Admiral Lord Aral Vorkosigan (
use_everything) wrote2016-01-16 07:55 am
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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.]
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.]
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Vorhalas was ready to do it. Hence making them the Emperor's Own.
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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?
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He comes back to himself with a faint gasp, one hand going to his face. ]
I - I think I saw yours. A-an exchange?
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He lifts his chin, flat resolution chaining down anything else that he might have felt.]
My apologies.
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[ 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.
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Which leaves what to be done about it.
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[ And yet, Miles feels half-starved for that moment of pride again. ]
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That's been enough of a mistake in a number of things.
[Bothari was still such a complicated thought right now.]
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I would tell you any story you ask, but not ask you to know living it.
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[ A few collected secrets over the years, ones his mind won't even flit to even thinking about the subject in general. ]
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Hm. [Then, a nod followed.] Naturally, you are your own man.
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Still, it's not you I worry on. The number of men sworn to me, however temporarily, is somewhat sobering.
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What do you mean? Here? It's only me, technically.
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But that is not guaranteed to stay fixed.
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... Though it may not honestly be an issue. Gregor had attained his majority... It will take some adjusting to remember.
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That's right, Gregor is in charge now. I wish you luck in adjusting.
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Frankly, my boy, he can take the job.
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Oh, certainly. I have no doubt of that. But in my time, that just shifts you from Regent to Prime Minister.
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I imagine that was a discussion or two back at the house.
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...
We'll see.
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