maskormenacelogs | Late to the game but still IN the game...

[Settling into life over the past week had been a trial of awkwardness but Kareen faced it the same way she faced everything; with a straight face and a cool stoicism. This facade suited her well in most cases. She found, however, that the difference between this strange circumstances and her previous others was the lack of danger on the edges of her mind.

She had Gregor. He was a young man now but he was still her precious son, and he hadn't contradicted that image in any way since her arrival. She had Cordelia to confide in and Aral to look to should she need a familiar anchor to hold her down. Life was simpler here if less stable. There were no body guards, no security camera. An over-abundance of privacy, especially in her tiny home she shared with two young boys, both of whom were very busy with their own pursuits.

She visited the home of her son often, but there were some days she arrived and he was out. Work, apparently, and nothing like governing. How quaint.

One such day she found only Aral Vorkosigan present, but as it wouldn't be long for everyone else to return he had invited her in. Taking a comfortable seat upon their living room sofa she expected to just wait patiently until Gregor arrived home. She was good with patience. This would not be an issue.]

[It was at times like this, watching the Princess so very still and composed that he found himself wanting for staff. There was Tex... but he immediately considered and discarded the idea. The idea of an armored soldier making small talk behind an imposing reflective visor was amusing only in theory.

Instead, he simply, if a bit awkwardly offers,]

Can I get you anything?

[Kareen is used to quiet stillness, and most people expect her to be present and seen, not heard. But in the case of the Vorkosigans Kareen knows she can relax her guard. It doesn't mean she's going to easily, however.]

Perhaps just a tea if you would not mind joining me, Lord Vorkosigan. [After all, if they were the only ones here then why shouldn't they share some company. Unless...] Unless, of course, you have some pressing business to attend to, which I completely understand.

There's a notable lack of business. Pressing or otherwise.

[For good and ill, honestly. He sets the electric kettle to boil. He really wished for the coffee bulbs back home. It would be worth getting a scientist here to reverse engineer one.]

Must be quite different for you, considering how busy were you back home.

[Kareen is not in any hurry; having patience for these things only means they're worth savoring when they're ready. Still, Kareen stands when Aral moves to the kitchen and follows him, intent on watching the process.

The thought of Admiral Lord Aral Vorkosigan making tea amuses her.]

... I've never thought of you as much of a domestic. How have you been settling in, Lord Vorkosigan?

[There's a grunt of acknowledgement at the must be different, but he doesn't comment through her gentle teasing. He seems... amazing proficient at this, actually. The leaves spooned into the mesh just as the kettle comes to boil, timer set...]

I can't say I'd ever been, no. As well as one may in a world this insane.

... Yourself?

[Kareen watches, at first just to have something to do, and then she grows a bit more interested as the process moves along.

When she speaks again, her voice is distracted, but she slowly returns to herself:]

I... yes, I'm managing. The house is quiet and I... mostly have been avoiding my job. I fear they had little understanding of where to place me and only did what they felt they could to fill an opening. It's been different, living without bodyguards or a schedule full of duties to follow.

I might have done the same. But I find that I am best with something to do than without, even if that something doesn't hold much.

[A timer beeps and he pours out two cups of tea, a pale honey brown, and deeply aromatic. There's something floral and an undertone of bitterness in the scent.]

I find it easier than dwelling on a wormhole besotted world, the one we left, or these new abilities we have.

[Since the meeting between the Dendarii Kareen had visited the Lucky Cat Cafe several times. In fact, most days she hardly spent time at her assigned job, getting bored with the useless subject matter and finding herself willing to dredge through the paperwork just to get to Heropa. As an unsettled imPort she had more redtape to handle, but it wasn't anything she wasn't willing to press through. Her son was worth it.

Today was much the same. It was a hot day, being mid-May and in the middle of Florida, but Kareen remained as covered as possible. Her collar went all the way up her neck, her sleeves to her wrists, and her skirts were low enough to nearly touch the ground. Her only guard against the sun overhead was a parasol but that could hardly protect one from the humidity. Still, unwilling to budge in her show of modesty, Kareen carried on, walking down the sidewalk with small, unhurried steps.

At one point she came to a traffic light and stopped, waiting next to a man as they awaited the change from red to green. He had some unusual tattoos along her arms, brightly colored and ridiculous, but charming in an almost childish way. She studied them out of the corner of her eye for a moment, then returned her gaze forward.]

[Newt jabbed at the crosswalk switch again, rocking impatiently on his heels, and glanced at the woman who stopped beside him.

And looked again. She was tall and pretty, in an odd, elegant way, and though she had to be overheating in her old-fashioned clothes, they gave her a somewhat regal or stately appearance.

And was she checking out his tatts? Oh, she totally did. All those conservatively-dressed, oddly-elegant people liked a bad boy. Not that Newt was a badboy (punkrock though, he was totally TOTALLY punk rock, ok). He tried to subtly watch her watch him, but it wasn't very subtle on his end at all. Finally, forgoing any effort at being subtle at all, he held out his arms, grinning, turning them to display the tattoos on his forearms.]

I know what you're thinking. [A wink.] Yeah. There's more.

[Kareen's surprise is masked as elegantly as ever when he speaks to her but she's not opposed to conversation. Unable to help it, she glances back along his arms, able to get a better look at them with him so willing to display.]

More? How much more? On your back?

[Tattoos weren't Barrayaran practice but she found herself fascinated. It seemed... highly improper, but then again, this man was possibly from a very different time than herself, not to mention certainly from another place.]

[ His smile turned sly. ]

Wouldn't you like to know.

No, but they're, like, everywhere. I'd show you, but my boyfriend might get jealous--ACTUALLY I would show you just to GET him jealous, but that'd be waaay more effective if he was here right now.........and if he actually got jealous. I think he'd just be embarrassed. And mad.

[ The light changed. He had the weird feeling that she was the kind of woman you should offer to escort places, not because she was incapable of walking there herself but because she was just...of that time and place and so, feeling a little ridiculous but showy (charming. He was charming...totally) he offered her his arm with smile. ]

I promise they don't bite.

[What a bold statement. Kareen isn't sure how to take it.

And she's DEFINITELY not sure how to take all this talk about boyfriends and making them jealous. If anything it turns her right off, no matter how charming his tone.

When he offered his arm she took a moment to stare, her mind whirling in conflict. Politeness warred with prejudice, etiquette taking over as she allowed herself to reach for his arm. It didn't stop her fingers from trembling when she lightly took it, however.

In the calmest voice, she spoke again when they began crossing the street.]

... You have a boyfriend, you say? What sort of context are we talking about?

[He was surprised she took him up on the offer, frankly, because he was used to getting turned down (especially by women) more often than not. So maybe he looked a little bit smug about having the tall, pretty lady with the parasol to escort across the street--until he realized her fingers were trembling. Was it the cars?

Was it him? Oh god, it was him. Newt had been accused of seeming "crazy" before, but he was pretty sure he came off as a good kind, a friendly kind of crazy and not the kind of guy who was going to knife you or ...worse, but he was suddenly awkwardly aware of ...everything he was doing.

Stupid, Newt. Really dumb. You're a strange man, what did you think she'd think. GOOD JOB, SELF.]

Every context? I mean, I can honestly say I've never heard a guy refer to his guy-friend as a 'boy-friend' in the same way girls call their female friends their 'girl-friends,' so yeah, you can definitely take that to mean he's my favorite cuddle-buddy and everything else. He's also my Best Friend, intellectual rival, and roommate--

And did I overstep here? I overstepped, didn't I.

[When you were a woman with a history like Kareen's you learned it was better to comply than risk an unexpected reaction. How was she to know this man wouldn't take her refusal personally? She wasn't the Princess here nor did she have any bodyguards should anyone risk to harm her.

She still wasn't sure what to think now, stuck arm-in-arm with Newt while he babbled on. Her mind was abuzz with possibilities, most of them dire, when a sudden thread linked together. The tattoos, his accent, and the unabashed mentioning of sexual deviance.

This man was Betan.

And suddenly Kareen was laughing, not at Newt but out of relief. The breathlessness of her voice couldn't be mistaken for anything else.]

Overstepped, yes, perhaps, though do forgive me my own blunder. I thought... Oh, it's silly now. Please, excuse me.

[And with a short exhale she composed herself.]

The chance encounters in this world are so unexpected. I find myself rather overcome by them on occasion.

Chance encounter?

[They stepped up onto the safety of the curb on the other side of the street and Newt smiled at her, her relief evident and very reassuring, but now HE was confused. He released her arm and frowned up at her, examining her face more closely. She was still very pretty and maybe slightly familiar, but he had no idea who she was.]

You might be confusing me for someone else. Am I supposed to know you? ...Do you know Hermann?

[Timelines here being a mess and everything, maybe he was supposed to know her. Or maybe they'd met on the network and he was unfamiliar with her in person. She was definitely an imPort (or a very committed imPort fan, but Newt doubted that) but a "chance encounter" as anything more than two strangers meeting at the streetlight and Newt being anything more than the weirdo he was?

This time he offered her a hand to shake.]

Anyway, the name's Newt. Newt Geiszler.

I'm afraid I don't know him, no, but I'm sure I'm right in that you're acquainted with Lady Cordelia Vorkosigan? Or perhaps you know her as Cordelia Naismith?

[It makes sense to her. All the Barrayarans had found each other, so why wouldn't the Betans have also formed some ties while they're here.

Being offered his hand, Kareen doesn't shake it. Instead, she reaches out to hold it in both of hers and gives it a squeeze. What an unusual name he has.]

A pleasure to meet you, Geiszler. I am Kareen Vorbarra.

[He blushes at the hand-squeeze. It feels weirdly intimate to someone who is unaccustomed to such things.]

Miles' mom? Yeah, I know--

[He grins as if catching onto something.] Oh!! Vorbarra! You're related to Greg! Right? Are you his--you're his mom, right? I mean, I can totally see it--

[She's prettier and less tragic-looking than Greg. Greg makes Newt think of Eeyore. Emperor Eeyore. She has a certain tragedy to her as well, but it's different.]

Call me "Newt," Kareen. How'd you know I'd know Cordelia if you don't know Hermann? Because, frankly, that's the number one reason to know any of you--

[This man had such a strangely high-pitched voice that only got higher when he got excited. It was so different from what she had gotten accustomed to dealing with Vor men.]

That's correct. Gregor is my son. [She nods with a gentle smile. She's very proud.]

If you insist... [She wasn't the best at being informal but she would make an attempt.] I was clued in by several things; your body art, your openness about your personal preferences, and also your accent. It's all very Betan.

Late to the game but still IN the game...

Aral, third week of May-ish

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Newton, also mid-May-ish

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