shipmaster | (no subject)

[... Bel's ... slight... personality issues actually pale in front of Miles' honestly.]

... You'd be terrible at anything but complete command...

Just so. And that's not how it works at all, is it? Cordelia compared the Survey to herding cats.

[Cordelia... It seemed strange to their ear and they couldn't place why.]

Just think, everything a committee. And THEN a majority vote. Some unanimous.

I'll continue being a benevolent dictator, thank you.

[ He takes another small slice of meat and pushes the rest of his plate back. ]

Speaking of which - how are you finding Barrayar?

[Bel pushes it back towards him with one finger. Two bites want going to cut it, and they KNEW Naismith and his lack of appetite.]

Better than I thought I would. I think I have tall, dark and imposing to thank. [The Vorkosigan colours nearly as much as the young Armsman wearing them... ]

[ Miles makes a face. Fine, he'll take another bite... ]

Ah, Roic? I was hoping you two would get along.

[One thing that they ARE liking about this job... Miles is listening to a few things here and there.]

He's either unusually open minded or just a bit better at putting on that bland no face that seems to float up around here.

Well, the Vorkosigans are an unusual family. It stands to reason he'd be a bit unusual himself.

You know, you almost talk about them in third person. Removed.

[ Ah. He flinches a bit at that, not quite having noticed it himself. ]

... It's ... I meant my family. Us. We're unusual.

[ It rings entirely hollow. ]

Mm.

[They reach over the table, laying a hand on Miles' arm.]

Maybe we should change tactics. Go find places you like today, rather than people. People are complicated.

[ Miles just nods quietly. ]

The stables, maybe. I think I liked them quite a bit as a child.

Right after.

[They nod at that. The word didn't mean much to them, but Bel was sure they'd find out.

They tuck into their own breakfast, refusing to waste someone else's work... and gives Miles another side eye.]

At LEAST the eggs, those are light.

[ Miles makes a face. But he takes a few bites of his eggs just to shut Bel up. ]

You sound just like Roic.

[They smirk.]

Why, thank you.

It's not a compliment. I don't need to be nagged all the time ...

[ Miles shoves in another forkful of eggs. ]

[Bel's grin just gets wider.]

You SAY that, but there are just all of these opportunities

You're enjoying this entirely too much.

Me? I just-

[A knock interrupts, sharp, efficient, before Roic sees himself in. There's a vague nod towards Bel... and a critical look at Miles' plate from the young Armsman.

Surprised, but satisfied, he turns back to his mission.

"M'lord."]

[ Oh. Right, that's him. Miles swallows nervously and goes to the door. A quick conversation with his armsman ... and then he returns. Not panicking, at least, so nothing terrible has happened, but ... ]

Cordelia's requested that I stop in and see Aral this morning.

[They glance at Roic ... and get a slight shake of his head in return. No... Bel shouldn't be following on this one.]

I'll wait here for you, then.

[Low, for Miles alone,] You'll be fine...

[ He still wrings his hands a bit, plucking nervously at his shirt. ]

Right. I can ... get through this. He'll be relieved to see me.

[ All he has to do is fake it, right? ]

Probably be too tired to talk much. They regrew his heart recently.

[Then again, so did Miles. Bel amends it:]

Didn't have a weird alien mystery armor healing him.

[ A faint snort at that. ]

Maybe it will do someone else good once the scientists are done with it.

[ He relaxes a bit, having been sufficiently distracted. Time to follow Roic out then... ]

[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.]