dendarii | [IC] TEST POST

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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. ]

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[ It's only fair, after all. And it leads to moments like this, where Miles can't help but smile at Gregor's reaction. He almost always makes some kind of face whenever he feels something from Gregor's side of the link, especially when the two of them are in a private setting like this. ]

I think I'd rather be here than Kline Station. The food is better, for starters.

[ And here he doesn't risk his emperor winding up anywhere except back home. No unscheduled trips to Vervain.

But he's still avoiding the question. Can't do it for much longer - he's running out of escape routes. ]

[Good thing Gregor doesn't intend to corner him. He just wants him to keep a little less bottled up, which is rich coming from Gregor, but it's an Emperor's prerogative to be a hypocrite. Gregor at least tends to implode rather than explode, like Miles.

But he sees that smile and he knows what it's in reaction to and he can't help that the-- the awkward feeling increases. With almost anyone else, he'd have no difficulty whatsoever keeping all of these little slip ups to himself, as resolute and implacable as he is in every council session. But he'd grown up with Miles, with all of the Vorkosigans, and with recent events at home he's completely beyond himself at the mere thought of distrusting him. That very trust makes it impossible to keep everything to himself, no matter how easy it is when he pays attention to it. It's when he doesn't...

He tries to cover up by sipping his coffee, even as his own sense of shyness betrays him mentally. He'd worked so hard on his reserve, damn it.]

So you're not totally unhappy, but you feel like you're spinning your wheels a bit? [he surmises. Maybe a leading question will help.]

[ Poor, poor Gregor. There's a flicker of sympathy from Mile - a sort of "there there" motion against the outside of his shields. Miles inability to keep all of himself to himself is balanced by being very good at communicating when he wants to. In other words: he's loud.

And he can't help but grin a little wider the more he feels Gregor slip up. He'll stop in a moment, he swears. It's that extra bit of awkwardness more than the leading question that finally convinces Miles to open up, though the question doesn't hurt either. It gives him an easy avenue out of his corner. Lowering the wall, so to speak. ]

I ... yes. Spinning my wheels is a good way to put it. Though I'm not sure where I would go even if I had traction. There's nowhere to go.

[ His mouth twists a bit at the admission, a black blot of ink for the accompanying emotion. Murky unhappiness. ]

[They do balance each other in that respect, loud vs. quiet. Gregor allows himself to smile wryly back, just a curl of his lips in acknowledgement. Truthfully, of everyone it's not so bad to have it be Miles that can 'hear' these things from him.

He's already seen him at his lowest, and dragged him out bodily. Feeling awkward now is just Gregor quibbling over details. But there's so very many details.

However he convinces him, he's glad of it. He realizes he's relieved when his hands unclench on his mug; his hands have always been his tell. Eyeing Miles at that ink blot, he asks,] Would you like an assignment, Lord Vorkosigan? I don't have one to hand, but I could whip something up. I don't have to be quite so much on vacation.

[It'd just been such an absurdly guilty pleasure that Gregor couldn't resist diving straight into a full month of being firmly Greg, the nobody, in complete safety. But, well. It's rather like eating chocolate cake. There does come a point at which you are done with it.]

[ Miles' reaction is immediate. He straightens in his chair at even the suggestion of a mission, having something to focus on. That alone would surely be enough of a tell even without the sudden spark of interest. God, he misses having something to do. He's discovered that it's very difficult to be something other than manic or depressive, and that if it isn't one, he tends toward the other.

Then ... he settles back, darkening a bit. It feels a little too much like a game, having something whipped up just because he, the agent in question, is bored. ]

What do you suggest?

[Hmmm.

Instant attention and then slumping. Miles never did like being catered to; he always wants everything to come to him authentically. Gregor is careful to give him nothing less than the truth in his response.

And, well, if it's not the whole truth-- if Gregor would be happy to manufacture any number of tasks to solve his listlessness-- that doesn't slip through. He's just so lucky that he doesn't have to.]

There's plenty going on to direct you at, [he points out.] I just don't want to point you at the... entire scope of the problem. You're much better suited to specific aims. [Largely because Gregor is a bit alarmed to imagine the fallout if he gave Miles something generic like, investigate the war with the Soviet Union.]

I've been keeping up with the news, but there's a couple lynchpins. I've heard that a few officials involved with the previous crop of imPorts have made visit to swear-ins before our time. So it's not impossible to get data on them.

Edited 2015-12-22 15:53 (UTC)

[ It's the only way to treat with Miles in the end. Certain ball-based sports and false victories come to mind...

That flicker of interest returns, albeit a bit more warily than that initial rush. Could he investigate that? Well, sure. Not even his most difficult mission, considering everything else he's taken on and/or been thrown into. The trick is pinning them down. An incredibly elusive lot ...

Something to focus on. Something he can't solve immediately. That faint smile returns as he sees the shape of Gregor's direction - and approves of it. ]

And move on from there once we have more background? Compare notes with the other ImPorts, maybe.

[ Much safer than Miles accidentally taking down the Soviet Union. ]

Yes, there'll obviously be somewhere to go after this, but I'd rather not start at such a drastic disadvantage of information. Normally I have a neat precis laid out for me with my morning coffee, courtesy of ImpSec.

[Gregor raises an eloquent eyebrow at him, as if to say, Hop to it, ImpSec.

He does feel a bit regretful, like he's been neglecting Miles to have his own fun, though that's not really the true character of it at all. Fun isn't a word that Gregor would ever apply to himself, but moreso, Miles would resent being seen as someone that would wither under neglect anyway. Still, Gregor can do something to fix it, and it really is about time he got back to being who he really is rather than wistfully daydreaming.

He has a brief mental image of releasing a hawk. You could fly them all day, but they'd never be truly content unless they killed something, neatly eviscerated some mouse. Flying them was a sport but killing was in their nature. Gregor finds the comparison apt enough (if bloodier than strictly appropriate, but that's his own unfortunate mental tendency) and neatly pushes the image at Miles.

He won't just fly him without purpose, he promises. Gregor knows well the responsibility of having brilliant men wait on his word.]

[ Miles can't help but smile at that mental image. It's a flattering one to be certain. Though - he has to mentally adjust it a bit, for Gregor. That hawk is way too much bigger than its quarry to be an accurate representation of Miles. Maybe if it were a rather small hawk going after a very large rabbit ...

He shakes his head faintly, flattered and amused anyway. ]

Yes, sire. Should I have something laid out in flimsies for you or do you prefer a verbal debriefing?

[Frankly, it's how he feels much of the time. Gregor isn't able to follow him into action, or any of the other representatives of the Imperium, though in pedagogical terms they're meant to be his hands. He releases them and watches them fly off, himself stuck land-bound. He only gets the reports, after, and the visual aftermath on their features or in the faces of their loved ones at funerals.

It's easier to shake off his own tendency toward morbidity when he's succeeded in lifting Miles's spirits. He even snorts faintly at the correction of his image. It's maybe a little telling that in Gregor's head, Miles never seems to match his actual, physical size.

But he doesn't need to prop up his ego any more today. Just that one propping should do it, he judges.]

Verbal, [he says with relish, electing to take the joke seriously.] I've never gotten a verbal report on you straight from the source. I think Illyan spares me the most exciting bits because he thinks they're irrelevant.

[ A nuance that isn't entirely lost on Miles, but ... Happier to focus on the fun part of the metaphor, anyway. He perks further at the mention of Illyan. ]

What a shame. I'd consider making holonovels if it weren't all terribly classified.

[ Complete sarcasm. Just because he wishes he could acknowledge his achievements a little more publically doesn't mean he needs the world to know. Still, he can't help but think they'd make for some awfully exciting stories. ]

[Yes, Miles. Gregor thinks so, too, and much as he dearly loves Simon, he is not the most riveting storyteller. After so many years on the job and having seen everything, he has all the thrilling manner of a dictionary in his retelling. It is very effective at getting Gregor to focus on his job instead of how much like a holonovel it sounds.]

I assure you that you have a very declassified, willing audience of one.

[If all he can do is live vicariously, that's just now starting to be good enough to be going on.]

[ Illyan is just too damn good at his job. Miles ... pauses for a moment, unsure if Gregor just implied what Miles thought he implied. ]

You want me to tell you? Here? ... Now?

[ He's surely not ready for "now," though "here" is mildly alarming too. ]

[Gregor quickly waves a hand to try to suppress that hint of alarm.]

Not like that. Just... whatever you wanted to say. [His smile is a little self-conscious, a little sloppy.] I know I might not be your ideal audience, but I'm here, and... free of logistical constraints.

[In other words, he is the one person Miles never has to actually lie to.]

[ The alarm fades, to be replaced by something more melancholy. That's the other half of the equation to Miles' unhappiness - spinning his wheels, first and foremost, but also the necessity he's placed on himself to lie to everyone all of the time. It's safer - much safer - for both of them. And he enjoys the little Admiral persona very desperately. But it's the first time he's had to stay deep within it without anything else going on. No mayhem. No wars or craziness to keep him focused.

He swallows, faintly overwhelmed for a moment. ]

The only one here. Yes.

[A bit of an unwelcome preview for if he went off the rails and tried to do Naismith full time, Gregor assumes. It really is... much to be wearing all the time, that manic energy.

Quietly, he says,] I do know something about feeling as if you'll be swallowed up by a role.

[It's the whole reason Miles had found him on the Hegen Hub.]

[ Miles winces faintly. Of course Gregor would understand - that's Gregor's entire life right there. Miles, at least, doesn't need to live up to his role as Vorkosigan in the same way that Gregor absolutely must be the Emperor. Not a fair comparison at all. This may be the very first time Gregor doesn't have to do any of that. ]

Yes. Yes, you do. Not fair for me to complain.

[He shakes his head. Guilting him hadn't been his intent at all.] It's not complaining. Well, it is, but my lot in life doesn't... diminish yours.

I always had someone I could, ah, unburden myself with. Your parents, notably. You. It doesn't bother me to return the favor. Not making use of it was... rather the problem. [Gregor had only felt he was trapped and alone, unable to share his thoughts with anyone. That hadn't actually ever been true. That distinction is what makes the key difference, that he understands now.]

[ He stills a bit, soothed. Gregor always does seem to know what to say. ]

... You'd rather I make use of it, then.

[He'd be extremely glad it seems that way.]

Yes, [he says, in that same quiet, intent tone.] I would. We... often are not on the same planet, at home, but I hope you know that you may-- that you have my ear.

[Being the only two Barrayarans here merely expedites that.]

[ He looks down at his hands, considering this. Hasn't he always had the Emperor's ear? They've been friends for so long, practically raised together. Why does it feel different to receive that offer now?

Maybe because Gregor doesn't have to be the Emperor here. Just Miles and Greg and a world that doesn't give one single damn thought about their politics. Admiral Naismith and Greg is the safest cover, but it's not their only option. Not in the least. Something inside his head lightens; his side of the link declouds a bit. ]

You may regret that. I'm told my mouth is the most dangerous thing I have.

[Gregor feels it, too, the difference here. There's always looming politics at home, overriding his life. That someone could have convinced him even for a moment that Miles was a traitor speaks volumes to how impossible it is for Gregor to slip out from under that mantle. He's gotten better at it as time goes on, as he grows into his role on his own and becomes less defined by Aral's example, whether he was mimicking it or rebelling against it. But nonetheless, in the end, there would forever be the necessity of liege-lord to liege-sworn, their hands between his.

That's still true here, of course. It'll probably be true in the damn afterlife, Gregor still Emperor. But here... It feels like there's room for something else.

Wasn't Cordelia always saying that the Imperium was an illusion, anyway, a society-wide maintained social construct? Surely that means it could be turned off sometimes, just for a moment, even if it turning back on was an inevitability.]

Fortunately for me, I seem to remember you pledging it to Our service. So I have nothing to be afraid of. [It's difficult to call anything Gregor says light, but he at least doesn't sound dour as he goes on,] And I have an advantage no one else has had. [A wry smile as he refers to their bizarre, newfound mental connection.]

[ It's that space that's intriguing now. And which makes having Gregor as a real confidante as a new and startling possibility. It turns Miles' head a little to think of it.

Not that it keep him from snorting pretty hard at that last comment. Both those comments, really. ]

Advantage, is it. I feel like I'm the one who's more compromised, here.

[ Amusement is the only undercurrent though; any serious objections (privacy, heachaches) were already worked out within the first week or so. ]

[Dryly,] We are equally compromised, I think.

[Gregor doesn't often verbally refer to what goes on in their heads-- the illusion of privacy goes a long way to not feeling invaded-- but after an initial discomfort, he's mostly adjusted.]

[ Miles is enough of an outgoing person that it feels like an extension of himself, to some extent. Just ... only directed at one person. Admittedly the most important person here currently. ]

... It's true that I'm getting more out of you that way. But I wasn't that terrible at reading you before.

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