[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]

As Naismith, not - [ His objection peters off, though, as he mentally catalogues the people who have pierced his cover already. A short list, to be sure, but he's had at least one or two by now. It's possible. Dammit. He really doesn't want to share this link. ]

... I guess ... it's possible. If we're here that long.

[vorbarra]

[Gregor looks at him sidelong for that reluctance.]

It's my job to think of inevitabilities. But we don't have to.

[dendarii]

No, we don't have to. [ Miles has the grace not to defend himself further. Odds are very good he'll dramatically propose it to someone, eventually. ] Agree to warn each other? Get approval first?

[vorbarra]

[Gregor certainly doesn't think himself very likely to dramatically propose it to anyone, no. He's never actually had to personally ask someone to be his Armsman before, for one thing. But if/when Miles does it, they will perforce also be subject to Gregor, up along the chain.]

Of course. I'd like to think we'd both know the person at that point. [Trying to lighten things--] They should know what they'd be getting into.

[dendarii]

[ Miles relaxes incrementally. ]

Yes ... yes, I think so. I'd say you need less warning attached to you, but ... [ He makes a so-so gesture. Miles is Miles, but Gregor is the Emperor. ]

[vorbarra]

[He's a little surprised Miles seems so resistant, and need to be coaxed into relaxing about it. Gregor thinks of him as so gregarious and outgoing. Does he value the link between the two of them that much...?

He'll have to think on that. Later.]

It's possible they won't have any idea what it means. [It's hard to explain the automatic sense of it's the Emperor to non-Barrayarans. Blandly teasing,] They could be democrats, Miles.

[dendarii]

[ Even gregarious Miles has certain stages of socialization. Maintaining his cover makes that ... complex, among other things. Even without the link.

He snorts faintly at that. ]

They're nearly all democrats. We are living in a democracy, you realize. Not even a Komarran-style one either. We look like a fairy tale.

[vorbarra]

[It's all a mysterious effortless process to Gregor, who barely socializes with anyone honestly at all. He's been getting better about it since arriving here, but overturning twenty years of precedent will take some time.]

I've been enjoying that, [he admits.] Though I'll probably find it less enjoyable if I do ever make one of those friends you mentioned and want to tell them the truth. You have experience with galactics-- doesn't it get tedious explaining things?

[dendarii]

[ Miles makes a face. He hasn't quite gotten to the point where Quinn has turned him down multiple times, so this doesn't come out quite as bitter, but ... ]

I try to explain it as little as possible. For a number of reasons.

[vorbarra]

... Ah. Right. [A moment of awkwardness. He recalls Cavilo's annoyed confusion at what a fuss Metzov had made over his presence. Even later when she'd been eating out of the palm of his hand (once literally, Gregor can't help inexorably remembering) she hadn't quite gotten it. The amount of questions she'd asked had proven that.

He sighs and takes a healthier swig of wine.] Poor Barrayar.

[dendarii]

... Poor Barrayar. [ Miles mirrors both Gregor's words and the swig of wine. ] I've had to malign our poor homeworld so many times already in defense of my alter ego.

[vorbarra]

Oh? I'm sure all of it's been true.

[He sounds glum.]

[dendarii]

True but not honest.

[ And people don't get it, just like Gregor said. ]

Every time I spin another tale of the backwater Vor lords I've supposedly been cloned from, I feel a bit ill.

[vorbarra]

... Yes. I appreciate the distinction.

[He swirls the wine around the cup, watching it pensively.] Sometimes I feel as if I'm dragging Barrayar kicking into the thirty-first century, but that's for me to feel that way, not anyone else. Sort of like insulting someone's brother.

[dendarii]

Or Ivan. Let's say Ivan, given that both of our brothers would be purely theoretical.

[ But he understands, oh yes. Very much so. For all he's frustrated with his homeworld sometimes ... there's a reason why he doesn't just fly off with the mercenaries and never come home. ]

[vorbarra]

[Pretty much the same reason that when Miles had asked Gregor if the best way he can see himself serving, sire, is as an officer on the ground, Gregor had sighed and capitulated and taken his place... Yes.]

It's true, [he says thoughtfully,] I would feel a bit defensive about anyone else calling Ivan an idiot. He is the family idiot. [There's a lot of affection underneath that name-calling. Just like there is for Barrayar.]

[dendarii]

Our family idiot ...

[ Sometimes he forgets the two of them are related. The connection is distant enough that even he can't work out the exact relationship without a tree in front of him - only that enough of them are dead for his father (and thus Miles) to be way too close to inheriting the throne, if anything happens to Gregor. And that Ivan is next. ]

Let's not sit here and talk about Ivan though. I did give you my non-binding promise to talk about lighter things once the wine was open. [ A beat. ] You've made other friends here, haven't you?

[vorbarra]

[A corresponding short pause before he answers. Gregor forcibly makes himself turn his mind away from the sad fate of Barrayar. Making friends is at least a less complicated topic, even if it's not simple for him.]

I think so. What I tell them is limited, of course. But it's been very... affirming. [That's the word he's looking for. Yes.] You might know one-- Kitty Jones. [Traces of tolerant amusement from Gregor just at the mention.] She's very passionate about dismantling governments.

[dendarii]

[ Ah, Kitty Jones. Miles brightens instantly. ]

Oh yes, very much so. Does she know she's speaking with one?

[vorbarra]

Not at all. [More wine.] I'm rather enjoying that. Not sure it would make a difference to her if she did know, though. Might just get more-- directed.

[And Gregor is enjoying his time off from having efforts like that directed at him.]

[dendarii]

[ Miles' grin widens. ]

Infinitely more directed. She'd be making a difference for three whole planets without even lifting a finger.

[vorbarra]

If only it really did disseminate that fast... Convincing me as the only prerequisite to social change. [Gregor waves an Imperial hand.] Women shall be able to inherit. It's nonsense.

Like that.

[The wine may be starting to affect him.]

[dendarii]

[ Little bit. Yep. Miles takes a long sip of his own glass, relaxing into the pleasant warmth. ]

You could. The trouble would be the consequences. You'd end up with mass chaos. Accusations of madness.

[vorbarra]

[Goodness, Miles. Gregor's eyes darken; he has to push away those thoughts and deliberately keep his attention on the real topic, not letting himself be sidetracked down that bleak pathway.]

Yes. Much better to be here and have Kitty Jones to listen to. She thinks I'm perfectly sane, if a bit useless. [Which he vastly prefers.]

[dendarii]

[ Well. Crap. That was a mistake. Miles is immediately apologetic, while also carefully keeping his mind off that topic. Quick, distract with something stupid he's done lately. ]

She's a smart one. I don't think our cover will hold up forever around her - I keep narrowly digging myself out of holes with her.