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]

-- It's not?

[keep_nothing]

That you and A—your father should have this link, but not with your mother?

[dendarii]

Well - I'm not saying that, but -

[keep_nothing]

So how do you make a new liege relationship then?

[dendarii]

[ Oh no. He thinks he probably knows where this is headed, but he can't help from responding. ]

You take an oath. A rather specific one - Mother, you're not wearing yourself to me.

[keep_nothing]

Heavens, no. That would be rather backwards.

[dendarii]

[ He relaxes instantly in relief. Ah, leave it to his mother to be sensible. ]

I am terribly relieved to hear it.

[keep_nothing]

[ She smiles. That smile that tells Miles that should really have known better. ]

Glad to hear it. Off you go then, recite it to me.

[dendarii]

[ Shit. He really, truly should have. That doesn't prevent his mind from coming to a screeching halt. ]

Mother, please!

[keep_nothing]

It makes the most sense to do it this way!

[dendarii]

You know enough about my head without a telepathic link!

[keep_nothing]

But that's just it ... I don't.

[ She makes sure her tone is even, but she can't help the plea in her eyes when she says it. ]

[dendarii]

[ Fuck.

She's right, of course. His mother doesn't know him; it might even be a relief to be able to clarify over a link instead. Then again ... he and Aral just seem to misread each other even worse. ]

... What can it hurt?

[keep_nothing]

[ She offers another smile, but it ends up with more cheek than being actually apologetic. ]

[dendarii]

[ Sigh. ]

To do this properly, I really ought to kneel. And put my hands between yours.

[ A bit difficult at the moment. ]

[keep_nothing]

I'm not much of a Barrayaran traditionalist anyway.

[ She carefully extracts herself from the couch, careful not to jostle him too much. Then she moves to stand in front of him, taking each of his hands in hers, semi-awkward with one of his arms in the sling, but she makes it work. ]

[dendarii]

[ It aches again, whether on Miles' side of the link or Aral's; he winces a little. ]

No ... no, you are not. All right.

[ He takes a deep breath. ]

I, Miles Naismith Vorkosigan, do testify that I am - [ Here he must pause, because this part won't quite work without modification - ] sworn to your husband, my Count, but that I am capable of swearing anyway - and take service under Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan. And will hold her - in addition to Gregor and my father - as my liege commander until death releases me.

[ That last word seems to hang in the air; for a moment, he thinks that he modified oath can'd possibly have worked. And then, like an unfolding flower, he suddenly has the sense of some corner of his mind opening up. He - can feel something. Another strand, going off into the darkness... ]

[keep_nothing]

[ He'll feel hushed anticipation through that new strand, tinged with excitement and a sense of awkwardness—she never really quite understood the Vor's sense of decorum for this sort of thing. After a moment of standing there in silence after Miles finishes, that feeling starts to turn towards amusement, not yet feeling, or rather, not yet understanding what she's feeling from this new link with Miles. She feels a bit silly just standing there holding his hands. ]

... I don't suppose there's some sort of fanfare after you've said it, is there?

[dendarii]

[ It's so strange to be the more skilled of the two at this, as natural as that must also be; he'd sort of expected his mother to be naturally good at it. A flicker of amusement back, followed by sheepishness and nervousness - all undercut with being glad to see her. He's missed his mother, oh yes. ]

It's on now. If that's what you mean.

[keep_nothing]

Oh—!

[ Now she feels it, the strange something that she all of the sudden realizes isn't coming from her, her earlier amusement melting into amazement. Her eyes widen as she looks down at him, exploring that new feeling in her head without a single thread of revulsion or rejection, only curiosity and excitement. ]

Is that you ...?

[dendarii]

[ He expected nothing less of his mother, of course, but the sense of relief back from Miles is palpable. He is afraid on a terribly deep level of his parents looking at him and finding him wanting. Not the son they had wanted to raise ... ]

Yes, Mother. That's the link.

[keep_nothing]

[ Her breath catches as his relief washes over her like a wave, and her reaction is instant: she releases one of his hands (carefully, carefully) so that she can cup his face, her motherly instinct to protect kicking in at that vague, deeply rooted pain of rejection. ]

Never, my boy ...

[ She's not even quite sure what's she's saying, what she's responding to here, she just needs to reassure him, to ease that deep fear. ]

[dendarii]

[ Ah. He chokes up again, bowing his head. He hadn't meant to trot that one out in the open - though with the newness of this link, it likely all mixes together. Trying to follow the roots of that particular issue would take her very, very deeply into Miles' psyche. ]

I - I know. [ A sharp breath. ] -- You never did, neither you or Da. Don't - don't ever think that.

[ But he's still scared now. ]

[keep_nothing]

[ It is all swirling about, her own fears and panic rising to the surface in response to his, as fresh as she felt them only a day or two ago—Put him back in the vat for about eighteen years, I can’t handle this—but here in front of her is twenty years, the result of all the doctors' work. Her living, breathing son. A well of joy overtakes her panic, causing her eyes to pool again. Damn it, she was trying hard not to be the weepy mother here. ]

[dendarii]

[ Well it's too much for Miles, absolutely. He has to close his eyes for a moment, letting himself be flooded by it - that someone could feel joy and pride in accomplishment in him, just as he is, with no knowledge of anything else he's done - straight down the cold bottomless well of self-worth issues in his soul, but oh so sweet to feel in the moment. Unable to lift a hand to hide his face, he leans lightly against her shoulder again. ]