maskormenacelogs | (no subject)

[ He can't really see much from his vantage point, not at this size. Mostly just her hand and her fingers, and whatever he can see of the room past them. He has no idea what she's doing with her other hand.

If I was going to accidentally affect you, I think I'd have done it when you first touched me He says, not completely sure (and not completely comforting). This being his first test and all. I've only done it to Gregor when I was actively using them. ]

Edited 2016-05-23 04:15 (UTC)

[ She rolls her eyes fondly, the amused exasperation apparent even without an active response.

Having gathered the book and pages, she makes her way out of Miles room, but she tales a wrong turn, heading down the opposite hallway. ]

[ That ... isn't the hallway to Gregor's room, is it? He edges towards one side of her hand, trying to get a better look.

Where are we going? ]

[ We're making a pit-stop, hold on. It looks like she's heading to her own room?? Once in, she pulls open a nightstand drawer, rooting around for some envelope??? And there's a wicked sense of triumph spilling over the link too, what the heck is going on here.

But then she's heading back out into the hallway, correctly heading for Gregor's room this time. ]

[ Miles isn't sure he likes that feeling rolling off his mother. Miles isn't sure he likes it at all ...

What's that? What did you get? ]

[ Oh, just a little something you made before. She knocks at Gregor's door. ]

[ Bewilderment comes over the link quite loudly as Miles cranes his neck, trying to get a better look without falling out of her hand.

Made before? I don't remember anything of the sort. ]

[ It's in an envelope so he couldn't see it anyway, but the name "Gregor ♥" on the front sure looks like his handwriting ...

You don't? A certain poem you did? I guess it's more of a love letter though. ]

[ Love letter? Love letter ... Miles falls silent for a moment, thinking furiously. He doesn't remember any love letter, but that sure is his handwriting ... ]

[ Gregor opens the door, to find Cordelia holding some papers and with her hand oddly cupped in front of her. ]

... Cordelia?

[ She half whispers as she holds her cupped hand out further for him to see into it, lowering her voice for the person he'll find there. ]

Special delivery. May I come in for a moment?

I-- what?

[ But he's hurriedly both lowering his voice and taking a step back, whispering at as soft a decibel as he can manage, staring at the two inch Miles. ]

Miles? What's this about?

He's a bit drunk at the moment. We had a good talk with some wine, but he wanted to come over. I thought this might be safer than a trek through the carpet.

[ She walks over to Gregor's bed, carefully setting her hand on the covers for Miles to climb off. ]

I also have been meaning to give something to you,and thought this would be the perfect time for it. [ She holds up her other hand to Gregor, holding a notebook, some crumpled papers and an envelope. ] Start with the top there and work your way down.

[ He eases down onto the pillow, finding it a throughly soft landing spot if not a fully dignified one. He's definitely, distinctly wobbly over the link, though given he hasn't had his limit yet he's just kind of vague.

But not so out of it he can't realize what else his mother brought with her. There's an indignant, betrayed noise over both their links. ]

What? You brought those? Mother!

[ A bit drunk? No kidding. Though it does seem to be only a bit, Gregor bites back the immediate, instinctive urge to chide him for shrinking while inebriated at all. Miles has to be allowed his freedoms to do small stupid things so he doesn't do large stupid things, he knows that very well.

Then he's distracted taking the sheaf of papers from Cordelia. Miles's handwriting? In deference to him, he widens the link to Cordelia, enough to converse through easily so they can forego verbal conversation entirely. His mother's name is on here, along with a lot of other scribbling-- no, wait. ]

... Prince-Consort Lord Admiral Miles Naismith Vorkosigan Vorbarra?

[ Gregor sounds bemused at first, until the implications hit him, and there's a ripple of shyness and uncertainty chased by undeniable warm pleasure. If he focuses on just the plainness of it, Miles's title should he marry him, he's not conflicted at all. It's just the rest that comes with marriage that gives him pause. ]

No, no, he corrected it to Captain. See? [ She cheerfully points out the scribbled fix. But after a brief grin to both of them she starts heading to the door. ]

But I'll leave Miles to explain the rest of it. Have a good night, you two.

[ Miles just groans physically and mentally, dropping a hand over his face as if that will save him. He's bright red - a fact that is likely more tangible via his embarrassment over the link than it is actually visible at his scale. And shy too, attuned to Gregor's response now that he's reading the damn thing. So far so good, but - a rejection at this point, even a gentle one, would be rather crushing. ]

I'm sorry, it's presumptive and silly. Please just throw them away, for the love of God...

[ And damn his mother for meddling. ]

[ Gregor waves belatedly to Cordelia as she leaves, already thoroughly distracted, and sits down carefully on the bed, far enough away so as not to disrupt Miles's footing and topple him.

He ignores the papers for a moment to set them on his lap, reaching out with one carefully extended finger offered to him as if for company. A curl of humor winds through him, soft in response to Miles's transparent mortification. ]

It's a little juvenile, but I wouldn't call it presumptive or silly. I thought you were all right with ignoring that topic for a while, though.

[ Because whether or not they intend on getting married is a huge, glaring elephant in the room and Gregor knows it. He doesn't feel particularly equipped to make a decisive statement on it yet, but he can at least talk about it if it's bothering Miles. He'd though that pushing that conversation off was a mutual agreement and is concerned he's been ignoring his feelings on it. ]

[ He eyes the finger for a moment. If he weren't still tipsy, that would be mortifying too. As it is ... eh. He has bigger things to feel shame about. So instead he sort of flops bodily against Gregor's fingertip, leaning his head back back against it. ]

I am. I really am, Gregor. [ He exhales, his tiny chest rising and falling in a huff. ] I was just daydreaming, that's all.

[ That's... cute. Mostly because it's Miles flopping against him, but at least a little because all tiny things are intrinsically cute.

Speaking of which, thank God. Gregor could talk about it if necessary, but he's still not quite ready and really would rather not. So instead, teasingly, with some relief, ] Think you're ready for all the Your Highness-ing, are you? There hasn't been anyone to Your Highness since my mother.

[ There's an echo of relief on Miles' end too - smaller, but distinctive. He was being honest when he'd said he wasn't ready either. That's a complicated subject even for marriage-mad Miles ... ]

There are certain counts I would take great joy in outranking, yes. [ An image of one of the arch-conservatives comes to mind. As well as the very satisfactory image of that same count having to swear fealty to Miles through gritted teeth. ]

[ Complicated indeed. Gregor of all people isn't afraid of commitment-- he's inclined to grab on hard with both hands once he finds something he wants to be permanent-- but in this case there's rather a lot to grapple with that has nothing to do with Miles and everything to do with Barrayar.

Talking about it obliquely helps, oddly. Maybe it's normalizing it. Gregor snorts softly, trying to keep his finger still. ] Someone should take some joy in it, I suppose. What're the rest of these? [ He glances back down at the top paper. ]

[ In a way, that was exactly what Miles had been doing. Perhaps to the exclusion of the negative side of those thoughts rather than an intentional avoidance thereof, but not so dissimilar.

He turns at that, leaning against Gregor's fingertip from the other way. Chin resting against him instead of the back of his head. And ... eying that paper with another spike of embarrassment. It's very difficult to see from this vantage point, but given the crumpled folds in the pages he can only assume those are ... ]

Baby names.

[ It's easier to face the negative side if you feel shored up by the positive, after all. Gregor can't argue with that tactic, even if he doesn't consciously know that's what they're doing.

All he's doing is cautiously trying to keep things lighter, especially with Miles a little drunk, and thus potentially prone to turning maudlin. It's a little ticklish having him against the pad of his fingertip, but he wouldn't shift him for the world.

He scans the names, ignores the cross-outs with long practice. He's sat through plenty of meetings about the Prince Serg without flinching. Certainly what he's naming his Crown Prince has come up and been firmly rebuffed as his father's name already. ] I've no objection to using your father's name, you know. As much as that'd make them squawk. He's more than earned the honor.

[ Slowly, very slowly, the embarrassment trickles away again. Gregor doesn't seem upset, or even put out ... That leaves Miles shyly wanting to approach the topic. It is, for Miles anyway, somehow easier to talk about than marriage. These hypothetical children that he wants so very badly to meet one day ... He can consider those outside the context of Gregor, if he must. Thus he settles again, soothed. ]

You know he'd come around to it. As much as we may have to convince him first.