Voice Testing Post

[use_everything]

Canon

A.

[You may find yourself facing large, heavy gates. Behind the bars, you can easily see the enormous, austere residence spread both tall and wide against a backdrop of a lake, stables and a small, private cemetery. The unbridled horse grazing, unhitched beside a carriage, by a liveried servant is in direct opposition to an obviously futuristic lightflier not far from it.

Even the guard that narrows to nervous attention holds both a sword and a strange, small device.]

And you are?

[The voice comes from behind.

Aral, for his part, neither looks, nor feels the part of the lord. Having taken the long way, treacherous and unmonitored paths and foothills back to the residence, he smells of sap, a chemical tinge of smoke and the exertion it took to get back. His green dress uniform had survived in all but the pressed edges, looking as if he'd intended the slight look of disarray and set jaw.

He lifts a hand, stilling the guard from comment on him, and focuses all of his attention on this newcomer.]

B.

[The Counts and Minsters poured out of the building first. The debates of the evening being traded in words so sharp that they might as well have been blows. Aral followed much more sedately, having taken a bit of time to brief his intelligence officer and leave orders for the evening.

It's by chance he stumbled across a stranger, enough out of place to inspire both caution and curiosity in equal measures.]

You seem lost.

Mask or Menace

C.

[It helped to liken the city to a space station. It had the bustle of a large hub.. the rowdy clash and wild fusion of fashions and cultures that defied any easy identification of a trend or perhaps some anthropological hint as to the people - and species... intelligent and alien, the very thought sent his mind into fits of fantasy and planning at once. It was like water, as far as he could tell. Formless, impossible to grip, but could fill the air around you and sweep one far away should he let it. There were colors and layers fitting the ghem Cetagandan... lack of modesty known to the Betans... the maliable gathering of anything adorned by a Jacksonian mindset...

And yet, nothing that fit anything else.

There was only one way to begin. Diplomatically.]

Might I ask a question?

OTHER

[Pick your poison, or let me know and I'll cater a starter to you.]

Comments

[use_everything]

A military oligarchy is not particularly easy to unseat or even change from the outside.

Your progress this far, if I might inquire?

[rathercommon]

...I have it on good authority that we end up succeeding.

[use_everything]

So, it happened without you?

[rathercommon]

Not exactly. It's more that it will happen. [ Then, before he can question that - ] One of the many weird things that goes on here is time travel. Someone I know is from my future and told me about it.

[use_everything]

Hm. [Aral sits back at that. His arms fold and face pinches in thought. Good sense would deny it, but where did such a thing live in a place like this? In the end, he says nothing at all to that.]

[rathercommon]

[ What - that's all she gets? No exclamations of disbelief? No cool-headed acceptance followed by a continuation of their conversation? Just hm?

Eurgh, fine. ]

Anyway. So democracy does have the potential to work even in a world like mine, where our rates of literacy are very low. Where education has been deliberately sabotaged. And that's amongst the urban population, too - who even knows what it's like out in the country.

[use_everything]

[He puts aside those thoughts for now to reexamine them again later.]

Were you told how dear the war was in cost? I've some curiosity in this.

[rathercommon]

[ She lifts her eyebrows at him. ]

Oh, yeah? Why are you curious? [ The faint irony in her voice asks the question that she doesn't: are you scared? ]

[use_everything]

[It is returned in a dry half smile and sardonic answer.]

What you propose as the future of your world would be little more than a play of suicide in three acts on mine.

But I do enjoy a thought exercise.

[rathercommon]

[ She narrows her eyes slightly. ]

Suicide. Why suicide, exactly?

[use_everything]

For regardless of the many ways the first two acts would play, the final is inevitable.

The first sign of prolonged civil unrest, Komarr would fall - the planet nearest the other side of our wormhole. The revolution would be quick, far less bloody and bitter than what would be necessary to destroy the current ruling class on Barrayar.

Our trade would be cut off and our military injured if not halved, depending on the galatic arena at the moment.

When we are at the height of our battle and before a centralized power could establish itself, the Cetagandan invasion would begin. They know from experience that they cannot hold us, so the entire population would be eradicated prior to colonization.

[rathercommon]

[ A rather thin, skeptical smile answers that narrative. ]

That's the story they tell us, too. Enemies waiting at our borders, poised to strike. Imperial holdings lost if we don't let them maintain the reins of power. I understand that we do well enough once those reins are dropped.

[use_everything]

Were that they were phantoms.

No, that was not propaganda; that was analysis. I would put my word to that.

[rathercommon]

[ She lifts her chin and her eyebrows at him. ]

Analysis looking at certain facts over others. What you think is true isn't objectively true. Your perception might be colored by certain facts and biases. Like the bias, for example, that most people in power search for evidence that it's for the best if they stay in power.

[dendarii]

[ And Miles, in return, warms with affection. ]

This ... is not such a bad place. Gregor and I can show you the rules.

[keep_nothing]

[ She barely manages to hold back that laugh, the sound ending up to be more of a mirthful snort. Rules, huh? ]

[use_everything]

[There is a flash of black humor behind his eyes.]

It is beyond bias, Miss Jones. It is my duty.

However, overlooking facts is not something I afford.

[dendarii]

[ Oh. Oh god. Miles' turn to be at a loss, faced with the image of Vorhalas desperate beyond anything he's ever seen. Vorhalas the calm and measured, the impeccably just if not fair - surely that must have been why --

He comes back to himself with a faint gasp, one hand going to his face. ]

I - I think I saw yours. A-an exchange?

[dendarii]

[ Really. Surprise - exasperation - and then a sour little twist underneath all of it, a worry shoved down too deep for conscious thought. ]

Mother, really. Not your sort of rules. That's for you and father, not me and Gregor.

[rathercommon]

Well, that's a pity, since you're overlooking these. Anyway, how is it your duty? As an Admiral?

[keep_nothing]

[ The last note surprised her, but it's gone too quick to examine it, leaving her wondering if she actually felt it. ]

Yes, sorry, of course not.

[dendarii]

We'll show you normal things. Like where to buy clothing. Alas, there's a distinct lack of computer-made or tailored options.

[ Miles himself is in a hoodie and jeans, obviously not tailored but not terrible either. ]

[keep_nothing]

Too bad about no computer-made items, but I think I'll be glad for some normal clothes. As pretty as a Vor's ladies wardrobe is, sometimes I long for my fatigues.

[dendarii]

You will love jeans, then. I'm terribly fond of hoodies, myself.

[ He manages to slide a hand into one of the pockets, wiggling it demonstratively. ]

[keep_nothing]

Ooh, they do look practical. And comfortable. Alys would be horrified. I love them already.

[ There's a teasing edge to her voice at mention of his aunt. ]