[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

[scienceping]

[ Spock looks back up again to quirk an eyebrow. ]

Implying what, precisely?

[dendarii]

For them to overcome their prejudice. And for you to overcome the scars left by it.

[ He bites back something sharper. ]

[scienceping]

[ Spock keeps his gaze on Miles a while longer, saying nothing, unsure of what he could say in response. ]

[dendarii]

[ Miles quiets too, thinking. ]

I had a bodyguard for most of my youth. It deterred the worst of the physical attempts.

[scienceping]

... To say nothing of the non-physical attempts?

[dendarii]

Yes.

... What about you?

[scienceping]

As I said, I would prefer not to speak on the matter. However, I will clarify that I did not possess a personal guard.

[ Spock turns his head to glance toward the table that Miles set the glasses and bowls on. ]

If you wish to proceed with the exploration of our new abilities, I have regained full sensation in my median nerve extremities.

[dendarii]

Then I would hope that you too, in time, will learn to trust my discretion and good judgement.

[ He smiles faintly and pulls up a chair on the other side of the table, across from Spock. Each of the bowls and tumblers are identically sized, but they have different levels of water in each. ]

[scienceping]

[ A very subtle raise of one eyebrow at that, but it's gone by the time Miles shifts to the other side. ]

As to your judgement, may I ask to the purpose of the varying levels of liquid?

[dendarii]

Whether you'll have more or less trouble freezing it if there's differing volumes of liquid available. Perhaps your outburst at the café was due to not enough being available.

[scienceping]

An interesting insight ...

[ He scoots a bit closer to the table to mimic the distance he had at the cafe, taking on a similar posture with both hands on either side of the leftmost tumbler. ]

[dendarii]

Worth experimenting with, given a lack of other variables.

[ He leans in again to watch. ]

[scienceping]

[ Miles is going to be waiting a while again, watching roughly a minute's worth of Spock staring intently at the glass with his palms turns down toward the table, not pressed but gently resting. There's no indication of any cold being generated yet. ]

[dendarii]

[ Miles shifts positions a few times, still watching. In the end, he winds up with his legs stretched out and arms folded across his chest. ]

What's the trouble, Commander?

[scienceping]

[ He looks up at Miles by tilting his head up slightly, moving nothing else yet. ]

I am uncertain. I believe I have reproduced every step that was taken in the cafe, but I do not know what is required as a catalyst.

[dendarii]

[ Hmmm ... Miles doesn't remember doing anything different either. He rubs a bit at his chin, reaching out for the glass Spock had been working on. ]

Too much water? Try another container.

[scienceping]

[ Spock moves to lift the glass towards him when it happens again: as soon as he lifts his hand and touches the tumbler, it freezes over instantly, sending out a plume of cold condensation as it hits the warmer moist air surrounding it. The speed of it causes Spock into dropping the glass this time, both in surprise as well as pain—the instantaneous freeze shocking his fingers. It shatters into large, neat chunks, the glass still adhering to the ice it contained, before each piece skitters off the edge of the now ice-lined table underneath Spock's other hand. ]

[dendarii]

[ Miles jolts back with a yelp again - just in time to avoid the glass shards skittering off the table and onto the floor. His hand and foot had been there just a split second ago. Note to self: don't sit so damn close next time. He gasps a bit, still recovering, as he looks between the iced table and Spock's frigid fingers. ]

... Touch. Definitely touch.

[scienceping]

[ Spock had clasped his hands together after his initial shock—a defensive gesture of pain, but also an attempt to warm them as he starts to rub his hands together for friction. ]

... May I recommend acquiring more distance before we proceed, Admiral?

[dendarii]

Yes ... yes, I think so. Bowl of warm water too?

[ He's already getting up to get just that. ]

[scienceping]

[ Spock keeps rubbing his hands together vigorously. ]

Hot, if available.

[dendarii]

Hot. Not boiling, yes?

[ He adjusts the temperature carefully. ]

[scienceping]

Affirmative.

[dendarii]

Gimme a minute.

[ He brings towels too, so Spock can soak those instead if he wants. Both go on the table in a spot not iced over. ]

[scienceping]

[ He immediately immerses his hands into the steaming bowl, his expression tightening in pain and ... disgust? before it smooths out again. Spock stills for a moment to let the heat just soak into his fingers first, gradually moving them again, rubbing both hands together under the water so he can gauge the damage now that he can feel something again. ]