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WHO: Miles, Gregor - you're also welcome to catch Miles while he's wandering, but this is primarily for the Vor lords to find each other.
WHERE: Heropa, then De Chima
WHEN: Just previous to start of Pan plot
WHAT: Miles and Gregor find each other - and figure out what those weird headaches are all about.
WARNINGS: Probably none?

[ Miles has had a little time to figure out what's going on here - run into some interesting people in Heropa, figured out his comm, managed to both break his wrist and have it tended to. But what he can't figure out is this damn headache plaguing the back of his mind, like a strange pressure weighing down his thoughts. Nothing in his pamphlet had listed anything that looked like it was remotely close from a power perspective - though, admittedly, the description for each had been hilariously short.

In the end he finds himself pacing aimlessly along one of the boardwalks, not ready to go seek out his assigned dwelling but not much wanting to do anything else either. His mind is a frenetic whirl as digests everything he's heard and learned today.

And beneath it all, a sharp pang of homesickness. ]

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[ It's an odd state for him to be in. Miles has few moods that are tentative in any respect. ]

Fair enough. We'd have to get supplies anyway.

[Gregor is feeling unaccountably accommodating toward Miles right now, not to mention in tune with him. Maybe this is their new equilibrium... he's not sure. It doesn't seem to much matter.

He pulls out a frying pan to heat up.] You did say you wanted to join me on my next excursion. Getting sick of the same two outfits yet? [Not that Gregor has been wearing much variety-- he'd only bought two or three himself, reluctant to wear his Barrayaran pseudo-military suit at all. It stands out.]

[ That does brighten him genuinely - Gregor had wanted to before all this. No change there. God, he just needs to kick himself in the head a few times and be done with it. Gregor is fine. Gregor is happy. ]

Heartily, actually. I rather like the one you picked - and the colors.

[ He's pleased every time he puts it on. His secret livery. ]

[Meanwhile Gregor just assumes that Miles honestly liked his secret livery that much, or maybe just wants to get more clothes that badly.]

I was barely paying attention when she brought things over, [he admits wryly.] I just mindlessly picked brown and silver-- well, gray. I've never had to pick out clothes for someone before.

We could get more like that. They're so nondescript, we could wear those colors indefinitely without suspicion. [As an injoke and a comfort between them. Gregor's pleased by the thought himself.]

[ Both apply. Especially when Gregor suggests getting more in that color scheme. In the absence of tailored anything and no military uniforms to speak of ... This is a good thing to have. ]

Instinct, eh? ... It would be nice to have a uniform again. I feel strange without it.

I've been enjoying the lack thereof, but I can see how you'd feel differently.

[Miles takes a lot more pride in being a Vorkosigan than Gregor has ever taken in being a Vorbarra, or the Emperor for that matter. And he does admit to some satisfaction at seeing Miles in his House colors after that My Lord Vorkosigan exchange, and that repeat of it deep in his soul. Remembering it makes him feel hot for some reason, and Gregor quickly distracts himself.

By now the eggs are done and he slides them out of the pan and onto a plate, then adds salt and pepper, the upper limit of his seasoning skills so far. The toast is removed from the toaster and added to the plate.]

Here we are.

[ It's good enough. Miles has eaten so much worse, after all, and Gregor cooking it make anything edible. His grin is genuine as he takes his plate and immediately hops up to sit on the counter. (Ow, his aching bones.) It lets him be eye level with Gregor for a few minutes, though, and he doesn't quite feel like taking this back to the dining room. ]

Thank you, sire.

[He notices that twinge of pain internally but, with their plan already laid out, isn't going to comment on it. Miles can be protective over his physical limitations as it is.

Instead, he smiles automatically to see Miles grinning, much less on the counter. It kills any urge to relocate to the dining room himself. Gregor props his hip against the counter edge, standing sideways to Miles so as to face him as directly as impossible. He's almost forgotten he's supposed to be eating, for a moment, the novelty of having Miles at eye level stirring a strange urge to touch him somehow...

--No, no. Definitely not. No. This must be a leftover from Miles being in his head so deep, wanting to be close to him like this.

Gregor looks away and picks up his piece of toast. It's not as smooth as he'd wish when he says,] As long as you remember I'll be expecting my yearly bag of gold on my birthday, Lord Vorkosigan.

[ Miles continues on oblivious, stuffing his face with his portion. Just because he eats a bit less than average doesn't mean he enjoys it less. He snorts a bit at Gregor's comment, it happening to come just as he's bitten down on a piece of toast; he gets crumbs everywhere. Has to finish swallowing and lick a bit of butter off his thumb before continuing, in good humor. ]

When is that, anyway? This 24-hour day nonsense has me all turned around.

[Gregor makes the mistake of catching a glance of Miles licking at his thumb, which promptly makes something ruffle in his stomach.

From then on he keeps his eyes firmly on his food. He is not dealing with that. Not now and perhaps not ever. What is wrong with him? Miles is going to notice if this keeps on.]

I... have no idea, [he manages to say, which is true enough.] Sometime in the... eleventh month? I can't even remember what it's called. I suppose we'll just arbitrarily have to pick a day.

[ It's not quite filtering over to Miles, but something feels a bit off regardless. Much the same way Miles' own shyness previously had felt off to Gregor. Something ... odd. Huh. ]

October? -- No, that must be the eighth month, it has "octo" in it. Maybe we ought to find a calendar while we're out. I'd like to turn twenty-one at some point this year.

[Gregor's denial doing him good, there. If he's not thinking about it, there's nothing for Miles to pick up on. And he's not thinking about it.

To his relief, he feels a perfectly normal flare of humor at another entry in what is becoming a refrain about Miles's age.] I don't know, it's been fairly entertaining having to buy all of your alcohol for you. Though if it's really bothering you, I don't see why you can't just say your birthday is next week, Earth time, and get it over with.

[ Miles crinkles his face thoughtfully at that. It's ... tempting. If he goes back and counts up the months, he knows he's very nearly twenty-one anyway. ]

And - what, have a birthday party?

[He shrugs, grateful it seems like his alarming new feelings are dissipating into this normalcy.]

If you'd like. I bet Cass does catering.

Or we could save her the effort and just go have dinner at her place. I'll buy the wine this time.

[ Miles no that's totally a date. ]

What, just the two of us? Not much of a party.

[A date Miles would stand up by getting kidnapped...]

[ A quintessentially Milesian thing to do, let's face it. ]

It'll be novel. Something quiet and non-explosive for once in my life.

[Damning last words, Miles. Gregor will not be in the least surprised, but he will be very quietly angry.]

If that's what you want. It's your fake birthday. [Far be it from Gregor to say someone needs a large birthday celebration. He loathes his every year.]

[ Miles could go either way. But in this case ... ]

Yes. I think so. There's enough going on here - it'll be nice to just focus on something familiar.

And me and a bottle of wine are what constitutes familiar?

[A mild tease.]

Relatively speaking. If the Emperor doesn't mind keeping his Lord Vorkosigan company on his fake birthday.

[ The bow is very exaggerated; he nearly falls off the counter. ]

His Imperial Majesty would be well pleased, but not if his vassal secundus were to injure himself. Speaking of.

[He sets his empty plate aside and tilts his head in query.] Ready to try this again?

[ Ah. Right. He had more or less promised ... There's a twinge of reluctance across their link. But ... he has to admit it would feel good to shed his aches today - he is sore after their awkward night on the couch. Carefully, he slides back down. ]

All right, go ahead. Just a few hours at most, though.

It'll be fine, Miles. I'm not eager to stay in pain all day, I assure you. You can take it back from me any time you like.

[Despite what he says, Gregor appears calm and even anticipatory about the event. It will be difficult, he's positive, and he's not eager to be in pain, but doing something like this for Miles feels natural and right. It takes no thought at all to volunteer.

He settles a hand on one of Miles's shoulders to direct him back toward the living room-- funny how he'd never noticed what a perfect height he was at for that before-- but bypasses the dreaded couch for the armchair and ottoman, each to take one. They've spent far too many hours on that couch already.]

Edited (what I get for doing tags before coffee) 2016-01-18 15:51 (UTC)

[ Miles follows Gregor's direction - briefly also grateful to avoid that awkward couch - and settles himself on the ottoman. (At Gregor's feet, of course.) Stronger is his gratitude for Gregor saying he can have it back any time he likes. That, at least, preserves his control - the really important part of all this. Miles has such limited bodily autonomy as it is sometimes. ]

I will. Especially if it looks like it's too much. I am extra sore this morning...

[ He relaxes a bit, preparing to let Gregor take it. ]