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

[keep_nothing]

[ She thinks she can read that in him, but really she's only guessing. Without the years that went in behind it, she's flying rather blind. The looks he's flicking over at her are encouraging though so she steps into the kitchen, keeping a good foot or two between them, but close enough that she can see what he's cooking. ]

I'd love to. Uh—Sire.

[ Smooth, Cordelia. Really smooth. ]

[vorbarra]

[Gregor is so startled he actually laughs briefly, a sort of choked off sound. A necessary release of tension.]

Oh, God, please don't. Not you, too. It just makes me picture you giving cool looks to my ImpSec babysitters about Sire needing a nap.

[keep_nothing]

[ She suddenly blows out a breath she hadn't known she was holding, half a laugh and half ... something else that makes her throat and chest tight and her eyes burn, pooling unexpectedly. She's smiling though, covering her mouth with one hand while she swallows thickly. Her son lives. ]

[dendarii]

[ He'd meant it to be self-deprecating, as a "look how terrible your son turned out." Apparently his parents envisioned much worse. What a strange, alien thing to think ... ]

So it's not so bad, right? Coming here and - and finding me here. I never meant to besmirch your father's name.

[ It comes out in a whisper at the end. ]

[use_everything]

[There's a moment where it become clear that his father honestly HAD no idea, nor intent in what he was doing. The startled note is clear across the connection, now unfogged by Miles' own pain.

As well as a racing mind, making connection after connection. There's a serenity that fills in the gap despite the phantom fire radiating from his shoulders through his whole skeletal system, and the heavy slam of iron resolve is almost in tandem.

There a message, and an answer, both apparently to Lord Vorkosigan's satisfaction.]

Aid should be here relatively quickly.

[Completely ignoring the demand as ridiculous, he gets up to knock the wedge out of the door.]

[use_everything]

[There's a tone she only takes on the subject of their son. He doesn't need to ask for elaboration for the understanding and edged worry to be reflected in his own countenance.]

So, our first point of order is established.

[What about home?]

[keep_nothing]

[ His laugh and the image he conjures startles a laugh out of her too, the tension in her relaxing. ]

I think I actually heard Drou saying the same thing just the other day.

[use_everything]

I'd ask what signs you'd seen of it, but they don't necessarily present to anyone without the luxury of access.

[keep_nothing]

[ She gives a single nod, both confirming and agreeing with him. ]

Have you seen or found anything that would give us a clue to know what's going on back on Barrayar? Or how to find out?

[vorbarra]

[Ah. Maybe they really can do this after all. Relief pangs through him in an unexpected rush at seeing that sign of humor.

It's impossibly difficult for Gregor to fathom what he must seem like to someone who's missing all of that that ordinarily lies between them, ever unspoken but silently felt as immense weights.]

I like to picture Count Vortrifrani, personally. [The head of the conservative party in Aral's time, the reference transforming Gregor's continually mild words into a blatant joke. And, too, a silent message that Gregor is no conservative.]

[keep_nothing]

No ...

[ She drops the hand from her mouth to grasp at his hand, the one not in a sling. She'd rather wrap both of her arms around him and not let go for several hours, but she'd rather not crush him right now. ]

Not so bad at all.

[vorbarra]

[He offers out,] I thought it was surreal enough being here, that first day, but this must be doubly so for you. An extra helping, finding Miles and myself drastically fast-forwarded.

[dendarii]

[ No. No no no, that horror spikes instantly, to the point where he's tempted to jolt straight to his feet. Only a quick realization of how much that would hurt his father keeps him trapped in exactly the same position. (That, in and of itself, is a testament to their actual relationship, not what Aral might think it is right now - he doesn't so much as flinch out of fear that he might cause his father more pain. And not even a hint of threatening Aral to stop, either. ]

It's not yours to bear, Father. [ Chin up sharply, defiance in his eyes. ] Give it back. I can handle it.

[use_everything]

Nothing. There's a communications network I've been monitoring for similar questions.

[He hadn't been the only one at the facility. Had he missed her by minutes? Hours?]

It may be worth asking ourselves.

[protagerrant]

And there's a lot of crap to sort through. A lot more than I'm used to.

[dendarii]

[ Probably for the best. Awkwardly, he follows her hand grasp, to lean very gently against her if she permits it. ]

I - can't have turned out how you expected, though.

[keep_nothing]

I'm still trying to wrap my head around it, honestly.

[ She leans her hip against the counter she's next to. It probably seems both foreign and familiar to Gregor: Cordelia relaxing around him, treating him as Gregor the man rather than Gregor the emperor; he might also remember her commenting every now and then on how restricting those Barrayaran court-ish clothes are (and then in the next breath gush about the new dress Aunt Alys had just gotten her, but that's besides the point). To see her now in native civilian clothing, relaxed enough to slouch ... ]

[keep_nothing]

More than worth it. I want to know he's all right.

[vorbarra]

[He is much more used to her sweeping in like a traveling armada and ordering all the occupants of the room about to their places, it's true. But this seems weirdly natural on her, actually more natural, and it sends up a tiny pang of old bitterness at how much is sacrificed to the Imperial cage. Not just by him but by those around him.

His expression of sympathetic interest doesn't waver.] I can't blame you. I won't lie, I'm doing a bit of that myself. The two of you have always seemed very... [He waves the tongs vaguely.] Indomitable.

[rathercommon]

[ Vorkosigan?

Oh, shit.

Her eyes flick up just a moment, widening just a little. It's only half a breath and no more than that, a moment of real surprise and real alarm. And then that moment passes and she gets herself under control. She forces her gaze back down to the phone. Her heart is beating. How can she warn Miles - how can she warn Miles without letting Vorkosigan know - shit, shit...

She controls her voice as best she can. It comes out just a little too light, a little too breathy, a little too casual. ]

Got it. I found your number. Right, give me a moment to think of which ones would be best. Political history, I'm guessing? Is what you're interested in?

[use_everything]

He has the most experience turning purple on the slightest occasion.

[He concedes, the wry mirth still apparent.]

Is he still banging the war drums... [His statement, uncharacteristically trails, as the simple magnitude and impossibility it all seemed.] How old are you now?

[vorbarra]

He turns purple and succeeds in making me think he's going to start frothing, so yes.

[Gregor has to pause, though, at this second question, and how much he knows lays behind it. He stirs aimlessly for a moment, staring down at the vegetables going round, before saying quietly,] I'm twenty-five. You've seen me safely to my majority and well past it.

[keep_nothing]

[ She scoots closer to him automatically, shifting just slightly so that her free hand can reach around his shoulder to cradle the base of his head, pressing her lips to his forehead. She doesn't even try to hide the tremor in her voice. ]

You're more beautiful than anything I could have imagined.

[use_everything]

[Father. It stills him more than any wave of pain ever could. The contented note rang pure, untouched by the muddy cacophony of internal conflict. His son.

It was not that he couldn't feel the horror. It wasn't that he couldn't make his own guess to where the defiance came from and why. He'd seen the same on Koudelka's face and knew every last bitter root of it.

His eyes fell pointedly on Miles' collar, and he drew himself up, hands clasps behind his own back as if he was above the agony of it.]

I have no doubt you bear it well. I've seen how much you tolerate without a sign.

[Now that he's looking, now that that damning, enfeebling rage had left, there's lines around Miles' eyes, around his mouth.]

Thirty minutes. [Enough time for this magical med tech to arrive and see the injury through. The injury he gave to his own son, regardless of how Miles thinks of him.] Allow me an apology, please.

[use_everything]

[He nods at that and fishes out his own communicator, pauses, and looks around. He waves her towards a park bench near by, as they can both at least have some comfort in case this should go on long.]