[There's a little squirm that suggests yes - these pets are acceptable. Prior, however's not giving up his cause. He's come down from His Imperial Majesty already, armsman won't do.]
I'm a pacifist, Miles. I can't raise one of those. He's got to be a Vorrodent. And look at him, he looks County.
Not good enough, Byerly won't take it as a namesake unless it's approved. [He lifts Furrily on one palm.] So, a little 'rise count vorrodent' should do it, and then you can write a decree.
[It's practically signing a decree. Even more so if Prior writes the decree part above it later. Legality isn't the issue at hand, only Byerly being lead to believe the name's approved. So, after a moment's consideration, Prior nods.]
That would do. Is there anything you want in return?
[And Prior a shoebox, in which there are a number of premade holes.
Well, he doesn't go to grab it, he leans back further on the bed. Going to grab anything is still a production involving a cane. Speaking of which-]
His bruises are healed, mostly. His hands are better. And he's sleeping again. [Which means he's off whatever he was taking, though Prior doesn't know quite how. And this is what he assumes Miles means by how are you doing.] And I... need to find someone to get my leg back to it's old level of useless. The current situation is - forgive the irony - a step too far.
[ Miles carefully scrawls the suggested name on the shoebox. Not neatly, maybe, but his handwriting isn't especially neat under the best of circumstances. Those gnarled fingers of his have been broken one too many times. ]
A healer, then. Or someone similar.
[ Said sympathetically. He wishes he could do something - anything - to help either of them. Other than having Byerly swear to sobriety. ]
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[ He says, leaning in to look at the little creature. ]
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[The baby gopher seems largely unaware of the intense political wranglings going on over his head.]
I tried to make him Emperor, but Byerly got tetchy. But if you approve the name, I think I can use it.
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There is precedent. A horse was once named a Count's heir.
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[With a gentle scoop, he ferrets Furrily out of his pocket and offers him out.]
Is there some sort of ceremony, or ritual, or something?
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Tempting, really. But I don't think what little remains of Barrayar can handle a Vor lord this adorable. A Vorrutyer armsman for sure, though.
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I'm a pacifist, Miles. I can't raise one of those. He's got to be a Vorrodent. And look at him, he looks County.
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There's little enough of Barrayar as it is. Permit me some small amount of pride.
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And look, this could be a very little more. It's just a name, Miles. You don't have to be literal about it, you just have to permit it.
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I'm not doing it, Prior.
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But fine, a last ditch tactic.]
What if you just write his name on the box?
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... I could do that.
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That would do. Is there anything you want in return?
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Tell me how you and Byerly are doing?
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Well, he doesn't go to grab it, he leans back further on the bed. Going to grab anything is still a production involving a cane. Speaking of which-]
His bruises are healed, mostly. His hands are better. And he's sleeping again. [Which means he's off whatever he was taking, though Prior doesn't know quite how. And this is what he assumes Miles means by how are you doing.] And I... need to find someone to get my leg back to it's old level of useless. The current situation is - forgive the irony - a step too far.
[Here's the shoebox, anyway.]
Make the handwriting recognisable.
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A healer, then. Or someone similar.
[ Said sympathetically. He wishes he could do something - anything - to help either of them. Other than having Byerly swear to sobriety. ]
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[Depositing Furrily into his new duplex, Prior leaves Miles holding it to recline on Byerly's bed.]
I'll have to try someone else.