maskormenacelogs | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[This is more what Gregor was expecting out of Miles walking somewhere without any bone aches, and he sends him occasional tolerantly fond glances despite himself. It's really a good thing he's so much taller or Gregor would have difficulty keeping up.]

I thought an important prerequisite for therapy was volunteering for it. Did you put him off?

[They're coming up on Macy's, now, the huge parking lot on the left with the building looming behind it. The ubiquity of parking lots had been an adjustment; Vorbarr Sultana still had mostly antique horse posts and troughs everywhere, with places for groundcars and lightflyers shoved in between buildings where they could be found, or in separate covered garages.]

Of course not. I intend to make him regret offering.

[ Said quite cheerfully as he navigates his way through the parking lot. He's seeing the differences between here and Barrayar too, both fascinating and alarming in the same breath. Only a small breath of uncertainty surrounding that therapist - mostly because he hasn't let himself worry about what Chilton might find. ]

[He's surprised into some momentary laughter as they pick their way around cars. The mental image of Miles being a cheerful terror for some overbearing psychiatrist is quite vivid, and he shares it with him in a short spark of an image to help sooth away that little bit of uncertainty.]

Think he's ever dealt with a clone before? You could give him the run around for quite a while just with that.

[ Miles grins at that, relieved. That uncertainty dissolves, happily. ]

I expect not. Go on and on about it, see how long he's inclined to take me seriously.

And there's all these details of those nasty medical procedures you had to go through, [Gregor drawls.] You just feel so compelled to describe them. They haunt you.

Oh, yes. Sprinkled with just enough truth to add spice to the thing. I really could tell him horror stories, after all.

[ But Miles' issues, as complicated as they are, center rather less on the medical treatment side. Other than the overall unpleasantness of the whole thing. ]

[Which really is what makes it such a great distraction-- enough elements of truth to sell it, but not something he thinks actually bothers Miles.]

I'm sure. The least he deserves for prying is being put off his lunch.

[Gregor steps ahead of him and opens the door, then stands back with it open to let him go first.] Ready for your first Terran shopping experience?

Perfect. I'm glad you agree.

[ Ha ha. He is excited, really he is. Mostly ... ]

Dreadfully so. Let's get this over with.

[Gregor follows him in, and they're shortly confronted with the main front display, piled with sweaters and a small display of boots.]

... Some of these are very ugly. I think I'm going to stick to solids.

[ Miles wrinkles his nose contemplatively at some sort of bumblebee plaid. ]

I'm reminded of some unfortunate house colors ...

Edited (need coffee) 2016-01-21 10:38 (UTC)

Believe me, I'm grateful to my ancestor Vorbarra on a regular basis.

[A beat.]

Though, the black does get funereal. It's nearly criminal how good Ivan looks in the Vorpatril blue-and-gold.

Ivan looks good in it, yes. I'm not sure how well it would suit you, alas. Not nearly funeral enough.

[ A gentle note of teasing underneath. ]

[That could so easily turn to the blackest of humor, but Gregor is determined not to let it.]

I might look like I'm going to something I would actually enjoy for once, [he says with utmost dryness, before drifting off toward the men's section on one side.]

[ Miles means it lightly, at least, and he doesn't pursue it further than that. Rather, he likes the idea of seeing Gregor decking himself out in different things. ]

Why not? It's not as though anyone else recognizes our livery for what it is. We ought to have at least one outfit that is just for looking good in.

I'll leave that to you. All I'm looking for is comfortable and unremarkable.

[Gregor ducks behind a rack and starts picking through things with a sort of morbid curiosity, tentatively at first and then with more confidence as he realizes how many are definite nos.]

I can do that, you know, [he says with a flare of bone-deep satisfaction.] Be unremarkable if I want to.

[ Hmph. Well, fine. He will find something reasonably sharp for Gregor then. He's no Alys Vorpatril, but surely h can manage something. ]

Even easier standing next to me. Enjoying it?

Immensely.

[He darts a look over at him, smiling.] Have you been? Enjoying it. Getting to soak up all the attention without any of the hex signs. [Gregor is not shy about bringing up potentially sensitive topics in his darkly humorous way.]

[ It's not such a bad one anyway, not when Gregor brings it up like this: focusing on the positives of his situation now rather than the negatives of their homeworld. ]

I admit I have. As much as I find it strange as well. To be stared at in admiration, or at least not horror ...

[His thoughts are always bent that way, to the pessimistic and the morbid, and those rare people Gregor is free to sound that way around are a bit of a relief for him. He's never found any sense in pretending they don't exist-- pretending Barrayar doesn't treat Miles that way won't erase it, and Gregor doesn't want to perpetuate the silence about it as an issue. He of all people.]

It's a bit like wearing a mask, isn't it? Or that's how I've felt. Or... like taking one off. I'm not sure which, yet.

[Are they being seen more or less clearly, without all that cultural context? Gregor can't tell.]

[ Miles would much rather take it head on, anyway. As he always does. And the last thing he wants is for Gregor to change things around for him.

He considers that for a moment, thoughtfully. ]

Both, perhaps. People see us as ourselves, without our positions, and thus see a true measure of our being ... but they cannot see all of us unless they know what that means to us.

[Gregor is far too circumspect and moderate to go charging ahead like that politically, however much he really is part of the progressive party. But he does want to change things; Miles is merely emblematic of a larger, endemic problem. But thankfully that concern is far away from them here.]

Isn't that true for people at home, too, just differently? I often feel that everyone is seeing just a piece of me. [His voice softens unconsciously, dropping.] Except you, now, of course.

Different pieces, then. New pieces. Both of us really.

[ He smiles softly at the thought. ]

New pieces... There's a radical thought. Changing ourselves without Barrayar.

[Gregor's been amassing a small pile of fairly bland long-sleeve shirts in dark tones, and now he pulls out one on a hanger with a little more color to it and eyes it uncertainly.]

Like this, for example.

Hard to believe, isn't it?

[ Whereas on Barrayar it's more like trying to crawl out of one's own skin. Here, more like ... well. Miles considers the colors that Gregor lays out. ]

Hmm ... You're right. Bright colors do look odd on you.

All my time spent indoors, holed up in meetings, [he says dolefully, putting it back on the rack.] I always thought Imperial dress uniform made me look stuffed. [All those reds and blues.]