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Voice Testing Post

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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?

[ 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. ]

[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.

[ 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.

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.

[ 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.

[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?

[ 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?

[He looks sharply at Miles, color taking leave of his face. He knew precisely had had come, unbidden to his own mind. It still plagued the quiet moments of his day.

He lifts his chin, flat resolution chaining down anything else that he might have felt.]

My apologies.

... The same. For what you must have seen.

[ If what came to his mind also appeared in Aral's. Miles' emotions are a bit messier, but after a moment he slowly forces himself back under control ]

I didn't know we could do that.

[There's a measured moment, heavy with that statement.]

Which leaves what to be done about it.

Fold everything up, try to pretend it doesn't exist?

[ And yet, Miles feels half-starved for that moment of pride again. ]

No.

That's been enough of a mistake in a number of things.

[Bothari was still such a complicated thought right now.]

... Gregor and I have been practicing shielding. I can show you what we learned so far. Another option to have on hand, if we feel ourselves falling into this.

That may be prudent.

I would tell you any story you ask, but not ask you to know living it.

... The same to you as well. There are few things you don't know, eventually.

[ A few collected secrets over the years, ones his mind won't even flit to even thinking about the subject in general. ]

[An eyebrow lifts and there's a rumble of curiosity.]

Hm. [Then, a nod followed.] Naturally, you are your own man.

Of course. My own hells and triumphs included. I'd rather not inflict the former on you.

And the latter is rarely free of the former.

Still, it's not you I worry on. The number of men sworn to me, however temporarily, is somewhat sobering.

[ Miles puzzles at that comment for a moment. ]

What do you mean? Here? It's only me, technically.

Indeed.

But that is not guaranteed to stay fixed.

... I hardly intend to take on more armsmen. Are you?

God, no.

... Though it may not honestly be an issue. Gregor had attained his majority... It will take some adjusting to remember.

[ Miles can't hide the faintly wicked gleam that comes into his eyes at that. It makes him look very much like his mother. ]

That's right, Gregor is in charge now. I wish you luck in adjusting.

[There's a start, an almost comical blink at the resemblance. It took no connection to see the warm humor in his eyes, even so he put on a dour show.]

Frankly, my boy, he can take the job.

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