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

[vorbarra]

[So even then he'd meant something to her; not just a child she'd had to grow to love. Gregor hadn't even known that was a concern he'd ever had, but he finds it being soothed, anyway. His memories of her that young are a mad hazy rush of confusion, being swept through the mountains holding onto her skirts.

He leans forward on the counter on his elbows, bracing himself, and gains a similar wisp of a smile.] I didn't mind too much. They always forgot I was Emperor, you see.

[keep_nothing]

[ She grins wider, both at what he said as well as his posture. It's the most relaxed she'd seen of him here yet. ]

The little scamps. How dare they. I hope it did you some good.

[use_everything]

[Back home he could have just ordered it and it would have been done. Honestly, back home, he wouldn't have had to. Simon Illyan is far too efficient for that.]

I'll do some studying. Improvise, if I have to.

[keep_nothing]

Try not to go overboard here, will you? We only just arrived and we don't know how everything works yet.

[vorbarra]

[Cordelia is the person he's most open with in the universe after Miles (which at this point is a drastically unfair comparison, Miles so outstrips everyone else). It's hard for him to completely abandon that, and in any case, he wouldn't want to. It just being the two of them alone goes a long way for him.

His smile widens just a little.] It did. And you were always careful to puncture my bubble if the Imperialness started going to my head, don't worry. [Clearly he harbors no ill feelings about that.]

[use_everything]

My dear Captain, would I ever?

[keep_nothing]

Oh no, I wonder if I should ask just how I did that.

[keep_nothing]

[ She gives a snort, pinching the back of his hand that's still on her thigh. ]

[vorbarra]

With one extraordinarily well-placed, utterly mild, pointed remark. Your aim is acute.

[Gregor may or may not have picked up a similar ability from her; it's just unrefined in him at present, making rare appearances. Now that he's turned to very lightly teasing instead of seriously reminiscing, he turns to pull down to plates and start to serve the food.]

[keep_nothing]

[ She automatically reaches to help, stepping in closer to his personal space to take the plates from him. There's absolutely no hesitation in doing this either; she could be in her apartment on Beta Colony, helping her own mother serve dinner with the familiar ease she's showing Gregor. It occurs to her, belatedly, that he might be uncomfortable with it, but what he's said so far ... she does make sure to keep a watchful eye on his reactions though, resolving to back off if he reacts badly. ]

You know, I'm actually surprised at this. I can't imagine having gotten away with teaching you how to cook too.

[vorbarra]

[On the contrary, Gregor takes a lot of comfort from, as Miles had put it, the fact that all of their ranks seem like optical illusions to her. Sometimes he does need someone who understands intuitively his position in life, but even more often he just wants someone to not give a flip what his family name is.

It's quite relaxing, spending time with her. Plus she is always so sensible and he is, normally, equally so.]

You didn't, [he answers her simply, appearing to maneuver around her without thinking about it. There's some slight self-consciousness, but it's only born from the knowledge that she might form some separate judgement of him, different and distinct from the Cordelia he knows.] I learned to cook here. Self-defense.

But I don't see why you'd be surprised at 'getting away' with anything. [He looks at her curiously. Thought of her as indomitable indeed.]

[dendarii]

[ Pride is clearly fiercely important to Miles. It would have had to be for him to survive on Bararayar; it leaks over now in every word he says and movement he makes. Even with his movements stilled to nothing he feels the need to take up as much space as he can, to stand up to this terrifying vision of his father.

This ... terrifyingly human vision of his father. God. Either the intervening years have solidified Aral's personality into diamond or he just got better at hiding this part of himself. (Feet of clay.) ]

I am ... I am glad to know that much. [ He had wondered, sometimes. Impossibly large seems a good description for him. ] You and he seemed on better terms, but there was always something between you. [ Miles himself, it seemed. ]

[dendarii]

[ It's so strange to be the more skilled of the two at this, as natural as that must also be; he'd sort of expected his mother to be naturally good at it. A flicker of amusement back, followed by sheepishness and nervousness - all undercut with being glad to see her. He's missed his mother, oh yes. ]

It's on now. If that's what you mean.

[use_everything]

Indeed, there always was something.

[There are undercurrents of something here, deep, and even at this age, polished smooth from frequent handling. There's no marks, nor memories or words to give it any identification. Aral himself seemed to be deciding when a knock comes from the door.

Before he's even stood to see to it, the composure is back, his face inscrutable. He sets a booted foot on the table for leverage and the dagger pulled free from the depth of the wood.

He hesitates at the second knock, and lays the blade beside Miles.]

[dendarii]

[ Wells and wells of it, so deep Miles can't see the bottom. (Or layers worn smooth, in this case.)

The knock comes at a good moment, then. Miles hardly knows what to say; he's relieved to have the healer here so that he can claim his pain back and not have to watch his father deal with it.

The blade, then, is unexpected; he'd assume it would remain in the table for a while, Miles himself too reluctant to claim it. That his father is already giving it back to him, having only heard a few details of Miles' story. That this Aral is already reclaiming Miles as his son despite everything. ... Relief and awe in equal measure, poured straight down his own bottomless pit of self worth issues. God. What a mess this all is. If he could pick it up without jostling his shoulders, he would.

Later then. After the healers have taken the worst of the damage. Whoever comes in, he's obviously familiar with them - and they have done something similar for him before. Some worry, surely, and pointed questions about how this all happened. Miles deflects them by saying he only did it to himself, really (no lie in that). He settles down to let them work. ]

[use_everything]

[It isn't missed.. and he can't help but wonder what their relationship truly is, how damaged. But for how little he knows this man, his son, the treatment is for the damage he put there himself. It was the third time in threee months he'd nearly killed his own son.

No wonder.

While the healer works, Aral stands to the side, watching carefully the familiarity and interplay. His expression darkens a moment, a stab of remorse clear between them, as Miles takes the blame for the incident himself. But he doesn't correct it either - there's no gain to that.

As supplies are set out, soft casting material and slings, Aral interjects.]

I assume you have acquired spirits of at least passable quality for our guest. The kitchen?

[dendarii]

[ Miles looks up at that. Does his father want privacy? To preserve the illusion that Miles has set up? To simply not have to watch his son get treated? Doesn't matter. Miles himself will be grateful enough for a moment away from him. To catch his breath. ]

Yes, on the lower shelf. And a bottle in the fridge of red wine.

[ He'll let his father do what he needs to. So Miles can focus on what he needs to. ]

[use_everything]

Perfect.

[With an easy bow to the healer, Aral excuses himself. The wine took no time at all to locate, the glasses could wait, as he could hear the healer's conscientious warnings. He found a chair at the kitchenette and simply prepared to wait.]

[dendarii]

[ It's easy enough to track the healer's progress - the screaming pain of bones being set and shoulders being prodded back into shape washes through and past Miles easily, to dump directly on Aral like hot lead. Then, mercifully, that agony abates and relief begins to set in as the healer's magic begins to takes the edge off it. Not a full heal - with bones broken the badly, Miles will need a second session - but the immediate agony fades to something controllable.

In contrast, the perpetual fiery ache of miles' bone aches is abruptly more pronounced. Like a tension headache in his whole body, thick and leaden and too warm. It isn't even touched by the healer's ministrations. Worsened, even, by the prodding and pulling needed to get his broken bones back into place.

All stills after a moment, as the healer takes their leave and Miles sags back against the couch, exhausted. ]

[rathercommon]

[ This bit of confusion is unfeigned - the first honest moment from her so far. She asks: ]

Erm - terror-formed?

[use_everything]

[There was no sound, no sign from the kitchen through the whole ordeal. If it wasn't for the eerie lack of pain, it might have been as if he was gone.

The wonderful thing about the mind is its robust share of defense mechanisms. While he was hardly the veteran Miles was to broken bones, his hadn't been a calm life.

His own mind simply blanked, a gap in memory during the worst. Finding himself folded over, forehead nearly touching the modest table, Aral merely took a few long, fortifying breaths, forcing control and composure back along all of his nerves.

Aral hadn't quite intended to finish the facade of fetching the wine - to offer a glass to Miles now would only emphasize the injury and loss of motion. Instead, he pours out a splash for himself and downs it summarily, barely tasting it. Fortification against the background pain welling up through his bones.

When he returned, it was will full composure, closed but terribly pale.]

Efficient, though a shame it couldn't be seen through entirely.

[use_everything]

Terraform. [He pauses only a moment to step out of the path of a young couple, and regains his stride. This explanation is simple, mild, and laced with some private humor.] Though I've chance to witness some worlds for whom your interpretation is correct.

It can be as simple as removing hostile environment and replacing it with a more Earth-like one, though I'm aware other Empires have some more sophisticated means.

[rathercommon]

Oh. Like...terra. Earth.

[ She reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear, just a little bit flustered - half at her ignorance, and half at the almost warm way in which he'd corrected it. Vorkosigan, she reminds herself. The family that ordered a clone-body for one of its members. Not sweet. ]

That's how you live on other planets. Shaping them to humans' preferences.

[keep_nothing]

Oh—!

[ Now she feels it, the strange something that she all of the sudden realizes isn't coming from her, her earlier amusement melting into amazement. Her eyes widen as she looks down at him, exploring that new feeling in her head without a single thread of revulsion or rejection, only curiosity and excitement. ]

Is that you ...?

[use_everything]

[He gives a laugh to that, honest and audible.]

Perhaps we should see to accommodation.

[He's already working out what needs to be logged and what will need further detail while they research and planned for whatever action could be offered.]