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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. ]
no subject
Yes, that's right. It's - we're from the same universe, so things are different, and also already complicated. I'm privy to some very classified information.
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I understand, Admiral. I would not push you into a uncomfortable decision, and a mind meld can be a deeply personal thing, part of the private life, and generally not used on other species. If you were to decide that a mind meld is suitable, however, I would be able to shield our minds to the point that personal information would be unavailable for scrutiny and would only concentrate on determining your telepathic status.
no subject
[ Still, the thought soothes him - if Spock is telling the truth. It would mean the world to him and Gregor to know that their link is safe and not harmful. And it would be equally dire to blow both their covers at this early stage. Admiral Naismith and Greg must be the only names they're known by here, lest something get back home.
He considers Spock for a long moment, thinking. ]
May I ask you a question first?
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Have you ever lied, Commander?
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Though to clarify for the spirit of your question, I personally have not lied. I am indeed capable of lying though I am extremely reluctant to do so. Exaggeration and implication may be probable depending on the cause of such, however, I could lie for logical reasons such as for the protection of officers or to preserve an ongoing operation.
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Do any of those apply now?
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[ He straightens a bit, coming to a decision. ]
Alright. We can try it.
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Very well. Do you wish to do so now, or would you prefer to wait until a more private location can be found?
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[ He leads Spock to a cafe with some nice private booths. Mostly intended for romantic couples, but whatever. ]
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So when did you start this whole Starfleet thing?
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... My enlistment in Starfleet has not influenced my posture.
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[ He settles himself on one side of the booth. Urgh ... he very delicately folds his knees under him to keep from looking tiny at the table. This is going to hurt later. ]
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I would advise against such seating when about to engage in a mind meld.
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Do you recommend anything else to make this easier?
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[ He sits in the opposite side of the booth, neatly folding his fingers together on the table. And for the first time he slouches forward, just a bit while seated even though for the most part he is upright. ]
no subject
[ He considers for a moment, then swings his feet up onto the booth seat too. Better than having them dangling awkwardly. He rests one elbow loosely on the table and leans back. ]
Good enough.
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Also acceptable.
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Now what?
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