Difficult to think of passing up
Who: G'thon and Laelle
Where: G'thon's Room
What: Laelle makes an impromptu visit to discuss the job Roa offered her.
The hour after tea, given over to hosting students of Caucus, finds Gans doing exactly that. The lad with whom he's been speaking is liable to be Tillek's next steward; he's new to Caucus, has none of the former weyrleader's few classes, and yet seems to be laughing brightly enough at some wry statement the old man has offered by way of farewell. Soven pauses on the threshhold to reply a last good-bye, then slips out into the hallway. Behind him, the ethics instructor pulls the door wide so it stands entirely open, then retreats to his desk to pick up books to reshelve in the tall case.
Laelle is heading somewhere, or at least she appears to be. Her attention is forward, her stride even and purposeful. She makes no motion to stop at G'thon's open door, but sees the man sitting inside and then her step slows and stops. A flash of thought passes over the Nerat girl's cool features and then she returns to the instructor's room, rapping knuckles on the door even though it's open and waiting in patient quiet.
"Come in," replies the room's now-sole occupant to the sound of knocking. He shelves another book - several remain still on the desk - and turns to receive whatever visitor this might be with a glance well-prepared to seem cheerful and light; it stays that way after he's identified Laelle. "Please," he appends, for her specific benefit, and moves forward to rearrange furniture in anticipation of conversation.
"Are you busy, sir?" Laelle asks, though he doesn't seem to be. It's a formality, a nicety, as is the way her feet do not cross the boundary into the room until he beckons her. Even then, she waits by the door just in case he should send her away. "I don't want to intrude."
"I am hardly so busy that you couldn't come in and sit down while I get some tea put on for you and put away the rest of my mess," Gans replies, voice droll, starting toward the cart to do the first of these self-assigned tasks. But he stops halfway along, where he's able to turn and look on her a little more evenly than from the edge of the room, and a brow perches a little higher than strictly necessary for just a moment before he resettles it through pure willpower. And moves again for the tea, just the same, ever graceful, ever gracious, immovable in motion. "How have you been, Laelle?"
Laelle moves towards her seat, the one by the fire. Even if winter's ice has left the Weyr, spring still isn't warm enough to soothe her. She sits, legs neatly cross, hands folded in her lap. She offered a small, polite smile, wordless thanks for the offer of tea and patient with any mess, but his question puts a hitch in her expression. "I'm fine, sir," she tells him, schooling that smile back to its mild precision before a beat has passed. "How have you been?"
'Mess' refers, evidently, just to the books scattered overtop of the desk. All things relative. "Very well," Gans replies after a moment looking at her from the tea-cart, a moment's inspection open enough that she must only be meant to know it happened. But as fast as it happened it ended; the ethics instructor is then preparing tea, his eyes on his hands as they perform this well-practiced ritual. "It seems the new turn has brought good things. Seems such to me, in any case." He glances up just long enough to offer her a glimmer of amusement. "I might not be the -most- well-informed of persons anymore."
The girl watches his hands, too, eyes idly following the movement just because it moves. Her head tilts thoughtfully, relatively relaxed. Her gaze flicks up to his face as he mentions the success of the turn to date. "Oh?" Laelle says, some nuance of that syllable pointing the query towards the 'good things' and not how he might be out of the loop - that latter part is ignored.
Perhaps rightly so, but Gans' smile is self-deprecating, almost boyish in its shy delight to be asked. "The weyr is settled. Threadfall is well-met. Eggs on the sands; a queen to be considered." Not a one of these, not even the last, should deserve such shameless topical suggestion on the former weyrleader's part. He closes up the teapot to steep and starts back toward the desk and the books waiting there. "I believe there may be some improvement to be expected in more distant situations. It's pleasant to see Harper taking an interest in quality of leadership."
Laelle tips her head for his list, certain admission to the 'goodness' of each, even if the points are topically touched upon. "It sounds as if there is enough to be grateful for even without the improvement of distant situation," she says, no weight of specifics touching her voice. "Speaking of the Weyr and leadership, though, I'm not here by happenstance alone. I was wondering if I might ask for your opinion on something." Her brows lift and her eyes follow his face, expecting that this request, so forward and plain for a girl who usually lets the former weyrleader steer so much of the conversation, will garner a reaction of some sort.
Gans pauses, a book only just taken up into a long, pale palm, not even stretched up yet for replacement on the shelf. He turns slowly, lowering his hand; Laelle's request clearly registers with him as unusual in mein if not in content. "Of course," he says, mild and pleasant, utterly untroubled to be redirected, utterly unanxious, too - then turns to reach up with the book, so she can go on without the obligation of his gaze weighed upon her.
Laelle displays no lack of ease to have commandeered the conversation so early in the visit. "Roa has offered me a position as her assistant," she says. "She told me that I would still be allowed to attend Caucus in addition to whatever duties she would have for me. I'm due to give her my response soon, but I would appreciate your thoughts on it."
Commandeered, defined, and dominated. Consider the conversation entirely Laelle's to steer; Gans tends most carefully to the quiet placement of his book, then turns to pick up another, back to his student for a moment before coming back into profile for the next part of the shelving. "My thoughts," he says, while slipping this book into place; his fingers rest long and limber against the spine afterward, poised in thoughtful stillness beneath his gaze. "My thoughts." Gans rarely repeats himself and rarer still does so without some additional meaning; this time the change in his tone reveals a certain droll bemusement, one that precedes the shake of his head, as if appalled in his way she should ask him. He's in motion then, leaving the bookcase for the tea-tray, stride long and purposeful; along the way he remarks, "I think it a position of some opportunity, at the very least; one which I imagine could be difficult to think of passing up."
She watches without a change as he goes about returning his books to their places, as he repeats himself so uncharacteristically, as he goes back to tending the tea. And to the thoughts that he shares, she replies only with, "Yes." It is a word gently delivered, but it's meaning implies that those thoughts are not particularly useful, she knows it and he should know that she know it. From there, Laelle waits for something more.
"Yes," echoes Gans. He knows. He stops behind the tea-cart; from there he could look up and consider the young woman across the room, but at first he keeps his eyes on the teapot, one hand arched upon the tray as if it might support him. But his back is unbending, his expression little other than bemused, and in a moment he gathers a breath and looks up, one-sided smile twitching around his words. "I think the Weyrwoman has not yet been tested where the matter of workload is concerned, and that being her assistant will mean you must prepare to withstand that test by her side; attending your courses as well may put pressure upon your time. I think you know this already, and I do not think you incapable of an admirable struggle." That's almost a tease; his eyes dance a little for her, and he looks down at the tea then, remembering. His hands move without thought, overturning cups, pouring, setting little spoons onto saucers, etcetera. "It would project a certain message, perhaps. To your cousin, or to your Hold."
"An admirable struggle," Laelle repeats. Her own brow lifts, perhaps for the dance of his eyes or just for the thought that leave her lips next. "But not a success." It is not a question, she takes that as his meaning without confirmation and only announces it should he chose to address the notion in more detail. She watches his hands, the delicate, meticulous arrangement of their tea. "I have considered the message. I'm not sure how to... proceed." Her eyes lift to his face again.
"I believe you will want to make Roa's acquisition of further assistance a priority while you can," Gans provides, his own eyes on the business of tea. "And I believe you will want to assure Seleda that you remain available to her as her - companion." He's finished now with the preparation, so obliged to look up as he carries the cups and saucers over, handing out one in a flat palm for her to take once he's beside the divan. "I am entirely uncertain how you might wish to present it to your Hold. I expect if you frame it correctly, Seleda may be enthused enough about your - opportunities here - to take care of it for you, until her departure from Caucus." A pause, smiling, one-sided and wry. "Or yours?"
Whatever Laelle's reaction to his comments may be, it is hidden in the motions of receiving her tea and smiling her appreciation, at least for a moment or two. "I was thinking that, if I accept, I may ask if the Weyrwoman would be willing to write to the Hold for me. Do think that might be a proper... frame?" She stirs her sweetener into her tea, watching the swirl of liquid. "I am concerned to have my family believe I have left them in favor of the Weyr." Again, her gaze slips toward the former weyrleader, lending question where her voice does not.
"Then she should either remark upon how pleased she is to have your service for the time of your attendance," Gans replies, backing off from the divan into the chair placed earlier for this purpose, settling there a little farther from the stove than she. "Or you will need to make a visit of a more covert-seeming kind, so as to make some gesture to your family." He balances his saucer on one knee so he, too, can make amendments to the cup, eyes on the stirring. "Unless, of course, such a belief would be accurate. In which case I would encourage you to simply ease the transition as best you can."
Laelle sips at her tea, a ginger taste while it still steams. "I do not think that I am in a position to put words into the Weyrwoman's mouth," she says, a touch of wryness on her lips for the suggestion of this possible letter's possible tone. "And I should think that a visit would have to be rather extended, so as not to look like a visit, but a return. And should I take the position, I doubt that I would have such time at my leisure." She blows across the top of her cup, but then sets it back to the saucer and lowers both. "Accuracy aside, do you think that is how it might appear? Or is that a negligible concern?"
"I think it is precisely how it appears," Gans replies, simply. "Were I in your position I would consider it a concern not negligible, but slight; something to be considered, something with possible unpleasantries to be prepared for." He lifts his tea, but rather than cool it with a breath just lets the steam rise from beneath his chin, the cup all but obscured in large pale hands. "I am, of course, not in your position. Your perspective may vary from mine. I can only advise that, as I see it, you stand to gain things which are greater than those you'll lose."
A slow but clear smiles forms on Laelle's lips, not the polite one that she more readily reveals, but something brighter, more pleased. There is the sort of sparkle in her eye that is more often twinkling in the opposite direction, from instructor to student. She lifts her cup to take a better mouthful of the tea. "I have to say I agree," she says afterwards, a hint of the smile faded but still lingering. "Of course, that doesn't address whether or not I am capable of handling classes and the extra work as well." But in all truth, this isn't a point she seems terribly concerned about, not that she displays terrible concern as a rule.
"As I said," Gans replies, voice droll, brows lifting, "I think you might be best served to make your first goal to see to it Roa has as much help as she could need." His mouth twists and his chin drops a little, then his eyelids half-fall; he breathes of the steam of his tea, expression pleased. "And then some. Preferably before the new weyrlings fly. Preferably, even, prior to the hatching."
"Do you have a particular reason in mind, sir?" Laelle wonders, the wheels of her mind expressed through the brief tap-tap of a fingertip on her teacup. "A particular advantage to, as you imply, spending greater energy than might be expected? In doing so on such a schedule?"
"Yes," says Gans, a threat of laughter lending his speech a lightweight vibrato. "I believe her workload will double for a few days after the hatching, and treble when they get weyrs. And her workload, to some degree, may be your workload." It's simple stuff, and he's too delighted to provide it, expression open, head lifted, eyes bright; nothing hidden save some percentage of his amusement. Then he lifts his cup and drinks, eyes still dancing above the rim.
Laelle considers this for a long moment, eyes low and unseeing. "Wouldn't that imply that I should focus on my classes now while I have the chance, if my work for the Weyrwoman would be destined to take precedence later on?" She turns her gaze to him again, watching that amusement with careful attention.
Gans lowers his cup only enough that his words, very dry indeed, can be heard without any chance of distortion. "Haven't you -been- focusing on your classes?" Though it creeps up only on one side, the other as ever all but unwilling to participate, the mischief in that asymmetrical smirk is all too clear.
Laelle tips her head toward him, mirroring some reflection of that smirk on her lips. "That seems rather beside the point."
"Then I see no reason I should need to advise you on attendance to your lessons," replies the ethics instructor, arch, affectionate.
"It's my specific attention to the Weyrwoman that I'm asking about. Why I should feel the need to put extra emphasis on my work with her and particularly sooner rather than later?" Laelle says, arching right back, a sweetness in her voice in return for his affections.
"Emphasis on - ah, I have misspoken." Which, classically, means - when Gans says it - 'I have been misunderstood.' He smiles, though, one brow raised, and takes tea before he explains himself. "My apologies. I suggest you might wish to discover if the Weyrwoman believes she has enough staff to handle the increase I predict in her workload; if she does not, you may want help of your own. Is that clearer - ?"
Laelle sits back a little, her mouth opening in a soundless 'ah' of understanding. "I expect that there will be many discoveries should I take the position. It is not work that I have any experience with. I hope only to find a balance between my work for her and my studies. She has asured me that I would be able to continue with classes." She takes a final sip of her tea and sets it back in the saucer.
"I expect she would be the expert," muses Gans. His own cup not quite half-emptied, he sets it down anyway and nudges forward in his chair; a glance and a nod at Laelle's cup give form to the question, "More for you?"
Laelle shakes her head, smiling, "Thank you, but no. I appreciate that you've taken the time to talk to me. And I appreciate the tea," she adds, a smile as well for that. She doesn't stand just yet, but moves forward, ready.
"And I appreciate your interest in speaking to me," replies Gans, and there is no reason to think his pleasure - obvious - is insincere. "I'm flattered." Also, he's waiting, a brow propped. But that's secondary.
Whatever paused Laelle in her seat, it is not destined to become words. She just wears that simple smile, which does grow a touch broader to have flattered her instructor, and then stands. "Thank you again," she says. She appears to have fallen back into the habit of letting G'thon lead the course of ther visit, waiting for him to dismiss her.
This, he can recognize; her thanks signal him. So he sets aside his tea, then rises and offers her his hand, that he might better show her out; he'll do so, open the door for her, all of the niceties, at whatever pace she might set. "I do enjoy your visits, Laelle. I hope to have more of them."
Laelle inclines her head as she reaches the door. "So do I, sir," she answers quietly. And then she leaves him to his books again.
Where: G'thon's Room
What: Laelle makes an impromptu visit to discuss the job Roa offered her.
The hour after tea, given over to hosting students of Caucus, finds Gans doing exactly that. The lad with whom he's been speaking is liable to be Tillek's next steward; he's new to Caucus, has none of the former weyrleader's few classes, and yet seems to be laughing brightly enough at some wry statement the old man has offered by way of farewell. Soven pauses on the threshhold to reply a last good-bye, then slips out into the hallway. Behind him, the ethics instructor pulls the door wide so it stands entirely open, then retreats to his desk to pick up books to reshelve in the tall case.
Laelle is heading somewhere, or at least she appears to be. Her attention is forward, her stride even and purposeful. She makes no motion to stop at G'thon's open door, but sees the man sitting inside and then her step slows and stops. A flash of thought passes over the Nerat girl's cool features and then she returns to the instructor's room, rapping knuckles on the door even though it's open and waiting in patient quiet.
"Come in," replies the room's now-sole occupant to the sound of knocking. He shelves another book - several remain still on the desk - and turns to receive whatever visitor this might be with a glance well-prepared to seem cheerful and light; it stays that way after he's identified Laelle. "Please," he appends, for her specific benefit, and moves forward to rearrange furniture in anticipation of conversation.
"Are you busy, sir?" Laelle asks, though he doesn't seem to be. It's a formality, a nicety, as is the way her feet do not cross the boundary into the room until he beckons her. Even then, she waits by the door just in case he should send her away. "I don't want to intrude."
"I am hardly so busy that you couldn't come in and sit down while I get some tea put on for you and put away the rest of my mess," Gans replies, voice droll, starting toward the cart to do the first of these self-assigned tasks. But he stops halfway along, where he's able to turn and look on her a little more evenly than from the edge of the room, and a brow perches a little higher than strictly necessary for just a moment before he resettles it through pure willpower. And moves again for the tea, just the same, ever graceful, ever gracious, immovable in motion. "How have you been, Laelle?"
Laelle moves towards her seat, the one by the fire. Even if winter's ice has left the Weyr, spring still isn't warm enough to soothe her. She sits, legs neatly cross, hands folded in her lap. She offered a small, polite smile, wordless thanks for the offer of tea and patient with any mess, but his question puts a hitch in her expression. "I'm fine, sir," she tells him, schooling that smile back to its mild precision before a beat has passed. "How have you been?"
'Mess' refers, evidently, just to the books scattered overtop of the desk. All things relative. "Very well," Gans replies after a moment looking at her from the tea-cart, a moment's inspection open enough that she must only be meant to know it happened. But as fast as it happened it ended; the ethics instructor is then preparing tea, his eyes on his hands as they perform this well-practiced ritual. "It seems the new turn has brought good things. Seems such to me, in any case." He glances up just long enough to offer her a glimmer of amusement. "I might not be the -most- well-informed of persons anymore."
The girl watches his hands, too, eyes idly following the movement just because it moves. Her head tilts thoughtfully, relatively relaxed. Her gaze flicks up to his face as he mentions the success of the turn to date. "Oh?" Laelle says, some nuance of that syllable pointing the query towards the 'good things' and not how he might be out of the loop - that latter part is ignored.
Perhaps rightly so, but Gans' smile is self-deprecating, almost boyish in its shy delight to be asked. "The weyr is settled. Threadfall is well-met. Eggs on the sands; a queen to be considered." Not a one of these, not even the last, should deserve such shameless topical suggestion on the former weyrleader's part. He closes up the teapot to steep and starts back toward the desk and the books waiting there. "I believe there may be some improvement to be expected in more distant situations. It's pleasant to see Harper taking an interest in quality of leadership."
Laelle tips her head for his list, certain admission to the 'goodness' of each, even if the points are topically touched upon. "It sounds as if there is enough to be grateful for even without the improvement of distant situation," she says, no weight of specifics touching her voice. "Speaking of the Weyr and leadership, though, I'm not here by happenstance alone. I was wondering if I might ask for your opinion on something." Her brows lift and her eyes follow his face, expecting that this request, so forward and plain for a girl who usually lets the former weyrleader steer so much of the conversation, will garner a reaction of some sort.
Gans pauses, a book only just taken up into a long, pale palm, not even stretched up yet for replacement on the shelf. He turns slowly, lowering his hand; Laelle's request clearly registers with him as unusual in mein if not in content. "Of course," he says, mild and pleasant, utterly untroubled to be redirected, utterly unanxious, too - then turns to reach up with the book, so she can go on without the obligation of his gaze weighed upon her.
Laelle displays no lack of ease to have commandeered the conversation so early in the visit. "Roa has offered me a position as her assistant," she says. "She told me that I would still be allowed to attend Caucus in addition to whatever duties she would have for me. I'm due to give her my response soon, but I would appreciate your thoughts on it."
Commandeered, defined, and dominated. Consider the conversation entirely Laelle's to steer; Gans tends most carefully to the quiet placement of his book, then turns to pick up another, back to his student for a moment before coming back into profile for the next part of the shelving. "My thoughts," he says, while slipping this book into place; his fingers rest long and limber against the spine afterward, poised in thoughtful stillness beneath his gaze. "My thoughts." Gans rarely repeats himself and rarer still does so without some additional meaning; this time the change in his tone reveals a certain droll bemusement, one that precedes the shake of his head, as if appalled in his way she should ask him. He's in motion then, leaving the bookcase for the tea-tray, stride long and purposeful; along the way he remarks, "I think it a position of some opportunity, at the very least; one which I imagine could be difficult to think of passing up."
She watches without a change as he goes about returning his books to their places, as he repeats himself so uncharacteristically, as he goes back to tending the tea. And to the thoughts that he shares, she replies only with, "Yes." It is a word gently delivered, but it's meaning implies that those thoughts are not particularly useful, she knows it and he should know that she know it. From there, Laelle waits for something more.
"Yes," echoes Gans. He knows. He stops behind the tea-cart; from there he could look up and consider the young woman across the room, but at first he keeps his eyes on the teapot, one hand arched upon the tray as if it might support him. But his back is unbending, his expression little other than bemused, and in a moment he gathers a breath and looks up, one-sided smile twitching around his words. "I think the Weyrwoman has not yet been tested where the matter of workload is concerned, and that being her assistant will mean you must prepare to withstand that test by her side; attending your courses as well may put pressure upon your time. I think you know this already, and I do not think you incapable of an admirable struggle." That's almost a tease; his eyes dance a little for her, and he looks down at the tea then, remembering. His hands move without thought, overturning cups, pouring, setting little spoons onto saucers, etcetera. "It would project a certain message, perhaps. To your cousin, or to your Hold."
"An admirable struggle," Laelle repeats. Her own brow lifts, perhaps for the dance of his eyes or just for the thought that leave her lips next. "But not a success." It is not a question, she takes that as his meaning without confirmation and only announces it should he chose to address the notion in more detail. She watches his hands, the delicate, meticulous arrangement of their tea. "I have considered the message. I'm not sure how to... proceed." Her eyes lift to his face again.
"I believe you will want to make Roa's acquisition of further assistance a priority while you can," Gans provides, his own eyes on the business of tea. "And I believe you will want to assure Seleda that you remain available to her as her - companion." He's finished now with the preparation, so obliged to look up as he carries the cups and saucers over, handing out one in a flat palm for her to take once he's beside the divan. "I am entirely uncertain how you might wish to present it to your Hold. I expect if you frame it correctly, Seleda may be enthused enough about your - opportunities here - to take care of it for you, until her departure from Caucus." A pause, smiling, one-sided and wry. "Or yours?"
Whatever Laelle's reaction to his comments may be, it is hidden in the motions of receiving her tea and smiling her appreciation, at least for a moment or two. "I was thinking that, if I accept, I may ask if the Weyrwoman would be willing to write to the Hold for me. Do think that might be a proper... frame?" She stirs her sweetener into her tea, watching the swirl of liquid. "I am concerned to have my family believe I have left them in favor of the Weyr." Again, her gaze slips toward the former weyrleader, lending question where her voice does not.
"Then she should either remark upon how pleased she is to have your service for the time of your attendance," Gans replies, backing off from the divan into the chair placed earlier for this purpose, settling there a little farther from the stove than she. "Or you will need to make a visit of a more covert-seeming kind, so as to make some gesture to your family." He balances his saucer on one knee so he, too, can make amendments to the cup, eyes on the stirring. "Unless, of course, such a belief would be accurate. In which case I would encourage you to simply ease the transition as best you can."
Laelle sips at her tea, a ginger taste while it still steams. "I do not think that I am in a position to put words into the Weyrwoman's mouth," she says, a touch of wryness on her lips for the suggestion of this possible letter's possible tone. "And I should think that a visit would have to be rather extended, so as not to look like a visit, but a return. And should I take the position, I doubt that I would have such time at my leisure." She blows across the top of her cup, but then sets it back to the saucer and lowers both. "Accuracy aside, do you think that is how it might appear? Or is that a negligible concern?"
"I think it is precisely how it appears," Gans replies, simply. "Were I in your position I would consider it a concern not negligible, but slight; something to be considered, something with possible unpleasantries to be prepared for." He lifts his tea, but rather than cool it with a breath just lets the steam rise from beneath his chin, the cup all but obscured in large pale hands. "I am, of course, not in your position. Your perspective may vary from mine. I can only advise that, as I see it, you stand to gain things which are greater than those you'll lose."
A slow but clear smiles forms on Laelle's lips, not the polite one that she more readily reveals, but something brighter, more pleased. There is the sort of sparkle in her eye that is more often twinkling in the opposite direction, from instructor to student. She lifts her cup to take a better mouthful of the tea. "I have to say I agree," she says afterwards, a hint of the smile faded but still lingering. "Of course, that doesn't address whether or not I am capable of handling classes and the extra work as well." But in all truth, this isn't a point she seems terribly concerned about, not that she displays terrible concern as a rule.
"As I said," Gans replies, voice droll, brows lifting, "I think you might be best served to make your first goal to see to it Roa has as much help as she could need." His mouth twists and his chin drops a little, then his eyelids half-fall; he breathes of the steam of his tea, expression pleased. "And then some. Preferably before the new weyrlings fly. Preferably, even, prior to the hatching."
"Do you have a particular reason in mind, sir?" Laelle wonders, the wheels of her mind expressed through the brief tap-tap of a fingertip on her teacup. "A particular advantage to, as you imply, spending greater energy than might be expected? In doing so on such a schedule?"
"Yes," says Gans, a threat of laughter lending his speech a lightweight vibrato. "I believe her workload will double for a few days after the hatching, and treble when they get weyrs. And her workload, to some degree, may be your workload." It's simple stuff, and he's too delighted to provide it, expression open, head lifted, eyes bright; nothing hidden save some percentage of his amusement. Then he lifts his cup and drinks, eyes still dancing above the rim.
Laelle considers this for a long moment, eyes low and unseeing. "Wouldn't that imply that I should focus on my classes now while I have the chance, if my work for the Weyrwoman would be destined to take precedence later on?" She turns her gaze to him again, watching that amusement with careful attention.
Gans lowers his cup only enough that his words, very dry indeed, can be heard without any chance of distortion. "Haven't you -been- focusing on your classes?" Though it creeps up only on one side, the other as ever all but unwilling to participate, the mischief in that asymmetrical smirk is all too clear.
Laelle tips her head toward him, mirroring some reflection of that smirk on her lips. "That seems rather beside the point."
"Then I see no reason I should need to advise you on attendance to your lessons," replies the ethics instructor, arch, affectionate.
"It's my specific attention to the Weyrwoman that I'm asking about. Why I should feel the need to put extra emphasis on my work with her and particularly sooner rather than later?" Laelle says, arching right back, a sweetness in her voice in return for his affections.
"Emphasis on - ah, I have misspoken." Which, classically, means - when Gans says it - 'I have been misunderstood.' He smiles, though, one brow raised, and takes tea before he explains himself. "My apologies. I suggest you might wish to discover if the Weyrwoman believes she has enough staff to handle the increase I predict in her workload; if she does not, you may want help of your own. Is that clearer - ?"
Laelle sits back a little, her mouth opening in a soundless 'ah' of understanding. "I expect that there will be many discoveries should I take the position. It is not work that I have any experience with. I hope only to find a balance between my work for her and my studies. She has asured me that I would be able to continue with classes." She takes a final sip of her tea and sets it back in the saucer.
"I expect she would be the expert," muses Gans. His own cup not quite half-emptied, he sets it down anyway and nudges forward in his chair; a glance and a nod at Laelle's cup give form to the question, "More for you?"
Laelle shakes her head, smiling, "Thank you, but no. I appreciate that you've taken the time to talk to me. And I appreciate the tea," she adds, a smile as well for that. She doesn't stand just yet, but moves forward, ready.
"And I appreciate your interest in speaking to me," replies Gans, and there is no reason to think his pleasure - obvious - is insincere. "I'm flattered." Also, he's waiting, a brow propped. But that's secondary.
Whatever paused Laelle in her seat, it is not destined to become words. She just wears that simple smile, which does grow a touch broader to have flattered her instructor, and then stands. "Thank you again," she says. She appears to have fallen back into the habit of letting G'thon lead the course of ther visit, waiting for him to dismiss her.
This, he can recognize; her thanks signal him. So he sets aside his tea, then rises and offers her his hand, that he might better show her out; he'll do so, open the door for her, all of the niceties, at whatever pace she might set. "I do enjoy your visits, Laelle. I hope to have more of them."
Laelle inclines her head as she reaches the door. "So do I, sir," she answers quietly. And then she leaves him to his books again.