[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

[vorbarra]

I'd think you'd be used to that. [He doesn't mean it as a criticism, just a leading comment.]

[dendarii]

[ Miles snorts a bit. ]

It's different back home. Here there's - no defenses. I can spin any ridiculous tale I like and no one can correct me.

[vorbarra]

Ah. So you don't like to dupe someone unless they can fight back. Very chivalrous of you.

[Gregor doesn't disagree, though.]

[dendarii]

You know what I mean. The level of trust here is astounding ...

[vorbarra]

[He smiles wryly.] I do know. Maybe I'm just used to all the vicious squabbling, like trying to herd cats who also lie, but it startled me, too.

It's... refreshing.

[dendarii]

[ Miles relaxes slightly. ]

Not to having to watch your back? People who genuinely want to be friends with you?

[vorbarra]

I... Yes. I know they have no reason to have ulterior motives here, but it keeps-- occurring to me again.

[dendarii]

Hard to escape. We're too used to it.

[vorbarra]

D'you ever wonder what they see in you, without all that? Or is that my particular malady?

[dendarii]

[ Miles' mouth twists a little. ]

Constantly. You're not at all alone in that.

[vorbarra]

Least there's that. Not being alone. Missing Barrayar and baffled at making friends and all.

[dendarii]

Small mercies. Small, desperately important mercies...

[ He drains the rest of the wine in his cup, the alcohol beginning to fuzz his side of the link. ]

[vorbarra]

[The wine is definitely going to Gregor's head, too, enough for him not to second guess himself before saying,] If I had to have someone from our home nexus here, I'm glad it was you. I felt the same when I saw you when we were detained.

[dendarii]

[ Something warms in response on Miles' end. Like a plant turning towards the sun, soaking up the light ... ]

You're sure you wouldn't rather have Uncle Illyan?

[vorbarra]

[Gregor reflects it back, helplessly. He still finds it impossible to block out that warmth when his head is so often a bleak, desolate place.]

God, no. I can embarrass myself in front of you. He remembers everything. You're... you get it.

[dendarii]

[ It's nice. It's really nice. He needs more of that wine ... ]

I'll make a note. When we inevitably get back and have to report to him.

[vorbarra]

Let's not think of reports. For once in our lives, the only people we have to justify our decisions to are ourselves.

I'm the only CO you have to worry about.

[dendarii]

[ Miles laughs, not unkindly. ]

A note for tomorrow's report then. "Day 1: Still a better option than Simon Illyan, or so my CO says."

[vorbarra]

So he does say. Anything else of interest that you're going to add to it? Unless you want to restart my traditional morning ImpSec report.

[Which in their case would probably amount to having breakfast together each morning and gossiping over it.]

[dendarii]

[ Breakfast and gossiping. Oh yes, absolutely going to happen. ]

An updated roster of the newly formed Dendarii Mercenary Fleet.

[vorbarra]

[Immediate flicker of interest.]

Oh? Who?

[dendarii]

A few definite candidates. Have you met Jaina Solo yet? Or Gaz Kothari?

[vorbarra]

No, I don't think so. Are you officially recommending them to Our attention, Lord Vorkosigan?

[Gregor pretty much has to be tipsy to jokingly use the Imperial We.]

[dendarii]

[ Miles snorts, taking it for the joke it was intended as. ]

Hell, I don't know. Maybe I'd rather keep them for myself.

[vorbarra]

... You can, if you'd like. If you'd rather have me entirely separate.