dendarii | [IC] TEST POST

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test post

[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. ]

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[Immediate flicker of interest.]

Oh? Who?

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

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.]

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

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

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

[ Miles sighs faintly. ]

That is the point of our cover ... Kitty did recommend something interesting, though.

The point is so I'm not a hold on you, [Gregor corrects, because that's how he sees it.]

What'd she say?

[ Miles blinks at his emperor. Hang on, that needs addressing first. ]

The point of this is to protect you. Why do you think I'm regathering mercenaries in the first place?

An emperor without subjects is worthless, [he points out dryly.] If you weren't here, there'd be nothing to protect me from. No one would care, Miles. As you said, they're all democrats.

[ Sudden, hot fierceness, bright against the steady warmth of the alcohol. ]

I care, Gregor.

[A sensation almost like flinching, Gregor completely startled by the intensity of Miles's protectiveness. He's seen it before, of course, but feeling it is something else entirely, something overwhelming and humbling. It's impossible to deny because it's personal as well as patriotic, not just Vor to Emperor but even more so Miles to Gregor without qualification or duty.

Pervasive shyness answers back in echo, but it's appreciative, grateful. All the things Gregor wouldn't know how to say.]

... I appreciate it. But I still wouldn't want anyone to know what a handle on you I am. The least I can do is not complicate things for you.

[A lesson he'd learned after Cavilo.]

[ It is absolutely Miles to Gregor first and foremost, though Vor to Emperor is just as deeply embedded in Miles' bones as well. They're inseparable, but not codependent. If one disappeared the other would swell to replace it.

He keeps it steady, firm, a little softer from the initial burst. Not invasive, but ... a clear, bright light. ]

They are going to find out regardless, I think. The assumptions I have had to fend off ...

[He understands completely. He'd been raised by Miles's parents as well, he knows that melding of personal affection and duty like he knows his own hands. Separating them is impossible to him now as much as Miles, and furthermore there's no reason for contest. Duty and love should be in the same place as much as possible, or so Gregor had internalized from them as role models.

He glances at him sidelong, even as he gently mentally coils around that light, the isolated hopelessness that lies at his innermost thoughts easing.] What sort of assumptions?

[ Miles opens his mouth to continue. And ... hesitates. The link is diffuse enough to hide the specific thought he's having, thank god. He'd intended to make light of it, another oddity of their existence. But ... he remembers Gregor's reaction to the madness quip just earlier, and thinks better of it.

All that rolls through his head rather quickly. A sudden clouding, and then brightening again. ]

People don't seem to believe me when I say we met as contract slaves and became instant friends.

[He feels the previous open brightness cloud over temporarily and mentally withdraws somewhat, uncertainty piercing through his relaxed contentment. What wouldn't Miles want to tell him?]

That makes sense, I suppose. Though life threatening circumstances do foster bonds. That's the military right there. [Pause.] Do they think I have a hold on you somehow? Or you on me?

[ Well, crap. That wasn't the intended effect. He reaches out again apologetically, trying to soothe him. ]

No, no. It's not that. [ He hesitates. No, better to say something, but not make light of it. That seems the safest bet. ] I've been asked a few times if we're romantically involved.

[Gregor takes a breath and allows himself to be soothed. An instant later, he understands why Miles had hesitated, and there's a short spark of dark, sour comprehension.

He stops retreating, allows the closeness to creep back, although his feelings take on the dry dusty flavor of white ash. Closed down and indistinct.]

I see. I'm sorry if that's been awkward for you. It... would be a more plausible explanation.

[ Oh. He doesn't want to feel that. He never wants to be the cause of feelings like that on Gregor's side. Guilt cracks through his side of the link, black and stark. ]

I admit I considered it. [ A beat. ] I'm sorry. I know it's not something you would consider, all things considered.

[ He's thinking of Prince Serg's shadow primarily, stabbed through with self-doubt. Miles hasn't had a single successful romantic relationship at this point, and one of them had ended in a suicide attempt. ]

[Prince Serg's shadow is keenly felt on Gregor right now, for all that the late afternoon sunlight filtering over the rim of the world on the ocean should make him feel none of it. Miles's guilt makes him feel badly in turn, and he gently tries to close down some of the link, so it's a trickle instead of an open faucet, intentionally pushing quiet assurance at Miles.

He's all right. He hates this topic, but it's something he can bear. Just perhaps not with a mental spectator.]

I've never even thought about it, [he admits. Not him and Miles specifically, but Gregor and men, which he knows is the real topic.] Not with every weddable Vor female being thrown at me in hopes she might cross my path.

... No matter how much sense it would make, I don't think that's something I could-- pretend at. Not again after Cavilo. No, definitely not. It's not you, it's just, [he struggles to find the words,] I want this one last thing to be mine. Untouched by the Imperium or anything else.

[ Miles doesn't blame Gregor for it in the slightest. But his guilt doesn't abate either, being shut out like that. Deep breaths. Whatever he is feeling, Gregor has it infinitely worse. ]

No. I understand. And I agree. [ More softly: ] I'm glad I dissuaded them.

[In a moment he'll feel badly for Miles as an observer, but right now Gregor hasn't quite managed to look that far outside of his own head. He really hasn't ever thought about men, but the idea of mimicking his father in that way immediately sets up a keen discomfort, an unsettled feeling that won't leave him. Gregor hates that, knows it's unfair-- he doesn't care what anyone else does, would eradicate that social prejudice on Barrayar if he could-- but for himself personally, it's... one step closer. He hates that he sees it that way.

All of that is what he wants to keep from Miles. No sense in letting him have a window into how weak Gregor can still sometimes be.]

Yes. [An exhale.] Thank you. [A long silence as he tries to find something else to say.] Are you concerned about this as a hole in your cover? Should we try to come up with an alternate explanation?

[ Miles still has no idea what all has gone through Gregor's head just now. That would be normal most of the time, not having access to Gregor's thoughts ... but he feels strangely out of touch now. He's sort of come to depend on it. Or at least appreciate it ... ]

It ... is a stumbling block. I think I've found a workable patch, but ... [ He shrugs. ] I'm open to suggestions.

[Gregor is so damnably hard to read without that insight, even for someone that knows him well-- even now he's been blank-faced and composed throughout the whole conversation.]

A variation on the truth might be best. Mutual fascination as you are a clone of one of my contemporaries? I haven't been pretending I'm not Vor, just not the Vor.

Although if we go with that, we'll have to straighten out our stories on, well, you.

That's likely overdue anyway.

[ He drums his fingers against his wine glass as he considers possibilities. His mind has brightened again slightly, the wheels turning in a pleasantly familiar sort of motion. ]

All right, mutual fascination. I'm a clone of the corrupt and mutated Lord Vorkosigan, created by Bhataputra House for purposes unknown. Spare organs, or perhaps an unsuccessful brain transplant candidate.

[ Gregor can likely feel Miles skin crawl a bit at that. Using his complicated relationship with Barrayar like this always feels terribly vile, even if it provides the most consistent explanation. ]

[Gregor can't mimic quite that level of skin-prickling innate aversion, given as he's not actually speaking of himself, but he does feel some of it. He frowns instantly, his distaste translating clearly over the link.]

Must we? Even in my worst moments I never would have imagined that of you.

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