Happy Anniversary
Who: Miniyal and G'thon
Where: Their room
When: BACKDATED: Lunchtime on day 25, month 5, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
What: It is their anniversary and so Miniyal, umm, arranges some free time to come visit. Cake is consumed, gifts are exchanged, nothing untoward happens. And life goes on.
3/19/2007 & 3/20/2007
G'thon does not always, now that he lives alone again, take lunch here in his room; but more often than not he does, as the Caucus office is rarely the perfect place for such things and he can only bear the masses in the living cavern for so long. Today he takes lunch here. Or what passes for lunch. Tea, a sandwich he hasn't touched. There's, strictly speaking, enough for two. Especially if one of those two is Gans. There is also a smallish white cake, excessively frosted and covered in berries and glaze.
He has left the door somewhat ajar, and arranged himself on the divan with a book, reposed with legs crossed, tea in the non-book hand. The saucer waits on the sidetable. There would be room for someone else to sit on the divan if there were not a rather large and softsided package wrapped up in a sheet of simple leather, tied with a perfectly boring and unattractive string, hogging most of the cushion.
It was not easy to arrange things. Miniyal had to go above and beyond to get here and she wasted little time in getting across the bowl. One quick stop to wash up and change her clothes into a skirt and blouse. Her hair is slightly damp and crinkled from having been up in braids for the last few days. Today she's left it down, at least once she was dressed to come visit. Hurried footsteps will be heard before anything else. A slight stumble in the hurrying, but that's quite all right.
She knows the best ways to get here. The quick ones, the secret ones, the ones people will not notice a wayward weyrling in. But she has to step into the hallway and that's where the footsteps and the stumble comes from. Right outside the door a small flat box is slipped into the pocket of her skirt and then she pushes the door open to step inside, closing it behind her quickly before seeking him out with her eyes and smiling.
Of course, by then, he's putting aside his book and leaving the package alone on the divan so he can rise to greet her. His expression is bright-eyed, but one of suspicious wonder - still, Gans will not ask, not immediately, anyway. He goes to her instead with open arms. "Miniyal," he says, the best of all greetings he could muster, her name in all its many hues rich and warm.
He will ask. She likely expects him to ask and if there's something wary in her eyes it disappears behind the speaking of her name. Rather than wait, Miniyal meets him halfway, her own arms wrapping around his waist so she can lean into him and let out a sigh. And from there, nestled up against him she can find a word to say, soft and somewhere bordering on shy. "Hi." Pause, quiet, and then she tilts her head up to smile at him. "Do I get a kiss? I won't tell if you won't."
"Ah, but she will. Still, if it is nothing much to tell about - " Regrettable as it might be to commit a kiss that's nothing to tell about, it's better than nothing, and Gans leans down to offer it. It might be chaste, but there is no harm in it being lingering, right? No harm in it being sweet, thoughtful, as if it might be months or more before he tastes her lips again? He raises his head and smiles down upon her. "Hi," he agrees, bemusedly.
"It will be worth it even if she does." Words gotten out in a quiet murmur before Miniyal attends to the kiss. Everything that it is, despite what it is not, seems to be fine with her. There is no reason at all to wish for what cannot be given so she'll just take the moment that is and wrap it up to be remembered in those potential months to come with little enough contact. "I told you I would be here," is whispered at the end, eyes sparkling. "I only have a couple of hours, but they are yours."
"You told me," agrees Gans, and - again, does not ask. The 'ah' of his question's beginning pauses visibly on his lips, silent, then fades away into his one-sided smile. "Come in. I have cake for us, and something like lunch for you. And something else, if you can find it." He's so funny.
She's not going to tell him, not unless he asks. He'll ask, she knows he will. Because Miniyal would ask and insist upon an answer. "I have something for you too." Pause, slow smile. "If you can find it." Then she pulls away from him and moves to the table to examine the cake. Cake. Present. Cake. Present. Ohhh. A dilemma. When her eyes lift to find his again she laughs quietly. "Cut me cake! I want to open it!" So bossy, as always. Hopping over to the divan she sits down where he was just seated and pulls the package into her lap. Prezzie!
"This sounds like a game your Weyrlingmaster might express disapproval of," observes Gans, drily, but he strides over toward the cake, a long hand sweeping out as their paths cross ways so he can touch her elbow, just a grace of fingertips, along the way. "Open it, then," he provides, apparently in no position to deny her much - he finds the cake knife and plates and tends to that sticky business while she's busy with the package.
"A shame he's not here to disapprove of it then." Pausing, she rests her hands atop the package, unable to contain an amused smile that borders on a smirk. "A shame he's not in any way able to disapprove at the moment." Miniyal is, likely, too proud of herself for this. Especially considering what she's done. Still, it got her here and has given them a couple of hours so surely he will not complain. Much. He will be proud of her. Or else. Still, that will wait because she has a present to open and so she does, looking down at it and letting him cut cake. He will still be there when she has seen what she gets.
"Able," echoes Gans; it is almost a question. It is most certainly an opportunity, one he offers intentionally and carefully, while she opens her present.
The leather, plain and scrapworthy, falls away to reveal much finer stuff indeed. Fur-ruffed and fur-cuffed, it is a grand black coat suitable to wear to gather or dinner, yet warm against Reachian storms; it is thick and warm and leather-made, lined first with wool and then with a polished cloth, pocketed and tailored, with a fur-lined hood. Folded neatly, the left-hand pocket's visible from the start, and from its gap peek the wrists of fine leather gloves.
"You must understand I had that for you before the hatching," notes Gans, "waiting for the right opportunity. I think it will flatter you."
Ohhhh. A coat. A pretty coat. Miniyal's fingers run over it, first over the fur and then over the leather and one hand reaches for one of those gloves to examine it as well. "Gans. It's lovely. It's so. . .thank you." Blinking a few times she looks away from the gift so she might look at him, smiling warmly. Tucking the glove back with its partner she touches the coat again, fingers stroking softly over it. Lifting it up she rubs her cheek against leather and fur, eyes closed as her smile lingers. It takes her a moment, to enjoy this gift, before she will speak of anything else. "When I left his office our illustrious weyrlingmaster was taking a nap."
"It should be lovely, once it's on you," murmurs the ethics instructor, slipping a generous slice of the cake, perfected by the careful knife, out onto a plate. Just the one; perhaps they'll share it. He attends it with two forks and lifts it into his palm, then turns to approach his erstwhile lover, now weyrling, with his usual lopsided smirk - and a lofted brow. "A nap," he repeats; again, it is only an opportunity.
The coat could be tried on, but that would require her to stop touching it and Miniyal is determined to touch every inch of her present as if it might change if she does not. "I don't suppose I could have a glass of wine with my cake?" Asked so charmingly, a smile brightening her expression as she looks up hopefully. One little glass. How can one little glass hurt? Shaking out her coat she rises to her feet to slip it on. "Ohhh. It's perfect. Gans. . .it's so wonderful. I'll never be cold again. So long as I remember to wear it. It is a good thing I'll have you around to remind me." When he reaches her at the divan she spins around once and then reluctantly takes the coat back off to lay over the back of said divan. Can't get cake on it. Sitting back down she grins. "He works hard." She's dragging it out.
"I think perhaps that would be stretching matters a bit. I do have tea." He always does. He admires Miniyal in her coat, spreading out his arms in pleasure as she spins; the drape flares when she does so, the leather tucked above the hips in a flattering, if illusory, fashion. It pleases the gift-giver well enough, by the shine of his eyes. "D'ven? I suppose he must do," Gans murmurs, and now that the coat's not taking up the seat of the divan, sits beside her. A little deft motion of fork and, there: he's prepared to feed her cake.
"One little glass would hurt nothing and no one would know. Really, Gans." Pout. She pouts, even if ineffectually. Resigned even as she complains, Miniyal does not expect wine, but she has to try. Miniyal reaches behind her for one more touch of her coat before she turns to face him, hands folded in her lap, prepared for cake. Leaning in towards where the fork is she will allow the feeding of cake to her before she will speak again on D'ven. Licking her lips she sighs contently. "That's good. And, umm. Did you know he takes meals in his office? Girls in the kitchen are charmed by him and so they bring him meals. And, you know how overworked kitchen girls are. I was just helping out taking the tray in to him. That's all." Lalalala. Helpful little weyrling.
Gans pries off another little tidbit of cake, making sure to get a glaze- and frosting-enhanced berry with this bite. "I see," he muses, softly. "I would hope you didn't talk him to sleep, my dear. We both know what a conversationalist you can be once you get going." Of course, she'll be less of a conversationalist if he keeps feeding her cake at a reasonable rate. Here, have another bite; his eyes dance, bright, bemused.
She takes the cake, eyes closing in delight and scooting just another inch closer to him, her knee bumping his leg. "Talk to him? When it's all yes, sir this and yes, sir that? I don't think so. What's to say?" Which does not say how she did get him to take a nap. And she cannot since there is another piece of cake right there. Cake! Miniyal takes this next bite as well, eyes opening just long enough to find his eyes with hers she winks. When the cake has been swallowed her shoulders shrug. "Corin must not have been working today. The food seemed bland. I spiced it up a little. But it wasn't so great I guess since he fell asleep after eating."
More cake is forked off from the slice. Gans seems intent on feeding it to her; he watches her take each bite from the tines, and smiles for each parting of her lips, each chewing, each bit of frosting departed. He doesn't even protest the bump of her leg. "I... see," he notes, the fork awkward for a moment in mid-air, his smile twitching crookedly even on the one side, brows flicking up and back down. He swallows lightly, just enough to bob his throat, and offers out the new bite for Miniyal to enjoy while asking, "You expect him to be ready for dinner when it comes to him?"
Unable to stop eating cake when it is offered to her, she enjoys every bite offered. Intent on every bite offered, Miniyal doesn't notice anything else. Until he asks that last question and then she blinks and pulls away an inch or two. "Gans. I would never. . .he's fine. He's just sleeping. He's been tired anyway. He's going to work himself to death. So I thought. . .I had to see you." Blinking more she looks down at her hands, balling them up in her lap. "Are you mad? I'm sorry. I just-it's our anniversary and I wanted to spend a little time with you is all. I won't ever do it again. I'm sorry." Hiccupping softly she lifts one hand to wipe at her eyes with one balled hand.
"Ah," allows Gans, mollified, and puts the fork down into the cake so he can put over a hand toward her knee; "Ah," again, and then guilty silence only, for having made her cry, of course. "Miniyal," he says in a moment, gently, lovingly. "It's all right. I only worry for you and Peloth. I couldn't bear to have you - well, if he knew, what? He might ground you - " Not that they aren't as good as grounded as it is, but it could surely get worse. His slender hand curls upon her knee, and he whispers out a hush of comfort. "Don't, don't. She'll worry, and I want her to know she never needs to worry, when you're with me."
Lifting her head up she wipes at her eyes and sniffles once. Searching his expression for something she looks away again, back down at her hands, and hides behind her hair for a moment longer. "It was just once," Miniyal promises so softly. One hand creeps out to rest on his, fingers tightening partly as if to hold him to her and partly to stifle the last of the least little trembles she fights. Looking up again she smiles faintly, nodding once. "I won't. I mean, it was just for today. Next year I won't need to. I'll be close enough to graduation I can get away easily enough. Are you sure I can't have a glass of wine?" See, you hurt me. You made me cry. Give me wine. She is, likely, unaware of how bad that series of events makes her seem. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin this. I'm fine. She's still sleeping. We're fine."
Gans will not give her wine. But he takes back the hand she has, then puts out the one she hasn't, the cake-plate left balanced on his knee so he can slip an arm out behind her shoulders. He'll give her this instead: an embrace. "It's not ruined. You're here, with me. How could it be?" Perfection. He smiles, and dips his head, and offers it first with his eyes - then his words. "I'm sorry." So rare, that. So earnest. "How are you doing together - ?"
"I'm happy to be here. I've been looking forward to seeing you. To spending time with you." Miniyal will lean into the embrace, shifting herself about so she might lean up against him and kiss his cheek. "It is weird. I am not used to having someone else in my head. It is. . .odd. But it is not bad. She's very. . .I don't know yet. It's too soon to know for sure. But I am sure we will be fine." Days ago she might have closed her eyes and enjoyed this closeness, but that would deprive her being able to watch him and she wants that more. Especially as she smiles again and asks, "Don't you want to find your gift?" Innocently, of course.
Gans is further mollified by that kiss; his cheeks even take on a little rare color of pleasure. "I'm sure you will be," he murmurs, naturally all thoughts about Peloth. And the arm behind her slips down a little, long fingers angling along her arm, along her side, toward where pockets might be. Touch touch touch. Perfectly pleasant and proper. On this side, anyway, where he sits holding her hand and balancing cake on his knee.
It must be in her pocket, that little flat and square box she slipped into hiding before coming into their room. To make it easier to search, Miniyal scoots closer so she might lean against his side, let her leg rest against his. Proper. Touching is not improper like this. She just wants to sit close to him and enjoy what little time they have today together. And it is in a proper pocket he might find that box, waiting to be withdrawn. She cannot help with that because she is busy using the hand that is free to reach over and take from the plate a small piece of the cake broken off with her fingers to offer to him. Words, at this point, aren't going to give anything away so she dispenses with them entirely for now.
He is tall, and slender, and rather long-armed - to say nothing of those outsize, long-fingered hands. He finds, in time, the pocket; he feels, in time, the flat thing within. Gans' hand pauses just at the gap of the pocket and he smiles, glancing up for Miniyal's eyes - then ducking his head so he can accept the tidbit of cake with his mouth.
Without her around to feed him he will waste away. Which is why Miniyal has to be sure he at least has a little piece of cake. Once her fingers are free of the tidbit she brings them to her mouth to lick them clean of the little bits of sticky glaze that has remained behind. "I should arrange for someone to dine with you. At least then you would make a pretense of eating." There is a lightness in her tone, a teasing, that doesn't quite hide the underlying worry. No smiles and no hand creeping for her pocket can hide that worry. Without her around to take care of him, who will do so? Surely he will not take care of himself.
"I will have students in for tea once in a while, and see to it that there are sandwiches, and that will do," Gans replies. His hand stretches, fingers slipping into the pocket; his thumb will not quite reach, so he works at the box with deft fingertips in an effort to slide it free. "The last thing you need is to invent concerns about me. I have you -and- Peloth now to look forward to - Miniyal." Droll and adoring, this time, her name. "Please don't fret."
"I am not inventing concerns, Gans. I am concerned about you. I have always been concerned about you." Miniyal lets out a sigh and to show she is not overly concerned scoots closer, that last inch or so that might pretend at propriety abandoned. To help him better reach that box, of course. To let her reach again for the cake this time to break off a piece for herself. See? No feeding him. She's just feeding herself cake. And giving herself time to phrase what needs saying. "I just couldn't bear to have something happen just because I was not here. I just owe you so much. I wouldn't have anything if it weren't for you."
"I think what I must do," replies Gans, tucking his arm a little closer around her, "is speak to D'ven and ascertain that we might meet occasionally. Not like this, certainly." Because this is a treasure, and because he's already disapproved a bit of her method, must be unique. "On his terms, his turf. Just enough that you can continue your training without worry about me interrupting your concentration, or Peloth's." He could easily snitch the present from her pocket now, but does not; he must savor this other gift, the opportunity to hold her, instead. He dips his head lower and notes, softly, "You owe me nothing, Miniyal."
His words mollify her somewhat and Miniyal lets go the need to point out he does not take care of himself as he should. Besides, she did not steal this time to spend it in lectures. She stole this time to spend it this way, seated beside him with cake and presents. And he will argue her point so she lets it drop as well, the one of owing. It will simply be considered a truth unspoken in her own mind. "I hope he will give us some time together. I do not see where it would interfere if I got to see you. And if I do not I /will/ worry which will only upset Peloth and that would make no one happy." Because she would make sure of it. Just as she made sure she got time today.
"I have long had privilege enough to visit the weyrlings in official capacity," observes Gans. He gives Miniyal a little squeeze, his fingers seemingly content not to pluck out that present yet, then slips his free hand out from beneath hers so that he can pick up the fork - he will not put his fingers in the cake; that would be a bit too slippery a slope - and pry off a bite almost entirely of frosting to offer the weyrling beside him. "I believe D'ven will, if I discuss it with him, understand that it would be - well, not in keeping with his ideals to prevent me at least looking in on occasion."
"Do you think? He can be such an ass about things. I mean, I understand he has his program, but I am not convinced it's the wisest one." Miniyal shakes her head gently and lets out a sigh. "Not that I have any say, of course. As if I don't have any clue about anything just because I am attached to a baby. It's not as if /I/ am a child. But I am expected to be treated like one. Or at the very least an adult who is entirely clueless about everything." She must stop here to take the cake because it is offered and she wants it. "If it does not get better I will go crazy. It is bad enough being confined to a cot alone for nearly eight hours to do nothing. It is a waste of my time. And it will eventually lead me prone to fits of thinking about things best not thought of for the time being." It is a fine line she walks. Which only proves the point she should not be allowed here on her own anyway.
"It will not be a waste of your time, Miniyal." Gans pauses, the fork ready for another bite, his eyes ready to be stern even if his mouth, still smiling, is kind. "They restrict you now because you are a baby's caretaker. She needs you. Full-time. They don't dare allow extracurricular amusements. It will get better, in time; and the lessons will interest you more, in time." A pause; he looks down, attends to forking a bit of cake up, more cake and fruit in this bite and less like pure frosting. "Not to say you'll agree with them, I'm sure. Just as you don't agree with his methods. I'm not sure I do, Miniyal, but the outcomes are proven." He offers her the cake now, and a more smiling gaze, eyes bright, twinkling: "You'd have had to get me to take a nap, too."
"It is a waste of time to lie awake all night with nothing to do but think on things that do me no good to think on." Miniyal is sticking to this one point. She might allow him the others, but in all the turns she's been unable to sleep for more than an hour or two a day she's never been confined, forced to lie awake. "I've never felt any learning environment benefits from treating everyone as if they are the same. Because they are not. Not everyone will respond favorably to the same thing. A good teaching method for anything will take into account this fact and act accordingly." Another gentle shake of her head before she takes the cake from the fork and sighs contently for it. "I would not have. Because I would have had no one waiting for me."
"Then we need to find something for you to think about that -will- do you some good," replies Gans, and that is about all he has to say about it; he looks at her while she talks about teaching methods with a warm but grave expression, tolerant. He smiles once more, though, at the idea she'd have had no one waiting for her. "Perhaps," he allows, and while she enjoys that bit of cake he takes a bite for himself, then puts down the fork so that while chewing he can concentrate on slipping that package out of her pocket.
Ohh. He eats. This earns him another smile and might have gotten him at least a kiss to his cheek, but she is trying to behave and therefore does not. Miniyal settles for a smile and then a quiet laugh. "Thinking always leads to trouble. That is what I am told. That I think too much about things that are none of my concern. As if everything is not my concern." Really. What must people be thinking? To assist with package removal she holds herself still, doing no more than breathe softly while his hand moves. She is being so good.
"Perhaps," Gans says again, tricking the gift far enough out of her pocket that he can finally catch it between thumb and fingers, thus pull it up and behind her and toward himself, unfortunately unembracing her as he does; but he'll want both hands to open it, anyway. For now he sets it in his lap and looks at it while noting, "I would suggest trying to identify a subset of 'everything' containing items which either interest you theoretically or about which you can do something, later."
For his troubles he gets a little sigh. Or maybe it's for his words. Either way, he has her sigh, quietly given. "There's little I cannot do something about if I do not put my mind to it and plan properly." So, there. Miniyal turns some so she might watch the package in his lap and his hands which will open it soon enough. It is a simple box, unwrapped, and made of the plainest wood. The top lifts off the bottom without benefit of any hinge. A needless expense those hinges. It cannot hold much those few inches of flat wooden box.
"Something you can do something about," Gans observes correctively, "without causing yourself a great deal of trouble with D'ven." So, there. He picks up the fork and snips off a tidbit of the cake with its tines, which he offers - brows upraised, so there, to Miniyal. Package? In his lap. Waiting.
"A little more than a turn. Then I can do what I will. I can be patient." In some things, eternally patient. For cake, not so much. When it is offered Miniyal once again takes it, smiling around the fork and giving his foot a gently nudge with hers. "I will be fine, you know. Even dealing with D'ven. Even stuck there with people I don't know and some I don't like and trying to do what I am told even when I dislike it. But I miss you." Her gaze drops down to that package. Package. Open it already.
"And I miss you," Gans confesses, and since she has pled with her eyes and been so heartfelt and assured him she'll be all right - well. He puts down the fork, and picks up the package. He turns it over in his hands, careful to keep the top in one hand and the base in the other as he inspects it, before righting it again so he can slip off the lid.
His words comfort her the way little else can. It has been a couple of days and he might have realised he was better off without her. But he misses her and for that, Miniyal is thankful. She has not lost him yet. Her attention is divided between the box and the person opening it. When he first lifts the lid she looks at the box. At the folded square of black fabric revealed. But when he lifts up a side of that to reveal what is hidden inside she will lift her gaze, worry at her lip, and watch his expression with an uncertain one of her own.
It is a ring designed for a man, wider and heavier than what might be worn by someone else. The metal's color is a polished bronze and channel set into it are four small stones. Glints of color in metal they line up, alternating blue and black. It is a ring that by its very design takes into account his past. For the future there is but one mention since the ring itself seems meant to provide it. However, to ensure no meaning escapes there is a single word inscribed on the inside of the band. Someone else might have wasted more letters. Might have felt she needed to place all three words there. But from her, there need only be one. It is the middle word in that small sentence that matters. The Is and the yous are interchangeable. That central word however is the one that is constant. So he gets four letters to go with his four stones.
"Oh, Miniyal." He says it once, in full, just to see the ring waiting there, the black fabric tucked aside beneath the tips of his pale fingers. Gans touches, as if the ring should not be touched, the channel-set surface, feels - no doubt - the smooth surfaces of the stones, of the ring around them, the curve of hard metal and gem. Then he lifts it in his fingers and lets it drop into his palm so he can look upon it in full, turning his hand beneath it; it's then that he can see the inscription, and say 'Oh' again, softly. Her name evades him this time; he has not voice enough to get that many syllables out. Even the 'oh' is little more than a breath. He steals a glance at her - his face has a little color in it, and his eyes more light than their hollowness can bear to hold - then looks at the ring again.
There was a breath held when he first found the ring. A faint tightening of muscles as if she expected rejection. And when it does not come she breathes again and smiles again and all is right in the world once more. Her lips part and Miniyal tries to speak, but she is left unable to form a sentence. Tongue darting out to lick her lips she tries again, words coming this time, but in a whisper. "It is. . .you approve? I mean, I thought it might be too. . ." Something that words do not define. One hand moves so she can touch his knee gently. "I wanted to do something. . .you don't wear jewelry, but I thought you might make an exception." It's nearly a question, not quite, not almost.
So much for all being right in the world - Gans flicks over a glance, a smirk, for how fast she comes again round to doubting herself. But his eyes are, at the moment, mostly for the ring. He turns it over in his palm again, setting it so when he picks it up in the fingertips of his right hand the letters are baseline-down. Thus he can slip it onto his left hand, where it is, so far as he is evidently concerned, meant to go. He has to do the trick of flattening his knuckle, so bony are his fingers; then it fits, neat, where it belongs. He looks up at Miniyal again, and says this, which is so very inadequate: "Thank you."
Doubts come and go. They flee, but then they come crawling back when least expected. Miniyal's, more than anyone, come and go with startling speed. However, they are gone again. Gone when his hands move and the ring finds its home. Her hand lifts from his knee and finds his hand, touching the ring there and stroking her fingertips along his knuckles. When her hand comes to rest on his, curving around it and moving no more she lifts her gaze upwards to smile warmly. "Thank you. I've never. . .this past turn has been the best one of my life. I would. . .I wish I could do more right now. But it will have to suffice, my gift, until I am able." A short pause and her smile turns more teasing, of herself. "Without having to encourage anyone to nap."
"Indeed," agrees Gans, and there's a laugh threatening the tone of his voice, which tries and fails to be grave. He reaches around her again to hold her again in his right-armed embrace, the mannerly shining of the ring on his other hand a minor distraction amongst her fingers. "I appreciate you coming, at whatever cost, Miniyal. This was too special to miss." From their hands to her face his gaze keeps moving, but settles at last on the latter; he smiles his one-sided smile and shakes his head a little bit, wry. "What timing."
"You've been telling me for some time my timing was flawed," Miniyal points out with a smile of her own. A smile and this time she allows herself to give him another kiss to his cheek after his arm resettles around her. Leaning in to make the most of this closeness she sighs quietly. "I would not have missed this for anything. I told you I would come for my cake." Yes, she came for the cake and no other reason. "At least we will be able to fit in all these celebrations at once next turn. Our anniversary, Peloth's arrival, your birthday is coming up. We will go away again, I think. And even if we do not go to Harper it will be good. And, we will not have to rely on anyone else to take us where we will go. That will be nice."
"It will be nice. And we should go to Harper, certainly; Kazimir will want to see you again." Who is he kidding? The books will want to see her again. Gans chuckles softly, perhaps aware that he lures her needlessly using the wrong bait, and leans toward her as she does him. Another movement of the fork brings up cake for her to eat, her ring shining its dark colors against his pale hand. "I love you," he notes, as if it's an afterthought to cake.
"I have to send him his book back. I meant to bring it back before. . .well, but we never did get to go." There is no accusation in her words, no blame attached to them. It is what it is and she will survive. "I have written to my friend there and asked him to send copies of some things. And to let Kazimir know should he see him that I'll send the book back once I have someone I can send it with. If you decide to go there I would surely entrust it with you." Because she trusts him, but Miniyal doesn't have to say that. He knows that. "The first place we go together will be Harper then. Peloth should get to go somewhere special with us the first time we all travel." Seated so close the temptation is there, but she resists anything but another inch turned towards him, one arm wrapping low around his waist. Content. And more so when he offers cake and if she tilts her head up in some manner to indicate she might have preferred a kiss to the treat she gets there is nothing said to give that away.
She is, actually, quite pleased and happy to be seated thus, enjoying cake being fed to her. And if she is happy it is a happiness she shares with him even before he gives her that afterthought to cake. Those words do not even surprise her, not expected, but no longer something to startle her. They just earn a smile and an adjustment so she might lean up and give a kiss, chaste and lingering, in reply. "I love you too, Gans. For as long as I live." Here then, would be a good time for her to leave. Before temptation rears its ugly head and so she rises to her feet, but doesn't move as her gaze flickers towards his hand and then to her new coat. Perhaps she expects him to give it to her.
That Gans agrees, about Peloth and Harper, is given in his smile; that he is dubious about Harper being the best of places to first travel as a family triad is given in a slight tip of brow and lift of gaze when she says that. But like Miniyal, he is content to hold and be held, to be close, to enjoy their stolen time - brief as it must be.
The kiss brings him a smile, dry and bemused and very much taken, and a shake of his head: 'weyrlings,' perhaps, some amusement at their ageless mischief. But the movement of her gaze draws his eyes, too, and he lets out a little sigh about the coat. Ah. Yes. So he lowers the fork and sets aside the plate - between them they have done in the better part of that cake slice - then unwraps his arm from her shoulders so he can take up the coat. He waits for her in silence, then rises and holds it out for her to slip into.
It was hardly mischief. A little kiss. She did not even try anything indecent. And she did not press for wine again which she might have. Miniyal has tried to behave. She has done quite well all things considered which is why he will forgive her when, after she has her new coat on, she turns to him for one last embrace. One last embrace that is held onto through a quiet murmur of contentment at the sensation. When she at last pulls away one hand finds his to touch one last time the ring he wears. "You will speak to D'ven soon. And I will see you again soon." Biting her lip she steps back and smiles warmly. "And I love you. Happy anniversary. Thank you." For her coat, for her cake, for his time. For all of that and everything he's given her. On those words she turns and leaves in a manner she has long since become unaccustomed to doing. She flees, not because she wishes to be gone, but because she wishes to stay. And staying is not an option today.
Where: Their room
When: BACKDATED: Lunchtime on day 25, month 5, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
What: It is their anniversary and so Miniyal, umm, arranges some free time to come visit. Cake is consumed, gifts are exchanged, nothing untoward happens. And life goes on.
3/19/2007 & 3/20/2007
G'thon does not always, now that he lives alone again, take lunch here in his room; but more often than not he does, as the Caucus office is rarely the perfect place for such things and he can only bear the masses in the living cavern for so long. Today he takes lunch here. Or what passes for lunch. Tea, a sandwich he hasn't touched. There's, strictly speaking, enough for two. Especially if one of those two is Gans. There is also a smallish white cake, excessively frosted and covered in berries and glaze.
He has left the door somewhat ajar, and arranged himself on the divan with a book, reposed with legs crossed, tea in the non-book hand. The saucer waits on the sidetable. There would be room for someone else to sit on the divan if there were not a rather large and softsided package wrapped up in a sheet of simple leather, tied with a perfectly boring and unattractive string, hogging most of the cushion.
It was not easy to arrange things. Miniyal had to go above and beyond to get here and she wasted little time in getting across the bowl. One quick stop to wash up and change her clothes into a skirt and blouse. Her hair is slightly damp and crinkled from having been up in braids for the last few days. Today she's left it down, at least once she was dressed to come visit. Hurried footsteps will be heard before anything else. A slight stumble in the hurrying, but that's quite all right.
She knows the best ways to get here. The quick ones, the secret ones, the ones people will not notice a wayward weyrling in. But she has to step into the hallway and that's where the footsteps and the stumble comes from. Right outside the door a small flat box is slipped into the pocket of her skirt and then she pushes the door open to step inside, closing it behind her quickly before seeking him out with her eyes and smiling.
Of course, by then, he's putting aside his book and leaving the package alone on the divan so he can rise to greet her. His expression is bright-eyed, but one of suspicious wonder - still, Gans will not ask, not immediately, anyway. He goes to her instead with open arms. "Miniyal," he says, the best of all greetings he could muster, her name in all its many hues rich and warm.
He will ask. She likely expects him to ask and if there's something wary in her eyes it disappears behind the speaking of her name. Rather than wait, Miniyal meets him halfway, her own arms wrapping around his waist so she can lean into him and let out a sigh. And from there, nestled up against him she can find a word to say, soft and somewhere bordering on shy. "Hi." Pause, quiet, and then she tilts her head up to smile at him. "Do I get a kiss? I won't tell if you won't."
"Ah, but she will. Still, if it is nothing much to tell about - " Regrettable as it might be to commit a kiss that's nothing to tell about, it's better than nothing, and Gans leans down to offer it. It might be chaste, but there is no harm in it being lingering, right? No harm in it being sweet, thoughtful, as if it might be months or more before he tastes her lips again? He raises his head and smiles down upon her. "Hi," he agrees, bemusedly.
"It will be worth it even if she does." Words gotten out in a quiet murmur before Miniyal attends to the kiss. Everything that it is, despite what it is not, seems to be fine with her. There is no reason at all to wish for what cannot be given so she'll just take the moment that is and wrap it up to be remembered in those potential months to come with little enough contact. "I told you I would be here," is whispered at the end, eyes sparkling. "I only have a couple of hours, but they are yours."
"You told me," agrees Gans, and - again, does not ask. The 'ah' of his question's beginning pauses visibly on his lips, silent, then fades away into his one-sided smile. "Come in. I have cake for us, and something like lunch for you. And something else, if you can find it." He's so funny.
She's not going to tell him, not unless he asks. He'll ask, she knows he will. Because Miniyal would ask and insist upon an answer. "I have something for you too." Pause, slow smile. "If you can find it." Then she pulls away from him and moves to the table to examine the cake. Cake. Present. Cake. Present. Ohhh. A dilemma. When her eyes lift to find his again she laughs quietly. "Cut me cake! I want to open it!" So bossy, as always. Hopping over to the divan she sits down where he was just seated and pulls the package into her lap. Prezzie!
"This sounds like a game your Weyrlingmaster might express disapproval of," observes Gans, drily, but he strides over toward the cake, a long hand sweeping out as their paths cross ways so he can touch her elbow, just a grace of fingertips, along the way. "Open it, then," he provides, apparently in no position to deny her much - he finds the cake knife and plates and tends to that sticky business while she's busy with the package.
"A shame he's not here to disapprove of it then." Pausing, she rests her hands atop the package, unable to contain an amused smile that borders on a smirk. "A shame he's not in any way able to disapprove at the moment." Miniyal is, likely, too proud of herself for this. Especially considering what she's done. Still, it got her here and has given them a couple of hours so surely he will not complain. Much. He will be proud of her. Or else. Still, that will wait because she has a present to open and so she does, looking down at it and letting him cut cake. He will still be there when she has seen what she gets.
"Able," echoes Gans; it is almost a question. It is most certainly an opportunity, one he offers intentionally and carefully, while she opens her present.
The leather, plain and scrapworthy, falls away to reveal much finer stuff indeed. Fur-ruffed and fur-cuffed, it is a grand black coat suitable to wear to gather or dinner, yet warm against Reachian storms; it is thick and warm and leather-made, lined first with wool and then with a polished cloth, pocketed and tailored, with a fur-lined hood. Folded neatly, the left-hand pocket's visible from the start, and from its gap peek the wrists of fine leather gloves.
"You must understand I had that for you before the hatching," notes Gans, "waiting for the right opportunity. I think it will flatter you."
Ohhhh. A coat. A pretty coat. Miniyal's fingers run over it, first over the fur and then over the leather and one hand reaches for one of those gloves to examine it as well. "Gans. It's lovely. It's so. . .thank you." Blinking a few times she looks away from the gift so she might look at him, smiling warmly. Tucking the glove back with its partner she touches the coat again, fingers stroking softly over it. Lifting it up she rubs her cheek against leather and fur, eyes closed as her smile lingers. It takes her a moment, to enjoy this gift, before she will speak of anything else. "When I left his office our illustrious weyrlingmaster was taking a nap."
"It should be lovely, once it's on you," murmurs the ethics instructor, slipping a generous slice of the cake, perfected by the careful knife, out onto a plate. Just the one; perhaps they'll share it. He attends it with two forks and lifts it into his palm, then turns to approach his erstwhile lover, now weyrling, with his usual lopsided smirk - and a lofted brow. "A nap," he repeats; again, it is only an opportunity.
The coat could be tried on, but that would require her to stop touching it and Miniyal is determined to touch every inch of her present as if it might change if she does not. "I don't suppose I could have a glass of wine with my cake?" Asked so charmingly, a smile brightening her expression as she looks up hopefully. One little glass. How can one little glass hurt? Shaking out her coat she rises to her feet to slip it on. "Ohhh. It's perfect. Gans. . .it's so wonderful. I'll never be cold again. So long as I remember to wear it. It is a good thing I'll have you around to remind me." When he reaches her at the divan she spins around once and then reluctantly takes the coat back off to lay over the back of said divan. Can't get cake on it. Sitting back down she grins. "He works hard." She's dragging it out.
"I think perhaps that would be stretching matters a bit. I do have tea." He always does. He admires Miniyal in her coat, spreading out his arms in pleasure as she spins; the drape flares when she does so, the leather tucked above the hips in a flattering, if illusory, fashion. It pleases the gift-giver well enough, by the shine of his eyes. "D'ven? I suppose he must do," Gans murmurs, and now that the coat's not taking up the seat of the divan, sits beside her. A little deft motion of fork and, there: he's prepared to feed her cake.
"One little glass would hurt nothing and no one would know. Really, Gans." Pout. She pouts, even if ineffectually. Resigned even as she complains, Miniyal does not expect wine, but she has to try. Miniyal reaches behind her for one more touch of her coat before she turns to face him, hands folded in her lap, prepared for cake. Leaning in towards where the fork is she will allow the feeding of cake to her before she will speak again on D'ven. Licking her lips she sighs contently. "That's good. And, umm. Did you know he takes meals in his office? Girls in the kitchen are charmed by him and so they bring him meals. And, you know how overworked kitchen girls are. I was just helping out taking the tray in to him. That's all." Lalalala. Helpful little weyrling.
Gans pries off another little tidbit of cake, making sure to get a glaze- and frosting-enhanced berry with this bite. "I see," he muses, softly. "I would hope you didn't talk him to sleep, my dear. We both know what a conversationalist you can be once you get going." Of course, she'll be less of a conversationalist if he keeps feeding her cake at a reasonable rate. Here, have another bite; his eyes dance, bright, bemused.
She takes the cake, eyes closing in delight and scooting just another inch closer to him, her knee bumping his leg. "Talk to him? When it's all yes, sir this and yes, sir that? I don't think so. What's to say?" Which does not say how she did get him to take a nap. And she cannot since there is another piece of cake right there. Cake! Miniyal takes this next bite as well, eyes opening just long enough to find his eyes with hers she winks. When the cake has been swallowed her shoulders shrug. "Corin must not have been working today. The food seemed bland. I spiced it up a little. But it wasn't so great I guess since he fell asleep after eating."
More cake is forked off from the slice. Gans seems intent on feeding it to her; he watches her take each bite from the tines, and smiles for each parting of her lips, each chewing, each bit of frosting departed. He doesn't even protest the bump of her leg. "I... see," he notes, the fork awkward for a moment in mid-air, his smile twitching crookedly even on the one side, brows flicking up and back down. He swallows lightly, just enough to bob his throat, and offers out the new bite for Miniyal to enjoy while asking, "You expect him to be ready for dinner when it comes to him?"
Unable to stop eating cake when it is offered to her, she enjoys every bite offered. Intent on every bite offered, Miniyal doesn't notice anything else. Until he asks that last question and then she blinks and pulls away an inch or two. "Gans. I would never. . .he's fine. He's just sleeping. He's been tired anyway. He's going to work himself to death. So I thought. . .I had to see you." Blinking more she looks down at her hands, balling them up in her lap. "Are you mad? I'm sorry. I just-it's our anniversary and I wanted to spend a little time with you is all. I won't ever do it again. I'm sorry." Hiccupping softly she lifts one hand to wipe at her eyes with one balled hand.
"Ah," allows Gans, mollified, and puts the fork down into the cake so he can put over a hand toward her knee; "Ah," again, and then guilty silence only, for having made her cry, of course. "Miniyal," he says in a moment, gently, lovingly. "It's all right. I only worry for you and Peloth. I couldn't bear to have you - well, if he knew, what? He might ground you - " Not that they aren't as good as grounded as it is, but it could surely get worse. His slender hand curls upon her knee, and he whispers out a hush of comfort. "Don't, don't. She'll worry, and I want her to know she never needs to worry, when you're with me."
Lifting her head up she wipes at her eyes and sniffles once. Searching his expression for something she looks away again, back down at her hands, and hides behind her hair for a moment longer. "It was just once," Miniyal promises so softly. One hand creeps out to rest on his, fingers tightening partly as if to hold him to her and partly to stifle the last of the least little trembles she fights. Looking up again she smiles faintly, nodding once. "I won't. I mean, it was just for today. Next year I won't need to. I'll be close enough to graduation I can get away easily enough. Are you sure I can't have a glass of wine?" See, you hurt me. You made me cry. Give me wine. She is, likely, unaware of how bad that series of events makes her seem. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin this. I'm fine. She's still sleeping. We're fine."
Gans will not give her wine. But he takes back the hand she has, then puts out the one she hasn't, the cake-plate left balanced on his knee so he can slip an arm out behind her shoulders. He'll give her this instead: an embrace. "It's not ruined. You're here, with me. How could it be?" Perfection. He smiles, and dips his head, and offers it first with his eyes - then his words. "I'm sorry." So rare, that. So earnest. "How are you doing together - ?"
"I'm happy to be here. I've been looking forward to seeing you. To spending time with you." Miniyal will lean into the embrace, shifting herself about so she might lean up against him and kiss his cheek. "It is weird. I am not used to having someone else in my head. It is. . .odd. But it is not bad. She's very. . .I don't know yet. It's too soon to know for sure. But I am sure we will be fine." Days ago she might have closed her eyes and enjoyed this closeness, but that would deprive her being able to watch him and she wants that more. Especially as she smiles again and asks, "Don't you want to find your gift?" Innocently, of course.
Gans is further mollified by that kiss; his cheeks even take on a little rare color of pleasure. "I'm sure you will be," he murmurs, naturally all thoughts about Peloth. And the arm behind her slips down a little, long fingers angling along her arm, along her side, toward where pockets might be. Touch touch touch. Perfectly pleasant and proper. On this side, anyway, where he sits holding her hand and balancing cake on his knee.
It must be in her pocket, that little flat and square box she slipped into hiding before coming into their room. To make it easier to search, Miniyal scoots closer so she might lean against his side, let her leg rest against his. Proper. Touching is not improper like this. She just wants to sit close to him and enjoy what little time they have today together. And it is in a proper pocket he might find that box, waiting to be withdrawn. She cannot help with that because she is busy using the hand that is free to reach over and take from the plate a small piece of the cake broken off with her fingers to offer to him. Words, at this point, aren't going to give anything away so she dispenses with them entirely for now.
He is tall, and slender, and rather long-armed - to say nothing of those outsize, long-fingered hands. He finds, in time, the pocket; he feels, in time, the flat thing within. Gans' hand pauses just at the gap of the pocket and he smiles, glancing up for Miniyal's eyes - then ducking his head so he can accept the tidbit of cake with his mouth.
Without her around to feed him he will waste away. Which is why Miniyal has to be sure he at least has a little piece of cake. Once her fingers are free of the tidbit she brings them to her mouth to lick them clean of the little bits of sticky glaze that has remained behind. "I should arrange for someone to dine with you. At least then you would make a pretense of eating." There is a lightness in her tone, a teasing, that doesn't quite hide the underlying worry. No smiles and no hand creeping for her pocket can hide that worry. Without her around to take care of him, who will do so? Surely he will not take care of himself.
"I will have students in for tea once in a while, and see to it that there are sandwiches, and that will do," Gans replies. His hand stretches, fingers slipping into the pocket; his thumb will not quite reach, so he works at the box with deft fingertips in an effort to slide it free. "The last thing you need is to invent concerns about me. I have you -and- Peloth now to look forward to - Miniyal." Droll and adoring, this time, her name. "Please don't fret."
"I am not inventing concerns, Gans. I am concerned about you. I have always been concerned about you." Miniyal lets out a sigh and to show she is not overly concerned scoots closer, that last inch or so that might pretend at propriety abandoned. To help him better reach that box, of course. To let her reach again for the cake this time to break off a piece for herself. See? No feeding him. She's just feeding herself cake. And giving herself time to phrase what needs saying. "I just couldn't bear to have something happen just because I was not here. I just owe you so much. I wouldn't have anything if it weren't for you."
"I think what I must do," replies Gans, tucking his arm a little closer around her, "is speak to D'ven and ascertain that we might meet occasionally. Not like this, certainly." Because this is a treasure, and because he's already disapproved a bit of her method, must be unique. "On his terms, his turf. Just enough that you can continue your training without worry about me interrupting your concentration, or Peloth's." He could easily snitch the present from her pocket now, but does not; he must savor this other gift, the opportunity to hold her, instead. He dips his head lower and notes, softly, "You owe me nothing, Miniyal."
His words mollify her somewhat and Miniyal lets go the need to point out he does not take care of himself as he should. Besides, she did not steal this time to spend it in lectures. She stole this time to spend it this way, seated beside him with cake and presents. And he will argue her point so she lets it drop as well, the one of owing. It will simply be considered a truth unspoken in her own mind. "I hope he will give us some time together. I do not see where it would interfere if I got to see you. And if I do not I /will/ worry which will only upset Peloth and that would make no one happy." Because she would make sure of it. Just as she made sure she got time today.
"I have long had privilege enough to visit the weyrlings in official capacity," observes Gans. He gives Miniyal a little squeeze, his fingers seemingly content not to pluck out that present yet, then slips his free hand out from beneath hers so that he can pick up the fork - he will not put his fingers in the cake; that would be a bit too slippery a slope - and pry off a bite almost entirely of frosting to offer the weyrling beside him. "I believe D'ven will, if I discuss it with him, understand that it would be - well, not in keeping with his ideals to prevent me at least looking in on occasion."
"Do you think? He can be such an ass about things. I mean, I understand he has his program, but I am not convinced it's the wisest one." Miniyal shakes her head gently and lets out a sigh. "Not that I have any say, of course. As if I don't have any clue about anything just because I am attached to a baby. It's not as if /I/ am a child. But I am expected to be treated like one. Or at the very least an adult who is entirely clueless about everything." She must stop here to take the cake because it is offered and she wants it. "If it does not get better I will go crazy. It is bad enough being confined to a cot alone for nearly eight hours to do nothing. It is a waste of my time. And it will eventually lead me prone to fits of thinking about things best not thought of for the time being." It is a fine line she walks. Which only proves the point she should not be allowed here on her own anyway.
"It will not be a waste of your time, Miniyal." Gans pauses, the fork ready for another bite, his eyes ready to be stern even if his mouth, still smiling, is kind. "They restrict you now because you are a baby's caretaker. She needs you. Full-time. They don't dare allow extracurricular amusements. It will get better, in time; and the lessons will interest you more, in time." A pause; he looks down, attends to forking a bit of cake up, more cake and fruit in this bite and less like pure frosting. "Not to say you'll agree with them, I'm sure. Just as you don't agree with his methods. I'm not sure I do, Miniyal, but the outcomes are proven." He offers her the cake now, and a more smiling gaze, eyes bright, twinkling: "You'd have had to get me to take a nap, too."
"It is a waste of time to lie awake all night with nothing to do but think on things that do me no good to think on." Miniyal is sticking to this one point. She might allow him the others, but in all the turns she's been unable to sleep for more than an hour or two a day she's never been confined, forced to lie awake. "I've never felt any learning environment benefits from treating everyone as if they are the same. Because they are not. Not everyone will respond favorably to the same thing. A good teaching method for anything will take into account this fact and act accordingly." Another gentle shake of her head before she takes the cake from the fork and sighs contently for it. "I would not have. Because I would have had no one waiting for me."
"Then we need to find something for you to think about that -will- do you some good," replies Gans, and that is about all he has to say about it; he looks at her while she talks about teaching methods with a warm but grave expression, tolerant. He smiles once more, though, at the idea she'd have had no one waiting for her. "Perhaps," he allows, and while she enjoys that bit of cake he takes a bite for himself, then puts down the fork so that while chewing he can concentrate on slipping that package out of her pocket.
Ohh. He eats. This earns him another smile and might have gotten him at least a kiss to his cheek, but she is trying to behave and therefore does not. Miniyal settles for a smile and then a quiet laugh. "Thinking always leads to trouble. That is what I am told. That I think too much about things that are none of my concern. As if everything is not my concern." Really. What must people be thinking? To assist with package removal she holds herself still, doing no more than breathe softly while his hand moves. She is being so good.
"Perhaps," Gans says again, tricking the gift far enough out of her pocket that he can finally catch it between thumb and fingers, thus pull it up and behind her and toward himself, unfortunately unembracing her as he does; but he'll want both hands to open it, anyway. For now he sets it in his lap and looks at it while noting, "I would suggest trying to identify a subset of 'everything' containing items which either interest you theoretically or about which you can do something, later."
For his troubles he gets a little sigh. Or maybe it's for his words. Either way, he has her sigh, quietly given. "There's little I cannot do something about if I do not put my mind to it and plan properly." So, there. Miniyal turns some so she might watch the package in his lap and his hands which will open it soon enough. It is a simple box, unwrapped, and made of the plainest wood. The top lifts off the bottom without benefit of any hinge. A needless expense those hinges. It cannot hold much those few inches of flat wooden box.
"Something you can do something about," Gans observes correctively, "without causing yourself a great deal of trouble with D'ven." So, there. He picks up the fork and snips off a tidbit of the cake with its tines, which he offers - brows upraised, so there, to Miniyal. Package? In his lap. Waiting.
"A little more than a turn. Then I can do what I will. I can be patient." In some things, eternally patient. For cake, not so much. When it is offered Miniyal once again takes it, smiling around the fork and giving his foot a gently nudge with hers. "I will be fine, you know. Even dealing with D'ven. Even stuck there with people I don't know and some I don't like and trying to do what I am told even when I dislike it. But I miss you." Her gaze drops down to that package. Package. Open it already.
"And I miss you," Gans confesses, and since she has pled with her eyes and been so heartfelt and assured him she'll be all right - well. He puts down the fork, and picks up the package. He turns it over in his hands, careful to keep the top in one hand and the base in the other as he inspects it, before righting it again so he can slip off the lid.
His words comfort her the way little else can. It has been a couple of days and he might have realised he was better off without her. But he misses her and for that, Miniyal is thankful. She has not lost him yet. Her attention is divided between the box and the person opening it. When he first lifts the lid she looks at the box. At the folded square of black fabric revealed. But when he lifts up a side of that to reveal what is hidden inside she will lift her gaze, worry at her lip, and watch his expression with an uncertain one of her own.
It is a ring designed for a man, wider and heavier than what might be worn by someone else. The metal's color is a polished bronze and channel set into it are four small stones. Glints of color in metal they line up, alternating blue and black. It is a ring that by its very design takes into account his past. For the future there is but one mention since the ring itself seems meant to provide it. However, to ensure no meaning escapes there is a single word inscribed on the inside of the band. Someone else might have wasted more letters. Might have felt she needed to place all three words there. But from her, there need only be one. It is the middle word in that small sentence that matters. The Is and the yous are interchangeable. That central word however is the one that is constant. So he gets four letters to go with his four stones.
"Oh, Miniyal." He says it once, in full, just to see the ring waiting there, the black fabric tucked aside beneath the tips of his pale fingers. Gans touches, as if the ring should not be touched, the channel-set surface, feels - no doubt - the smooth surfaces of the stones, of the ring around them, the curve of hard metal and gem. Then he lifts it in his fingers and lets it drop into his palm so he can look upon it in full, turning his hand beneath it; it's then that he can see the inscription, and say 'Oh' again, softly. Her name evades him this time; he has not voice enough to get that many syllables out. Even the 'oh' is little more than a breath. He steals a glance at her - his face has a little color in it, and his eyes more light than their hollowness can bear to hold - then looks at the ring again.
There was a breath held when he first found the ring. A faint tightening of muscles as if she expected rejection. And when it does not come she breathes again and smiles again and all is right in the world once more. Her lips part and Miniyal tries to speak, but she is left unable to form a sentence. Tongue darting out to lick her lips she tries again, words coming this time, but in a whisper. "It is. . .you approve? I mean, I thought it might be too. . ." Something that words do not define. One hand moves so she can touch his knee gently. "I wanted to do something. . .you don't wear jewelry, but I thought you might make an exception." It's nearly a question, not quite, not almost.
So much for all being right in the world - Gans flicks over a glance, a smirk, for how fast she comes again round to doubting herself. But his eyes are, at the moment, mostly for the ring. He turns it over in his palm again, setting it so when he picks it up in the fingertips of his right hand the letters are baseline-down. Thus he can slip it onto his left hand, where it is, so far as he is evidently concerned, meant to go. He has to do the trick of flattening his knuckle, so bony are his fingers; then it fits, neat, where it belongs. He looks up at Miniyal again, and says this, which is so very inadequate: "Thank you."
Doubts come and go. They flee, but then they come crawling back when least expected. Miniyal's, more than anyone, come and go with startling speed. However, they are gone again. Gone when his hands move and the ring finds its home. Her hand lifts from his knee and finds his hand, touching the ring there and stroking her fingertips along his knuckles. When her hand comes to rest on his, curving around it and moving no more she lifts her gaze upwards to smile warmly. "Thank you. I've never. . .this past turn has been the best one of my life. I would. . .I wish I could do more right now. But it will have to suffice, my gift, until I am able." A short pause and her smile turns more teasing, of herself. "Without having to encourage anyone to nap."
"Indeed," agrees Gans, and there's a laugh threatening the tone of his voice, which tries and fails to be grave. He reaches around her again to hold her again in his right-armed embrace, the mannerly shining of the ring on his other hand a minor distraction amongst her fingers. "I appreciate you coming, at whatever cost, Miniyal. This was too special to miss." From their hands to her face his gaze keeps moving, but settles at last on the latter; he smiles his one-sided smile and shakes his head a little bit, wry. "What timing."
"You've been telling me for some time my timing was flawed," Miniyal points out with a smile of her own. A smile and this time she allows herself to give him another kiss to his cheek after his arm resettles around her. Leaning in to make the most of this closeness she sighs quietly. "I would not have missed this for anything. I told you I would come for my cake." Yes, she came for the cake and no other reason. "At least we will be able to fit in all these celebrations at once next turn. Our anniversary, Peloth's arrival, your birthday is coming up. We will go away again, I think. And even if we do not go to Harper it will be good. And, we will not have to rely on anyone else to take us where we will go. That will be nice."
"It will be nice. And we should go to Harper, certainly; Kazimir will want to see you again." Who is he kidding? The books will want to see her again. Gans chuckles softly, perhaps aware that he lures her needlessly using the wrong bait, and leans toward her as she does him. Another movement of the fork brings up cake for her to eat, her ring shining its dark colors against his pale hand. "I love you," he notes, as if it's an afterthought to cake.
"I have to send him his book back. I meant to bring it back before. . .well, but we never did get to go." There is no accusation in her words, no blame attached to them. It is what it is and she will survive. "I have written to my friend there and asked him to send copies of some things. And to let Kazimir know should he see him that I'll send the book back once I have someone I can send it with. If you decide to go there I would surely entrust it with you." Because she trusts him, but Miniyal doesn't have to say that. He knows that. "The first place we go together will be Harper then. Peloth should get to go somewhere special with us the first time we all travel." Seated so close the temptation is there, but she resists anything but another inch turned towards him, one arm wrapping low around his waist. Content. And more so when he offers cake and if she tilts her head up in some manner to indicate she might have preferred a kiss to the treat she gets there is nothing said to give that away.
She is, actually, quite pleased and happy to be seated thus, enjoying cake being fed to her. And if she is happy it is a happiness she shares with him even before he gives her that afterthought to cake. Those words do not even surprise her, not expected, but no longer something to startle her. They just earn a smile and an adjustment so she might lean up and give a kiss, chaste and lingering, in reply. "I love you too, Gans. For as long as I live." Here then, would be a good time for her to leave. Before temptation rears its ugly head and so she rises to her feet, but doesn't move as her gaze flickers towards his hand and then to her new coat. Perhaps she expects him to give it to her.
That Gans agrees, about Peloth and Harper, is given in his smile; that he is dubious about Harper being the best of places to first travel as a family triad is given in a slight tip of brow and lift of gaze when she says that. But like Miniyal, he is content to hold and be held, to be close, to enjoy their stolen time - brief as it must be.
The kiss brings him a smile, dry and bemused and very much taken, and a shake of his head: 'weyrlings,' perhaps, some amusement at their ageless mischief. But the movement of her gaze draws his eyes, too, and he lets out a little sigh about the coat. Ah. Yes. So he lowers the fork and sets aside the plate - between them they have done in the better part of that cake slice - then unwraps his arm from her shoulders so he can take up the coat. He waits for her in silence, then rises and holds it out for her to slip into.
It was hardly mischief. A little kiss. She did not even try anything indecent. And she did not press for wine again which she might have. Miniyal has tried to behave. She has done quite well all things considered which is why he will forgive her when, after she has her new coat on, she turns to him for one last embrace. One last embrace that is held onto through a quiet murmur of contentment at the sensation. When she at last pulls away one hand finds his to touch one last time the ring he wears. "You will speak to D'ven soon. And I will see you again soon." Biting her lip she steps back and smiles warmly. "And I love you. Happy anniversary. Thank you." For her coat, for her cake, for his time. For all of that and everything he's given her. On those words she turns and leaves in a manner she has long since become unaccustomed to doing. She flees, not because she wishes to be gone, but because she wishes to stay. And staying is not an option today.