[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]

[ Right. Back to business. He takes a moment to straighten himself out - or at least wobble a little less. It would not do to appear drunk in front of Illyan. ]

There are leftovers in the kitchen, I believe. Easily reheated. I can put in the call to Illyan while you eat.

[ Having her present while he calls the head of ImpSec feels like a betrayal, but so does telling her to go and hide. A compromise. ]

[rathercommon]

[ She can't help but give a little laugh. ]

Am I so thin, then? You seem so keen on feeding me.

[dendarii]

Easily sharable, and present in great abundance. Besides, Ma Kosti's cuisine is fantastic.

[ He moves to seat himself in front of the console whether she turns towards the kitchen or not. ]

[rathercommon]

[ She chews slightly on her lower lip. Then, quietly, she slips back into her seat. Maybe it's a really bad idea, but she sort of wants to spy on his conversation with the famous (and famously terrifying) Illyan. If he protests, she'll leave, she supposes. But if he doesn't...

Admittedly, she is a little hungry. But she picks instead at those leftovers from that earlier meal, pinching off a fingerful of the pie crust and popping it into her mouth. ]

[dendarii]

[ Delicious, even when cold. None of those ridiculous Vor delicacies, just a simple and amazing homecooked meal. There's evidence of Miles' portion being from a larger dish - the leftovers, as he claimed? Or shared with his servants after all? (The answer is both. Miles can honestly say that he eats exactly the same food as his driver and security guard.)

Meanwhile, Miles moves to flip on the console itself. He is not quite so unwary as to talk above a soft undertone, nor to turn up the speakers much past what he can barely hear himself. But otherwise, the conversation is out in the open. A calculated risk - it's not as though he doesn't have complete control over what he tells Illyan, after all.

The ImpSec security head's face appears swiftly, frowning at Miles' intrusion. There is, however, no surprise - perhaps even a little softness, after the initial reaction has worn off. Miles' own expression settles into the flattest, most neutral brick wall he can manage. ]

Illyan. Ah. There's been a situation here at the house, and I need backup.

[ Their voices drop off after that. Miles remaining cool, Illyan's exasperation showing through in tiny increments as Miles explains... ]

[rathercommon]

[ Incredibly delicious. Delicious enough to revive her hunger - which had been quite suppressed with her nerves over the job ahead - and so she eats just little pecks at first, and eats increasingly more as the call goes on. She puts away the better part of a plate by the time Miles gets to her name (she thinks, the conversation is a little bit too soft for her to make out but she thinks she hears Anastasia) - and she's tempted to correct him and tell him her real name, but decides against drawing attention to herself.

It's a fascinating process to watch, Miles talking with Illyan. The familiarity is clear. So's the lack of fear. Miles knows Illyan well, and - if she's not misreading his body language - respects him. And likes him, too. She thinks. Miles is hard to predict, hard to understand, but she thinks she knows when he likes someone.

She wishes she could hear more. Or get a glimpse of the feared Illyan. The food's so good, though.

She waits, following along with the general narrative as best she can, from the few words she can catch. ]

[dendarii]

[ All of the above is true. The respect, the fondness ... "Anastasia's" name once he's gotten into the heart of the matter. He refuses to lie to Illyan about any of this, dammit. But he also doesn't want the girl hurt, or really arrested, or anything of the sort. He holds his ground until he's convinced the head of ImpSec to do exactly what Miles is requesting ... The political ties were mostly left dangling for now.

He settles back in his chair afterwards, looking very tired indeed. ]

About thirty minutes.

[rathercommon]

[ She shoves one last honeyed nut into her mouth - honestly, just absurdly delicious - and gives him a little bit of a smile. It's been a long night for him. She hadn't meant to make it such a long night. But...she doesn't quite regret having done so. ]

Which means thirty minutes for you to tell me more about yourself.

[dendarii]

[ He brightens a bit again as he forces himself to bestir himself. The night isn't over yet, right. Hmm. ]

How about an exchange? More questions back and forth. You would find me duller than you think.

[rathercommon]

Hm.

[ She eyes him - but this time with much less suspicion, more with simple consideration. This isn't the look of a woman wondering whether he'll betray her with the information she gives; it's the look of a woman wondering how to get more than she gives. ]

Well, don't assume I'm so very interesting, either. Tell me about your first job as a courier. As much as you're allowed to tell.

[dendarii]

[ A worthy challenge, then, and a bright conversation partner. Miles continues liking this woman more and more. ]

Do you recall the failed Cetagandan invasion of Vervain?

[rathercommon]

[ A nod, though not terribly firm. Her passion is for domestic politics far more than for interplanetary, unless the interplanetary politics involve Beta Colony or a place like that making strides towards greater political freedom. Besides, Cetaganda has done so many invasions of so many places, and this one was a comparatively minor one. ]

I do.

[dendarii]

I was in the middle of that mess.

[rathercommon]

[ She gestures, an unambiguous well-go-on. ]

And what happened there?

[dendarii]

[ Wryly: ]

A mess. And a promise if more work.

[rathercommon]

[ And she clucks - ]

Yeah, but what sort of mess? And how were you involved? Come on, I'd like details.

[dendarii]

We're already skirting dangerously close to confidential details. ... I'm not sure I have any missions I could walk through start to finish.

[rathercommon]

Well, how am I supposed to understand what your job meant to you if I can't even figure out what your job entailed?

[dendarii]

[ He considers that for a moment... ]

Terror, mishaps, and luck. A occasional moment of brilliance. Never, ever boring...

[rathercommon]

That makes you sound like you were only in it for the excitement.

[dendarii]

The excitement helped. I think... I mostly enjoyed feeling like I had a very direct, palpable effect on the world. Not so much, here.

[rathercommon]

Hm.

[ She drops her chin into her hand, regarding him thoughtfully. ]

When you were called in...Was it to engage in warfare? Fighting of some sort.

[ It's a question that feels a little silly, because, well - It's a little hard to think of the tiny man across from her in combat. But fighting's different out there, off-planet, than it is on the surface here. ]

[dendarii]

[ Is it confidential to betray that much? No, couriers get in the middle of fighting often enough. Safe to talk about. ]

Mm, very frequently. Precision more than force, but some of the latter as well. I've had nearly all my bones replaced with synthetics...

[rathercommon]

Synthetics? Meaning - fake bones?

[dendarii]

Yes. The real ones don't stand up to strain very well.