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[IC] TEST POST
[ Miles Vorkosigan cuts an unusual figure even under the most extraordinary circumstances: tiny and somewhat hunchbacked, his curved spine obvious even beneath his custom-cut Imperial Security green military uniform. Unless you're bitty like him (and he's met few adults below his height of 4'8"), he likely comes up to your shoulder or a little lower.
There is, however, a manic energy to the man that makes him fill up more than his physical space. Sharp, penetrating gray eyes take in the world around him as great refreshing gulps of information. Depending on the situation, he may be taking in you as well. ]
A - Canon
[ In his case, you suddenly find yourself in an empty and rather old-fashioned looking house. Old-fashioned except for the high tech consoles installed in various areas, anyway, and if one looks out the window a relatively sci-fi-esque view can be seen interspersed with vaguely Russian architecture. Miles looks up, startled by your sudden appearance. ]
I'm sorry, have we met?
[ In other words, how the hell did you just waltz into the Vorkosoigan House without him being alerted by the guards? Visiting his father or mother, maybe? That's the only thing coming to mind. ]
B - Mask or Menace
[ Staring, Miles can deal with. It's depressingly normal and almost comforting, given the circumstances. But having people approach him like some kind of celebrity is damned unsettling. It feels like some awful combination of being both Lord Vorkosigan and Admiral Naismith at the same time ... which is technically true, but he's not enough at ease with himself to cross those wires just yet.
Speaking of which. He fixes a brilliant smile on his face as his confident swagger threatens to knock over anyone within a five meter radius of him. The space operatic Admiral Naismith persona in full force and practically spilling over. After all, when faced with a wall, Miles tends to charge right the hell on through. First obstacle to be defeated: finding out what the hell is going on and why his head is feeling strangely full all of a sudden.
He's about twenty or so, though with a face like his he could be anywhere between early twenties and early thirties. The tell-tale import barcode flickers at his wrist; he hasn't quite realized what that means for himself or anyone else. In a remarkably flat, pseudo-American accent: ]
You know, I think I've gotten myself lost. Any chance you're more familiar with this place?
[ Heropa is where he's come out first, but by now he could be in any of the Porter cities. ]
There is, however, a manic energy to the man that makes him fill up more than his physical space. Sharp, penetrating gray eyes take in the world around him as great refreshing gulps of information. Depending on the situation, he may be taking in you as well. ]
A - Canon
[ In his case, you suddenly find yourself in an empty and rather old-fashioned looking house. Old-fashioned except for the high tech consoles installed in various areas, anyway, and if one looks out the window a relatively sci-fi-esque view can be seen interspersed with vaguely Russian architecture. Miles looks up, startled by your sudden appearance. ]
I'm sorry, have we met?
[ In other words, how the hell did you just waltz into the Vorkosoigan House without him being alerted by the guards? Visiting his father or mother, maybe? That's the only thing coming to mind. ]
B - Mask or Menace
[ Staring, Miles can deal with. It's depressingly normal and almost comforting, given the circumstances. But having people approach him like some kind of celebrity is damned unsettling. It feels like some awful combination of being both Lord Vorkosigan and Admiral Naismith at the same time ... which is technically true, but he's not enough at ease with himself to cross those wires just yet.
Speaking of which. He fixes a brilliant smile on his face as his confident swagger threatens to knock over anyone within a five meter radius of him. The space operatic Admiral Naismith persona in full force and practically spilling over. After all, when faced with a wall, Miles tends to charge right the hell on through. First obstacle to be defeated: finding out what the hell is going on and why his head is feeling strangely full all of a sudden.
He's about twenty or so, though with a face like his he could be anywhere between early twenties and early thirties. The tell-tale import barcode flickers at his wrist; he hasn't quite realized what that means for himself or anyone else. In a remarkably flat, pseudo-American accent: ]
You know, I think I've gotten myself lost. Any chance you're more familiar with this place?
[ Heropa is where he's come out first, but by now he could be in any of the Porter cities. ]
MoM-- like a month in?
Mostly, it's really just Miles who knows to ask. Gregor is happily settled into his position as an innocuous, unassuming imPort with insignificant powers no one else need worry about. He's not even a combatant, and he'd like to keep it that way. His officially required Tenure As Officer had been carefully orchestrated and monumentally boring. Hypothetically, he'd been like any other officer, gaining experience in order to be properly Vor. In reality, he'd been the damned wet behind the ears Emperor and no one had forgotten it. It'd thoroughly disabused him of any desire for military experience.
He's leaving all that to Miles, who is as ever itching to take up the slack.
Gregor collects their coffees from the serving station and goes to join his fellow Vor at the table with them, thoroughly enjoying the still rather novel experience of being the one doing the serving. He sits down and idly stirs his tiny spoon through the drink, metal clinking softly against porcelain.]
You know, I much prefer this format of morning ImpSec report. I used to feel as if poor Illyan was waiting to sleep until after he saw me. If he ever does sleep.
[It's a mild joke, of course. Miles alone does not a full security report make, though Gregor assumes he probably could if he got ambitious about it.]
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Well. He's managed taller. Unfortunately he's beginning to see the reasoning behind his parents' decision not to force much more height on him to begin with. The extra mass hurts when he adds it to his already frail bones; his powers don't seem to make them any denser, even if they do get proportionally larger. If he had synthetics, perhaps ...
All thoughts for another time, when his emperor isn't sitting in front of him and serving him coffee. He does his very best not to twitch. Gregor, he reminds himself, is happy doing this. ]
Perhaps that chip in his head prevents it entirely. I wouldn't be surprised at this point.
[ He sinks a little more in his chair. On the network, he's been aggressively playing up his Naismith persona; this morning he's all gutteral and Barrayaran. Naismith is exhausting in large doses. ]
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He sips at his coffee before responding.]
Are you all right, Miles? [He sounds slightly concerned, but not pressing.] You realize you don't have to go running around the countryside on Our account. We're not exactly on a schedule.
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I realize that I'm the sum total of ImpSec available to you right now. Again. A little preventative maintenance doesn't hurt.
[ Not quite answering Gregor's question there. He smiles a bit, crookedly. ]
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A - That's a nice house you got here
Oh great.
[He looks around wildly, and something shakes the floorboards, filling the air with a roaring sound. An earthquake?]
Extra great. Stay there!
[And runs out into the atrium of MILE'S OWN HOUSE.]
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What - stop that! Who the hell are you?
[ A young man not much older than Percy snaps to attention near the door, if Percy gets that far. Green military uniform there too, and a lot more youthful enthusiasm for chasing down interlopers. ]
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[The apologies were called back over the kid's shoulder, pausing, only to leap, acrobatically over one of the guard's attempts to tackle him.]
I'm leaving! Okay!
[And just about then, is when something bursts through one of the giant, picturesque windows. Perhaps, you might see it as a horse, or an enormous hunting hound. Or perhaps you see it like it is, a two headed monster dog, with serpent tails lashing with rage.
The intruder raises a sword... or is it a bat? ... and pauses, for a moment, confused AT the view outside of the window.
As if that is weirder than the monster...
In that moment of hesitation, it lunges.]
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Still doesn't help with the monster in the room. Or the intruder, but somehow the chimera-esque thing seems like more of a threat. The guards are reaching for their stunners too slowly for Miles' taste. There's no way he can take the thing down, but maybe ...
With no warning to his guards, Miles darts out ahead of the group. He drops into a skid and slides beneath the monster's legs - for once grateful for his diminutive frame - and comes up neatly on the other side. From there he slams bodily into the emergency fire alarm system. A small wave of extinguisher foam erupts from the ceiling, catching the monster full in the face. Faces. Whatever. ]
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Because what is shame
So, it took a bit to piece together what had happened yesterday, heart sinking and a thread of anxiety he really didn't have time for while things were going on.
When found, this morning, it will be back at the fountain, pacing around the water with a golden coin in hand.]
nothing that means anything to us
In the end, though, he's left with a stack of flimsies and a host of new questions. On the top is a map of his district, with a few areas marked towards the Greek minority areas in the south ... It's all forming a very odd pattern for his brain to chew on. He's not certain what to make of it all just yet.
When he exits out into the courtyard, it's sheer chance rather than a concerted search that crosses his path's with Percy's. Ah, good. That saves him some trouble finding the boy. He'd been assuming - hoping - not to run into him immediately that morning, with all of last night still roiling in his head ... But it's late enough now that he would be concerned if he couldn't find the demigod. He opens his mouth to relay something to that effect ... and stops. ]
Er - what are you doing?
Damn straight
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Not in the least! I'm also lost!
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So we're lost together. Better than being lost alone.
... Does that look like a café to you?
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[walks closer and taps the advertisement sign with his staff, one of those cute ones with chalk drawings and such on them]
They serve hot drinks, the pictures have steam. Peppermint mocha... What's that?
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I went for an AU
The situation is this: Kitty is here to steal. For noble causes, make no mistake. Her group, the Resistance, is one of the main forces agitating for democracy in Vorkosigan's district and beyond, and Kitty thinks this is a good cause, and they're small but incredibly fierce, and so she is not embarrassed to be acting the part of a thief. Especially not when it's important: she's not here to lift gold or jewels, but something far more precious - technology that they need to spread their message.
Of course, stealing it from the Count himself was perhaps a little too bold. It'll be a powerful symbol, they'd said, and Kitty had expressed doubts and hesitations even at the time but had been sent out anyway. And she wasn't going to say no - of course she wasn't going to refuse an order. But in the end, it was her in here ("If someone runs into you, Kitty, you'll be fine - being a girl will protect you, they'll never suspect you, and you're so good at this") and her with her neck risked on the intel that the house was empty and that there was a weak point in their security.
Bit of intel number two: check, yes, well done, a malfunctioning bit of a force-field coupled with a guard far too lax on the job, well done their mysterious benefactor who'd passed along the intel and the scrambler she'd needed to disable alarms. Bit of intel number one: complete rubbish, completely useless. Why on earth couldn't it have been the other way around? Now she's faced with the -
Mutie, her brain supplies unbidden. She forces that down. She isn't like her parents. And she isn't some backwoods idiot, leering at what's different. She's part of the future of Barrayar. She doesn't look at Lord Miles and think mutie; she thinks person.
And that's sure going to save her when his guards arrest her and torture her for information on how this security breach happened...
She's in a servant's livery, at least. And her reaction is quick and confident. She drops into a curtsey, lowers her head, and with the smoothness of a very well-practiced liar and a decent go at a Dendarii accent: ]
No, milord. I'm new. I didn't mean to disturb milord. I'm just here to clean this room.
[ Please don't question, please don't wonder, please don't be one of those lords who actually tries to oversee the hiring of his own servants... ]
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Could Tsipis have arranged it without telling him? Surely not. Especially not with the normal cleaning service he'd arranged... ah, that must be it. He opens his mouth to ask if she's come from them - and stops. There's a faint alarm blinking in the back of his head. His intuition trying to piece something together in his backbrain, to force something to the surface. He can't quite grasp what it is. But he's familiar enough with his own thought processes to slow down slightly. There's something else at stake other than an embarrassed servant girl.
All that takes place in a few startled moments, where he blinks slowly at her and appears to take a moment to orient himself. He's seated in one of his (too damned many) parlors, with the remains of a delicious Ma Kosti dinner still laid out. Deathly cold by now, as it's getting late. Kitty would have had only Corporal Kosti (and maybe Zap the Cat) to contend with. ]
Ah - certainly. Don't let me stop you. [ No, he needs more information. Don't let her get away. Another surge of intuition: ] Have had dinner yet?
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She could kill him right here, she thinks. He's so small and fragile-looking, and she knows how to kill. This burglary could easily turn into a precision assassination. The Emperor's cousin, the until-recently sole heir to the Vorkosigan Countship, could easily be taken out right here and right now. Probably before he even had the chance to raise the alarm. Honestly, she'd probably have a better chance of getting out of this unscathed if she killed him than if she didn't.
So it's a good fucking thing that it's her who got sent rather than Andrei or Stanley or one of her other comrades - because she damn well knows better than to kill the son of one of the most liberal politicians in all of Vorbarr Sultana. The son who seems to be even more liberal than his father the Count. Nearly any of the others from her group would have taken the opportunity, but she wouldn't ever be so stupid.
Still. Have you had dinner? What sort of a lord ever asks that of a servant, unless he knows something and is digging? Lord Vorkosigan is supposed to be a bit of an eccentric, but not to that extent. Probably. Maybe? Well. To keep the lies as few as possible - it's always a good strategy, reduce the number of lies as low as possible in order to have less to keep track of - she answers honestly. ]
No, milord. [ Escape, escape, escape - ] My shift is almost over. I'll have dinner right after. Thank you for inquiring, milord. [ Too many milords? Shit. She wishes she knew more actual servants. She looks at the dishes - ] I can clear those away for you. [ And get to the kitchen and get out. ]
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A -- god only knows how Lafiel got here.
{Either way, Lafiel had figured out she was on a planet via the windows, and was trying to figure out what to do with that when Miles called her out.]
[His appearance surprised her. She'd seen non-Abh before, of course -- she had some unmodified humans on her crew -- but not ones that either had some sort of genetic defect or had deliberately went for short and dwarfish]
You! Who are you?
[When in doubt, cover her confusion with aggression. At least until she figured out how she had gotten here.]
EHHH magical hard sf, who even knows
Not like he can talk, himself. He tenses a bit at her hostile response, one hand drifting instinctively in the direction of the stunner holstered under his jacket. Stay calm. Stall until the guards get here, if necessary. ]
Miles. Yourself?
[ A friendly, neutral tone. We're all friends here... ]
Re: EHHH magical hard sf, who even knows
[because her full name had titles]
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MoM - assuming Gregor ends up working at a tea shop
Watching Gregor serve was still odd, and he wonders if that will ever change. Gregor seemed happy enough with the situation, but then again, any job had to be a step up from Emperor. At least here Gregor's worst mistakes could only accumulate to a few broken cups, the most pressing disaster a seven people line up, all with strangely complex drink orders. This must practically be like a spa trip to Gregor, and accordingly, Ivan had caught him... not smiling perse, but certainly more genuinely relaxed than his normal carefully crafted blandness.
If only Ivan could relax as much himself. Unfortunately, once the true scope of what was happening to them was clear --the three of them stuck here, no easily presented way home, no back-up-- Miles had immediately volunteered --more like commandeered, the obnoxious little git-- Ivan into serving as somewhat of a bodyguard to Gregor. Not that the position had been necessary yet, but the responsibility of it certainly made Ivan miss his job back home.
Glancing sidewards (and downwards) at Miles, he breaks the silence that had fallen between them, his voice soft enough that it won't reach to where Gregor is serving a customer.]
You think he's into her?
[She certainly was into Gregor. Ivan had noted her visiting with increasing regularity over the last few weeks. What had been infrequent weekly visits had turned into daily occurrences, during which she was always careful to sit in Gregor's section of the cafe. Idly he wonders what she'd do if she knew the man serving her was the Emperor of three whole planets. Probably bat her eyes harder. That sort of thing carried a certain quaint mystique to people who far enough removed from it.]
Re: MoM - assuming Gregor ends up working at a tea shop
And if it sticks Ivan with babysitting duty (and leaves Miles free to traipse around as he pleases), then that's just a happy accident.
Miles still doesn't stray far, even with the commandeering. The cafe Gregor works at is his first stop in the morning and his afternoon lunch or dinner, depending on when the shift is over. If he isn't there sipping coffee all day himself. He has a cup in hand now, turning it idly with his fingers as he follows his cousin's gaze. ]
You do realize it's possible to be friendly with a woman without wanting to be involved with her, right?
[ That, and he's reasonably certain he'd feel something across that weird telepathic link if there were anything like Ivan's idea of interest in Gregor's mind. That ... is a bit of a disturbing thought. Hmm. ]
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That is not an answer to my question.
[Ivan glances at Miles for a moment.]
Come on, haven't you ever wondered what Gregor's type is?
[Ivan sure has. And Miles cannot deny that he too stands to lose a great deal of stress if Gregor'd just find someone to be happy with and create some heirs.]
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Walk together then? Can't be any worse if we stick together.
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I would agree. Perhaps we may discover some detail of our location.
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