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

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Hm.

[He studies the coffee table a moment, eyes finding the wound in it again.

Instead of beckoning, he takes a few steps to close the gap. Aral sits next to her on the couch, leg pressed against leg, shoulder to shoulder and arm slid behind her, a loose half embrace.]

A dimension away still might not be far enough.

[keep_nothing]

[ She welcomes his presence on the couch gladly, immediately shifting to accommodate him by leaning her weight into his arm, tilting her head onto his shoulder. She'd been hungry for his familiar touch in this wholly unfamiliar world all day. And now after learning the truth about this Naismith impostor, to learn that it was Gregor and Miles, their son, grown up and (relatively) healthy and making a mess of everything ... she craved to just press her face against Aral and not come up for air for weeks.

Though his gaze drew her attention. She raises her head off his shoulder again just seconds after laying it there, her eyes on the table. ]

... What happened there?

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A conspiracy of fear and anger.

[Positioned as she is, the large breath he draws and releases moves her as well, ever so slightly.]

You've surely seen my father's dagger? He wears it even to bed. [Another pause, another moment to breathe.] It was once mine, gifted and demanded returned on some loud difference we had in the past.

Miles' first move was to draw it, to defend himself with it.

I could think of no honorable reason for him to have it at that moment.

[keep_nothing]

[ She should probably pick up on the other meanings of why Miles would really have it and what it means to Aral, but there's another subject more immediate in her mind. ]

So you took it and then stabbed it into a wooden table?

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Yes... I-

[He gives her a Look as he realizes where this is going.]

It's furniture.

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But it's wooden furniture. [ She SIGHS out an exasperated breath, muttering after with sagged shoulders. ] That's such a waste ...

[ But she relaxes against him once more with one last puff of breath, replacing her head on his shoulder again. Back to more (or less, depending on the view) somber subjects. ]

So did Miles tell you how he'd gotten your father's dagger?

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[His tone has some small, almost impossible wonder, given the last argument with his father.]

It was given to him by my father. They managed some peace.

[He can't help the gentle tease.] He likes the horses. I suppose it was inevitable.

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[ He can feel her let out a slow breath as she leans against him, different from the exasperated sigh of a moment ago, relieved. ]

I guess he didn't mean all that never-ever stuff after all.

[ She turns her face up to him, letting him see her exaggerated squint to tease right back. ]

The horses are unfortunate though. I wonder if that's how they bonded. [ Then she drops the squint, eyes more wide now as she realizes the ramifications. ] God, I hope Miles didn't actually ride them as a child. He'd be broken in two.

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[He can't help a tug of a smile here.]

Have you seen his eyes? I don't think the whole of the Imperial Service could keep him from it.

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[ She groans plaintively, thumping her forehead down on his shoulder. ]

My poor nerves ... I bet he didn't give us any time to breathe when he could finally walk.

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[The arm around her squeezed gently in sympathy, though his eyes were light with amusement.]

.. I wonder when that was.

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[ She shifts again, her cheek pressing against the point of his shoulder now. ]

I'm not sure. I didn't want to ask, really ... keep it a surprise.

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[Two years ago or two years old... The answer could be a loaded one.]

Well, he's found more sport than horses now. The stories are impressive.

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I'll say, He barely got started in the telling ...

But what about his story here?

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That's something I mean to speak with you about.

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[ It's subtle, her shift in posture, but as close as they are he'll be able to feel the way she lightly holds her breath in anticipation, preparing for the complications this discussion is more than likely to have. ]

Oh?

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There is the subject of whether that story should continue.

It is pending their and your decisions.

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[ She frowns. Something is missing there. ]

What about your decision?

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I've made mine.

The whole game they've been playing has been to keep Gregor's identity quiet. There's no reason my presence should destroy that.

I imagine the plan will be for me to assume the role of Count and leave the villain, Lord Vorkosigan free. Still, it might give us some trouble by association.

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[ She tries not to reject his decision out of slight, but it's hard to hide her eyes from him. ]

But the lie will just become bigger won't it? Having to keep its own cover by adding more and more details.

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Oh. It's already unbelievably convoluted. Twisted, contradictory and nonsensical in it's own way. [Dendarii. Honestly.] And it certainly caused the... mess today. Frankly, I can practically feel the blood pressure of ImpSec collectively going up by the double digits every next part I hear.

But something like this is nothing that can go backwards.

Besides, I have a suspicion at least some aspects of it hold some weight I haven't fully grasped.

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[ Her lip twitches at the thought of that. Poor Illyan. ]

But even if you were Count instead of Lord, what does that make us to Miles? Would we still be his parents? I don't want to lie about that.

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Were that he were whom he claim to be, would you not consider him a son as well?

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He could claim to be the emperor and I'd still say he was mine.

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Lets not offer any new ideas.