from that angle so he may regard her with bemusement after she's had her chance to kiss him and investigate her paints. It is a more level gaze he offers Navan, of course - he has learned - but he does dare a small smile for the man, showing a little pleasure at the fact that his gift, at least, has earned acceptance. At last he turns to Miniyal and, as though he had asked the question about helping rhetorically, approaches her to put out a hand and still one of hers with his fingers curved over hers. Then he sidesteps a pace, lifts his hand and finds with it the back of a chair, and draws it out - plainly, for his lover to sit in. "This looks delightful," remarks Gans then, using the moment it will take Miniyal to realize the purpose of that drawn-back chair and take him up on the offer to glance over the food. "I fear you are far too kind." Pretty words, the right things to say, and therefore said for Corin's sake, no doubt.
Corin seats herself in the chair Navan holds out for her and then he pushes it in, fingers brushing her shoulders, a grand gesture for him. Corin dimples at her husband, at the former weyrleader, even at her daughter. She is happy and probably not as oblivious as she seems, but she's a happy woman. "Thank you. I had a friend help me prepare it special for tonight. I wanted to do something nice."
Doing her best to ignore the look from her father, Miniyal smiles at Gans, thankful, and sits down in the chair intended for her. "Thank you, Gans" she mumbles softly although perhaps her tone should have been modulated. Because her parents do not need to hear how her voice softens at his name, at the way her eyes light up with pleasure at saying the word. Navan, certainly, notices and clears his throat as he seats himself at the table. "Yes, we're pleased you /both/ could join us." A shame you did not do it before is merely thought in his words. "We've been looking forward to this. Corin has been waiting." Meaning, you are in trouble for making her wait. But, it seems they are /both/ in trouble. Miniyal mumbles an apology at least, but it is lost in her taking up her wine for a drink.
"And I am sorry for the delay," allows Gans, immediately, sparing Miniyal the need to do better than mumble. It is, after all, his fault they have been so long delayed in meeting for this dinner. "Corin," addressing her directly, again with chin downtilted, "I beg you forgive me." He allows himself to lay it on thick just now, thick even as compared to his usual, and will let the woman know he's doing it just to please her, taking the gamble that this will suit her ever so much more than the apology itself could do. "I have been very much looking forward to it myself. Given recent events, however, I thought it best not to trouble you too immediately." He will not let Corin or Navan, directly, see the sad shadow that crosses his face upon this excuse; he turns that toward Miniyal, a window into his trust for her, then glances instead at his own wineglass, signaling retreat. It lasts only a moment, and somewhat recovered, he looks up again, finding Navan now with his eyes. "In any case, I am honored to attend your table. Thank you for inviting us."
"Oh, don't worry about it," Corin says quickly as she begins the serving process. It's a fine meal, too. Better than what they are eating in the living cavern and better even than might be sent to his room. "Things have been so hard for you and we understand, don't we, Navan?" Navan, in the process of sipping his own wine merely nods, a look given to the older man that flickers towards his daughter. That he is watching them is noticed by Miniyal who therefore sits up straight and appears, appears only, as if she is perfectly at ease.
Corin is simply charmed, so very charmed. "And, you mustn't let Navan get to you. He is merely upset that he had to get dressed up is all. It's not as if we could have you over and wear any old thing." Not that they are truly dressed up, just wearing something nice. "Corin," Navan says with a warning note in his voice, fond even with it. "So, Ganathon," he says as he fills his plate. "What are you doing with yourself these days? You went to the Hall recently?" A look towards his daughter whom he had to give the day off so she might go along. The daughter who is intent on looking at her plate when she is not watching Gans.
He has not eaten all day. Perhaps he's been anxious. Miniyal would understand if he has been. More likely, he intends to make the best show of eating this fine food Corin's provided that he can. In any case, he succeeds in conveying delight as the food is served. "Oh, it smells lovely," he observes at an appropriate moment, and chortles lightly at another one - when Corin tries to dismiss her husband's somewhat stony demeanor. But the dismissal, as it is destined to do, fails, and Navan has his chance to ask his question, to address the dragonless man by the name he was born with. Gans, graceful as ever, does not wince. He merely answers, and with what may be startling honesty. "Not as much as I might like, I fear. Not yet. I am at the moment pursuing a possible position with the Caucus." Perhaps that is meant to explain his visit to the harpers, as well.
Being less socially skilled than him, Miniyal is not able to hide the wince at the way in which her father addresses her lover. Her mouth opens to speak, but she is wise enough to close it. But it's hard for Navan to miss the look he is given, annoyed, from his daughter. To which he merely nods at her and listens as G'thon speaks of what he plans to do. Corin hands plates around to people and seems ready to leap in with idle chatter the moment she is able to, but for now lets the menfolk talk.
"Ah. Suppose that's decent enough work. What sort of position? Teaching I assume? You have the history for it I suppose. Not the same thing, but if you can wrangle weyrlings I suppose even Blooded young people won't be too much trouble." Corin gives her husband a pat on the hand for his mad social skills and then smiles at G'thon. "I think it's lovely you're finding something to do. It must be so hard not being busy. Poor Miniyal just seems to waste most of her days now that she's not in charge of the records room. Of course, I admit I never really thought her suited for it. Navan will do a fine job and we're certainly pleased you let her try, but, well. . ." Well, she failed. Or quit anyway. Through all of this Miniyal picks at her food and empties her wine glass. Nervous drinker.
"Teaching, yes." Perhaps Gans considers it his best bet not to describe what, precisely, he expects to teach. "And yes, I have suggested to the headmaster that my experience with weyrling training - as well as my own experience in records work - may help me with such a position. I have submitted a sample syllabus and course outline." He takes a plate handed by and inserts, softspoken, a charmed murmur of thanks to the lady of the house. "But I go on." Where Corin failed to go on, Gans can just keep on talking, right through a subject change - he reaches over one hand to try to find one of Miniyal's. "I can't take credit for that, Corin." Twinkle, dip chin, et cetera. "Heriet really made it happen. I - can't say I'd consider days spent working for the benefit of the Weyr and striving to discover one's next calling wasted, however. I suppose I can't afford to!" He allows that to become a wry jest indeed, glancing at Navan to let the man in on the joke, one made at Gans' own expense.
Her hand is easy to find because Min has pulled it away to sit at the end of the table, doing nothing. When she feels his hand she arranges hers so she can squeeze tightly, her lifeline in this new topic. Eyes closing a moment she sighs and looks up at her mother. "Corin, stop," she says softly. And that is all because, really. What more does she have to say? What should she say? How can she speak when she's busy trying to not listen to the words inside her head and outside her head?
Navan nods his head, listening to what is said, but not stopping his wife from speaking. Because that's not how he operates. The words spoken by G'thon are considered and met with a nod before he picks up the bottle of wine and refills his daughter's glass. "Well, Min did a fine job, yes. And, I agree with Corin that it wasn't the right job for her. It's an old man's job." This time he gives a wry look to Gans, holding his gaze a moment before nodding, barely perceptively. There is a moment of acceptance. Ever so brief as it might be. So very brief.
"Well," Corin says brightly, moving on again. "The good news is things will be settling down here one hopes. What with that sweet little Roa here now, yes? Everyone seems to like her well enough." Not meaning at all that they didn't like the last transfer, brought in by the man seated here. "She's such a dear, we see her in the kitchen all the time. I suppose that will end soon enough with her new work."
Gans squeezes Miniyal's fingers in return, sparing a glance her way - deeply understanding, not the least bit chastising, in fact possibly a bit indulgent - as she chides her mother. Note how he leaves Navan to refill Miniyal's glass. How he offers the man one of his deeper smiles, the kind that brightens his eyes, then dips his head - a bow, acquiescent - at that moment's acceptance; how he is the first to look away, out of respect if not quite abashment, not anymore. How he looks up at Corin, letting her have the same smile Navan got, knowing it will differ in the eyes of this new beholder. "We are indebted to Telgar for her," agrees the former weyrleader, politic. "She and her young queen seem quite to embody the hope everyone so very much needs right now." A beat, and he lets this absolute propriety slip away, while his hand likewise slips away from Miniyal's so he can begin with leisure gestures to eat. "Perhaps so. But she's always seemed quite approachable. She was so good as to visit me, a couple days after her transfer was complete. I doubt, once things have settled a little, she will have forgotten her old friends." Dry, a little, there.
The return of the squeeze releases a breath Miniyal was holding and she sits up, adjusting her posture just enough so she's back to proper. The wine is left in her glass for now and she steals a smile to Gans, thankful. She still picks at her food, but that could simply be because she's going to try to cover for how little the former weyrleader will eat. To keep him from being scolded by Corin. The things one does for someone else. She is so quiet when Roa is brought up, speaking of nothing and listening instead to what others think.
Navan shakes his head and follows it up with a sip of wine. "Been here a long time. Not sure someone, approachable or not, is going fix this mess. We need a strong Reaches leader is what we need. Not more outsiders, thankful as we may be to have them. But she's still young and untried herself." Then he tries his food, murmuring fond endearments to his wife over them.
Corin is pleased and dimples at her husband before watching her guests critically to be sure they are eating. "It's lovely you have people calling," she tells Gans with a smile, still charmed. She seems willing to remain charmed permanently. At least that is all she will ever show at this meal. "We would miss her if she didn't come back. Just like they'd be lost without Miniyal in records I am sure. She's been there for so long. Quite nearly thirteen turns. Oh, Miniyal! You haven't told us if you've plans for your birthday? It's so close. We've got the best present for you this year!"
The former weyrleader is doing a fairly admirable job of eating - for him. For anyone else it might qualify as subsistence level at best. But Gans is subsisting, and for him, this is good enough. "I agree with you, Navan." The old man tips a nod to the somewhat younger one and pauses in eating to aside a compliment for a particular dish to Corin, something he suspects she herself may have had a hand in making. He clears his throat a bit, glancing back at Navan with a charmed apology light in his eyes, as if to say he's sorry for being so entranced by the food that he's interrupted his own conversational point. And continues after that: "I believe the best we can wish for is a senior who embodies our hopes - and a weyrleader with the skills and experience to help the Weyr work toward them."
Corin's exclamation is even more interesting, of course. It directly involves Miniyal. And Gans is, obviously, smitten with their daughter. So it is with bright eyes and a smile indeed that he latches on: "Her birthday." And with a mock-chastising, chin-up, gazing-down-the-length-of-his-nose look at the woman herself: "I believe I owe you a little something for your birthday, don't I?"
"Mama!" is past her lips before Miniyal can censure herself to the more often used Corin. That she reverts to a childhood name is somewhat telling, although it is anyone's guess what it tells. That her cheeks turn pink clearly indicates she was hoping that the man she arrived with would not learn about her birthday for whatever reason she might have. "No," she mumbles softly, stealing a glance again towards Gans. "You don't owe me anything, alright? It's. . .nothing. Really. Can we not celebrate?" This last is directed to the table at large, so bothered that she takes up her wine and empties half the glass at once. Glancing at Navan she begs quietly with nothing more than a lowered eyelids and a small pout.
Alas for her, Navan is much too good to fall for that. Unless it is Corin. She would get away with it. "Oh, Miniyal cut it out," he chides quietly with a shake of his head. "You know if you give something you can expect to get something." Then the bulb goes off over his head and he regards G'thon quietly. She hadn't told him. This is interesting. And he studies the other man over the rim of his wine glass. He stops only when Corin nudges his arm and demands a refill on her own wine. But the little gears in his head are turning.
"We can celebrate quietly," offers Gans, his eyes delighted. Wicked delight. He pauses in his minimalist dining to let down the fork gently onto the edge of the plate, freeing a hand to reach over and pat his lover's arm. "I wouldn't miss the chance, my dear." This moment is private - but he stages it well, allowing her parents to have a glimpse of affection both honest and deep, only dressed up slightly for their consumption. He glances up at Corin after that and lets his smile become wry: "I will have to trouble you later for ideas, ma'am." A glance at Navan includes him, silently; perhaps that glance indicts him, too. But it is brief, and Gans returns to his meal with pleasure after it.
"It's like a neverending nightmare," is mumbled under the breath of the youngest member of the dining group. "I am not telling you when it is," she informs Gans with a look meant to be severe and ruined by the pat on her arm. Because he's touched her and so she must smile which softens her expression and makes it more, well, anything but stern. Clearing her throat, Miniyal seems aware once more that her parents are observing this touching moment and clears her throat, looking away with a blush on her cheeks. The glances that are shared between lover and parents are not seen, thankfully. Who knows how she wound interpret them. "What's for dessert?" she mumbles, having hardly touched her food.
Navan watches, oh, so cautiously. Carefully. There is nothing that will not be seen and stored away for later consideration. He begins to speak, but Corin beats him to it. "Oh, well, of course you two should celebrate together. We've had twenty-two birthdays to keep Miniyal all to yourselves." Which is pathetic really, but she says it as if it's just fact, not even noticing how it makes her daughter flinch. "We'll just give you your gifts that morning and leave the rest of the day to the two of you." Upon hearing the dessert request she eyes her daughter's plate critically. "Now, Mini, you have hardly touched your dinner. And dessert? I thought you were being more careful of what you ate?" Oh, good. Now she's mentioned that A. her daughter has no friends to celebrate with, B. she's so very much younger than the 'friend' she has, and C. the weight issue. It's sheer force of will alone that does not have Min sinking under the table completely and refusing to come out until both her parents are dead. She settles for emptying her wine glass and mumbling, "Nevermind. I'm not hungry. Thank you."
"Nonsense." Gans turns the full force of his lopsided smile and sparkling eyes on Corin, as she is the most likely mark for both, and as things seem suddenly desperately in need of charm indeed. "I would not dream of depriving Miniyal of her parents on such a day. You shall have exactly whatever celebration you would normally have and I shall wait for my own opportunity." If those last two words sound just the slightest bit sly, the slyness is all for Miniyal: he directs his gaze upon her there, and again reaches for her, this time his hand below the table, fingers seeking a chaste caress over the cap of the knee. Two feet up from that everything is expressly proper - Gans turns the charm again on Corin and lowers his chin, letting his twinkles come at her from that angle. "That's my fault, ma'am. I have a sweet tooth - I'm a bad influence." There's an opening for Navan if he ever wanted one. And Gans leaves it open, even, having nothing more to say - and just a little squeeze for Miniyal's knee to shore her up for it should her father rise to the opportunity.
Through it all, parental words, excuses made for her, all of it, Miniyal is quiet. She doesn't touch her food, she doesn't even notice the look given to her by Gans. If she notices his hand on her there is no indication which is. . .odd. Which is something he will notice. The more people speak around her and about her the straighter she sits. And when silence reigns and when Navan is staring at G'thon, she speaks. "No," said so very softly and with so much conviction. "Gans, love, it is not your fault." And let's hope he doesn't flinch at the endearment because, well, talk about ruining everything. "It is no one's fault. I'm fat, alright? Corin?" And here she turns to address her mother who is looking somewhat horrified. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not the daughter you wanted. That I'm not pretty and social and. . .and whatever else you dreamed of in a kid. But you married Navan and you knew what he was like. I'm sorry I took after him." And here she turns to address that him. "And, Navan? I'm sorry I'm not a son. I'm sorry I came at all because I know you hate to share Corin with anyone. I've lived my life knowing you both are disappointed in me and hating myself for it. But, I'm done. I love you. Both. I always will. But if you cannot treat me like an adult then we must take steps to spend less time together. Because I am adult."
Corin opens her mouth, stopped short by Min's hand rising and Navan's hand resting on his wife's arm. "I don't know what I am going to do with my life. And you reminding me of that? Doesn't help. I know that as long as he wants me I will be with Gans. That is something you have to accept." Here she rises to her feet, for one instant graceful in her movement, detached enough from herself for that at least. "He is not Velin." Well, mind the stumble over the name and the way Corin looks anxious. "And I am not sixteen. I'm sorry I cannot stay for dessert. I have to be going. I hope you will at least think on what I have said." Turning to Gans she extends her hand to him. "I would like to go, please," she says more quietly, for him. So that only he will hear the tremor in her voice. Hopefully only he will notice the way her hands ball into her dress to hide the trembling. And Corin and Navan? Sit stunned. Although there is a glint in Navan's eyes as he watches his daughter and her lover. There will be, perhaps, another visit when Corin is not around.
"Ah," says Gans, when he's told it's not his fault. And for quite some time, like Miniyal's parents, that is the last thing the former weyrleader gets to say. There is, at least, no wince at being called 'love.' There are, in fact, no winces at all. The oldest member of this odd dinner party simply watches, his eyes a little wide but not quite wide enough to convey shock. He is simply attentive, completely and utterly attentive, drawing his hands into his lap and even turning a little so that nothing she says, not a single motion she makes, may escape his study.
And then she is done, and suggesting their departure. So he slides back his chair and rises, silent, smooth, unhindered by the scars he certainly must have in abundance. One pale, long hand goes to support Miniyal's. The other pushes forward his chair, polite. He looks at her a moment, then looks upon her parents. That regard is, most likely, heavier upon Navan; it is a little difficult for him to look directly at Corin, lest she plead with him through her eyes. In this place where an apology would belittle Miniyal and set her against him, where supporting her statements would make him utterly her parents' rival for her affections, Gans takes a mild and middle line, ever the diplomat.
"I will take care of her as much as she lets me," he says. "It was a delicious meal. Thank you for having us."
And then he turns toward Miniyal and farther toward the door, his hand raising beneath hers, his elbow bending, drawing her in that they might depart as they came, together.
Manners dictate when a guest departs the host rises. And so Corin does, still unable to speak and looking at Navan as if he will fix this, whatever needs fixing. Navan rises as well, reaching for his wife's hand so he might comfort her, his expression remaining on their departing guests. There are no other words to be said it seems and so he allows them to go. Corin might speak, but he stays her with a glance and a shake of the head. So she watches, silently, for once not trying to have the last word.
Whatever bravery those words cost her, she doesn't show. Miniyal is silent as they leave and barely leans against him as they find their way out of the room. She doesn't look back, she can't. Because she would cave most likely. And when they are out of the room? She still says nothing, not so close to the door because Corin might be there, ear pressed to the other side. It's not until they have made some distance towards his room that she stops and with a muffled sort of sob turns into him to lay her head against his chest and, well, cry for a moment. Silently, but she does it. When she is done she lifts her head and gives him a watery smile. "I'm sorry," because it should end, this horrid night, how it began, yes?
Gans is silent until he needs her not to be. He walks until she needs him to stop and embrace her; and when she needs that, he does so. He holds her until she looks up at him, and when he tips his head down to meet her gaze with his, he has waiting there for her a small, private smile. "No need." And he bends his head a little more, to kiss one cheek, then the other, to take up tears with his lips if need be. He raises his head then and gazes upon her, his eyes fond and warm and so beyond forgiving; he'd done that as soon as he'd figured out what he would say, back there with Navan and Corin. So now he just says, "Let's go home," and fits his arm around her back, that he might hold her all the way to his - apparently their - quarters.
He is, always, what she needs. At least tonight when he was perfect and just what Miniyal needed to be brave. To stand up to her parents for the first time. Possibly the last, but definitely done. Silence greets all his words, but it is silence that is accompanied by a smile, so endearing and so happy with him. Maybe just a little happy with herself, but it's too soon to really see that for her. And so, with his arm around her she will go with him back to his room. A thousand words crowd her brain right now but she is not sharing them. The only things she shares are devoted glances towards him and when they reach his room a kiss.
He opens the door; he lets her precede him inside. Behind them he closes the door, and shares more kisses, and other things that will ease their minds, things that will soothe her heart. Things from the cool caress of his palms in all the right places to dry remarks about their respective skills at the chess table in the wee hours of morning, when sleep eludes them.
One thing he does not share with her. It is a tiny thing, something he can accomplish in ten minutes or less while Miniyal tries to sleep, or reads, or tends to duties elsewhere - whatever chance he might have, he takes, and does this, because it must be done.
It is a letter, a tiny one, made on a wee slip of fine trimmed parchment, sealed with his ancient Weyrleader's seal. It is delivered to Corin and Navan's apartments by a randomly selected child, and it reads:
Thank you so much for having us. It was a delightful meal and I very much enjoyed the opportunity to speak with you both. I regret that we were unable to stay for dessert; I do look forward to any chance to sample Corin's cooking!
I hope you will both feel free to stop by for tea. If you send me a morning's notice I will be sure to have some pastries to go with the tea.
Of course, it bears his signature. It is a small thing. A nicety. Proper.