Admiral Lord Aral Vorkosigan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
use_everything) wrote2016-02-02 11:06 am
use_everything) wrote2016-02-02 11:06 am
[IC Inbox]
"Messages will be returned in order of priority."
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[ Gregor doesn't so directly express his displeasure at this terminology, though he agrees with Kitty. It comes too close to a hundred real slanderous mutters about Miles at home. It's the story they have and the one Miles had picked and he's not going to criticize him on the content of it.
He cuts in with only, ] It doesn't matter. That's the one we have. And anyway, it's not you that's the villain in it, Miles, it's a Lord Vorkosigan that doesn't exist. You're Admiral Naismith, and the only people you're a villain to deserve it.
He cuts in with only, ] It doesn't matter. That's the one we have. And anyway, it's not you that's the villain in it, Miles, it's a Lord Vorkosigan that doesn't exist. You're Admiral Naismith, and the only people you're a villain to deserve it.
[ The proximity to that slander is what makes it work, okay. Miles finds it much easier to summon up real emotion when he can tap into that dark thread of self-hatred. Even his own father had been provoked into a more direct attack than necessary because of it ... That's a testament to its efficacy. ]
Yes, yes, that as well. Admiral Naismith gets to have all the fun in this story.
[ His accent is flattening back towards Betan even as they discuss the topic. ]
Yes, yes, that as well. Admiral Naismith gets to have all the fun in this story.
[ His accent is flattening back towards Betan even as they discuss the topic. ]
It is public record. [He allows. He'd been able to find it, starting off the whole bloody chapter of this Milesian mess.
There's a stillness to how he watches Miles, both in the fluidity of the change, or the source of that obvious self hate. Nothing enough to pass to the other two, he was still forming his thoughts, there.]
I would not weep if that particular fiction was not actively repeated. With any luck its repetition would be vanishing on its own.
There's a stillness to how he watches Miles, both in the fluidity of the change, or the source of that obvious self hate. Nothing enough to pass to the other two, he was still forming his thoughts, there.]
I would not weep if that particular fiction was not actively repeated. With any luck its repetition would be vanishing on its own.
[ A grunt of frustration. ]
Yeah. I don't like it, either. I mean - I spent the last, what, month calling curses down on the heads of the Vorkosigans, and oh, look, here they are standing in front of me. Perfectly sweet. Not murderous at all.
[ Well...Maybe a little murderous. She's under no illusions regarding what Aral would be capable of - she fought against him, after all. He's...purposeful.
She crosses her arms. ]
We've got monsters enough in this world and in our own. Why pretend that there are more?
Yeah. I don't like it, either. I mean - I spent the last, what, month calling curses down on the heads of the Vorkosigans, and oh, look, here they are standing in front of me. Perfectly sweet. Not murderous at all.
[ Well...Maybe a little murderous. She's under no illusions regarding what Aral would be capable of - she fought against him, after all. He's...purposeful.
She crosses her arms. ]
We've got monsters enough in this world and in our own. Why pretend that there are more?
[Before this can launch a debate, Aral lifts a hand.]
As there seems to be much to discuss, and there's one uninvolved soul on this floor [Who was undoubtedly trying to sleep through all of this drama.] perhaps we should move downstairs.
[Where there are chairs. And less of a standing battlefield and more like a reception.]
As there seems to be much to discuss, and there's one uninvolved soul on this floor [Who was undoubtedly trying to sleep through all of this drama.] perhaps we should move downstairs.
[Where there are chairs. And less of a standing battlefield and more like a reception.]
[ Kitty grunts and nods in confirmation. ]
Yeah. We ought to be talking about this over tea, I think.
[ Though she points thereafter at Miles. ]
And that is a vile thing to say. It's one thing to lie to protect yourself. It's another altogether to lie to make people like you more. The one isn't real dishonesty, because you're not really deceiving anyone. But appropriating that horrid story - appropriating the suffering of others - to make yourself sympathetic is simply horrid.
Yeah. We ought to be talking about this over tea, I think.
[ Though she points thereafter at Miles. ]
And that is a vile thing to say. It's one thing to lie to protect yourself. It's another altogether to lie to make people like you more. The one isn't real dishonesty, because you're not really deceiving anyone. But appropriating that horrid story - appropriating the suffering of others - to make yourself sympathetic is simply horrid.
I don't think, at this point, we can say the story has been without a price or a payment.
[He casts a look at Gregor and Miles.] You'll have to point me to the tea.
[He casts a look at Gregor and Miles.] You'll have to point me to the tea.
[ On the morning of Sunday the 28th, Aral will come downstairs to find a small gray cat curled into the corner of the couch, sleeping soundly, tail tucked around herself. Where did this cat come from? Who knows! But by God, she has clearly made herself comfortable. ]
[There is a moment, bleary eyed and shuffling towards the kitchen he gives a bit of a double check, having mistaken it for a new pillow before some hind part of the brain corrects the illusion.
Some intruder that phased their way in, as cats can do, with the colder weather deeply set into De Chima or have one of the boys gotten a pet? (Is Miles allergic to the thing?)
Having had more than a little experience with barn cats, he doesn't attempt to pet the unfamiliar predator, but the rummaging in the kitchen might wake the visitor.]
Some intruder that phased their way in, as cats can do, with the colder weather deeply set into De Chima or have one of the boys gotten a pet? (Is Miles allergic to the thing?)
Having had more than a little experience with barn cats, he doesn't attempt to pet the unfamiliar predator, but the rummaging in the kitchen might wake the visitor.]
[ And it does. She lifts her head muzzily from where it's tucked, blinking in the direction of the kitchen. And then she stretches luxuriously, yawning and arching her back and resisting the (very, very, very tempting) desire to claw at the furniture to stretch out the stiff muscles of her paws. And then she jumps up to the back of the couch to inspect the newcomer -
Ah. Aral. She sits and watches him, rather than saying anything. It's perhaps a little dishonest, but, well...She's curious what he does when he's unobserved. (Unobserved by human eye, at least.) ]
Ah. Aral. She sits and watches him, rather than saying anything. It's perhaps a little dishonest, but, well...She's curious what he does when he's unobserved. (Unobserved by human eye, at least.) ]
[He seems, honestly, almost a different person. The stiff, stern posture and expression are completely gone, as well as the bigger than his bones aura he tended to exude. He hadn't bothered with socks or a brush yet this early.... and when he looks back at where the cat is perched in observation of the human activity, he offers the feline an unguarded, almost boyish smile.]
Still there? Cheeky little thing.
[He puts down the groats he was considering and changes his breakfast plans. While there are no witnesses, he takes a tin of canned fish from the cupboard and puts two slices of bread on to toast.]
Still there? Cheeky little thing.
[He puts down the groats he was considering and changes his breakfast plans. While there are no witnesses, he takes a tin of canned fish from the cupboard and puts two slices of bread on to toast.]
[ Oh - huh. Is that fish? Kitty Jones, Human, doesn't have any particular taste for fish. It's fine, but just fine. Kitty Jones, Cat, on the other hand - her tail suddenly starts lashing in anticipation of that smell and perhaps of tidbits falling to the floor. It's a little disconcerting, when she thinks about it - that she has that cat-mind lurking behind her real-mind. But at the same time, it's a little comforting, the polyphony of thoughts layered on top of one another.
A quick leap takes her from the couch to the ground (a leap three times her height, easily); she lands lightly and then wanders into the kitchen to get a better view of the proceedings. ]
A quick leap takes her from the couch to the ground (a leap three times her height, easily); she lands lightly and then wanders into the kitchen to get a better view of the proceedings. ]
[It takes a little bit for the feline anticipation to pay out, due to fumbling worth the can opener.
In true bachelor fashion, the meal he made for himself was dry tuna on toast. Of more interest was the small plate set down, full of the juices from the can and possibly a fourth of the bounty.]
In true bachelor fashion, the meal he made for himself was dry tuna on toast. Of more interest was the small plate set down, full of the juices from the can and possibly a fourth of the bounty.]
[ Oh, hell yes. She didn't realize just how hungry she was, but it's been a long time since she's eaten, and the experimentations with her powers earlier had left her drained of energy. A spot of fish, as it turns out, is exactly what's called for, as restorative as the earlier nap had been. She eats delicately, whiskers drawn back, fur kept clean, as she nips at the tuna and then laps at the water; more, she has to be careful as she eats not to let her fur brush against the can itself, the iron in the metal enough to cause her a little ache of discomfort. So it takes her a long while to make her way through the whole can, though her satisfaction is evident. ]
[His own sandwich wolfed down with habitual speed, it's after catching up on the controlled activity of the comm during the occupation that he reaches down, picking up the tin, sneaking a furtive attempt to pet the mystery feline on the way.]
[ He doesn't need to be furtive, of course. The Mystery Feline arches up into his hand, quite eagerly encouraging a slightly more active attempt at petting. ]
Well, you're certainly not feral.
[He crouches, blunt fingers amiably scratching at the ruff of the cat's neck, alternating with heavier, more confident strokes.]
Which one of them brought you home, I wonder.
[He crouches, blunt fingers amiably scratching at the ruff of the cat's neck, alternating with heavier, more confident strokes.]
Which one of them brought you home, I wonder.
[ And the cat stands up - only to flop over so that he can have the glorious opportunity to rub her belly. Lucky him. As it turns out, Aral is pretty cute when there aren't any other people around. She'll have to remember that... ]
[The first pass is with the tentative, ready to pull back nature that any would associate with a trap. Very frankly, the animals of the Vorkosigan District were much like the humans that lived around them. Still, he scratched at the ruff and ran fingers along the soft fur when it became apparent that there wasn't going to be a whirl of claws intent on his knuckles.
The betrayal comes after a minute of such lavish affection, as he picks her up by the scruff.]
The betrayal comes after a minute of such lavish affection, as he picks her up by the scruff.]
Edited 2016-03-12 21:09 (UTC)
[ Oh. Oh, that's cruel. It was so nice up to that point - she was purring, eyes closed, enjoying the attention - and then suddenly that yank at the back of her neck, and she's hauled into the air. Her legs kick, and she squawks - ]
Hey - hey!
Hey - hey!
[Ways he was not expecting the answer to what gender is the cat: From the pitch of a very human voice. He drops her in surprise.]
What?
What?
[ And she drops down to all fours, looking generally alarmed and awkward. And then, very slowly, she starts to slink away. ]
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