use_everything: (A considerable puzzle)
Admiral Lord Aral Vorkosigan ([personal profile] use_everything) wrote in [personal profile] shipmaster 2016-11-14 03:19 am (UTC)

[Roic leads the way, up one flight, down one hall. With the Prime Minister position being gently ushered on to new hands, Simon had reluctantly given clearance for Aral to be set up in one of the upper rooms with the large bay windows. The gentle hum of the force screen outside was a constant, but the stretch of windows let in a warm wash of morning sun. One wouldn't even know how bitterly cold it was outside, just by the gentle rays across polished wood and down blankets.

Near the bed, Countess Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan looks up from where she'd settled, a heavily cushioned dark maple chair. Her hair was pinned up neatly from her neck, and the folds of the fashionable dress bore leaf patterns and a gentle rusty hue - a rememberance of autumn. She swept herself up, cutting off her low conversation with the Count to sweep up her son in a quick hug.]


I'll remind you both that you're both healing. Try not to overdo it. [She pulls back, her grey eyes warm... worried... for perhaps more than just the two Vorkosigan men's physical health.]

You've fretted enough for the whole District, dear Captain. [Came from the bed, barely a rumble. Count Vorkosigan had pulled through the surgery like a fighter, few complications. He was still thinned from the ordeal, a little grey from the recovering circulation, but the eyes here were sharp and clear... falling eagerly to the son he hadn't seen yet.] Come in, boy. Don't be a ghost at the door.

[Cordelia hesitates, squeezing Miles' hand before slipping out the door, closing it behind her.]

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