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]

[ He has just a brief moment to feel a bit hurt by that - he would have liked to have a glass with his father, after everything has calmed down - before the combined pain of his bone aches and his shoulders slam into him all at once. He gasps, expression gone deadly pale as it washes over him. Drowning him, threatening to blot him out -

It's only sheer stubbornness - and the thought of how much more this will hurt if he faints onto his shoulder - that keeps him upright. The gasping becomes gulps, slowly but surely finding his equilibrium. ]

[use_everything]

[When Miles' vision clears, he'll find Aral kneeling in front of him, hand pressed in the low center of Miles' chest. The support as much as he can do right now. Grey eyes watch Miles with concern...

He lets go, stands and straightens his cuffs when he's certain Miles wasn't going to pass out. He had, if nothing else, a good estimate of it.]

[dendarii]

[ He's sweating and blinking hard and looks terribly nauseated, but he manages to keep himself upright. (He does, however, take a private moment to be grateful that he hasn't tried eating any breakfast yet. ]

I-I'm all right. This isn't the worst I've had.

[ The pressure of that agony fades into something duller, more manageable. He will endure. ]

[use_everything]

[The terrible thing is, he could believe that. His brows draw close and his lips thin to a line. He begins some gesture towards Miles and stops.]

I think there's some analgesic in the kit.

[dendarii]

[ He just nods weakly, desperate for any balm. If his powers weren't still off he'd be tempted to lose a few inches to take the stress off his bones. Maybe he was too quick to ask for them back. (Maybe he's too prideful to do anything but.) ]

Please. I'm not allergic. We checked.

[use_everything]

[He retreats to the kitchen to fill a glass with water, and fishes two tablets out of the kit. Miles had been correct, Aral reflected dimly, on the backwards nature of the med tech in this world.

The water and tablets are offered without fanfare or show - again, that pride. He didn't need to reopen that link to guess.]

A common problem for you?

[dendarii]

[ Not on this one. The flicker of gratitude is evident enough on Miles' face as he takes the pills, awkward as it is to juggle first the pills and then the glass of water with the shoulder that's merely dislocated. (He suppresses the twinge of pain in his face each time, so that it barely shows at all.) ]

Extremely. On top of everything else. Native Barrayaran vegetation in particular is a horror for me.

[use_everything]

Cordelia often liked to opine that Barrayar was out to get its children.

[The humor is dry, a half smile following it. He considers sitting next to Miles, but the angle would be awkward with the binding. He retreats to his place across the table.]

[dendarii]

[ Sitting next to Miles might have been the better choice; seeing Aral across from him brings a flashback of that first, terrifying impression and makes him flinch. There's still a big stab wound in the table, after all. ]

Yes, well ... Doubly so in my case, I suppose. [ He huffs faintly, forcing himself to relax. ] I was in and out of the hospital for allergic reactions to my treatment as much as I was for the treatment itself. One bad incident had me spending a week convinced that the ceiling was the most peculiar shade of blue...

[use_everything]

[The flinch doesn't pass unnoticed, nor the "doubly so." Aral looks to the side, briefly, before squaring his jaw.]

Blue. [There's some mild humor to that, at least. For what otherwise sounded ... like a particularly hard childhood. He takes a breath and while the connection was still severed, it was a good time to ask as any.]

Though out to get you certainly reminds me. By god, boy, what were you thinking with that wild story as a cover?

[dendarii]

[ Miles takes scraps of humor when he can, passes off all kinds of horrors as light stories. It's all he can do.

But here now is the question he'd been dreading ... There are so many complexities tied up in this, so many threads to unpick as soon as they so much as touch the knot. He decides to cut through to the core of it, to start. ]

Gregor is here.

[use_everything]

[Aral's expression takes a certain intensity and he leans forward where he sits. It bridges back quickly from question to something close to interrogation, again.]

Under a psuedonym as well, I take it.

[dendarii]

[ He flinches again as Aral's posture shifts, with the accompanying grimace of pain. ]

Yes. Greg Vorthys. Too much of a risk to call him the Emperor, and Admiral Naismith was a cover I'd already used back home. Natural enough to take it up again. It ... ballooned from there.

[use_everything]

[There's a thoughtful moment before Aral opts to stand, pacing a bit.]

Give me the full extent of it. What have you both established to others?

[dendarii]

[ Miles stiffens again, this time out of instinctive obedience. ]

Gregor is a minor Vor lord, the orphaned son of no one in particular. Foster parents, very doting, no complaints. [ He nods over at Aral - obviously, analogs for him and Cordelia. ] I encountered him first when he was fleeing Barrayar and had found himself a contract slave on Jackson's Whole. I rescued him; now he follows the Dendarii Free Mercenary fleet as our personal ambassador and diplomat.

[ A twist of amusement - and fondness. ]

He changes light bulbs.

[use_everything]

[There's a slight tilt to his head at the lightbulbs, marking it as some potential story behind it.]

Fleeing what? Military service?

[dendarii]

[ A private joke, at least. ]

Something along that line of thought. We've been ... vague on the details. "Deserter" is a harsh term even for a cover.

[use_everything]

Vague is good. [Barrayarans who deserted active service didn't often talk about it. Less because other cultures would understand and more of that deep seated cultural shame.]

And yours?

[dendarii]

[ Shame that Miles clearly shares; he's Barrayaran after all, despite the Betan accent he'd used on the network, and picks up now. The change is striking - Miles unfolded, unconstrained, more than his physical space and limitations ought to allow. ]

Admiral Miles Naismith, of the Dendarii Free Mercenary Fleet. We're a group three thousand personnel and thirteen capital ships strong - having broken the blockade at Tau Verde and prevented the Cetagandan invasion of Vervain, among other adventures. Gregor and I met on Jackson's Whole after both had been thrown in prison; I had come off a stint on the Barrayaran prison of Kyril Island. [ The smallest twinge of amusement in his expression. ] Nasty labor, that. They set me to inspecting sewage pipes on account of my diminutive stature.

[use_everything]

[He'd seen the persona on the network, but it was interesting to watch the slide over into it. There was comfort there in it, a well worn pair of shoes. But also the traces of anxiety, old ghosts and an anxious hunger.]

Hm.

[He watched him without comment a few moments more. The best lies were laced with truths. The ties to the Vorkosigan House are numerous, but perhaps confusing for them. It wouldn't fool an enemy of their own soil, not even for a moment. It was flawed, dangerous in its own way.

Even outside of the possibility of misinterpretation from the OTHER aspects of his cover.

If they came here, from such a disparate time, who else was possible? Mad King Yuri? Vordarian? Playing the game also had risks and benefits.]

If you intend to keep the cover, I'll make a list of incidentals I've noted in research for you to add to with any I've missed.

[Has he seen EVERY conversation? ... likely close to it.

[dendarii]

[ That wipes the smirk - and the persona - off his face. Back to guttural Barrayaran tones in an instant. ]

Keep the cover? How? You realize the lynchpin of all this - I've been claiming to be the clone of Lord Vorkosigan. The twisted villain of this whole piece, the corrupt Vor lord so desperate to escape his mutated body he'd make another body for himself and hollow it out.

[ The words are acidic in the extreme - fanciful, but rooted in so many layers of self-worth issues that it would take years to peel them all back. ]

That's supposed to be me, Da. Not you.

[use_everything]

[Grief takes its turn across Aral's face, for a moment, too strong to be held in check by his own guard. It was supposed to be Miles. Of course it was. In hindsight, he should have guessed that was why that story had primed his temper so neatly, it struck so close to his fears and unborn regrets.

For lack of a new body, had a whole new life sufficed?

The 'Da' warms him though, surprised and soothed at the same time.]

Regardless of your honorable intent, I imagine the suspicion would be that I forced you as I've no interest in shedding my name. [Title was another story, however. He shakes his head, tone quieting.] Reputation is not something I care to guard. I've seen too many worthless, costly battles in its name.

[dendarii]

[ Miles turn to wince. He sees only the flash of grief; he doesn't see the rush of thought that follows, or where the grief is directed. It feels like disappointment all over again, Miles having failed at something vital. Despite his honorable intent, indeed. ]

Even so. It's the Vorkosigan name. I never should have ...

[ Miles is Vor to his bones; the Naismith persona is tempting and glorious, but it isn't home. He sucks in a breath. ]

This has all escalated very quickly.

[use_everything]

[Escalated quickly, indeed. He can't help but cast a glance at the cast again. If simple regret could call back a mistake...]

If it is a tool for protecting Gregor, I would use it without hesitation as well. I've yet to introduce myself as Lord Vorkosigan, besides. The only concern you should have for it is if you plan on reclaiming it yourself.

[He crosses his arms, leaning back against the far wall.]

Discuss it with Gregor and keep practicality in mind. I'll speak with your mother. Chances are, we'll abide by what you both decide.

[dendarii]

[ Does he? It pains him through the heart to think that he wouldn't - that he couldn't, if Aral were to assume the title for himself. They would all be well and truly tangled in their covers by then.

But Gregor would be safe. They would have a wall of four all on the same page. ]

... Let me talk to Gregor then. See how he wants to handle it.