Our heroine explains, distracts, shows she has no head for brandy
Who: Miniyal and G'thon
Where: _____________ (Fill in the blank. Go on. I dare you. FINE! Their room.)
When: Post dinnertime day 16, month 9, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
What: G'thon returns from torture at the hands of the evil headmaster. Miniyal distracts him and winds up possibly giving him ideas.
11/2/2006
At High Reaches Weyr, it is on day 16, month 9, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
It's late - well after the dinner hour, well after dinner. Of course Gans told her where he was going, for talk and drinks. That might explain why she didn't come along, all things considered. He comes back some time later, as would be expected, and slips inside, shutting the door after he's within. There, expected and normal ends. He turns around inside the room and puts a pale hand up on the fine polished wood of the door, then leans into his arm, forehead against his wrist.
She would have happily gone along if only she had not had work to do, of course. Because how could she not want to go along? So she passed the time writing up what she is doling out to Roa. Because Miniyal is not the sort to go back on her word, but neither is she the sort to give away everything she knows all at once. The work she was working on was done some time ago. Now she sits on the floor, of all places, frowning at a collection of ribbons. When the door opens she lifts her head and looks over, expecting to see just who she sees, but then she frowns again. Rising to her feet she steps barefoot over her ribbons towards the door. "Gans?" is asked softly. "Are you alright? What do you need?"
"I'm all right." He pries himself off of his arm and peels his hand off the door, then turns to face her, forcing a smile. Gans is an expert at creating smiles out of nothing - but this is an uncharacteristically poor effort, a mere bend of his mouth that affects the left side in inappropriately unsmiling ways from excess tension in the muscles. "I don't need - " The answer halts as he looks at her, and the smile slips away. He takes a few steps then, moving slowly, his usually purposeful stride drained. "A drink," he suggests. "Your company. What - " His gaze slips past her, then back up from the floor. "What are you up to?" Now he can fit a real smile, albeit a wan and tiny one, on his lips.
"You're lying terribly," Miniyal chides gently, worry tinting her words. "What do you want to drink? Sit down. What happened?" Shaking her head she completes the distance between them and slides an arm around his waist. "A jerk," she says with a tiny smile. "Which is what I told you he was." Her free hand lifts to cup his cheek as she glances back at what she was doing. "I'm not sure. I did some work and then got bored. I thought I might sew, but none of the colors looked right and I couldn't decide what to do. I was restless."
"The topic shifted," Gans replies, noting that tiny smile and responding with an increase in his own, then a bend of his head as she slips her arm around him to breathe a warm kiss into her chestnut locks. "I believe I have been chastised for inviting certain Igenites to spend time at High Reaches. Just in case I have never been chastised before." He allows himself the indulgence of a little bitterness here, but shakes his head after that and, to emphasize his attention to the woman with him now and not the one dead and gone, looks down at the ribbons. He does not yet obey her command that he sit. "You sew with ribbons?"
Worrying at her lower lip, her head shakes. "That is the problem here more than anything," Miniyal says with another frown, leaning against him softly as she puts her other arm around him for a gently embrace. "No one knows how to let something go. The past is the past and we can't change it. But we can't let it control us either." Another glance at the ribbons and she laughs quietly. "I sew on the ribbons. But, like I said, none of them had the right color. Besides, I didn't know what I wanted to do. I was just restless. I thought if I did something that required more thought than copying I might settle down. Are you sure you are alright? Do I need to go throw something at his head?" How thoughtful she is! Because she would not enjoy that at all. Really.
"Weyrs have memories to make up for what their dragons lack," muses Gans in the tone he uses when quoting something, especially when that something is himself. He untwines himself from her arm then and steps forward, only to bend promptly at the edge of the area decorated by the ribbons. He picks up a few, long fingers delicate about plucking them up from the floor. "What color do you need?" So serious. "And no, that won't be necessary. It wasn't exactly his fault." Not exactly. Only a little bit. Maybe ninety percent at most.
"Gans, it is always his fault. The man is infuriating." Another shake of her head, but she lets him go, looking at the ribbons. "He had the nerve to suggest I become a student. As if I would waste my time that way." Stepping away from him and the ribbons she heads to where glasses and such are kept, selecting a stronger liquor than wine and filling two glasses. "Here," Miniyal says stepping back to him. "I found this yesterday. I nearly forgot having it. It's a pear brandy." As she watches him look at the ribbons, holding his glass, she sips her own. "I don't know. I was thinking something red. But I don't have a lot of reds. I'm. . .not a fan of reds. They stand out so much."
"You could become my student," muses Gans, collecting the rest of the ribbons one by one, knowing her departure from his immediate vicinity. "And that was not meant to sound suggestive." He files the ribbons away, trailing each one over the bridge of flesh between his thumb and forefinger so they make a neat little collection. He straightens smoothly, putting out a hand on the way up to receive the brandy, and canting his head a little to offer a wry smile and a little light recovering in his eyes to the woman who brings it. "And you prefer not to stand out," he murmurs, too knowingly. "A rich green? Steel blue? What sort of purpose did you have in mind?" And then he's moving toward the divan, one eye narrowing as he moves, as if recollecting a memory from a distant point in time. "A necklace of sorts. A choker."
Head tipping to one side there is a smile behind the glass as she watches him with the ribbons, listens to him speak. "I thought I was already your student," Miniyal teases. "And I meant that, of course, how you meant it." Although she teases in her tone and the light in her eyes. "I do not think I could live here and not learn from you." She trails along towards the divan, feet shuffling on the carpet. "I'm not good at standing out. When people notice me. . .I don't do so well is all. I'm good at not being noticed." Although she wishes it were otherwise, but that's the barest hint of envy in her voice as she speaks. Shaking her head she shrugs, sipping at her drink. "I don't know. I thought I might, well, I've got a few new things being made for me and thought I might, well, have some new ribbons. I prefer them to other types of accessories. They feel better against my skin than jewelry I think."
Gans moves the brandy beneath his nose, which admittedly is easy territory to put a glass' rim into, and smiles a bit more still at the indulgent reek of pear. "You're good at not being noticed because you've cultivated the skill, Miniyal. You have therefore not had to cultivate the skill of tolerating notice, of keeping your grace through notice, of maintaining composure through notice. It is, however, a skill." He holds out his hand, the one with the ribbons draped over it, though the purpose of the motion is to open his arm for her to sit within. "As in so many things I am convinced you could achieve it, if you chose to. But I will not push you." This last is added in a bit of a rush, rich and fond, just so she knows he knows. "I am pleased to discover your preference for cloth over metal after I have already put a ring on your finger," he adds, then, teasing in all its fullness now.
Settling next to him, the glass held loosely in the hand farthest from him, she sighs. "I'm not so good at it," she mumbles. "People keep noticing me." She would say more, but decides to, instead, take a drink from her glass. "It is impossibly hard," Miniyal points out after she is done, "To keep a ribbon on one's finger. And I would not trade the ring for anything in the world. Besides, had I known you would deny my request to ignore my birthday I would have told you of my preference." If he will tease, she will do so back, scolding him fondly as she tips her head to smile at him. "Perhaps," is said only after she looks away, taking a large drink from her glass to gather courage. "Perhaps, since I seem to be having trouble escaping notice I might get some pointers from you. Maybe."
"If I had told you it would not have been a surprise," he murmurs, letting his arm go loose around her so his fingers can drift gently along the outside of her shoulder. He bends his head toward her, keeping close as if he might nudge her ear with his nose, even when she turns her head away. In fact, turning away and drinking only lends him an opportunity to nuzzle at her hair and smile a kiss into the locks. "Perhaps you might," he murmurs, gently. "Although my performance in Sefton's social this evening was less than an excellent instructional example, I must admit."
Min rolls her eyes, although she still looks away so he does not see it. "Yes, well, I do not like surprises." It is only a tiny lie. Not convincing to her own ears so it can be dismissed. She could have phrased it more honestly, but then it would have been longer and more confusing to his ears in her explanation. So, she simply empties her glass and holds it in her hands as she leans into him, a content sigh escaping her lips at the attention he pays her. "Yes, well, it is either that or practice hiding again and I have a feeling I won't have much time for that." Another sigh, this one less content, more annoyed. "She does not need an advisor, Gans. She needs a keeper. I do not think I am up to the job and yet I am tied into too much to get away so soon."
"You like my surprises," Gans tells her ear, breath warm. -He- can explain it simply and briefly, see. Then he lifts his head and straightens his shoulders so the one close to her offers a surface against which she can relax. He's quiet after that, to let her speak, to listen closely to what she says, and to tip up his first sip of the brandy into his mouth. He savors it a while, even after Miniyal has finished talking for the time, then swallows and murmurs, "Be her keeper, then. Unless it offends you. In which case - " And a plot is hatched. The shell cracking can almost be heard. "- you get some people to do it for you."
Her nose crinkles at the feel of his breath on her ear and she turns in towards him. When he straightens it allows her then to turn that much more and settle against him. Up come her feet and they are tucked under her, the length of dress insuring they will feel no chill as they disappear under the black fabric. Turning her empty glass in both hands she lets out a little sigh. "I just. . .I do not know what to do. And I worry she expects me to know more than I do. To be able to do more than I can. She does incredibly stupid things and I can just see having to run around behind her and clean up after her for turns to come. Or else flee when the month is up and return to records once more. If they let me." As if Navan wouldn't. Still, bouncing back and forth as she does will eventually not be an option. Silence as she considers this, or other things. When she speaks again her head tilts a fraction so she can look up at him. "I cannot keep myself, Gans. But there are few people I can trust to help me. Few enough who could help me without being obvious. I do not want. . .I do not want to seem as if I have undue influence. I do not /want/ that. Shells. She's so young." So much younger. Yes. "I just want to do my job."
He is mostly quiet again, letting her say her part. He slips in his part in the gap between her thoughts. "Here, do you want a little of mine?" Gans somehow makes this sound indulgent more than teasing, although his smile must be tempted by the latter possibility. "It is very good. Sweet. But I don't want you to get up." And his hand, on the far shoulder, curls a little against her shoulder, half to keep her firmly sat on the divan, securely held against him - and half to encourage her to continue speaking. "She is young, yes. Which is why it seems she needs a keeper, I'm sure. Has she any - personal friends you might cultivate to assist?" Not that this would necessarily be strictly within the scope of doing her job.
Of course she wants some of his, well, she wants her own glass but she will settle for taking his with a quietly murmured, "Thank you." A sip then, of his brandy and she is left holding both glasses. A slight shift in posture to make this easier and with a smile more heard than seen simply because Miniyal is not looking at him she replies. "I've no desire in the world to move." At his question she stills but for the rise and fall of her chest as she breaths. And the occasional very small sip from his glass. "I do not know. Aida and her are close, but Aida works for Sefton. Jensen she mentioned. And Ashwin although-" A pause here. Just long enough to tell more than her words. "Well, I do not believe they are friends." She could add more, perhaps. Could discuss the horrors of her new job in detail. Instead she empties her glass, formerly his glass. "I lied," she says after both glasses are empty. Another minor adjustment on the divan and she is leaning upwards, head turned so her lips are against his ear. "I have every desire in the world to move." This is punctuated by a kiss to the side of his neck. Low tolerance for brandy it would seem. "But only if you move with me," is tacked on at the end. As if he might confuse her words. How easily she dismisses conversation of the verbal variety. There are better ways to spend the long sleepless night ahead of them and she starts reminding him, yet again, of this now.
Where: _____________ (Fill in the blank. Go on. I dare you. FINE! Their room.)
When: Post dinnertime day 16, month 9, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
What: G'thon returns from torture at the hands of the evil headmaster. Miniyal distracts him and winds up possibly giving him ideas.
11/2/2006
At High Reaches Weyr, it is on day 16, month 9, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
It's late - well after the dinner hour, well after dinner. Of course Gans told her where he was going, for talk and drinks. That might explain why she didn't come along, all things considered. He comes back some time later, as would be expected, and slips inside, shutting the door after he's within. There, expected and normal ends. He turns around inside the room and puts a pale hand up on the fine polished wood of the door, then leans into his arm, forehead against his wrist.
She would have happily gone along if only she had not had work to do, of course. Because how could she not want to go along? So she passed the time writing up what she is doling out to Roa. Because Miniyal is not the sort to go back on her word, but neither is she the sort to give away everything she knows all at once. The work she was working on was done some time ago. Now she sits on the floor, of all places, frowning at a collection of ribbons. When the door opens she lifts her head and looks over, expecting to see just who she sees, but then she frowns again. Rising to her feet she steps barefoot over her ribbons towards the door. "Gans?" is asked softly. "Are you alright? What do you need?"
"I'm all right." He pries himself off of his arm and peels his hand off the door, then turns to face her, forcing a smile. Gans is an expert at creating smiles out of nothing - but this is an uncharacteristically poor effort, a mere bend of his mouth that affects the left side in inappropriately unsmiling ways from excess tension in the muscles. "I don't need - " The answer halts as he looks at her, and the smile slips away. He takes a few steps then, moving slowly, his usually purposeful stride drained. "A drink," he suggests. "Your company. What - " His gaze slips past her, then back up from the floor. "What are you up to?" Now he can fit a real smile, albeit a wan and tiny one, on his lips.
"You're lying terribly," Miniyal chides gently, worry tinting her words. "What do you want to drink? Sit down. What happened?" Shaking her head she completes the distance between them and slides an arm around his waist. "A jerk," she says with a tiny smile. "Which is what I told you he was." Her free hand lifts to cup his cheek as she glances back at what she was doing. "I'm not sure. I did some work and then got bored. I thought I might sew, but none of the colors looked right and I couldn't decide what to do. I was restless."
"The topic shifted," Gans replies, noting that tiny smile and responding with an increase in his own, then a bend of his head as she slips her arm around him to breathe a warm kiss into her chestnut locks. "I believe I have been chastised for inviting certain Igenites to spend time at High Reaches. Just in case I have never been chastised before." He allows himself the indulgence of a little bitterness here, but shakes his head after that and, to emphasize his attention to the woman with him now and not the one dead and gone, looks down at the ribbons. He does not yet obey her command that he sit. "You sew with ribbons?"
Worrying at her lower lip, her head shakes. "That is the problem here more than anything," Miniyal says with another frown, leaning against him softly as she puts her other arm around him for a gently embrace. "No one knows how to let something go. The past is the past and we can't change it. But we can't let it control us either." Another glance at the ribbons and she laughs quietly. "I sew on the ribbons. But, like I said, none of them had the right color. Besides, I didn't know what I wanted to do. I was just restless. I thought if I did something that required more thought than copying I might settle down. Are you sure you are alright? Do I need to go throw something at his head?" How thoughtful she is! Because she would not enjoy that at all. Really.
"Weyrs have memories to make up for what their dragons lack," muses Gans in the tone he uses when quoting something, especially when that something is himself. He untwines himself from her arm then and steps forward, only to bend promptly at the edge of the area decorated by the ribbons. He picks up a few, long fingers delicate about plucking them up from the floor. "What color do you need?" So serious. "And no, that won't be necessary. It wasn't exactly his fault." Not exactly. Only a little bit. Maybe ninety percent at most.
"Gans, it is always his fault. The man is infuriating." Another shake of her head, but she lets him go, looking at the ribbons. "He had the nerve to suggest I become a student. As if I would waste my time that way." Stepping away from him and the ribbons she heads to where glasses and such are kept, selecting a stronger liquor than wine and filling two glasses. "Here," Miniyal says stepping back to him. "I found this yesterday. I nearly forgot having it. It's a pear brandy." As she watches him look at the ribbons, holding his glass, she sips her own. "I don't know. I was thinking something red. But I don't have a lot of reds. I'm. . .not a fan of reds. They stand out so much."
"You could become my student," muses Gans, collecting the rest of the ribbons one by one, knowing her departure from his immediate vicinity. "And that was not meant to sound suggestive." He files the ribbons away, trailing each one over the bridge of flesh between his thumb and forefinger so they make a neat little collection. He straightens smoothly, putting out a hand on the way up to receive the brandy, and canting his head a little to offer a wry smile and a little light recovering in his eyes to the woman who brings it. "And you prefer not to stand out," he murmurs, too knowingly. "A rich green? Steel blue? What sort of purpose did you have in mind?" And then he's moving toward the divan, one eye narrowing as he moves, as if recollecting a memory from a distant point in time. "A necklace of sorts. A choker."
Head tipping to one side there is a smile behind the glass as she watches him with the ribbons, listens to him speak. "I thought I was already your student," Miniyal teases. "And I meant that, of course, how you meant it." Although she teases in her tone and the light in her eyes. "I do not think I could live here and not learn from you." She trails along towards the divan, feet shuffling on the carpet. "I'm not good at standing out. When people notice me. . .I don't do so well is all. I'm good at not being noticed." Although she wishes it were otherwise, but that's the barest hint of envy in her voice as she speaks. Shaking her head she shrugs, sipping at her drink. "I don't know. I thought I might, well, I've got a few new things being made for me and thought I might, well, have some new ribbons. I prefer them to other types of accessories. They feel better against my skin than jewelry I think."
Gans moves the brandy beneath his nose, which admittedly is easy territory to put a glass' rim into, and smiles a bit more still at the indulgent reek of pear. "You're good at not being noticed because you've cultivated the skill, Miniyal. You have therefore not had to cultivate the skill of tolerating notice, of keeping your grace through notice, of maintaining composure through notice. It is, however, a skill." He holds out his hand, the one with the ribbons draped over it, though the purpose of the motion is to open his arm for her to sit within. "As in so many things I am convinced you could achieve it, if you chose to. But I will not push you." This last is added in a bit of a rush, rich and fond, just so she knows he knows. "I am pleased to discover your preference for cloth over metal after I have already put a ring on your finger," he adds, then, teasing in all its fullness now.
Settling next to him, the glass held loosely in the hand farthest from him, she sighs. "I'm not so good at it," she mumbles. "People keep noticing me." She would say more, but decides to, instead, take a drink from her glass. "It is impossibly hard," Miniyal points out after she is done, "To keep a ribbon on one's finger. And I would not trade the ring for anything in the world. Besides, had I known you would deny my request to ignore my birthday I would have told you of my preference." If he will tease, she will do so back, scolding him fondly as she tips her head to smile at him. "Perhaps," is said only after she looks away, taking a large drink from her glass to gather courage. "Perhaps, since I seem to be having trouble escaping notice I might get some pointers from you. Maybe."
"If I had told you it would not have been a surprise," he murmurs, letting his arm go loose around her so his fingers can drift gently along the outside of her shoulder. He bends his head toward her, keeping close as if he might nudge her ear with his nose, even when she turns her head away. In fact, turning away and drinking only lends him an opportunity to nuzzle at her hair and smile a kiss into the locks. "Perhaps you might," he murmurs, gently. "Although my performance in Sefton's social this evening was less than an excellent instructional example, I must admit."
Min rolls her eyes, although she still looks away so he does not see it. "Yes, well, I do not like surprises." It is only a tiny lie. Not convincing to her own ears so it can be dismissed. She could have phrased it more honestly, but then it would have been longer and more confusing to his ears in her explanation. So, she simply empties her glass and holds it in her hands as she leans into him, a content sigh escaping her lips at the attention he pays her. "Yes, well, it is either that or practice hiding again and I have a feeling I won't have much time for that." Another sigh, this one less content, more annoyed. "She does not need an advisor, Gans. She needs a keeper. I do not think I am up to the job and yet I am tied into too much to get away so soon."
"You like my surprises," Gans tells her ear, breath warm. -He- can explain it simply and briefly, see. Then he lifts his head and straightens his shoulders so the one close to her offers a surface against which she can relax. He's quiet after that, to let her speak, to listen closely to what she says, and to tip up his first sip of the brandy into his mouth. He savors it a while, even after Miniyal has finished talking for the time, then swallows and murmurs, "Be her keeper, then. Unless it offends you. In which case - " And a plot is hatched. The shell cracking can almost be heard. "- you get some people to do it for you."
Her nose crinkles at the feel of his breath on her ear and she turns in towards him. When he straightens it allows her then to turn that much more and settle against him. Up come her feet and they are tucked under her, the length of dress insuring they will feel no chill as they disappear under the black fabric. Turning her empty glass in both hands she lets out a little sigh. "I just. . .I do not know what to do. And I worry she expects me to know more than I do. To be able to do more than I can. She does incredibly stupid things and I can just see having to run around behind her and clean up after her for turns to come. Or else flee when the month is up and return to records once more. If they let me." As if Navan wouldn't. Still, bouncing back and forth as she does will eventually not be an option. Silence as she considers this, or other things. When she speaks again her head tilts a fraction so she can look up at him. "I cannot keep myself, Gans. But there are few people I can trust to help me. Few enough who could help me without being obvious. I do not want. . .I do not want to seem as if I have undue influence. I do not /want/ that. Shells. She's so young." So much younger. Yes. "I just want to do my job."
He is mostly quiet again, letting her say her part. He slips in his part in the gap between her thoughts. "Here, do you want a little of mine?" Gans somehow makes this sound indulgent more than teasing, although his smile must be tempted by the latter possibility. "It is very good. Sweet. But I don't want you to get up." And his hand, on the far shoulder, curls a little against her shoulder, half to keep her firmly sat on the divan, securely held against him - and half to encourage her to continue speaking. "She is young, yes. Which is why it seems she needs a keeper, I'm sure. Has she any - personal friends you might cultivate to assist?" Not that this would necessarily be strictly within the scope of doing her job.
Of course she wants some of his, well, she wants her own glass but she will settle for taking his with a quietly murmured, "Thank you." A sip then, of his brandy and she is left holding both glasses. A slight shift in posture to make this easier and with a smile more heard than seen simply because Miniyal is not looking at him she replies. "I've no desire in the world to move." At his question she stills but for the rise and fall of her chest as she breaths. And the occasional very small sip from his glass. "I do not know. Aida and her are close, but Aida works for Sefton. Jensen she mentioned. And Ashwin although-" A pause here. Just long enough to tell more than her words. "Well, I do not believe they are friends." She could add more, perhaps. Could discuss the horrors of her new job in detail. Instead she empties her glass, formerly his glass. "I lied," she says after both glasses are empty. Another minor adjustment on the divan and she is leaning upwards, head turned so her lips are against his ear. "I have every desire in the world to move." This is punctuated by a kiss to the side of his neck. Low tolerance for brandy it would seem. "But only if you move with me," is tacked on at the end. As if he might confuse her words. How easily she dismisses conversation of the verbal variety. There are better ways to spend the long sleepless night ahead of them and she starts reminding him, yet again, of this now.