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

[dendarii]

[ Gosh. He feels like he's being tested all over again. Well, fine. A moment of defiance in return - he'll rise to that challenge.

The hunger is strange though, half worrying and half ... hungry himself, to feel that coming from his father. Is this how his father felt all the time back home? Had Miles just been unable to see it? Surely - surely. He swallows a little, overwhelmed by the force of it.

Gregor is an easy subject in comparison. The light that emanates from Miles is blinding - admiration, affection, fierce protectiveness all rolled up into one. Wild horses couldn't tear Miles from his Emperor's side. Another reason to devote himself so completely to his cover. ]

He's - incredible. One of the greatest men I know. And he's saner than me, we checked.

[ The last almost an afterthought against all of Miles' blazing conviction. ]

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[How could someone debate, or wonder in the face of that. His own insecurities barely could whisper doubt in the face of that fire.

He'd see for himself but... At the moment there's only relief, gratitude and some wonder, before-]

Checked?

[dendarii]

Telepathically. With the link. He needed to be sure.

[ That is worth another flicker of hot protectiveness. More proof - an insane man wouldn't have dared. ]

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[He needed to be sure. Even more than the 'we' of that first statement, the implications of it became clear. He knew. What Miles felt from Aral was not a lack of emotion but a curiously numb one, almost hidden under the release of long tension and older guilt.

Of course he would, by this age he'd have enough clearance to get to anything he damn well pleased.]

This is going to take a while to get used to.

[dendarii]

[ Miles quiets too, feeling that. He ... doesn't have comfort to offer there; the faintly sick feeling in his heart is probably betrayal enough. Gregor can tell Aral about that balcony on Komarr under his own terms. If ever.

All of that swirls for a moment, coloring his side of the link. ]

The link? Gregor and I being grown? ... Both?

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[There's no push back at the heartsickness. Something in Aral feels that in his son and just quietly, solemnly takes it and folds it in with all of the rest. No excuses, no answers, merely acceptance.]

Both, everything, honestly. [He takes a breath in and lets it out. When he continues, his tone is particularly dry.] I'd prided myself on adaption, you know. I suppose it needed a good test.

[dendarii]

[ Miles echoes that dryness in his own tone. (The moment of heartsickness ebbs back into nothing.) ]

This will certainly be a challenge then. You don't even know what parts of my story are true yet.

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I would wager approximately 80%, forgiving lies of missing context and omission. More if you remove 'Lord Vorkosigan' from the tale.

[He watches Miles for the accuracy of his guess.]

I'd still like to hear it, though. The real story, that is.

[dendarii]

[ Miles considers ... nods after a moment. That's reasonably close. Within a statistically permissible amount of error. ]

It is a long one. The Dendarii themselves are very real, even if their Admiral is not. It's a persona I've just now gotten into in full, I think; the first time was kind of an accident. A ... self-destructive whim, after I'd failed the physical exam.

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[There's a twinge of dry, black, black humor at that. He knows about those whims... Apparently he'd hadn't just passed on a shape of a jaw and the set of his ears. His face remained composed, attentive.]

You left?

[dendarii]

Not ... as such. Not running away as much as desperate for some way, any way, to serve. I thought I'd start by locating Elena Bothari's mother.

[ A mirrored twist of black humor, wound up in a deep ache. And so Sergeant Bothari paid the price... ]

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[Miles can practically hear the Dear god. Both thoughts and emotions seized in Aral, like a shock to the heart, and then restarted, churning too fast and deep to follow beyond a terrible heartsickness.]

Was Sergeant Bothari your guardian at the time?

[dendarii]

[ Miles can't be surprised at the reaction, exactly, but it is alarming for him to feel his father so acutely. An answering wave of heartsickness and guilt, guilt, guilt. His fault. His foolishness. ]

Yes. You and mother assigned him to me when I was very young. [ Unspoken, a vision of Bothari tall and menacing, standing opposite Piotr. Always a just in case. ] Still guarding me to the last. He... is dead. I arranged a happy family reunion between him, Elena, and Elena Visconti.

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The day you were born, yes. ... You couldn't have known.

[A cold, empty comfort, he knew.

He had little time to consider the vision, whether it his own fancy or something else. Happy? Strangely, horribly, he could imagine Bothari truly was. His own regard for the man was such a complicated thing, something that had crept on him through the years, extended through horror and victory, loyalty and betrayals. He was both uncomfortable as he was trustworthy for it. He wondered what sort of man Miles had made him...

He marshals himself, something of the connection curling tight, closing around himself. It doesn't cut but something of him tempers, flattens. Like the still surface of a river, the current and depths hidden below it.]

Any other injuries?

[dendarii]

[ That early? Grandfather had told him much, but ... there's still a breath of surprise across the link. He's not sure if it hurts more or less to have a grandfather who wanted him dead before he was born.

Not relevant, right now. Aral's complicated regard for Bothari is mirrored in Miles, albeit with fewer twists and turns. For him, Bothari had always been the stalwart bodyguard with a host of issues beneath the surface. Trying to strangle Baz, for example ... A different stab of pain at that, thinking of them. ]

Among the Dendarii? I gave myself an ulcer. From stress.

The rest are too many to count, of course.

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I'm afraid that would be my fault. [It's murmured, taking the chance to duck into the respite of a safer subject.] Predisposed to ulcers something terrible.

[He'd thought about getting his stomach simply replaced, but was told he'd have to give up the drink for the first month or so. He'd decided his body could do what it damn pleased and so would he.

He gives the more sober topic a moment of contemplation, turning it over carefully.]

Tell me you at least thought to have the Dendarii arranged as the Emperor's fleet and service.

[dendarii]

[ A faint brightening in return, pride shining a bit. ]

Of course. It was the only way out. Vorhalas would have had me put to the Counts as having broken Vorloupulous' Law otherwise. The miss was near enough for treason ...

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[Aral flinches a little. Far from the ancient, complicated, painful dance he'd witnessed between Count Vorkosigan and Count Vorhalas, this unstated agony was fresh, still raw and barely cauterized.]

... It would be him.

Treason or high treason?

[dendarii]

[ Ah. Dammit. Another misstep. He tucks it away, resolving not to bring up Vorhalas directly again. In that, he finds an immediate outlet. ]

Treason to usurp Gregor's throne. No less than that, trumped up from the more minor Vorloupulous flavor. That was your doing, by the way.

[ And now, for once, he gets to sit back and see if his father picks through the tactics of that particular puzzle. ]

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[His eyes narrow slightly and he takes back to pacing.

Miles would have certainly been guilty for Voloupulous' Law if he'd cobbled together enough men and ships to call it a fleet, or at least functionally ran more than one. Deliberately moving the charge to treason was the key here - harder to prove, certainly, unless the Dendarii had meddled directly against the Emperor (the idea was toyed with and then discarded as unlikely). Miles simply showing up with his case, tactical readings and ledgers in order would have been enough for him to sway a majority - presuming the party balances hadn't so wildly shifted.

But why allow him to move up the charges, then? Certainly, the appeal of taking him down would be a part of it. Depending on the office he held, he would have to order and oversee the sentencing himself... but the risk of the charges failing would-

He stops, abruptly.]

The accusers counted on the trial in absentia. Arranged a delay.

[dendarii]

[ There we go. As if he doubted his father for a moment - but it's wildly satisfying to see him through it when Miles knows the answer already. Such a pleasant reversal. ]

Just so. Sabotaged a courier flight, in fact - Ivan only missed it by his own dumb luck. [ That's enough to sour the whole thing, but he presses on. ] And when I walked in, interrupting their case, it shattered them. I took them apart the rest of the way, Vordrozda pulled a needler, and ... well, that was it.

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Hm. [Padma's boy? That old snake had been clearing the Imperial line... The rest - there was no echo of concern or fear in hearing about the needler. Drawing a needle gun in the Council of Counts was akin to placing your hand in a hungry tiger's mouth, just to see what its teeth felt like.

Vordrozda was a wily old lizard. He had to have been pushed hard not to just shed his tail and wait for the next opportunity. Predatory satisfaction suffused the connection, edged with a new blossom of paternal pride. That's my boy.]

Good. Very good. No one of any political mind would dare cast a guilty vote on treason beside a man who tied his own gallows knot.

[And then sobered again.] Though I imagine difficulty quelling the charges for Vorloupulous' Law being relaid.

[dendarii]

[ Miles drinks that small flare of pride in greedily. Surely - surely his own version had felt much the same at the time, if also tied up in everything else going on, but to feel it directly is a world of difference... Speaking of complications though. A sudden, vibrant mental image across their link - of Aral on his knees in front of Vorhalas. ]

Vorhalas was ready to do it. Hence making them the Emperor's Own.

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[The answer to that comes unbidden and powerful. A much younger Vorhalas kneeling at your feet, the manner duplicated, right down to which knuckle pressed to the ground. Count Vorhalas' face was reddened, almost to purple with grief and desperate rage. "How long have we been friends, Aral?! Comrades! I beg of you!" The wretched, terrible first understanding that there was no right answer for Barrayar that would also be right personally.

And it's gone... Left as something seems to unknot in Aral. Something wasn't set right, but a balance made.

Aral looks at a loss at Miles, only aware of image of himself before Vorhalas.]

... Your memory?

[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?