[IC] TEST POST

[dendarii]

[ 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. ]

Comments

[dendarii]

[ And he's only got one of those. Wait, no - there's Gregor's. So which one does Spock have? There's one easy way to find out ... ]

Vorkosigan?

[scienceping]

Affirmative.

[dendarii]

[ Okay. This isn't ideal, but he can work with this. As long a Gregor is safe then he can deal with having his own cover blown. ]

I knew I shouldn't have agreed to a mind meld.

[scienceping]

My apologies. My intent was to keep our minds separated enough to only determine the status of your newfound telepathic link, but mind melds are intimate by their very nature. You can be assured, however, that I will not speak of it to anyone.

[dendarii]

[ There's a sudden light behind Miles' eyes. ]

Your word?

[scienceping]

[ If Spock were more Human, he'd probably roll his eyes. What has he been insinuating vaguely hinting at saying this whole time? ]

You have my word, Admiral.

[dendarii]

[ He wonders if Gregor can turn that into a geas ... Better ask him later. ]

I will hold you to it, then. The current population from my world is fine, but if anyone else shows up...

[ He waves a hand. ]

[scienceping]

[ Spock nods. Then pauses a moment, considering a question. ]

... If I may pose a personal query?

[dendarii]

Why not?

[scienceping]

May I ask of the nature of your alias, why you wish withhold it from public knowledge?

[dendarii]

Didn't you say you weren't interested in learning about political ramifications?

[scienceping]

Only so far as to understand the gravity of said ramifications should anyone else happen upon the information so that the degree of any reaction or prevention would match accordingly.

[dendarii]

[ Sigh. HIs accent shifts, from the flat pseudo-American he'd been using to something almost Russian. ]

I am, in reality, a Vor lord. Who has dangerou political enemies for both sides of my identity.

[scienceping]

[ An eyebrow raises in reaction. ]

... Resulting from or independent of your progenitor?

[dendarii]

[ Ah. Hmmm. Does he keep up that portion of the lie? Probably best not to. ]

There is no progenitor. Only me.

[scienceping]

[ The second eyebrow joins the first. ]

[dendarii]

In other words, I am not a clone. But given - [ He gestures down at all of himself. ] - it's the only explanation that makes sense. I'm too distinctive otherwise.

[scienceping]

I then presume that cloning is commonplace in your reality so as not to raise unwanted suspicions of its employment.

[dendarii]

[ He makes a so-so gesture. ]

I assure you there are none of me in existence. My faults are teratogenic, not genetic.

[scienceping]

I see ...

[dendarii]

Does that answer your question?

[scienceping]

[ Gives a single, slow nod, quiet for a few seconds before he speaks again. ]

... I then presume that your counterpart is not only aware of your status, but also actively involved with one or both of your personas in some manner.

[dendarii]

[ Didn't he just say - ah. Right, he means Gregor. ]

We are both Barrayaran, yes. Old friends.

[scienceping]

Otherwise your telepathic link might have proven ... inconvenient.

[dendarii]

No, no. We were close already. Foster-brothers, of a sort.