maskormenacelogs | On the corner of Main Street

Utilizing what we're good at. Myself in laying out the scale, yourself as a provocateur.

Ah, yes ... I do like that role quite a bit. Mostly because I get impatient with anything else.

Just so.

[He lifts a hand, palm up.]

Which provides ample distraction for me to set up more complicated maneuvers and have particular traps be forgotten.

He's not going to know what hit him. Poor bastard.

[ But Miles loves this mental image. Teaming up with his Da on one of his favorite topics ... The warm glow of his joy is practically palpable. ]

[Now THAT washes out the earlier blip, truly. There's a simple, deep contentedness in return.]

Let's see how much of a challenge he gives you first.

Very well. We'll see how it goes.

[ As Gregor would say ... That reminds him, in fact. ]

Did Gregor say anything to you lately? About the two of us?

[There's a twinge of something tense, muddy, in the link between them, there and gone. It was smoothed over by a certain fondness.]

I could feign ignorance, if you'd like to make your own announcement.

[ Huh. That ... doesn't feel good? His own side of the link clouds slightly with uncertainty. ]

So he did tell you. Er - I hope it went well. I am extremely glad for it, at least.

[Things Aral would never dream of telling Miles: how it had been phrased to him. The subject of that conversation would simply be a wall. He simply coaxes the narrative past it.]

Of course. You were the only one saying never, I believe.

[ Probably a good idea, yes. Miles flushes a bit at that. ]

Yes, well ... I was wrong. And never happier to be wrong.

Hm.

It is the good sort of miscalculation. ... This world does have its advantages.

[ A bittersweet ache at that. He knows full well what will be waiting for them on Barrayar if they even make it back with memories. ]

A small amount of relative peace? And lack of politics. The nearest we're like to get.

[It's a friendlier venue for it than during Aral's time, but that does not make it in any way shape or form easy.. and possibly safe.]

Enjoy it. And use it to plan and build strategy...

You do know whatever path you decide, I'll put my full weight behind, for whatever that will be worth.

[ Now that deserves a swell of feeling. Miles didn't realize how much he'd been holding his breath just now until it all goes out of him in a rush. He has his father's support ... that means everything to him. ]

I - thank you, Father. You don't know how much that means to me.

[ Surely it can't possibly fail with Aral Fucking Vorkosigan backing it up. ]

[He, perhaps, would not have missed it in the tone and the expression, but certainly, without the link, he would have have understood the gravity.

There are times when the overflow from Miles over that connection is like a Roman candle, short, powerful bursts. Sometimes light, sometimes gunpowder. Othertimes more like the atmosphere - unobtrusive, yet wholly there, a certain thrum in the background.

That was more akin to dawn.

It was in that corona peaking over the hills, awashing all of it in its own color, that he found himself at first moved - the power of that emotion from his son, how relieved - gratified - he was by the answer. And then troubled that there had been a question. He finds himself raw in the wake of it.

He slows and then halts their walk, and without a goddamn care about the open air of the sidewalk or any other pedestrians who might have been around, simply gathers his son into an embrace, as firm as he dared.]

[ No fault of Aral's own that Miles questioned to begin with, not even the man Miles knows twenty years in the future. More the pressure of Barrayar itself, with a certain other man giving physical form to all its painful cul-de-sacs. He simply wasn't sure, not ever having had such conversations and no evidence to directly contrast other voices ...

The light dims slightly, but only because he can't possibly keep up that original surge of brilliance and heat. This stokes a warmer if less intense glow. Surprise shifting into sunlight, warm and pleasant. It still takes him a moment to wrap his arms around Aral in turn. Such small, slim limbs in comparison. Even with Aral's care not to harm Miles' delicate limbs, it's a bit much. He finds himself standing on his tiptoes to get his arms properly around his father. ]

Ah ...

[ Was he going to say something? His mouth has gone completely dry, and so has his usual flow of conversation. It's not often Miles Vorkosigan is speechless. ]

[He knew what he wanted to express. There were novels, whole volumes of what he wanted to say. How important he was, how proud he made him, how in no thing, this or anything else, he should expect to be alone. But the words were like stones in his mouth, awkward, dull and shapeless, refusing any semblance of order.

So for the moment, he swallowed them and took in the comfort of the simple gesture. The return was reedy and light, lacking all of the gruff strength that was usually found between men. Instead, it was a solidity there. A sense of undeniable reality in his son's grip, burning away those lingering doubts that this might all be a dream, and leaving just a heartfelt warmth, like a stone bathed in the sun.

It's at some length that he pulls back, hands resting on (engulfing) Miles' slight shoulders. Again- he fumbled for the words and came up with nothing of any eloquence, no import. By God he envied Cordelia and her easy expression, even if she had to couch her heart in analytical terms, the meanings always seemed so much clear, so much more free.

He settled for what he could.]

There's a tradition of threatening male suitors, you know. As much as I would like to see things done properly, in this case, I think it might be one of the more awkward treason charges.

[ At least Miles has long learned not to expect eloquent speeches out of his father. The lack thereof is natural; the humor, startling but illuminating. He laughs more out of surprise than anything else. But the laugh is real. Happy, relieved, staring up and back at his father with joy. ]

Alas. We'll have to do without, then. Just make him deal with more customers at work one day call it close enough.

[ He can't help but grin afterwards, a little shy. He's buoyed up by the relief and the lightness between them. Over their link, too, is a tenuous little tendril of rose gold. Love. ]

[If the Vorkosigans have any weaknesses it's that. Even the hint of being loved was a panacea unlike any other and the rose gold, for as tiny and fragile as it was, easily lanced the quiet, black thoughts growing from the early turn of the conversations (but not the root, never the root).

What can one do when faced with something like that, as tangible as it seemed, but to return it.]

I could always use an extra break. [It was a lie. He had no idea what to do with himself when not throwing himself into something, but the bluff was half of the playacting. His hand lifts, ruffling Miles hair before he steps back, continuing their walk back along the De Chima streets.]

Of course, I suppose I'd need to do the same to you on his behalf. A penalty on the game?

[ Miles has let his hair grow out since coming here. Not so much that he's shaggy, but enough that one can actually ruffle his hair nicely. He ducks his head at the gesture, but the warmth over the link betrays how he really feels about it. ]

You really are ruthless. I'm going to have a hell of a time next round.

Perhaps a little. One must demonstrate that they are serious.

[Yeah. Good luck, son.]

[ He sure is screwed. Eh ... that makes it more fun. ]

You'll find me a worthy adversary, then.

On the corner of Main Street

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