use_everything | Voice Testing Post

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

[They couldn't be clearer. Some distant part of his mind is compiling strategies for an opponent with unknown abilities, unknown prowess. An idle muse if he could get the purse away without breaking her wrist, from this distance.

Deciding, he paid respect to the fear coming off of her. He traces a shallow bow, using it as the excuse to step back, offer room.]

Vorkosigan. [Each syllable twinged with a sardonic edge, something just on this side of a taunt.]

It seems your memory is short, Miss...

Jones.

[ The increased distance does relax her, just a little bit. Her fingers get less tense, and her weight shifts just a little bit forward again. She's on her guard still, but less intensely so.

Which is probably stupid. It's not like he couldn't easily shoot her from this distance. Or...whatever. ]

Anyway, is it? I don't know, are you famous? I hope you're famous. Even if it's just back in your world. I've always wanted to meet a celebrity.

[ She goes now for trying to seem a little airheaded. It usually works. Middle-aged men especially often seem to want to expect a teenage girl to be shallow and thoughtless. (Her eyes, though, are just a little bit too intently fixed on him to really sell that illusion.) ]

You said you're an Admiral. Of what?

[Shave another twenty years off of him, he might have taken that outlook at its face value. But age, and to some great extent, Cordelia has broadened him.

But even at his most old Vor, he could not have missed the armed weapon behind her eyes.]

The Imperial Navy of Barrayar. [Formerly, and he'd a mind and a nearly complete plan to overhaul that convoluted system. With his new duties, Admiral was, perhaps, understating, but abandoning such rank would give the illusion that one could simply retire from the Emperor's service.

Still, if she wished to play THAT role, he could put off the inquiry by her own script.]

It's a droll, political story.

Barrayar? I've never heard of that.

[ It's a lie she sells fairly convincingly, too. She is a good liar. If she hadn't been taken by surprise, she very well might not have let any clues slip - and even then, someone not so observant or astute might have missed her reaction, or taken it as reacting to something else. ]

Will you tell me about it? I'll buy you a coffee if you do, Mr Vorkosigan.

I would enjoy that, Miss Jones. [His expression is some practiced mix of pleasant and distant that Alys was possibly most familiar with.] As I'm new, I will trust in your taste.

[ Too bloody right you will. Like I'd go anywhere you directed. Kitty shoots a perfectly pleasant expression back at him and invites him: ]

This way.

[ And, as they walk: ]

Is your Barrayar - is that a country where you're from? From your world, I mean.

[He doesn't need to feign anything here. To speak of Barrayar takes nothing at all. He clasps his hands behind his back, keeping pace as to not fall behind her or walk in front.]

It is a world and a people, together. Troubled at times, not entirely terraformed, but inarguably it is home.

[ This bit of confusion is unfeigned - the first honest moment from her so far. She asks: ]

Erm - terror-formed?

Terraform. [He pauses only a moment to step out of the path of a young couple, and regains his stride. This explanation is simple, mild, and laced with some private humor.] Though I've chance to witness some worlds for whom your interpretation is correct.

It can be as simple as removing hostile environment and replacing it with a more Earth-like one, though I'm aware other Empires have some more sophisticated means.

Oh. Like...terra. Earth.

[ She reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear, just a little bit flustered - half at her ignorance, and half at the almost warm way in which he'd corrected it. Vorkosigan, she reminds herself. The family that ordered a clone-body for one of its members. Not sweet. ]

That's how you live on other planets. Shaping them to humans' preferences.

Quite so.

May I ask where your own world is, in regard to space exploration?

[While he could hazard a guess, it didn't mean that there wasn't some wild, new explanation. By god this dimension was maddening and intriguing for its unpredictability.]

Nowhere near that. We've barely even broken leaving the atmosphere.

[ Sidestepping his questions - ]

Anyway. How does your navy work, then? Is it a space navy?

Outside of an honorary relic, almost entirely, yes.

[The bare minimum of an answer without going monosyllabic.]

An honorary relic.

[ She says that like she's puzzling over it. ]

That's really amazing, honestly. Do you have much technology that we don't have, then? Like - you know - biogenetic engineering, cloning, laser guns, all that...

[ The cloning is dropped in as casually as it can possibly be. ]

[The cloning comment passes without note or change on the man's face. A simple lack of guilt? Was it such a common practice?

Instead Aral focuses on the weaponry, as is his wont.]

Laser weaponry is particularly obsolete now. Where a weapon is made a counter is developed.

[ Damn. Or is he sidestepping it...? ]

How interesting. What about the other stuff?

All present in galactic technology. Biological engineering is prevalent throughout to varying degrees depending on planet. At even the most basic level, most natural diseases have been eliminated from humanity through it.

Cloning has been useful for bringing species to new worlds, seeing them adapt and flourish, such as the horses on Barrayar.

[ She pushes a little more: ]

Is cloning allowed for humans, too? I just read an article here recently talking about the ethics of it.

[He walks in silence for some long few moments. For all of the complicated affairs of the galactic empires, Barrayar hadn't truly begun to touch the mess of it.]

The laws vary from world to world, as do the debates upon the ethics. It's a complicated topic.

Mm. And what does your world believe?

[He glances at her from the corner of his eye. It's an odd topic to narrow down on, but there's no reason he could lay finger upon that would tie to him specifically. Personal for her, perhaps?]

In law... [He frowns, and shakes his head.] There's hardly much.

In practice, Barrayar has a narrow, dangerous view upon mutants and an undiscriminating view on what that word encompasses. We'd only just recently been delivered such advancements as uterine replicators. It hasn't necessitated the debate yet.

[ She frowns very slightly. That seems...incompatible with what Miles had told her. Is this man lying? He doesn't seem like he's lying. His manner is too casual.

Well. They're getting near the coffee shop; Kitty points to it, then leads him inside. Just so she doesn't seem like she's pushing that issue so hard: ]

Does your world lack technology, then? And what would you like to drink?

[Whatever answer might have come was seized by Aral looking over the menu board, brows drawn and a little flummoxed.]

Coffee. [The answer was at length and worth the cautious air of someone who want quite sure if it existed amongst the "fraps" "lattes" "steamers" or if it was some bizarre cultural antiquity to have a plain cup.]

[ She glances over at him, and then up at the menu - and realizes that, right; of course he wouldn't have the same knowledge of all these different permutations on the coffee drink. God knows she didn't when she first arrived. For a moment, she considers explaining them, then decides that there'll be nothing gained by it. He'll learn in time, and the probability of him taking offense at her presuming to instruct him is not inconsiderable.

So, instead, she nods. ]

Sugar? Cream?

[There's a flash of some mild gratitude as he inclines his head towards her.]

Neither, if you please.

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