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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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[ 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.]

A little bit, yes. What about ... [ He selects something dark and dour, but with dark forest-green embroidery to set it off. ]

[Gregor appreciates not being fed mindless flattery on the subject. Not that he'd expect it of Miles, but there being that moment in the conversation where he's used to being told conciliatory bullshit and having it not happen riffles up a sort of amused fondness in him.

He looks at the shirt Miles had selected and tilts his head. Charcoal gray with forest green threading...] I like it. The little laurel leaves almost look like they're from the Vorbarra crest.

And as much as it's nice to get a chance to be casual, too casual just makes me feel... not myself.

[ That deserves a fond little eyeroll. Really, Gregor, who did you think you were talking to? ]

That was my thought too. On both - not a suit, but not, strictly speaking, casual.

... You really ought to invest in one hoodie, though. They are delightfully comfortable.

[ He says, enjoying the heck out of his own. ]

[He knows, he knows, he just doesn't get to spend much time with Miles at home so it still hits him sometimes... He has these moments at home, too, Miles of course just isn't privy to them.]

Yes, okay, [he agrees with only a small sigh. It's not that he cares about being formal; it's that other people care about him being formal, and he can't seem to dislodge that perception from his brain.] This is enough for me. I can pick up some pants on the way out.

I... suppose it would be fine for wearing around the house. [Which is a phrase Gregor has never gotten to use before and it sounds a bit surreal to his ears, but not in a bad way.]

[ Miles, meanwhile, hardly cares about what his Emperor wears, safe that he's comfortable (mentally and physically). Appreciative, oh yes, but otherwise Gregor could wear Hawaiian shirts and Miles wouldn't much care.

He does, however, feel a very faint prick of jealousy at that comment about the pants. Miles expects his part of shopping to be infinitely more frustrating. He papers over it by going to find the most atrociously colored hoodie he can find. This loud red camo pattern looks promising. ]

No one else would see you in it but me. You'd be perfectly safe.

[He can easily guess what that prick of jealousy is about and has already decided to affect supreme unconcern about the whole hassle of getting clothes for Miles.

He snorts.] Thank you, but no. I also have to see myself. [He snags a plain black pullover and adds it to the pile in his arms, now realizing what the point of shopping baskets are but too late to bother amending it. He'll just have to be awkwardly burdened for the rest of this.]

Come on, Miles. Let's get yours over with. Aside from your sweatshirt being too large it seems like I guessed the other sizes well enough, so at least you won't have to try anything on. We can grab and run.

Spoilsport.

[ The jealousy switches to surprise, and then relief. Is it really going to be that easy? He finds himself believing Gregor despite himself. ]

The sweatshirt isn't even bad. It's comfortable, like I said. I think it's made to be overly large.

[Really, Miles, did you think Gregor of all people wouldn't find the absolute fastest way to get in and out of a public shopping experience? He is neither fond of crowds nor materialistic. Novelty can only get him through so much.]

You might be right. If anything doesn't fit, you can just bring it back, but it turns out we're not so far back that there isn't shopping on the 'net, so in the future we can use that once we're sure of our sizing.

[ His turn for metaphorical (but affectionate) eyerolls, eh. He deserves that. It's comforting.

More comforting is the prospect of doing all this online. Not quite like ordering out of a computer, but ... ]

There's an idea. Too bad we can't just order a range of everything that looks remotely right.