Dinner Party
I didn't quite outdo myself for longest pose ever, but it wasn't for lack of trying.
Happens right after G'thon's class.
11-13/14-2006 (Issa, Reyce, Miniyal, G'thon):
G'thon and Miniyal's Quarters
The floors of the two rooms that make up these private quarters have slightly faded, woven rugs laid out upon them to protect bare feet from cold stone. The blues and reds mingle and make up most of the color in the main room. A broad, tall bookshelf dominates one wall and is filled with many bound volumes collected by the rooms' occupants. Near a small iron stove is set a small table with four chairs arranged around it. By this is a tea cart with all required accoutrements upon it. A red divan waits opposite the bookshelf, a bit worn but still in good repair, ready for an evening's reading or conversation. Near the divan is a small work desk where writing implements share space with a small sewing basket.
The bedchamber is as neat and tidy as the main room. The bed is made with a dark blue blanket folded neatly at the foot atop the furs. Two wardrobes vie for what little space there is and perhaps it is the lack of space that makes things tidy. Or maybe the occupants are just neat. The rugs match those in the main room.
Contents:
Miniyal
Obvious Exits:
Out
Issa and Reyce brush through the normal flow of dinnertime traffic, pushing deeper down the residential hallway while people, groups and loners, couples just like them, occasionally surge past to vie for a spot in line at those serving tables left far behind them now. They're a bit early and have the time to linger with their steps, strolling as they let those more hurried dodge around them. Issa has remembered her promise and worn a skirt, the swirling green one from the gather, paired this time with a soft white sweater. That emerald necklace of hers is also in attendance, as is Reyce's birthday gift, jangling gently around the wrist of her left hand as they walk. Her right hand curls into the crook of his elbow as she peers up at him, continuing a teasing conversation about who's getting the better end of this deal of theirs. "And I'm not even going to make you promise to be on your best behavior," she informs him magnanimously, steering them toward their intended door by memory alone. When they reach it moments later, she raps her knuckles against the door, her bracelet clinking in protest, and gently squeezes his arm.
Reyce has gone for a simpler look, gray slacks and a blue button-up shirt (both characteristically dark) that allow him to pass easily from class to dinner arrangements without looking overdressed or underdressed for either. Which is exactly what he's done - though at the price of a little cold, since his shirt has no protection from chill autumn winds outside. By the time they get through the lower caverns and reach that specific door, he's warmed up well enough to join in that teasing, albeit in his own, largely monosyllabic way. It stops entirely when Issa's knock announces their presence; he keeps his mouth closed, glances down at her when she squeezes, and quirks the corner of his lip up in something too wry to be called a smile. It's gone, of course, by the time he turns back to the door.
On the other side of the door is nervous pacing. Unseen by anyway, but it is there none the less. The table has been set, the meal laid out by one of the kitchen workers who brings such things. The room needed no tidying as it is always tidy, the only concession to company is the door to the bed chamber is closed. That and Miniyal bothered to change out of her work clothes and into something else although it's likely this was not for their company. Who are. . .here. Before G'thon is done with whatever he had to do right after his class. All of this behind the closed door. When the knock comes the glass Miniyal was holding in her hand is emptied and then put away where it won't be seen because who needs to know she needs a drink or two to steel nerves. So when the door opens she can find a pleasant, if neutral, expression. "Good evening," said barely loud enough to be heard over passing people in the hall. "Please come in." Which they cannot do until it occurs to her she has to step away from the doorway and so she does. One hand ushering them in while the other rests on the door. A brief nervous glance is cast in the hall as if her savior will be out there and keep her from having to entertain on her own.
"Evening," Issa greets, stepping through the doorway when the path is cleared and dragging Reyce along with her. "Miniyal, this is Reyce," she introduces on the way in, her left hand joining her right in laying across his arm. As each name is said, she pairs it with the proper little nods of indication, her smile pleasantly amiable. "Reyce. Miniyal." So graceful, so easy is she with these little formalities that she stands in stark contrast to their nervous host. She stops dragging her companion just inside the door, pausing just far enough inside to allow it to swing closed. "I see we've managed to come early enough to beat even our host," she comments, passing a sweeping glance across the empty room.
Reyce offers another contrast to their nervous host, but a less helpful one. Welcomed in, he simply stares at her; introduced, he simply blinks. Unlike Issa, he seems unsurprised that they have beaten their host, and he takes advance of the G'thon-free moment to scan (in silence) the furnishings of the room, his eyes pausing briefly at the bookcase but otherwise moving across without much interest.
Miniyal is apologetic in her speech as she does close the door behind them. "I am sorry for that. He had some things to tend to after his class and seems to have gotten stuck with them. I'm sure he'll be here soon." He'd better is only implied in her tone, just a quiet undercurrent to her strained pleasant social tone. "Thank you both for coming. I'm sure he-right. I said that. Sorry. Would you like a drink? Wine? Or I can make tea if you prefer. Or, well, brandy or I might have something else, but I'd have to look. Please, have a seat." At the table if they like. Or the divan because she won't be sitting anyway. Not if she can pace nervously. Noting the pause at the bookshelf she nearly smiles. "He has quite the collection. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you looked." Please look. Spare her having to make small talk.
Issa releases Reyce to do as he pleases with another quick squeeze of her fingers, stepping around in front of him to step toward the table-- and if she gives that skirt an extra twitch with the sway of her hips it's, of course, coincidental. She slides a chair out from the table and, as she sinks into it, responds, "I'll take some red wine if you have any." But her speech stops there, pale eyes watching Miniyal with an intent evenness as she goes about the duties of a hostess. And if the corners of her mouth quirk upward in amusement it's, of course, coincidental.
Reyce glances back at Miniyal when she notices his passing interest with the bookshelf, though he denies the offered inspection with a quick shake of his head. His attention thus returned to those immediately around him, he cannot help but notice the extra twitch of Issa's skirt, though his appraisal of this at least tries to be subtle - he focuses on the resultant sway of the skirt around her ankles, rather than her rear end itself, as though he were simply looking at the rugs. "Wine'll do," he says. He speaks. And then he moves to the table, claiming the spot next to Issa while he waits for Miniyal to carry out her hostess tasks.
The door opens another time, and Gans is at last released from whatever held him beyond into his quarters: party complete. He has beneath his arm, rolled up, an enormous parchment, tied with a string - Reyce and Miniyal should have no problem guessing what it is. This he turns up on its end by the door, leaning it there against the wall, then shrugs out of his greatcoat and leaves it, too, behind on hook. "I apologize," he has ready for as soon as, turning, he can get Miniyal in his gaze; and then a little louder, "I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting. But I hope you haven't really waited. Can I get anyone anything?"
Well, fine, don't take her up on the distraction. Miniyal doesn't say anything, she just finds the proper bottle and goes about opening it. She's very slow, deliberate in her actions. The way a person is who fears spilling, breaking, or otherwise being too clumsy moves. Luckily for her nerves the bottle opens easily and she pours the wine, filling the fourth glass as well. "I hope you like this. We usually drink sweeter wines, but that's not everyone's taste so we've gone with something a little drier. I just acquired this bottle about a turn ago." Acquired sounds so much nicer than blackmailed someone for it, yes? She transfers glasses from where she poured to the table, first to Issa and then Reyce. Her own glass she carries along with the fourth, setting it by the place one can assume G'thon will sit once he arrives. She is just about to sit when the door opens and while she gives the new arrival a look it is hard to interpret. Just a hint of pouting in her eyes before she seats herself. "You're fine. They haven't suffered my company too long. Come sit down."
Issa's accepts the wineglass offered by curling her fingers around the stem and sliding it further toward her, muttering a precise, but quiet, "Thank you." At the sound of the door opening, she doesn't turn immediately; it's Miniyal, instead that gets her attention, her eyes flicking up to that unclear expression and quickly away again. Only then does she turn in her chair, just enough to catch G'thon in her sights. "Sir," she greets plainly, her smile lingering though she gives it no new strength. All the while, her glass has been lifted, held at the ready, balanced by her thumb, and she when she shifts back to the table again, she gives it a hearty swirl and brings it subtly beneath her nose. Then the glass drops into a quick sip. "Mmm," she hums appreciatively, her gaze returning to Miniyal, "Wonderful."
Reyce narrows in on the wine label, peering at it through Miniyal's fingers while she pours. A brief frown touches his features: gone by the time she gives him the glass. Although he draws it in closer to him, he does not immediately move to drink from it, instead transferring his attention towards the door where G'thon just came in. His greeting is the last offered, waiting on the heels of Issa's 'sir' for his own version: "Teacher." He sets his hands on the table, the fingers locking around the stem of the wine glass (though he still doesn't drink), and watches his newly-dubbed instructor in level silence.
"Gans would be fine, Issa," he murmurs, approaching the table by Miniyal's side of it, pausing behind her chair to perform the least of an effort at tucking the seat in for her. "Gans would be fine from you, too, Reyce," he adds, and heads on past toward his own place, slim fingers drifting along Miniyal's shoulder before he departs her immediate presence to take his seat. "Thank you for pouring, my dear." A little nod for the only one likely to be so called, and then his half-smile for Reyce and Issa in turn while he reaches for the serving dishes, uncovering plates and serving utensils, releasing varied scents sweet and savory into a steamy halo over the table. "Thank you so much for coming. I trust it's been a reasonably good day for us all?"
Miniyal cannot notice any attention that remains on her because it will only strip away any sense of calm she has been able to pretend to have. So Issa's attention is not quite gracefully ignored. It's a decent attempt to pretend she just doesn't notice, but it's too easily done for it to be her doing it and so it falls somewhat flat. Since he only cares about the label Miniyal can just ignore the look at the label. As much as she might want to have a healthy drink from her glass she does not. Instead she leaves it sitting on the table and folds her hands in front of her. Torn between staring at her hands and trying to be more social she is spared the decision by someone else speaking and when he moves past her to sit G'thon is given a warm smile, the only response to those fingers on her shoulder is the way that smile lingers. The questions is clearly not for her so she lets their guests answer.
"Gans," Issa repeats with a tilting nod of her head, the angle masking somewhat the slight lift she gives to one eyebrow. And so she (officially) gains another name to add to her repertoire. A second sip is taken, lingered over this time as she watches their hosts' exchange over the lifted curve of the glass, peruses the unveiled food with the wine still held in her mouth. Finally swallowing, she answers Gans' question with a distracted nod, her attention still held by the food. "As mundane as they come, these days," she responds more vocally once she's lost interest with the settings of the table and lifts her eyes to the former weyrleader. "I doubt it was anything to compare to the excitement of an ethics class." A grin announces her quiet mirth more than her voice and, done speaking, she turns to pin Miniyal in her gaze, wine held airborne and swirling.
Reyce seems to tire of the formality of the situation, all of them poised neatly around the table, so with a tired breath he unwinds his fingers from the stem of the wine glass and leans back, allowing the chair's back to do the work of his good posture in holding him up. "Sure, teacher," he answers the pleasantry in a murmur. It's just possible that he missed the invitation to use 'Gans,' but it's not very likely: it was said twice, and both times while he was staring straight at his instructor. Now, of course, his interest has moved to the food, following the little trails of steam as they wind up from unveiled dishes and taking at last a sip of his wine. It's a short sip, swallowed quickly, and (since his mouth is not full) really gives him no excuse not to answer Issa's prodding comment - but still, he gives no answer.
A sip of wine is taken as the talk, what there is of it, goes on around Miniyal. At Issa's comment it seems impossible for her to not say something. Setting her glass down she rolls her eyes and then folds her hands in front of her. "Oh, horribly exciting. I could barely stay awake." Pausing she blinks and looks at G'thon. "Not you," she is quick to assure him before worrying at her lip and taking another drink of wine. "Umm. Anyway. Yes, nevermind. It was. . .right." Talked perhaps before thinking. It's not so odd for her.
Gans has something he's about to say - 'Ah,' if the shape of his mouth is any hint - but Miniyal has words more swiftly than he does, and he busies his hands with the last bits of putting the meal to readiness while she speaks. "I must confess it was less - stimulating than I might have hoped. I suppose I should have expected that the Caucus would slowly drain its members of their fantastic illusions." He picks up the breadbasket and unfolds the cloth enough to show off the curved top of a roll within, then hands it sideways to be passed around the table. "Please feel free to serve yourselves; I can't sustain better formality than what you're seeing right here," he notes as sidebar.
Unseen under the table, Issa's foot finds Reyce's with a soft bump then slides up, slippered toes nuzzling ankle, an encouraging nudge rather than a reproach for his tired breath over a dinner not even fully begun. Then the contact retreats just as quickly. Above the table, Issa doesn't break her composure in the slightest, her attention riveted on Miniyal and her fumblings. While she is polite enough to not comment, she also doesn't make any attempt to derail the awkward train of words, blinking blankly across the table instead. Miniyal is spared her gaze when Gans speaks of his class, however, for she turns her attention easily his way. "Was it? I would have thought, with that group of people at your disposal, you would have heated discussion within minutes." The breadbasket offered is taken, Issa leaning forward in her seat to select a roll before handing it to Reyce, fixing him in the first full glance she's sent his way since they sat down. It holds little significance, though, and she's soon moving her attention to hover over the plates with a moment of indecisiveness.
Reyce puffs off any other tired breaths that might have been triggered by the secret contact of Issa's foot, converting them into a heft of effort as he leans forward and grabs himself the full complement of plate, silverware, and food. Since he goes for the steaming hot, he must wait a bit for it to cool down, and while he does he occupies himself with a breadroll taken from the basket Issa passes on to him, meeting her eye for that brief moment it's on him. One arm crosses over to hand the breadbasket back to where it started - G'thon - and the other curls up under to bring his own roll to his mouth. As for train wrecks and other such comments, he has nothing to add. He does watch his teacher, but that's only because he's waiting for him to take the bread back, of course.
"Perhaps seconds," says Gans with an easy laugh as undercurrent. "Seconds - and then the fire burned out. I had hoped to keep people with it long enough to try to get them to describe the kinds of ethics and to - well. I shouldn't give Reyce too great an advantage over the rest of the class, because we'll do that next time." He serves himself a little of a salad made from shredded carrots and pears, then reaches for the wine bottle, offering a tilt of the neck to glasses slightly drained. "A shame Roa couldn't join us. I think she might have had a thing or two to say."
Down goes another sip of the wine and there doesn't seem to be much of an appetite for anything else really at this point. So Miniyal keeps her glass in her hand although at least she's not emptied it yet. It's getting there, slowly, but it's not empty yet. Which it won't be since it is refilled and a grateful look is given towards the man who holds the bottle. "I don't think that was the problem." Sort of mumbled quietly, but still said. Because sometimes she just can't keep her mouth quiet. However she doesn't say anything else, instead ducking her head and eyeing the food as if it will appeal if she just stares at it long enough.
Reyce raises a brow at the suggestion that he might glean an advantage from this dinner, the doubt clearly evident in his expression. Yet the trend of him not talking continues - this time, his mouthful of wine can be blamed, because he allows it to linger there for a few moments before drawing a sudden sniff and hauling it down. His food having cooled enough for him to eat it safely, he picks up a fork and begins to dig at the nearest thing on his plate, but he doesn't get very far before Miniyal's mumbled comment makes it to his (ever-alert) ears. His eyes raise to her, squinting slightly while he considers her, and falling back into a neutral expression when he asks, "What?" It's not a confused 'what' - he's clearly not asking her to repeat herself, but to explain. He continues to watch her, awaiting her response, while he finally indulges himself in some nice hot food.
Used to carrying conversation, Issa's mouth falls open to form some response or another to Gans as she finishes spooning out food onto her plate. But even a single word from close-mouthed Reyce has weight enough to stay whatever that comment was. Apparently, it's not important. Instead, she settles back with her food, taking advantage of the break to raise her wineglass again, just a hint of a smile hidden behind a swift sip. When it lowers her gaze lingers on Miniyal, eyebrows arching in a politely quizzical expression for the clarification that's been so curtly requested. The only break in her intent regard is a momentary downward glance at her plate as she takes up her fork.
"I - " Gans is intrigued, and no small part taken aback if the arch of his brows and wide lightness of his eyes is any indication, and that startled expression is for Miniyal first. But then it's for Reyce, second. It speaks! The meaning of the speaking takes a moment to sink in, and as it does, he bends forward to take up his wineglass. "Ah," he says, as if he might step in and release his lover from obligation to the question posed. But no; the curiousity gets the best of him and he can barely manage a sip of wine to whet his mouth for words. "I would be most indulged if you would express your perspective, Miniyal." There's something about how he says her name when he speaks -to- her and not -of- her. Something slower. Something that smiles, even when he's not smiling.
"Well, it's not." Said before a sip of wine. Close enough after Gans' comment that it's possible she meant to answer before his encouragement. Then that same wine is set down on the table and Miniyal busies herself randomly putting this and that on her plate. She doesn't seem ready to eat any of it, but it's on her plate at least. "They've not lost their illusions. They've lost the ability to speak up for them. I mean, not all of them. But that's what it is. They're pit against each other, taught to hold everything close. These are our future leaders. Learning not to take risks until they've sat down and calculated exactly to the nth what that risk is and if it's worth bothering to try." Miniyal stops here because at some point in her rambling she always does stop. Realising what she is doing. Ducking her head she clears her throat. "What's the point in that? In crushing ideals from people. Teaching them to conform to some narrow safe path? Until they know what to say, they won't say anything. It's. . .sad." Then she stops, entirely, and fiddles with a hastily emptied wine glass.
Issa's thinned eyes, trained on Miniyal, might be unnerving (and might still be) were it not for that smile that grows gently beneath them. "Interesting," she begins musingly as soon as she's swallowed down the bite she's taken during that little speech. "I see your point," she offers and turns the tines of her fork on Miniyal, their points orienting in a thoughtful pause. "But I don't think it's necessarily a thing restricted to the Caucus. Seems to me it's more a result of the general situation we seem to find ourselves in this Pass." A breath, and there seems to be more. But no. Instead the fork takes a nosedive to retrieve a tiny, severed piece of meat and ferry it up to her mouth, and she chews, her gaze flickering away from Miniyal at last.
Reyce's eyes squint lower as Miniyal's explanation grows more elaborate, closing off that window to his thoughts and casting the hazel into muddy brown shadows. Aside from that, he gives no indication that what they're saying registers with him, the cycle of food-to-fork unbroken while he listens - first to her, then to Issa. "Don't think it's the Pass," he disagrees softly, lowering his eyes to his food. A thin, cynical twitch of a smile greets a lifted forkful of hot buttered noodles, then he wipes it clean and raises his gaze to G'thon. "Or the Caucus. Think it's always been that way but the two bring it in focus, here." A noodle plunks off his fork, reminding him to eat what remains before that falls, as well.
Gans is quiet, though perhaps not fully willingly. He has another of those 'ah's poised on his lips when Miniyal's only half-done talking; then he must wait for her (he's polite) and for Issa (natch) and for Reyce (no explanation for that) before he puts his words in. At least, in this time, he manages to take a few bites of the pear-carrot slaw and, finding it enough to his liking to inspire some small interest in food, serve himself something else from the dishes. He lets quiet stretch out a little bit, but once the food's secure on his plate he glances up to find Reyce's eyes on him. A wryness twists the corner of his mouth that smiles, and Gans puts down the serving forks again before leaning back to provide his only insight. "It's what our society has brought us to."
"I never said it was restricted to the caucus." A correction that must be made by Miniyal before she absently sends her fork to her plate where it toys with her food without her actually consuming anything at all. "I don't think it is the pass at all. It was expected. It's not as if we didn't know it was coming. There will be, of course, a period of adjustment, but it's not a stifling thing. At least, historically speaking, it doesn't appear to have been. If that is the case this pass then it is because of other factors. The caucus. The rebellion. The unrest here at the weyr. At least for the weyr and the areas beholden to it." Frowning thoughtfully she taps her fork against her plate. "It would be interesting to speak to people from the other weyrs and some of the holds to see what they think of what has gone here. How many of them are even aware of it. . ." Trailing off she dismisses food, company, comments as she considers a new project. "It's what will send us back." Said once Gans has had his say. Biting her lip she lets out a little sigh. "There will be no moving forward ever at this rate. We may as well just all crawl into our beds and wait to die if we continue to not only allow but encourage anyone, let alone those who are supposed to lead us, believe that they must maintain the status quo above all else. There is no truth in a static society. Can I have more wine please." Because her glass is empty and she's talking and clearly she needs alcohol, dammit.
Issa listens, grown mostly silent over her food. For Reyce's point about focus, she offers a short, agreeing hum around a mouth full of bread, eyes lighting on him as a subtle grin rounds her lips then slips away. To Miniyal, she offers her extremely focused attention, eyes thinning thoughtfully again over the proposition of that new project. All Gans gets, however, is a swift glance, a mild suspicion lurking beneath her pleasant expression, before she turns her eyes down to the careful arrangement of vegetables on her fork. So thoroughly has she switched places with Reyce that she doesn't even seek to clarify or defend her assertion, or expound those words left unspoken earlier.
Reyce waits patiently, ever so sensitive to Miniyal's uncertain participation, except that he gives her none of his attention and keeps his focus on G'thon, exactly where it has been since before the ex-Weyrleader spoke. When at last a small silence appears to give him a entrance, he says, "That's such bullshit, teacher." Strangely, no (overt) accusation or challenge in his tone: at most a quick note ot disdain, but over all just a plain statement of fact.
Gans attends closely to his lover's response, brows creeping up as that response stretches very long indeed. "There can be no growth in a static society," he corrects - no, the tone is that of an addendum. He has done little enough in the way of eating that putting down his silver so he can take up the bottle and tip it for Miniyal's glass is a minor thing. She'd better keep an eye on the pouring, however, for Reyce's non-outburst statement distracts the former weyrleader rather well enough. "Is it?" Oh yes, he's pouring. He straightens the bottle, sets it down right there and withdraws his hand, eyes on the Benden son. They dance. They are too well pleased. "Is there, then, nothing fundamentally wrong with our society? Or do you merely believe it's a poor excuse on my part to claim it's what inspires all of our inhumane, thoughtless acts?"
Miniyal does indeed watch the pouring of the wine, but since there is no spillage she need not say anything else. Her attention stays focused for the most part on the table before her, but a single glance upwards allows her to notice Issa's regard. It is enough to send her head back down and her hand towards her wine glass. She only sips from it, not wanting to seem too much the drunkard in training. Since the focus of the conversation has shifted away from her she gladly falls silent and toys with her food.
Clink-clink, the sound of silverware rings out, but Issa stays silent. Her fork is set against the rim of the plate and she retrieves her wineglass. Tossing a curl out of her view, she turns her eyes to Reyce, watching him, waiting as she just lets the glass sit there, cradled in front of her mouth though she doesn't tip out a drink.
Reyce's calm demeanor flickers and fades, when he notices the sudden sparkle in his instructor's eye. A snarl curls thinly onto his lips at the the sight of it, but if he realizes he has walked into a trap, he does not hestitate to keep stomping around till it triggers. "Both," he says shortly, setting his fork down on his play with a quiet tink of impact to echo his word. "Don't know what you mean 'fundamentally wrong' and I doubt you do either. Fundamentals are what's laid out in society and they've got nothing to do with right or wrong. And if you're talking about it the way an individual'd see it, then if it were really fundamental everybody'd see it that same way, but we've been over that." His snarl flicks a little higher, and his tongue runs along his lower lip briefly, reining some of that hostility back in. "Then you talk about society like it acts on you, when it's just a fucking word that if you boiled it down, would come to something like 'the way /people/ behave.'" Note his emphasis. "People influence each other and groups influence each other but society doesn't do shit." Now that the thin veneer of civility has been stripped away, Reyce feels no compunctions about grabbing his wine glass and tossing down a drink from it as though it were cheep beer instead of a fancy wine from his instructor's personal collection.
From his instructor's lover's personal collection. To be precise. But Gans only reaches forward, picks up the bottle, and offers another fill. "I did not expect you to be a stickler for semantics, Reyce. Very well: the way people behave, and their influence upon one another. I would suggest there's something - if not 'fundamentally' - " He's begun to address the table, rather than the man, and on this word regards Reyce again with a flick of his eyes. "- then consistently, persistently wrong. Something that does not serve people; that does not help nor even convenience them. Some collection of habits that do us only ill. Issa?" It's a cue, or a question, or - well, it could be excused as an offer of wine.
"Extremes." The word is offered softly before anything else is lost in a drink of wine. A few random bites of food are taken, but it's clear Miniyal doesn't really taste any of it. She just has to eat. She doesn't bother explaining her statement. Really, it's surprising after that display she could utter a single thing other than a swiftly stammered excuse to flee. Giving up on her food she takes up her wine and barely manages to keep from wincing at the way Reyce treats it. Really. To give it the due it deserves she sips quietly, not looking at anyone. Plate, how interesting.
Issa is unphased by Reyce's surge of hostility and even seems, if it's possible, more comfortable for it. Elbows braced against the arms of her chair, she leans back, her focus skipping between Reyce's swearing speech and the quieter presence of Miniyal. All her silence has allowed her to empty nearly a full plate, though abandoned remnants remain-- a crust of her roll, limp noodles, an virtually untouched pile of that sweet slaw-- now that she's apparently done eating. She would happily remain there, watching the exchange, but is called by Gans back into the conversation, her gaze pulled to him by the sound of her name. But she doesn't surrender her comfortable habit of silent observance quite willingly. "Yes?" is all she responds with a simple intonation, brows lifting slightly as she returns query for query. If there's something in particular he wants from her, she's forcing him to be... oh, what's the word... frank.
Reyce has spent enough time in the Caucus to know what semantics means, but first he has to drag through his store of Words Instructors Use till he finds it. When he does - between Miniyal's and Issa's single word responses - it draws his mouth down at the corner, into a wry grimace. "Don't care if your definition's same as mine, teacher," he murmurs. "You don't have a definition at all, though," his words trail along the same inflection patterns as his previous "if," the hypothetical of this last statement implied - and unfinished. He silences while he waits for the answer to Issa's what, knocking his wine glass towards the offered refill with the back of his knuckles, as disrepectful of this as he was of the wine itself.
"I had wondered if - " Gans has reply, social, explanatory, helpful, and possibly even frank ready for Issa. That it might have been any of those things is instead lost to the moment, and the moment passes by, Reyce's delayed retort shuffling it along before smoothly usurping its space. It takes the ethics instructor a beat to grasp that it's happened, and then another to understand the retort itself, despite the key lack of ten-cent vocabulary. In this time he puts down the wine bottle and adjusts his jaw, reshaping words. When he speaks, he does so softly, and bends forward to put. an. elbow. on the table. "I have a point, Reyce." His wineglass, raised in the hand propped, tips a swirling nod toward the other man. "Will that suffice?"
This continues to be the time that Miniyal understands to be the time to be quiet. She picks at her food, not doing much but move it about on her plate and occasionally tasting the remains of something on her fork. Mostly she sips her wine. And listens. The listening comes with occasional glances towards the others at the table. Brief, flickering contacts of her eyes to their faces. Doing her best to not make eye contact.
Issa leans out of her slight recline to reclaim her wine when Gans' reply to her goes unfinished, but her fingers slip around the belly of the glass blindly, her eyes turned to Reyce instead, curiosity glinting. The glass' rosy contents are given a swift final swirl and then she hides the pleased curve of her smile with a deep sip that drains it. Lowering the now-empty glass to its proper place on the table, she interjects, "May I?" as she indicates the wine bottle G'thon's just put down. It's a soft question, and given no stress of import, so that it's clear it's not meant to interrupt their discussion.
Reyce doesn't rest an elbow on the table, only because his lean takes him in the opposite direction. Having knocked his glass away, he seems to forget about promised refills for himself - for the moment - in favor of folding his hands down low over his lap. "Make it," he suggests, or even demands. His eyes flick to meet Issa's glinting gaze, but there's no response on his end as he returns to watch G'thon, ignoring the silent Miniyal entirely.
"Please, go ahead." An aside, as mild as Issa's question that inspired it; Gans need do little more than spare her a glance so she knows the words are for her. A glance then at Miniyal, and a brow raised. It takes little more than a heartbeat to ask that question, whatever that silent question must be - and whatever it is, he apparently sees not fit to wait on its reply. "Any number of people would see the structures by which we live changed, Reyce. Altered. Bettered. And any number of people would choose better people, with better behaviours - if you will - " since he already has, "to improve those structures with. Are you one of them?"
The conversation still does not involve her and so Miniyal sees fit to ignore it. Instead she stands up from the table and moves over to the tea cart where rests the dish covered that holds dessert. Her steps carefully take her around where Gans sits and her fingers trail across his shoulder in the same manner his did before. Which would be, it seems, her answer to that silent question. While the others talk she goes about uncovering the dessert and starting the preparations for tea. As if that was not enough she heads over to where the wine is stored to select a new bottle.
And it's a good thing Miniyal's bringing a new bottle, for Issa is in the process of emptying the first to make another full glass for herself. Don't mistake her apparent preoccupation with the pouring for ambivalence, though. No, she's quite alert to the conversation at hand, eyebrows twitching upward as she shoots a furtive glance up at Gans for the revelation of that point he claimed. She's less furtive in the catching of Miniyal's trailing touch, however, allowing her gaze to flicker up from it and land on Miniyal's face, those pale eyes tracking her idly as she turns to the dessert. As if only to complete the circuit, he lets her eyes fall ever so casually back to Reyce when she settles back with her newly filled wineglass, brows still slightly lifted over the sip she takes. Yes. Do tell.
Reyce's snarl is entirely gone now, his eyelids sinking down to leave only a slit of darkened hazel. His reply is a long time coming, the interim used to track the various motions around the table. Miniyal's presence, previously overlooked, comes sharply into focus when she passes behind G'thon with that lingering touch. Yet ultimately, the only eye he meets directly is G'thon's, finally coming to rest there while his response rises slowly to the surface. "Any number of people," he repeats, the words rolled over with a winding motion from his thumbs. His hands shift in his lap then, the fingers pushed out to a steeple. "Any number of people rely on vague ideas of 'better' without ever saying what /is/. Without ever saying what they would do, except make things -" he pauses, his eyes opening up again as his tongue flicks out over his teeth with distaste for the word - "better. Improve structures." The full weight of his scorn lands on these two words, the steeple of his hands falling flat as his palms turn into his thighs. His tone becomes as flat as those hands, his gaze fixing steadily on G'thon and bringing with it that element of distaste he has eliminated from his words. "Better people means themselves. Improved structures means whatever it takes to put themselves in power. And any number of people cannot all have what they want." He leans forward suddenly, his hands moving to the table. One finger lifts, and taps down with a soft whiffing sound that nonetheless carries in the room. "Better people means the most ambitious people. Improved structures means the most harrowing and vicious ones. Whatever can be done, will be done, and it will be done by the /worst/. People. People who might now be willing to say 'better' and 'improve' so long as it gets them any number of people to support them, but when they see their own chance they'll take it. People who might even believe in 'better' and 'improve' but they don't know what's better and don't know how to improve. They might think so." His chin tilts down, his eyes suddenly alight with a glint that's not far from the one G'thon greeted his earlier outburst with, but in his case it comes with a malicious glimmer that ruins any chances of his next words being benign. "We've seen them think so." Muscles contract around his eyes, adding to the fierceness of his glare. "Given the choice between something that admits it's random, and something that pretends it's good, I'd pick the first one. I am not one -" a pause - "of /them/." He echoes G'thon's words but he adds layers, a certain clarity of diction that's unusual for him and excessive even for an imitation of G'thon; the /them/ on which he so concentrates pushed away with a parting note of disinterest, complete disavowl of the unnamed group which suddenly doesn't even merit scorn.
At no point does Reyce pause long enough for Gans to even bother with 'Ah.' Instead he grins, the bend of his mouth one-sided even with his jaw slightly slack, the wineglass in his hand a little tilted but now, unswirling. For a little part of Reyce's words, his bright and twinkling - and they do twinkle now, indeed - follow Miniyal, adoration plain on his features. It could not be believed, however, that he adores so deeply just now that he cannot hear, interpret and contain every word that Benden's son lets go. "Then let me give you one sentence," murmurs the former weyrleader in time, in time enough that it's clear he's pondered what Reyce said, or what he'll say back. "If it is not a simple enough statement for you, cause enough for call to action, definition enough of a rough scheme of what that action should be - then with Issa's permission I shall draw our talk to a close, and we may enjoy dessert," a glance at each woman in turn here, again, eyes bright, "over discussion of something more to your liking." A pause. In it, Gans draws himself back into his chair, back straightening, elbow coming off the table though his hand leaves the glass behind. Narrow fingers lace across his midsection. Recitation: "'Our society is dependent on suffering we choose to ignore.'"
Looks only lead to more looks and so there's no reply look given to Issa although the glance given her is caught. It's rare Miniyal misses much, especially in her own home. Which is why before doing anything else she brings another bottle to the table. Not the same as the one before, but red and just as good. It is left where it can be reached by G'thon him being the host. Then if she is not stopped by anyone she will collect dinner plates. To make room for dessert plates. "Not everyone who wants to fix things wants to rule." Murmured quietly from the tea cart, to herself. Not nearly loud enough to really seem a continuation of the subject at hand. Should those plates have been collected she asks, "Tea or wine with dessert? We've a nice dessert wine. Unless you prefer tea in which case we've all manner of options. Gans? I've no idea what would go with dessert." Dessert is a spongy cake filled with fruit and topped with a light glaze. Other than the tea she seems prepared to play hostess/servant for this part of the evening. It breaks her from the conversation nicely.
Issa must drink. And often, during that speech of Reyce's. She manages, as she so often does, to make it seem nonchalant, however, and unconnected to the words of that speech. But her eyes drift from him halfway through, staring at the empty patch of table left by the disappearance of her dirtied dish. After that succession of small sips-- and, coincidentally, after Reyce's 'We've seen them think so'-- she releases the wineglass, now only half full for all her efforts, to it's spot on the table. "The worst people," she repeats in a murmur breathed over a wryly amused twist of her lips. But she concedes the floor to their host, attending his words with a polite intensity, waving away his concern for her permission with a sweep of her fingers and a much tamer curve of a smile. Instead of heralding Reyce's response with bated breath and a waiting gaze this time, she looks up to offer Miniyal an unassuming, "I think I'd prefer tea, actually."
Reyce has poured out quite enough words for the evening; he absorbs G'thon's single phrase in silence, only his eyes on the instructor to let him know that he has, indeed, heard. "Wine," he claims for himself, flicking his gaze easily to Miniyal.
"Tea for me, as well, my dear. Thank you so much for taking such good care of us." Gans makes Reyce wait. He bears the younger man's gaze without note or regard. "What shall we do about it?" He casts his glance around the table, from one face to the next. "Reyce takes issue with my efforts. He should." A hand untangles from the other, raises, overturns. His errors, swept away with a gesture. "It doesn't mean I have no more ideas. But perhaps someone else's would be more welcome here. Miniyal's?" But he does not -really- mean to force his lover to speak. His eyes find Issa. "Yours?"
Dessert plates are handed out from Issa to Reyce to G'thon. It's not until they are down that Miniyal sets her own plate down. It is ignored because she has to go get the wine. It's white, sweet, and still of a very good quality. Chilled even, having been tucked away safe in ice until now. She uncorks it and pours two glasses although only one is carried to the table and set before Reyce. The other comes with her as she walks back to the tea things. Since someone refused to offer help with it, missing it entirely surely due to his deep conversation at the table. Sniffle. Tea is selected and then left to steep, the pot coming to the table to do so there. Cups and everything else join it on the table. It's up to the tea drinkers to do the rest. She'll just refill her wine glass, she drinks fast, and seat herself. Blinking she peers at Gans and smiles faintly, briefly. "My ideas are rarely worth repeating. I'll not bore anyone with them." Oh, look. Dessert. This will take her attention along with the wine.
But Issa doesn't let Miniyal fade so quickly into the background and makes a plea for the attention she would so easily give her cake. "Oh, but give us a chance to determine their worth on our own," Issa prompts with a mild undertone of teasing, sitting forward once again and letting her gaze linger too long on Miniyal's face. "If they bore me, I'll be sure to let you know." Her eyes drop then to her teacup, upending it to await the fully steeped tea, though that's as far as she initiates the tea-getting process. G'thon's hint for her to share her own yet-unvoiced opinion on the matter gets thoroughly ignored in order to wait with an expectant little smile for her hostess' response.
Reyce's own response to Miniyal's demure refusal is a quick little twitch of a sneer, so perhaps it's fortunate that Issa's prompt comes faster than anything he might have attempted. He raises his eyes to his hostess, making absent work of prodding his dessert with a fork, and his gaze remains there aside from one very short-lived, narrow-eyed flicker of a glance towards G'thon.
"I'm sorry," said to Issa with a smile. "I'm not used to being socially polite. What I was saying was I have no desire to share my thoughts on the subject with everyone gathered here now." Miniyal lets the smile linger and then fade as she takes a bite of her dessert. "I've been told I'm too abrupt and such with my words. Clearly I should have relied on that talent. I'm quite sure anything I say would not be so well received that it wouldn't make me wish I'd kept my mouth shut." Attention flickering to Reyce he gets a smile as well, brief. "But that's a lovely sneer, Reyce. I've been meaning to compliment you on it. If I were not already planning on silently drinking my wine and eating my cake that would have done it." And because that is what she said she would do and she is no liar she takes up her glass and sips before seeing to her cake.
Reyce's sneer flicks up higher, gaining a note of thin and somehow cynical pleasure from her comment. "Thanks. I've been waiting to use it. You've been there muttering to yourself, but when you get asked to speak you won't do it. You've complained about his students," a flick of the hand towards G'thon, "not speaking unless it's worth it to them, and you won't talk because we're here." This time the hand flicks back, towards himself and Issa, though he keeps his eyes trained forward on Miniyal. The edge of pleasure disappears, and his sneer becomes simple disgust.
"Ah - " Not like anyone's listening to -him-. He's just the setter of the fire; it seems now intent on its own burning. Gans leans well back into his chair, shifting it back and sideways just enough that he can manage to cross his long legs at the knee without bumping the table. Back and sideways just enough that he can angle himself a little toward his lover. But it's Reyce he speaks to first. "You try to win a woman's words with wickedness." Oh, look here. The former weyrleader, paragon of manners that he makes himself so often seem, can sneer too. It is understated, little more than a twitch of lip. "I wonder: how is that working for you?" He does not even take a breath before turning to Miniyal, but the pause is plenty to change his tone. From - whatever that had been; commanding? instructive? merely irritable? - to a mixture of affection and pleading. "Forgive him," murmurs Gans. "And forgive me, my dear. For I must admit myself, too, curious. If you would share even the least bit - " That is her cue. His chin comes down, and his gaze rests upon her, uplifted.
Issa's polite smile grows decidedly smirky when Miniyal turns her attentions to Reyce. She lets her gaze drift slowly over to him and his reaction, her fingers, draped loosely around her saucer, lifting to scrape against the china in a lazy fidget. But they rap down with a harsher, clinking cacophany at the words of dear old Gans. The transfer of her gaze to him takes a split second, the appearance of a too bright smile taking less. "At least he's up front about it." Light, joking, but with an acidic crispness to her delivery. When their host changes his attention to Miniyal, hers follows, turning on her that same, blinking stare. Challenging? Perhaps. But she's wiped away enough of that dark amusement from her expression to at least make it pass as politely so.
The fork pauses halfway to her mouth and Miniyal looks at Reyce. "Well, it is my duty as hostess to allow you such things or something. I'm still reading up on etiquette and all." Another polite smile at this lie. "I've rarely muttered at all. I've made a few comments quietly. I speak quietly. I am not-" Setting her fork down she folds her hands on the table after pushing her plate forward to make room for them. Gans is given a glance, head tilting to the side. Whatever she is thinking even he won't figure out. Then her attention is back on Reyce. "You mistake me. But, fine. You want to know what I think? I think this whole conversation is pointless. It serves no purpose. No one's opinion will be changed. It will ruin dessert. We all have our notions and our ideas and they are better discussed in a classroom where there is no dessert to ruin. My illusions. My ideals. My secrets? You want to know what they are?"
Here is where, normally, she would be pacing. Nervous energy. It's betrayed only by the way she twists her ring around her finger. "You earn that right. But because I'm playing the dutiful hostess I'll give you a little bit. Out of politeness sake. Although there's plenty enough of that lacking here. I think the way things stand there is a lot that needs fixing. I think it can be fixed if anyone gives a damn about it and isn't content to sit in their cynicism and say things are the way they are and will never change. And if you want to know? No, I don't do that. But my life is none of your damned business. So you can sit there and smirk and sneer all you want and sleep easy knowing that the world will remain in such a state that you will benefit from it. Look out for yourself, maybe a few people you deign to allow inside your little Reyce-centric world. Those who will support it." A brief, every so brief slide of her eyes to Issa. Hardly noticeable unless one is watching for it. "We're not all like that. And you can mock me all you want. You call me names or laugh or whatever it is you think is best, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm /trying/ to help those no one else bothers with." It is only now she looks at Gans, no smile in place. "I think the tea is steeped, love." Once more she returns to her cake, retrieving the bite she set down and focusing on it entirely.
Reyce's sneer quickly regains that glimmer of amusement at G'thon's rebuke, but he pulls in his words in favor of listening to Issa and then Miniyal, his lips drawn inside his mouth. "How generous of my dutiful hostess," he murmurs, lips popping back out, "to live up to her own standards. Generous to share her thoughts, to fetch us food, and to see things the way they suit her. Noble and generous, she seeks to change the world. Humble and wise, she knows her changes are good. She fights for the oppressed, selflessly. But she is not at all self-righteous, nor does she ever assume. Hmm." He turns his gaze down to the meager remnants of his dessert, considering them for a moment before he pushes them across the table with a scraping noise.
"I think we have put enough pressure on dessert." Gans' legs unfold and he rises from his chair. His own cake, his tea go untouched; not so, Miniyal's shoulder. But his fingertips only drift there, a silent touch, perhaps a silencing one. They slide past the back of her neck, among the locks of her hair, over skin unseen and then down the other shoulder and away. "And enough strain on both whatever nobility we may be presumed to possess - and whatever manners." He continues walking until he comes to the arm of Issa's chair, and from that point looks across her at Reyce. "I should like to hear Issa's thoughts on the matter, but perhaps I have asked too much of you both already."
Issa is watching, and watching very carefully, at that. But what significant glances she catches from Miniyal are given no response, no visible change in her expression from the composed neutrality it's fallen into. She simply stares, blank and even, across at Miniyal all during Reyce's mocking speech, her gaze broken only briefly as she makes a single attempt at the cake. Her fork hovers unused when G'thon meanders her way, poised to stab into the cake again though it never sinks that far. Eyes dropped to her still empty teacup, she doesn't turn to look up at her host, instead tilting her head just enough to lend an ear to his words. "Should you?" she queries lightly, but offers nothing more, setting her fork down again with a fluid motion then reaching to flick her napkin out of her lap and onto the table.
"I was asked. I answered. It can't be done both ways. People can't ask a question and not want an answer." There's a pause here as Miniyal frowns a moment. "I suppose they can, but I'm not the sort to deny someone something if they push me to it. You're wrong. Again. If things suited me? I wouldn't be sitting here with dinner guests at all. You think I wanted this? I didn't. I'm no good at this. Which we can all agree on. But I did it anyway. As for assuming? No more than you are. But I suppose it's alright for you to?" Reaching for her wine she empties the glass. "I will say again. You want to know things about me you earn the right to know them. Think it's worthwhile or not, that is the way of things. As for noble and selfless? I've seen what most people who call themselves noble act like and I want no part of it. Selfless? No, I'll deny that too. But you wonder why people don't talk? It's because asses like you mock them when they do. Belittle them for speaking up about what they hold true. Sneer when they dare speak of things they feel are important. Thank you for a lovely evening." Really. Did he think she'd stop once she'd started? Rising to her feet she looks around the table. "I've an early morning. I'll just excuse myself to the other room now." And so she does. Without looking back at anyone. It's a slow, even retreat with no real indication she's running away. She just walks away and opens the door to their bedchamber and disappears inside the other room, closing the door behind her. It's her ending at least.
"I should," says Gans, and his tone is delighted, as if Issa has done him a great indulgence. Since she will not turn to look at him, he bends a little to offer a smile to her. Probably wasted. He straightens and glances at Reyce. He does not glance at Miniyal; there is adequate awareness in his expression that she has walked past him, that she has departed. "Of course," he says, after she's shut the door, "We have done much to prevent too much dangerous talk."
"Maybe next time then," Issa mutters, the promise empty despite Gans' delighted tone, despite the sight of his bending smile caught in her periphery. Taking the absence of their hostess to mean that dinner is, officially, over, she gently scoots out her chair, and rises gracefully. "It was a pleasure nonetheless," she offers politely, putting back on that plain smile she wore when she first entered on Reyce's arm. She adjusts minutely, brushing down her skirt, touching that emerald necklace of hers to make sure it's remained straight. "Thank you for dinner." Formalities all slipped perfectly into place, she steps toward the door, casting a glance back for Reyce.
Reyce's expression sinks into considering neutrality somewhere through Miniyal's speech, his eyes squinting slowly down. When she moves, however, his focus remains absently in place on the empty chair, ignoring her departure as well as G'thon's movements around the table. Issa's tone, the politesse that signals departure, draws him back with a look that trails slowly to her face, finding that polite smile and responding by pushing back his chair. "Teacher," is his only contribution to the formalities, a parting note unaccompanied by any kind of nod or other acknowledgement. He strides after Issa, catching her up in a few strides and walking out the door with her.
Happens right after G'thon's class.
11-13/14-2006 (Issa, Reyce, Miniyal, G'thon):
G'thon and Miniyal's Quarters
The floors of the two rooms that make up these private quarters have slightly faded, woven rugs laid out upon them to protect bare feet from cold stone. The blues and reds mingle and make up most of the color in the main room. A broad, tall bookshelf dominates one wall and is filled with many bound volumes collected by the rooms' occupants. Near a small iron stove is set a small table with four chairs arranged around it. By this is a tea cart with all required accoutrements upon it. A red divan waits opposite the bookshelf, a bit worn but still in good repair, ready for an evening's reading or conversation. Near the divan is a small work desk where writing implements share space with a small sewing basket.
The bedchamber is as neat and tidy as the main room. The bed is made with a dark blue blanket folded neatly at the foot atop the furs. Two wardrobes vie for what little space there is and perhaps it is the lack of space that makes things tidy. Or maybe the occupants are just neat. The rugs match those in the main room.
Contents:
Miniyal
Obvious Exits:
Out
Issa and Reyce brush through the normal flow of dinnertime traffic, pushing deeper down the residential hallway while people, groups and loners, couples just like them, occasionally surge past to vie for a spot in line at those serving tables left far behind them now. They're a bit early and have the time to linger with their steps, strolling as they let those more hurried dodge around them. Issa has remembered her promise and worn a skirt, the swirling green one from the gather, paired this time with a soft white sweater. That emerald necklace of hers is also in attendance, as is Reyce's birthday gift, jangling gently around the wrist of her left hand as they walk. Her right hand curls into the crook of his elbow as she peers up at him, continuing a teasing conversation about who's getting the better end of this deal of theirs. "And I'm not even going to make you promise to be on your best behavior," she informs him magnanimously, steering them toward their intended door by memory alone. When they reach it moments later, she raps her knuckles against the door, her bracelet clinking in protest, and gently squeezes his arm.
Reyce has gone for a simpler look, gray slacks and a blue button-up shirt (both characteristically dark) that allow him to pass easily from class to dinner arrangements without looking overdressed or underdressed for either. Which is exactly what he's done - though at the price of a little cold, since his shirt has no protection from chill autumn winds outside. By the time they get through the lower caverns and reach that specific door, he's warmed up well enough to join in that teasing, albeit in his own, largely monosyllabic way. It stops entirely when Issa's knock announces their presence; he keeps his mouth closed, glances down at her when she squeezes, and quirks the corner of his lip up in something too wry to be called a smile. It's gone, of course, by the time he turns back to the door.
On the other side of the door is nervous pacing. Unseen by anyway, but it is there none the less. The table has been set, the meal laid out by one of the kitchen workers who brings such things. The room needed no tidying as it is always tidy, the only concession to company is the door to the bed chamber is closed. That and Miniyal bothered to change out of her work clothes and into something else although it's likely this was not for their company. Who are. . .here. Before G'thon is done with whatever he had to do right after his class. All of this behind the closed door. When the knock comes the glass Miniyal was holding in her hand is emptied and then put away where it won't be seen because who needs to know she needs a drink or two to steel nerves. So when the door opens she can find a pleasant, if neutral, expression. "Good evening," said barely loud enough to be heard over passing people in the hall. "Please come in." Which they cannot do until it occurs to her she has to step away from the doorway and so she does. One hand ushering them in while the other rests on the door. A brief nervous glance is cast in the hall as if her savior will be out there and keep her from having to entertain on her own.
"Evening," Issa greets, stepping through the doorway when the path is cleared and dragging Reyce along with her. "Miniyal, this is Reyce," she introduces on the way in, her left hand joining her right in laying across his arm. As each name is said, she pairs it with the proper little nods of indication, her smile pleasantly amiable. "Reyce. Miniyal." So graceful, so easy is she with these little formalities that she stands in stark contrast to their nervous host. She stops dragging her companion just inside the door, pausing just far enough inside to allow it to swing closed. "I see we've managed to come early enough to beat even our host," she comments, passing a sweeping glance across the empty room.
Reyce offers another contrast to their nervous host, but a less helpful one. Welcomed in, he simply stares at her; introduced, he simply blinks. Unlike Issa, he seems unsurprised that they have beaten their host, and he takes advance of the G'thon-free moment to scan (in silence) the furnishings of the room, his eyes pausing briefly at the bookcase but otherwise moving across without much interest.
Miniyal is apologetic in her speech as she does close the door behind them. "I am sorry for that. He had some things to tend to after his class and seems to have gotten stuck with them. I'm sure he'll be here soon." He'd better is only implied in her tone, just a quiet undercurrent to her strained pleasant social tone. "Thank you both for coming. I'm sure he-right. I said that. Sorry. Would you like a drink? Wine? Or I can make tea if you prefer. Or, well, brandy or I might have something else, but I'd have to look. Please, have a seat." At the table if they like. Or the divan because she won't be sitting anyway. Not if she can pace nervously. Noting the pause at the bookshelf she nearly smiles. "He has quite the collection. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you looked." Please look. Spare her having to make small talk.
Issa releases Reyce to do as he pleases with another quick squeeze of her fingers, stepping around in front of him to step toward the table-- and if she gives that skirt an extra twitch with the sway of her hips it's, of course, coincidental. She slides a chair out from the table and, as she sinks into it, responds, "I'll take some red wine if you have any." But her speech stops there, pale eyes watching Miniyal with an intent evenness as she goes about the duties of a hostess. And if the corners of her mouth quirk upward in amusement it's, of course, coincidental.
Reyce glances back at Miniyal when she notices his passing interest with the bookshelf, though he denies the offered inspection with a quick shake of his head. His attention thus returned to those immediately around him, he cannot help but notice the extra twitch of Issa's skirt, though his appraisal of this at least tries to be subtle - he focuses on the resultant sway of the skirt around her ankles, rather than her rear end itself, as though he were simply looking at the rugs. "Wine'll do," he says. He speaks. And then he moves to the table, claiming the spot next to Issa while he waits for Miniyal to carry out her hostess tasks.
The door opens another time, and Gans is at last released from whatever held him beyond into his quarters: party complete. He has beneath his arm, rolled up, an enormous parchment, tied with a string - Reyce and Miniyal should have no problem guessing what it is. This he turns up on its end by the door, leaning it there against the wall, then shrugs out of his greatcoat and leaves it, too, behind on hook. "I apologize," he has ready for as soon as, turning, he can get Miniyal in his gaze; and then a little louder, "I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting. But I hope you haven't really waited. Can I get anyone anything?"
Well, fine, don't take her up on the distraction. Miniyal doesn't say anything, she just finds the proper bottle and goes about opening it. She's very slow, deliberate in her actions. The way a person is who fears spilling, breaking, or otherwise being too clumsy moves. Luckily for her nerves the bottle opens easily and she pours the wine, filling the fourth glass as well. "I hope you like this. We usually drink sweeter wines, but that's not everyone's taste so we've gone with something a little drier. I just acquired this bottle about a turn ago." Acquired sounds so much nicer than blackmailed someone for it, yes? She transfers glasses from where she poured to the table, first to Issa and then Reyce. Her own glass she carries along with the fourth, setting it by the place one can assume G'thon will sit once he arrives. She is just about to sit when the door opens and while she gives the new arrival a look it is hard to interpret. Just a hint of pouting in her eyes before she seats herself. "You're fine. They haven't suffered my company too long. Come sit down."
Issa's accepts the wineglass offered by curling her fingers around the stem and sliding it further toward her, muttering a precise, but quiet, "Thank you." At the sound of the door opening, she doesn't turn immediately; it's Miniyal, instead that gets her attention, her eyes flicking up to that unclear expression and quickly away again. Only then does she turn in her chair, just enough to catch G'thon in her sights. "Sir," she greets plainly, her smile lingering though she gives it no new strength. All the while, her glass has been lifted, held at the ready, balanced by her thumb, and she when she shifts back to the table again, she gives it a hearty swirl and brings it subtly beneath her nose. Then the glass drops into a quick sip. "Mmm," she hums appreciatively, her gaze returning to Miniyal, "Wonderful."
Reyce narrows in on the wine label, peering at it through Miniyal's fingers while she pours. A brief frown touches his features: gone by the time she gives him the glass. Although he draws it in closer to him, he does not immediately move to drink from it, instead transferring his attention towards the door where G'thon just came in. His greeting is the last offered, waiting on the heels of Issa's 'sir' for his own version: "Teacher." He sets his hands on the table, the fingers locking around the stem of the wine glass (though he still doesn't drink), and watches his newly-dubbed instructor in level silence.
"Gans would be fine, Issa," he murmurs, approaching the table by Miniyal's side of it, pausing behind her chair to perform the least of an effort at tucking the seat in for her. "Gans would be fine from you, too, Reyce," he adds, and heads on past toward his own place, slim fingers drifting along Miniyal's shoulder before he departs her immediate presence to take his seat. "Thank you for pouring, my dear." A little nod for the only one likely to be so called, and then his half-smile for Reyce and Issa in turn while he reaches for the serving dishes, uncovering plates and serving utensils, releasing varied scents sweet and savory into a steamy halo over the table. "Thank you so much for coming. I trust it's been a reasonably good day for us all?"
Miniyal cannot notice any attention that remains on her because it will only strip away any sense of calm she has been able to pretend to have. So Issa's attention is not quite gracefully ignored. It's a decent attempt to pretend she just doesn't notice, but it's too easily done for it to be her doing it and so it falls somewhat flat. Since he only cares about the label Miniyal can just ignore the look at the label. As much as she might want to have a healthy drink from her glass she does not. Instead she leaves it sitting on the table and folds her hands in front of her. Torn between staring at her hands and trying to be more social she is spared the decision by someone else speaking and when he moves past her to sit G'thon is given a warm smile, the only response to those fingers on her shoulder is the way that smile lingers. The questions is clearly not for her so she lets their guests answer.
"Gans," Issa repeats with a tilting nod of her head, the angle masking somewhat the slight lift she gives to one eyebrow. And so she (officially) gains another name to add to her repertoire. A second sip is taken, lingered over this time as she watches their hosts' exchange over the lifted curve of the glass, peruses the unveiled food with the wine still held in her mouth. Finally swallowing, she answers Gans' question with a distracted nod, her attention still held by the food. "As mundane as they come, these days," she responds more vocally once she's lost interest with the settings of the table and lifts her eyes to the former weyrleader. "I doubt it was anything to compare to the excitement of an ethics class." A grin announces her quiet mirth more than her voice and, done speaking, she turns to pin Miniyal in her gaze, wine held airborne and swirling.
Reyce seems to tire of the formality of the situation, all of them poised neatly around the table, so with a tired breath he unwinds his fingers from the stem of the wine glass and leans back, allowing the chair's back to do the work of his good posture in holding him up. "Sure, teacher," he answers the pleasantry in a murmur. It's just possible that he missed the invitation to use 'Gans,' but it's not very likely: it was said twice, and both times while he was staring straight at his instructor. Now, of course, his interest has moved to the food, following the little trails of steam as they wind up from unveiled dishes and taking at last a sip of his wine. It's a short sip, swallowed quickly, and (since his mouth is not full) really gives him no excuse not to answer Issa's prodding comment - but still, he gives no answer.
A sip of wine is taken as the talk, what there is of it, goes on around Miniyal. At Issa's comment it seems impossible for her to not say something. Setting her glass down she rolls her eyes and then folds her hands in front of her. "Oh, horribly exciting. I could barely stay awake." Pausing she blinks and looks at G'thon. "Not you," she is quick to assure him before worrying at her lip and taking another drink of wine. "Umm. Anyway. Yes, nevermind. It was. . .right." Talked perhaps before thinking. It's not so odd for her.
Gans has something he's about to say - 'Ah,' if the shape of his mouth is any hint - but Miniyal has words more swiftly than he does, and he busies his hands with the last bits of putting the meal to readiness while she speaks. "I must confess it was less - stimulating than I might have hoped. I suppose I should have expected that the Caucus would slowly drain its members of their fantastic illusions." He picks up the breadbasket and unfolds the cloth enough to show off the curved top of a roll within, then hands it sideways to be passed around the table. "Please feel free to serve yourselves; I can't sustain better formality than what you're seeing right here," he notes as sidebar.
Unseen under the table, Issa's foot finds Reyce's with a soft bump then slides up, slippered toes nuzzling ankle, an encouraging nudge rather than a reproach for his tired breath over a dinner not even fully begun. Then the contact retreats just as quickly. Above the table, Issa doesn't break her composure in the slightest, her attention riveted on Miniyal and her fumblings. While she is polite enough to not comment, she also doesn't make any attempt to derail the awkward train of words, blinking blankly across the table instead. Miniyal is spared her gaze when Gans speaks of his class, however, for she turns her attention easily his way. "Was it? I would have thought, with that group of people at your disposal, you would have heated discussion within minutes." The breadbasket offered is taken, Issa leaning forward in her seat to select a roll before handing it to Reyce, fixing him in the first full glance she's sent his way since they sat down. It holds little significance, though, and she's soon moving her attention to hover over the plates with a moment of indecisiveness.
Reyce puffs off any other tired breaths that might have been triggered by the secret contact of Issa's foot, converting them into a heft of effort as he leans forward and grabs himself the full complement of plate, silverware, and food. Since he goes for the steaming hot, he must wait a bit for it to cool down, and while he does he occupies himself with a breadroll taken from the basket Issa passes on to him, meeting her eye for that brief moment it's on him. One arm crosses over to hand the breadbasket back to where it started - G'thon - and the other curls up under to bring his own roll to his mouth. As for train wrecks and other such comments, he has nothing to add. He does watch his teacher, but that's only because he's waiting for him to take the bread back, of course.
"Perhaps seconds," says Gans with an easy laugh as undercurrent. "Seconds - and then the fire burned out. I had hoped to keep people with it long enough to try to get them to describe the kinds of ethics and to - well. I shouldn't give Reyce too great an advantage over the rest of the class, because we'll do that next time." He serves himself a little of a salad made from shredded carrots and pears, then reaches for the wine bottle, offering a tilt of the neck to glasses slightly drained. "A shame Roa couldn't join us. I think she might have had a thing or two to say."
Down goes another sip of the wine and there doesn't seem to be much of an appetite for anything else really at this point. So Miniyal keeps her glass in her hand although at least she's not emptied it yet. It's getting there, slowly, but it's not empty yet. Which it won't be since it is refilled and a grateful look is given towards the man who holds the bottle. "I don't think that was the problem." Sort of mumbled quietly, but still said. Because sometimes she just can't keep her mouth quiet. However she doesn't say anything else, instead ducking her head and eyeing the food as if it will appeal if she just stares at it long enough.
Reyce raises a brow at the suggestion that he might glean an advantage from this dinner, the doubt clearly evident in his expression. Yet the trend of him not talking continues - this time, his mouthful of wine can be blamed, because he allows it to linger there for a few moments before drawing a sudden sniff and hauling it down. His food having cooled enough for him to eat it safely, he picks up a fork and begins to dig at the nearest thing on his plate, but he doesn't get very far before Miniyal's mumbled comment makes it to his (ever-alert) ears. His eyes raise to her, squinting slightly while he considers her, and falling back into a neutral expression when he asks, "What?" It's not a confused 'what' - he's clearly not asking her to repeat herself, but to explain. He continues to watch her, awaiting her response, while he finally indulges himself in some nice hot food.
Used to carrying conversation, Issa's mouth falls open to form some response or another to Gans as she finishes spooning out food onto her plate. But even a single word from close-mouthed Reyce has weight enough to stay whatever that comment was. Apparently, it's not important. Instead, she settles back with her food, taking advantage of the break to raise her wineglass again, just a hint of a smile hidden behind a swift sip. When it lowers her gaze lingers on Miniyal, eyebrows arching in a politely quizzical expression for the clarification that's been so curtly requested. The only break in her intent regard is a momentary downward glance at her plate as she takes up her fork.
"I - " Gans is intrigued, and no small part taken aback if the arch of his brows and wide lightness of his eyes is any indication, and that startled expression is for Miniyal first. But then it's for Reyce, second. It speaks! The meaning of the speaking takes a moment to sink in, and as it does, he bends forward to take up his wineglass. "Ah," he says, as if he might step in and release his lover from obligation to the question posed. But no; the curiousity gets the best of him and he can barely manage a sip of wine to whet his mouth for words. "I would be most indulged if you would express your perspective, Miniyal." There's something about how he says her name when he speaks -to- her and not -of- her. Something slower. Something that smiles, even when he's not smiling.
"Well, it's not." Said before a sip of wine. Close enough after Gans' comment that it's possible she meant to answer before his encouragement. Then that same wine is set down on the table and Miniyal busies herself randomly putting this and that on her plate. She doesn't seem ready to eat any of it, but it's on her plate at least. "They've not lost their illusions. They've lost the ability to speak up for them. I mean, not all of them. But that's what it is. They're pit against each other, taught to hold everything close. These are our future leaders. Learning not to take risks until they've sat down and calculated exactly to the nth what that risk is and if it's worth bothering to try." Miniyal stops here because at some point in her rambling she always does stop. Realising what she is doing. Ducking her head she clears her throat. "What's the point in that? In crushing ideals from people. Teaching them to conform to some narrow safe path? Until they know what to say, they won't say anything. It's. . .sad." Then she stops, entirely, and fiddles with a hastily emptied wine glass.
Issa's thinned eyes, trained on Miniyal, might be unnerving (and might still be) were it not for that smile that grows gently beneath them. "Interesting," she begins musingly as soon as she's swallowed down the bite she's taken during that little speech. "I see your point," she offers and turns the tines of her fork on Miniyal, their points orienting in a thoughtful pause. "But I don't think it's necessarily a thing restricted to the Caucus. Seems to me it's more a result of the general situation we seem to find ourselves in this Pass." A breath, and there seems to be more. But no. Instead the fork takes a nosedive to retrieve a tiny, severed piece of meat and ferry it up to her mouth, and she chews, her gaze flickering away from Miniyal at last.
Reyce's eyes squint lower as Miniyal's explanation grows more elaborate, closing off that window to his thoughts and casting the hazel into muddy brown shadows. Aside from that, he gives no indication that what they're saying registers with him, the cycle of food-to-fork unbroken while he listens - first to her, then to Issa. "Don't think it's the Pass," he disagrees softly, lowering his eyes to his food. A thin, cynical twitch of a smile greets a lifted forkful of hot buttered noodles, then he wipes it clean and raises his gaze to G'thon. "Or the Caucus. Think it's always been that way but the two bring it in focus, here." A noodle plunks off his fork, reminding him to eat what remains before that falls, as well.
Gans is quiet, though perhaps not fully willingly. He has another of those 'ah's poised on his lips when Miniyal's only half-done talking; then he must wait for her (he's polite) and for Issa (natch) and for Reyce (no explanation for that) before he puts his words in. At least, in this time, he manages to take a few bites of the pear-carrot slaw and, finding it enough to his liking to inspire some small interest in food, serve himself something else from the dishes. He lets quiet stretch out a little bit, but once the food's secure on his plate he glances up to find Reyce's eyes on him. A wryness twists the corner of his mouth that smiles, and Gans puts down the serving forks again before leaning back to provide his only insight. "It's what our society has brought us to."
"I never said it was restricted to the caucus." A correction that must be made by Miniyal before she absently sends her fork to her plate where it toys with her food without her actually consuming anything at all. "I don't think it is the pass at all. It was expected. It's not as if we didn't know it was coming. There will be, of course, a period of adjustment, but it's not a stifling thing. At least, historically speaking, it doesn't appear to have been. If that is the case this pass then it is because of other factors. The caucus. The rebellion. The unrest here at the weyr. At least for the weyr and the areas beholden to it." Frowning thoughtfully she taps her fork against her plate. "It would be interesting to speak to people from the other weyrs and some of the holds to see what they think of what has gone here. How many of them are even aware of it. . ." Trailing off she dismisses food, company, comments as she considers a new project. "It's what will send us back." Said once Gans has had his say. Biting her lip she lets out a little sigh. "There will be no moving forward ever at this rate. We may as well just all crawl into our beds and wait to die if we continue to not only allow but encourage anyone, let alone those who are supposed to lead us, believe that they must maintain the status quo above all else. There is no truth in a static society. Can I have more wine please." Because her glass is empty and she's talking and clearly she needs alcohol, dammit.
Issa listens, grown mostly silent over her food. For Reyce's point about focus, she offers a short, agreeing hum around a mouth full of bread, eyes lighting on him as a subtle grin rounds her lips then slips away. To Miniyal, she offers her extremely focused attention, eyes thinning thoughtfully again over the proposition of that new project. All Gans gets, however, is a swift glance, a mild suspicion lurking beneath her pleasant expression, before she turns her eyes down to the careful arrangement of vegetables on her fork. So thoroughly has she switched places with Reyce that she doesn't even seek to clarify or defend her assertion, or expound those words left unspoken earlier.
Reyce waits patiently, ever so sensitive to Miniyal's uncertain participation, except that he gives her none of his attention and keeps his focus on G'thon, exactly where it has been since before the ex-Weyrleader spoke. When at last a small silence appears to give him a entrance, he says, "That's such bullshit, teacher." Strangely, no (overt) accusation or challenge in his tone: at most a quick note ot disdain, but over all just a plain statement of fact.
Gans attends closely to his lover's response, brows creeping up as that response stretches very long indeed. "There can be no growth in a static society," he corrects - no, the tone is that of an addendum. He has done little enough in the way of eating that putting down his silver so he can take up the bottle and tip it for Miniyal's glass is a minor thing. She'd better keep an eye on the pouring, however, for Reyce's non-outburst statement distracts the former weyrleader rather well enough. "Is it?" Oh yes, he's pouring. He straightens the bottle, sets it down right there and withdraws his hand, eyes on the Benden son. They dance. They are too well pleased. "Is there, then, nothing fundamentally wrong with our society? Or do you merely believe it's a poor excuse on my part to claim it's what inspires all of our inhumane, thoughtless acts?"
Miniyal does indeed watch the pouring of the wine, but since there is no spillage she need not say anything else. Her attention stays focused for the most part on the table before her, but a single glance upwards allows her to notice Issa's regard. It is enough to send her head back down and her hand towards her wine glass. She only sips from it, not wanting to seem too much the drunkard in training. Since the focus of the conversation has shifted away from her she gladly falls silent and toys with her food.
Clink-clink, the sound of silverware rings out, but Issa stays silent. Her fork is set against the rim of the plate and she retrieves her wineglass. Tossing a curl out of her view, she turns her eyes to Reyce, watching him, waiting as she just lets the glass sit there, cradled in front of her mouth though she doesn't tip out a drink.
Reyce's calm demeanor flickers and fades, when he notices the sudden sparkle in his instructor's eye. A snarl curls thinly onto his lips at the the sight of it, but if he realizes he has walked into a trap, he does not hestitate to keep stomping around till it triggers. "Both," he says shortly, setting his fork down on his play with a quiet tink of impact to echo his word. "Don't know what you mean 'fundamentally wrong' and I doubt you do either. Fundamentals are what's laid out in society and they've got nothing to do with right or wrong. And if you're talking about it the way an individual'd see it, then if it were really fundamental everybody'd see it that same way, but we've been over that." His snarl flicks a little higher, and his tongue runs along his lower lip briefly, reining some of that hostility back in. "Then you talk about society like it acts on you, when it's just a fucking word that if you boiled it down, would come to something like 'the way /people/ behave.'" Note his emphasis. "People influence each other and groups influence each other but society doesn't do shit." Now that the thin veneer of civility has been stripped away, Reyce feels no compunctions about grabbing his wine glass and tossing down a drink from it as though it were cheep beer instead of a fancy wine from his instructor's personal collection.
From his instructor's lover's personal collection. To be precise. But Gans only reaches forward, picks up the bottle, and offers another fill. "I did not expect you to be a stickler for semantics, Reyce. Very well: the way people behave, and their influence upon one another. I would suggest there's something - if not 'fundamentally' - " He's begun to address the table, rather than the man, and on this word regards Reyce again with a flick of his eyes. "- then consistently, persistently wrong. Something that does not serve people; that does not help nor even convenience them. Some collection of habits that do us only ill. Issa?" It's a cue, or a question, or - well, it could be excused as an offer of wine.
"Extremes." The word is offered softly before anything else is lost in a drink of wine. A few random bites of food are taken, but it's clear Miniyal doesn't really taste any of it. She just has to eat. She doesn't bother explaining her statement. Really, it's surprising after that display she could utter a single thing other than a swiftly stammered excuse to flee. Giving up on her food she takes up her wine and barely manages to keep from wincing at the way Reyce treats it. Really. To give it the due it deserves she sips quietly, not looking at anyone. Plate, how interesting.
Issa is unphased by Reyce's surge of hostility and even seems, if it's possible, more comfortable for it. Elbows braced against the arms of her chair, she leans back, her focus skipping between Reyce's swearing speech and the quieter presence of Miniyal. All her silence has allowed her to empty nearly a full plate, though abandoned remnants remain-- a crust of her roll, limp noodles, an virtually untouched pile of that sweet slaw-- now that she's apparently done eating. She would happily remain there, watching the exchange, but is called by Gans back into the conversation, her gaze pulled to him by the sound of her name. But she doesn't surrender her comfortable habit of silent observance quite willingly. "Yes?" is all she responds with a simple intonation, brows lifting slightly as she returns query for query. If there's something in particular he wants from her, she's forcing him to be... oh, what's the word... frank.
Reyce has spent enough time in the Caucus to know what semantics means, but first he has to drag through his store of Words Instructors Use till he finds it. When he does - between Miniyal's and Issa's single word responses - it draws his mouth down at the corner, into a wry grimace. "Don't care if your definition's same as mine, teacher," he murmurs. "You don't have a definition at all, though," his words trail along the same inflection patterns as his previous "if," the hypothetical of this last statement implied - and unfinished. He silences while he waits for the answer to Issa's what, knocking his wine glass towards the offered refill with the back of his knuckles, as disrepectful of this as he was of the wine itself.
"I had wondered if - " Gans has reply, social, explanatory, helpful, and possibly even frank ready for Issa. That it might have been any of those things is instead lost to the moment, and the moment passes by, Reyce's delayed retort shuffling it along before smoothly usurping its space. It takes the ethics instructor a beat to grasp that it's happened, and then another to understand the retort itself, despite the key lack of ten-cent vocabulary. In this time he puts down the wine bottle and adjusts his jaw, reshaping words. When he speaks, he does so softly, and bends forward to put. an. elbow. on the table. "I have a point, Reyce." His wineglass, raised in the hand propped, tips a swirling nod toward the other man. "Will that suffice?"
This continues to be the time that Miniyal understands to be the time to be quiet. She picks at her food, not doing much but move it about on her plate and occasionally tasting the remains of something on her fork. Mostly she sips her wine. And listens. The listening comes with occasional glances towards the others at the table. Brief, flickering contacts of her eyes to their faces. Doing her best to not make eye contact.
Issa leans out of her slight recline to reclaim her wine when Gans' reply to her goes unfinished, but her fingers slip around the belly of the glass blindly, her eyes turned to Reyce instead, curiosity glinting. The glass' rosy contents are given a swift final swirl and then she hides the pleased curve of her smile with a deep sip that drains it. Lowering the now-empty glass to its proper place on the table, she interjects, "May I?" as she indicates the wine bottle G'thon's just put down. It's a soft question, and given no stress of import, so that it's clear it's not meant to interrupt their discussion.
Reyce doesn't rest an elbow on the table, only because his lean takes him in the opposite direction. Having knocked his glass away, he seems to forget about promised refills for himself - for the moment - in favor of folding his hands down low over his lap. "Make it," he suggests, or even demands. His eyes flick to meet Issa's glinting gaze, but there's no response on his end as he returns to watch G'thon, ignoring the silent Miniyal entirely.
"Please, go ahead." An aside, as mild as Issa's question that inspired it; Gans need do little more than spare her a glance so she knows the words are for her. A glance then at Miniyal, and a brow raised. It takes little more than a heartbeat to ask that question, whatever that silent question must be - and whatever it is, he apparently sees not fit to wait on its reply. "Any number of people would see the structures by which we live changed, Reyce. Altered. Bettered. And any number of people would choose better people, with better behaviours - if you will - " since he already has, "to improve those structures with. Are you one of them?"
The conversation still does not involve her and so Miniyal sees fit to ignore it. Instead she stands up from the table and moves over to the tea cart where rests the dish covered that holds dessert. Her steps carefully take her around where Gans sits and her fingers trail across his shoulder in the same manner his did before. Which would be, it seems, her answer to that silent question. While the others talk she goes about uncovering the dessert and starting the preparations for tea. As if that was not enough she heads over to where the wine is stored to select a new bottle.
And it's a good thing Miniyal's bringing a new bottle, for Issa is in the process of emptying the first to make another full glass for herself. Don't mistake her apparent preoccupation with the pouring for ambivalence, though. No, she's quite alert to the conversation at hand, eyebrows twitching upward as she shoots a furtive glance up at Gans for the revelation of that point he claimed. She's less furtive in the catching of Miniyal's trailing touch, however, allowing her gaze to flicker up from it and land on Miniyal's face, those pale eyes tracking her idly as she turns to the dessert. As if only to complete the circuit, he lets her eyes fall ever so casually back to Reyce when she settles back with her newly filled wineglass, brows still slightly lifted over the sip she takes. Yes. Do tell.
Reyce's snarl is entirely gone now, his eyelids sinking down to leave only a slit of darkened hazel. His reply is a long time coming, the interim used to track the various motions around the table. Miniyal's presence, previously overlooked, comes sharply into focus when she passes behind G'thon with that lingering touch. Yet ultimately, the only eye he meets directly is G'thon's, finally coming to rest there while his response rises slowly to the surface. "Any number of people," he repeats, the words rolled over with a winding motion from his thumbs. His hands shift in his lap then, the fingers pushed out to a steeple. "Any number of people rely on vague ideas of 'better' without ever saying what /is/. Without ever saying what they would do, except make things -" he pauses, his eyes opening up again as his tongue flicks out over his teeth with distaste for the word - "better. Improve structures." The full weight of his scorn lands on these two words, the steeple of his hands falling flat as his palms turn into his thighs. His tone becomes as flat as those hands, his gaze fixing steadily on G'thon and bringing with it that element of distaste he has eliminated from his words. "Better people means themselves. Improved structures means whatever it takes to put themselves in power. And any number of people cannot all have what they want." He leans forward suddenly, his hands moving to the table. One finger lifts, and taps down with a soft whiffing sound that nonetheless carries in the room. "Better people means the most ambitious people. Improved structures means the most harrowing and vicious ones. Whatever can be done, will be done, and it will be done by the /worst/. People. People who might now be willing to say 'better' and 'improve' so long as it gets them any number of people to support them, but when they see their own chance they'll take it. People who might even believe in 'better' and 'improve' but they don't know what's better and don't know how to improve. They might think so." His chin tilts down, his eyes suddenly alight with a glint that's not far from the one G'thon greeted his earlier outburst with, but in his case it comes with a malicious glimmer that ruins any chances of his next words being benign. "We've seen them think so." Muscles contract around his eyes, adding to the fierceness of his glare. "Given the choice between something that admits it's random, and something that pretends it's good, I'd pick the first one. I am not one -" a pause - "of /them/." He echoes G'thon's words but he adds layers, a certain clarity of diction that's unusual for him and excessive even for an imitation of G'thon; the /them/ on which he so concentrates pushed away with a parting note of disinterest, complete disavowl of the unnamed group which suddenly doesn't even merit scorn.
At no point does Reyce pause long enough for Gans to even bother with 'Ah.' Instead he grins, the bend of his mouth one-sided even with his jaw slightly slack, the wineglass in his hand a little tilted but now, unswirling. For a little part of Reyce's words, his bright and twinkling - and they do twinkle now, indeed - follow Miniyal, adoration plain on his features. It could not be believed, however, that he adores so deeply just now that he cannot hear, interpret and contain every word that Benden's son lets go. "Then let me give you one sentence," murmurs the former weyrleader in time, in time enough that it's clear he's pondered what Reyce said, or what he'll say back. "If it is not a simple enough statement for you, cause enough for call to action, definition enough of a rough scheme of what that action should be - then with Issa's permission I shall draw our talk to a close, and we may enjoy dessert," a glance at each woman in turn here, again, eyes bright, "over discussion of something more to your liking." A pause. In it, Gans draws himself back into his chair, back straightening, elbow coming off the table though his hand leaves the glass behind. Narrow fingers lace across his midsection. Recitation: "'Our society is dependent on suffering we choose to ignore.'"
Looks only lead to more looks and so there's no reply look given to Issa although the glance given her is caught. It's rare Miniyal misses much, especially in her own home. Which is why before doing anything else she brings another bottle to the table. Not the same as the one before, but red and just as good. It is left where it can be reached by G'thon him being the host. Then if she is not stopped by anyone she will collect dinner plates. To make room for dessert plates. "Not everyone who wants to fix things wants to rule." Murmured quietly from the tea cart, to herself. Not nearly loud enough to really seem a continuation of the subject at hand. Should those plates have been collected she asks, "Tea or wine with dessert? We've a nice dessert wine. Unless you prefer tea in which case we've all manner of options. Gans? I've no idea what would go with dessert." Dessert is a spongy cake filled with fruit and topped with a light glaze. Other than the tea she seems prepared to play hostess/servant for this part of the evening. It breaks her from the conversation nicely.
Issa must drink. And often, during that speech of Reyce's. She manages, as she so often does, to make it seem nonchalant, however, and unconnected to the words of that speech. But her eyes drift from him halfway through, staring at the empty patch of table left by the disappearance of her dirtied dish. After that succession of small sips-- and, coincidentally, after Reyce's 'We've seen them think so'-- she releases the wineglass, now only half full for all her efforts, to it's spot on the table. "The worst people," she repeats in a murmur breathed over a wryly amused twist of her lips. But she concedes the floor to their host, attending his words with a polite intensity, waving away his concern for her permission with a sweep of her fingers and a much tamer curve of a smile. Instead of heralding Reyce's response with bated breath and a waiting gaze this time, she looks up to offer Miniyal an unassuming, "I think I'd prefer tea, actually."
Reyce has poured out quite enough words for the evening; he absorbs G'thon's single phrase in silence, only his eyes on the instructor to let him know that he has, indeed, heard. "Wine," he claims for himself, flicking his gaze easily to Miniyal.
"Tea for me, as well, my dear. Thank you so much for taking such good care of us." Gans makes Reyce wait. He bears the younger man's gaze without note or regard. "What shall we do about it?" He casts his glance around the table, from one face to the next. "Reyce takes issue with my efforts. He should." A hand untangles from the other, raises, overturns. His errors, swept away with a gesture. "It doesn't mean I have no more ideas. But perhaps someone else's would be more welcome here. Miniyal's?" But he does not -really- mean to force his lover to speak. His eyes find Issa. "Yours?"
Dessert plates are handed out from Issa to Reyce to G'thon. It's not until they are down that Miniyal sets her own plate down. It is ignored because she has to go get the wine. It's white, sweet, and still of a very good quality. Chilled even, having been tucked away safe in ice until now. She uncorks it and pours two glasses although only one is carried to the table and set before Reyce. The other comes with her as she walks back to the tea things. Since someone refused to offer help with it, missing it entirely surely due to his deep conversation at the table. Sniffle. Tea is selected and then left to steep, the pot coming to the table to do so there. Cups and everything else join it on the table. It's up to the tea drinkers to do the rest. She'll just refill her wine glass, she drinks fast, and seat herself. Blinking she peers at Gans and smiles faintly, briefly. "My ideas are rarely worth repeating. I'll not bore anyone with them." Oh, look. Dessert. This will take her attention along with the wine.
But Issa doesn't let Miniyal fade so quickly into the background and makes a plea for the attention she would so easily give her cake. "Oh, but give us a chance to determine their worth on our own," Issa prompts with a mild undertone of teasing, sitting forward once again and letting her gaze linger too long on Miniyal's face. "If they bore me, I'll be sure to let you know." Her eyes drop then to her teacup, upending it to await the fully steeped tea, though that's as far as she initiates the tea-getting process. G'thon's hint for her to share her own yet-unvoiced opinion on the matter gets thoroughly ignored in order to wait with an expectant little smile for her hostess' response.
Reyce's own response to Miniyal's demure refusal is a quick little twitch of a sneer, so perhaps it's fortunate that Issa's prompt comes faster than anything he might have attempted. He raises his eyes to his hostess, making absent work of prodding his dessert with a fork, and his gaze remains there aside from one very short-lived, narrow-eyed flicker of a glance towards G'thon.
"I'm sorry," said to Issa with a smile. "I'm not used to being socially polite. What I was saying was I have no desire to share my thoughts on the subject with everyone gathered here now." Miniyal lets the smile linger and then fade as she takes a bite of her dessert. "I've been told I'm too abrupt and such with my words. Clearly I should have relied on that talent. I'm quite sure anything I say would not be so well received that it wouldn't make me wish I'd kept my mouth shut." Attention flickering to Reyce he gets a smile as well, brief. "But that's a lovely sneer, Reyce. I've been meaning to compliment you on it. If I were not already planning on silently drinking my wine and eating my cake that would have done it." And because that is what she said she would do and she is no liar she takes up her glass and sips before seeing to her cake.
Reyce's sneer flicks up higher, gaining a note of thin and somehow cynical pleasure from her comment. "Thanks. I've been waiting to use it. You've been there muttering to yourself, but when you get asked to speak you won't do it. You've complained about his students," a flick of the hand towards G'thon, "not speaking unless it's worth it to them, and you won't talk because we're here." This time the hand flicks back, towards himself and Issa, though he keeps his eyes trained forward on Miniyal. The edge of pleasure disappears, and his sneer becomes simple disgust.
"Ah - " Not like anyone's listening to -him-. He's just the setter of the fire; it seems now intent on its own burning. Gans leans well back into his chair, shifting it back and sideways just enough that he can manage to cross his long legs at the knee without bumping the table. Back and sideways just enough that he can angle himself a little toward his lover. But it's Reyce he speaks to first. "You try to win a woman's words with wickedness." Oh, look here. The former weyrleader, paragon of manners that he makes himself so often seem, can sneer too. It is understated, little more than a twitch of lip. "I wonder: how is that working for you?" He does not even take a breath before turning to Miniyal, but the pause is plenty to change his tone. From - whatever that had been; commanding? instructive? merely irritable? - to a mixture of affection and pleading. "Forgive him," murmurs Gans. "And forgive me, my dear. For I must admit myself, too, curious. If you would share even the least bit - " That is her cue. His chin comes down, and his gaze rests upon her, uplifted.
Issa's polite smile grows decidedly smirky when Miniyal turns her attentions to Reyce. She lets her gaze drift slowly over to him and his reaction, her fingers, draped loosely around her saucer, lifting to scrape against the china in a lazy fidget. But they rap down with a harsher, clinking cacophany at the words of dear old Gans. The transfer of her gaze to him takes a split second, the appearance of a too bright smile taking less. "At least he's up front about it." Light, joking, but with an acidic crispness to her delivery. When their host changes his attention to Miniyal, hers follows, turning on her that same, blinking stare. Challenging? Perhaps. But she's wiped away enough of that dark amusement from her expression to at least make it pass as politely so.
The fork pauses halfway to her mouth and Miniyal looks at Reyce. "Well, it is my duty as hostess to allow you such things or something. I'm still reading up on etiquette and all." Another polite smile at this lie. "I've rarely muttered at all. I've made a few comments quietly. I speak quietly. I am not-" Setting her fork down she folds her hands on the table after pushing her plate forward to make room for them. Gans is given a glance, head tilting to the side. Whatever she is thinking even he won't figure out. Then her attention is back on Reyce. "You mistake me. But, fine. You want to know what I think? I think this whole conversation is pointless. It serves no purpose. No one's opinion will be changed. It will ruin dessert. We all have our notions and our ideas and they are better discussed in a classroom where there is no dessert to ruin. My illusions. My ideals. My secrets? You want to know what they are?"
Here is where, normally, she would be pacing. Nervous energy. It's betrayed only by the way she twists her ring around her finger. "You earn that right. But because I'm playing the dutiful hostess I'll give you a little bit. Out of politeness sake. Although there's plenty enough of that lacking here. I think the way things stand there is a lot that needs fixing. I think it can be fixed if anyone gives a damn about it and isn't content to sit in their cynicism and say things are the way they are and will never change. And if you want to know? No, I don't do that. But my life is none of your damned business. So you can sit there and smirk and sneer all you want and sleep easy knowing that the world will remain in such a state that you will benefit from it. Look out for yourself, maybe a few people you deign to allow inside your little Reyce-centric world. Those who will support it." A brief, every so brief slide of her eyes to Issa. Hardly noticeable unless one is watching for it. "We're not all like that. And you can mock me all you want. You call me names or laugh or whatever it is you think is best, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm /trying/ to help those no one else bothers with." It is only now she looks at Gans, no smile in place. "I think the tea is steeped, love." Once more she returns to her cake, retrieving the bite she set down and focusing on it entirely.
Reyce's sneer quickly regains that glimmer of amusement at G'thon's rebuke, but he pulls in his words in favor of listening to Issa and then Miniyal, his lips drawn inside his mouth. "How generous of my dutiful hostess," he murmurs, lips popping back out, "to live up to her own standards. Generous to share her thoughts, to fetch us food, and to see things the way they suit her. Noble and generous, she seeks to change the world. Humble and wise, she knows her changes are good. She fights for the oppressed, selflessly. But she is not at all self-righteous, nor does she ever assume. Hmm." He turns his gaze down to the meager remnants of his dessert, considering them for a moment before he pushes them across the table with a scraping noise.
"I think we have put enough pressure on dessert." Gans' legs unfold and he rises from his chair. His own cake, his tea go untouched; not so, Miniyal's shoulder. But his fingertips only drift there, a silent touch, perhaps a silencing one. They slide past the back of her neck, among the locks of her hair, over skin unseen and then down the other shoulder and away. "And enough strain on both whatever nobility we may be presumed to possess - and whatever manners." He continues walking until he comes to the arm of Issa's chair, and from that point looks across her at Reyce. "I should like to hear Issa's thoughts on the matter, but perhaps I have asked too much of you both already."
Issa is watching, and watching very carefully, at that. But what significant glances she catches from Miniyal are given no response, no visible change in her expression from the composed neutrality it's fallen into. She simply stares, blank and even, across at Miniyal all during Reyce's mocking speech, her gaze broken only briefly as she makes a single attempt at the cake. Her fork hovers unused when G'thon meanders her way, poised to stab into the cake again though it never sinks that far. Eyes dropped to her still empty teacup, she doesn't turn to look up at her host, instead tilting her head just enough to lend an ear to his words. "Should you?" she queries lightly, but offers nothing more, setting her fork down again with a fluid motion then reaching to flick her napkin out of her lap and onto the table.
"I was asked. I answered. It can't be done both ways. People can't ask a question and not want an answer." There's a pause here as Miniyal frowns a moment. "I suppose they can, but I'm not the sort to deny someone something if they push me to it. You're wrong. Again. If things suited me? I wouldn't be sitting here with dinner guests at all. You think I wanted this? I didn't. I'm no good at this. Which we can all agree on. But I did it anyway. As for assuming? No more than you are. But I suppose it's alright for you to?" Reaching for her wine she empties the glass. "I will say again. You want to know things about me you earn the right to know them. Think it's worthwhile or not, that is the way of things. As for noble and selfless? I've seen what most people who call themselves noble act like and I want no part of it. Selfless? No, I'll deny that too. But you wonder why people don't talk? It's because asses like you mock them when they do. Belittle them for speaking up about what they hold true. Sneer when they dare speak of things they feel are important. Thank you for a lovely evening." Really. Did he think she'd stop once she'd started? Rising to her feet she looks around the table. "I've an early morning. I'll just excuse myself to the other room now." And so she does. Without looking back at anyone. It's a slow, even retreat with no real indication she's running away. She just walks away and opens the door to their bedchamber and disappears inside the other room, closing the door behind her. It's her ending at least.
"I should," says Gans, and his tone is delighted, as if Issa has done him a great indulgence. Since she will not turn to look at him, he bends a little to offer a smile to her. Probably wasted. He straightens and glances at Reyce. He does not glance at Miniyal; there is adequate awareness in his expression that she has walked past him, that she has departed. "Of course," he says, after she's shut the door, "We have done much to prevent too much dangerous talk."
"Maybe next time then," Issa mutters, the promise empty despite Gans' delighted tone, despite the sight of his bending smile caught in her periphery. Taking the absence of their hostess to mean that dinner is, officially, over, she gently scoots out her chair, and rises gracefully. "It was a pleasure nonetheless," she offers politely, putting back on that plain smile she wore when she first entered on Reyce's arm. She adjusts minutely, brushing down her skirt, touching that emerald necklace of hers to make sure it's remained straight. "Thank you for dinner." Formalities all slipped perfectly into place, she steps toward the door, casting a glance back for Reyce.
Reyce's expression sinks into considering neutrality somewhere through Miniyal's speech, his eyes squinting slowly down. When she moves, however, his focus remains absently in place on the empty chair, ignoring her departure as well as G'thon's movements around the table. Issa's tone, the politesse that signals departure, draws him back with a look that trails slowly to her face, finding that polite smile and responding by pushing back his chair. "Teacher," is his only contribution to the formalities, a parting note unaccompanied by any kind of nod or other acknowledgement. He strides after Issa, catching her up in a few strides and walking out the door with her.