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

[keep_nothing]

[ Cordelia shakes her head, but if it's denial of what he said or in disbelief, even she's not sure. My own parents, he says. She absolutely can see it now, the strong resemblance to Aral, pieces and parts of herself in those eyes ... She settles on the only question her mind can supply at that moment. ]

Why?

[dendarii]

[ As a simple answer, he nods over to Gregor. ]

Because of him. I'd played with the Naismith persona a bit my first day, but I hadn't intended to keep it. But ... Gregor ...

[ He bites his lip a bit. ]

We couldn't tell anyone he's the Emperor of the Barrayaran Imperium. Everything else stemmed out from that single point.

[keep_nothing]

Stemmed and ballooned from what Aral—your father and I could see.

[ Gosh that fumble was painfully apparent, wasn't it. She's clearly not used to saying such things yet. ]

[dendarii]

[ Very clear. He's gotten some bits and pieces from Aral - made his own best guesses - but hasn't sat down to talk shop yet. It seems bizarre to try doing it with the father he knew from back home, much less this mess. ]

Yes, well ... it seems to be a talent of mine. Things getting out of hand.

... How ... old am I for you?

[keep_nothing]

[ She gives a faint snort, the corner of her mouth turning up slightly. ]

Wonder where you could have gotten that from.

[ Then her lips straighten into a line again, remembering the worry she felt earlier that day. She looks directly at Miles again, eyes a touch wider in their dull fear. ]

... Only days. You had just come out of the replicator.

[dendarii]

Both of you, as far as I can tell ...

[ But mostly his mother. The "Naismith" appellation is appropriate on more than one level, oh yes. He frowns a bit in turn, trying to even parse that. His parents only know him as a baby. Not even a baby of one or two years, that might have given him some incredibly hazy memory to go off of. He has nothing. Letting all his breath out in one long exhale, he decides to attempt lightness. ]

Good news, then. I live to be at least twenty. However twisted the journey.

[keep_nothing]

[ She suddenly blows out a breath she hadn't known she was holding, half a laugh and half ... something else that makes her throat and chest tight and her eyes burn, pooling unexpectedly. She's smiling though, covering her mouth with one hand while she swallows thickly. Her son lives. ]

[dendarii]

[ He'd meant it to be self-deprecating, as a "look how terrible your son turned out." Apparently his parents envisioned much worse. What a strange, alien thing to think ... ]

So it's not so bad, right? Coming here and - and finding me here. I never meant to besmirch your father's name.

[ It comes out in a whisper at the end. ]

[keep_nothing]

No ...

[ She drops the hand from her mouth to grasp at his hand, the one not in a sling. She'd rather wrap both of her arms around him and not let go for several hours, but she'd rather not crush him right now. ]

Not so bad at all.

[dendarii]

[ Probably for the best. Awkwardly, he follows her hand grasp, to lean very gently against her if she permits it. ]

I - can't have turned out how you expected, though.

[keep_nothing]

[ She scoots closer to him automatically, shifting just slightly so that her free hand can reach around his shoulder to cradle the base of his head, pressing her lips to his forehead. She doesn't even try to hide the tremor in her voice. ]

You're more beautiful than anything I could have imagined.

[dendarii]

[ Oh. That's - he can't help the tears that spring to his eyes; he barely keeps them from spilling onto her shoulder. He sucks in a sharp little breath. ]

How? I'm deformed, Mother.

[keep_nothing]

[ Mother. It rings in her ears, causing her breath to catch. She pulls back far enough to look at his face again, taking in every inch of him. ]

You're my son. There's nothing more beautiful than that. And anyone who thinks differently can say it to my face.

[ Her tone hardened towards the end of that, not quite masked by the tremor. It's the same tone Miles has heard reserved for his grandfather. ]

[dendarii]

[ It is the same tone he'd heard about his Grandfather; it makes him wince, both at the memory of Piotr as well as hearing that tone come from her mouth, again. He resolves never to repeat that particular phrasing in front of her again.

Maybe he doesn't need to. Not with his mother staring him in the face, saying that like he really is the beautiful thing he could possibly be. God. He sucks in another sharp breath. ]

They don't much here. I'm - practically normal with the range of imPorts.

[keep_nothing]

Good. I'd hate to have to start on the wrong foot with a number of people so soon after arriving.

[ But that seems to break her sudden intensity and tension, pulling back a bit more and still grasping his hand, her other relaxing, sliding down to gently cup the base of his neck. She realizes she can subtly feel the top of his spine from there, the slight protrusion that's less than ordinary—no, now is not the time to prod him in that way. ]

How long have you been here? You and Gregor ...

[dendarii]

[ He sort of flinches a bit, feeling her touch that curve. He won't pull away from his mother, not ever, but it shocks him to think that she hadn't known about it until just now. Couldn't have, in fact. ]

Only a month or so. We arrived after the first of the year, together.

[keep_nothing]

[ She makes sure to stop moving her damn hand at his flinch, keeping it still, a warm hand on his back and nothing more. ]

And only the two of you?

[dendarii]

[ He relaxes again, though he's suddenly body conscious in a way he wasn't before. ]

That's right. We've been keeping up a lie in case anyone else shows up - other Barrayarans, mostly. Hence Miles Naismith.

I - I am very sorry for dragging your father's name into this.

[keep_nothing]

It's your name too. [ A beat. ] Unless we decided on another name for you? I can't imagine we would have ...

[dendarii]

[ He shakes his head. ]

Miles Naismith Vorkosigan. That's my whole name.

[keep_nothing]

It is a good name.

But no one else here knows about Vorkosigan? ... Well. Not that you're a Vorkosigan anyway.

[ Her tone hints at amusement at that. ]

[dendarii]

Gregor, obviously. And Charles Xavier perhaps. He's a telepath who helped us look at our link early on.

[keep_nothing]

A telepath?

[ No, wait. The more important thing first. ]

What link?

[dendarii]

[ She doesn't know. But Gregor - ah, he must be shielding himself. Miles hadn't realized, as his part of the link with Gregor still feels open. ]

... Telepathic link. With Gregor. Betwen Gregor and all his subjects, actually. Between liegesworn in general.

[keep_nothing]

[ She frowns, piecing that together. ]

... I haven't felt anything like that.