shipmaster | (no subject)

I hadn't. I somewhat expected foot binding and nunneries, for how much you see a Barrayaran woman off planet.

[There's no bite to it. No, these weeks had opened up their eyes a lot. Still... whatever the hell a Vorfemme knife was, it sounded like a weapon.]

Better than a vibrablade?

We're not that bad. We've just ... not been as good to our women on the whole.

[ He cocks his head at the question, considering. ]

Mm, perhaps not quite as good. But very sharp regardless, and traditional.

Oh I know. Your mother and I have been talking shop the last few weeks.

Eh. I'll trade tradition for utility.

Talking shop.

[ He holds out his arm for Bel to take, if they choose. ]

Should I be concerned?

[Bel smiles, striking a high chin pose as they settle a hand on Miles' shoulder in a fair imitation of what they'd seen between the Count and Countess in the house.]

Well, she does have an awful lot of videoes of your childhood.

[ Miles relaxes a bit at that. It's a familiar gesture and he recognizes the significance of it. ]

Oh, god. Which ones? Dare I even ask?

[They were going to be a spectacle. An unavoidable, stop and stare sort of spectacle. Might as well give them something to look at.]

I'm not entirely sure how you got on the counter with three limbs in soft splints, but I can't say I'm surprised, either.

[ That surprises a laugh out of him. He, for one, is prepared for the spectacle. ]

Sheer tenacity. And the cook had left out a tray of pastries.

So. Nothing's changed at all.

I'm a bit less likely to break myself for pastries, at least.

Depends. If a committee told you you absolutely couldn't have any of them...

[As they walk, conversation and the burble of the House in activity rings out from down the hall. It was getting close to time.]

Then I suppose I would have to.

[ Miles tighten his grip on Bel's arm lightly. Slowing his pace slightly as a thrill of nervousness goes through him. ]

You don't have to do this, you know. If you don't want to.

I have no idea what to even expect, much less what I want, Miles dear.

[They eye up Miles, looking for those little warning signs, the white around the eyes, the little shows of pain that show themselves differently.]

If you want to have a nice excuse to duck the evening, we could skip right to the end.

[ No warning signs today. He'll be clear for a few more days at least. ]

No ... no. I want to go. And I want you to come with me.

[They pull Miles to a stop just short of the door. The headmistress of the house can be clearly heard harrying the armsmen. Cordelia laughs, bright and joyfully at something unheard and unseen.]

Hold up. Just a moment.

[ Another wave of anxiousness goes through Miles as he looks up at Bel. Halting obediently... ]

What is it? Something wrong?

No, just want a moment from you. [And at that, they lean down, press a kiss to Miles' lips.]

[ Oh. Miles' nerves seem to melt away as Bel's lips touch his. He leans up on his tiptoes, cupping their face with one hand. ]

[It's a long moment, then, indulgent in how it draws out. Remorseful that it couldn't last longer. They pull back, a satisfied expression on their face.]

All right. Now we're ready.

[ Miles himself wishes it had been longer. He looks Bel up and down, a bit wistfully. ]

We could still just skip to the end...

[ That's a tease, though; he wouldn't back out of Winterfair now. ]

Too late. [If only because they're dangerously interested in calling that bluff, Bel puts a hand on the door and pushes it open.]

[ And there's the rest of the family spread out before them, with the usual complement of servants and armsmen. Very much too late now, indeed. Miles looks back up at Bel, then, and offers his arm once more. ]

As you say, Bel.

[The reactions are interesting, all the way around. Cordelia was ecstatic, as she had been brought in early. Aral's ear had to have been turned almost immediately after by the Countess, as Vorkosigan's face was that deeply thoughtful expression of a worldview not... changed, but challenged.

Mark is patently incredulous. Roic had an eyebrow raised, but Pym's face was at stuffed-to-neutral. The other armsmen were carefully not looking at the moment. Servants, on the other hand, were hot for the gossip, bright eyed and taking in all of the details to carry on, as they would.

Aral motions them over.]

[ All and all, it could have been much worse. Miles mostly has eyes for his father in this scenario; his mother, of course, is happy about it, and Mark will just have to cope. His armsmen will say nothing, will adjust in time depending on how long this goes on. And dutifully forget about it in time if nothing comes of it.

But his father ... Miles steels himself a moment before gently guiding Bel over. ]

Hello, Da. Have I formally introduced Bel Thorne to you yet?

Edited 2016-11-26 23:30 (UTC)

Not in this capacity. [Aral Vorkosigan murmured. It fetched a tolerably amused look from his wife, at least. He was, for the week of somewhat voluntary rest, in quite a bit more fit shape, as illnesses tend to eat at one's reserve, but of good color and upright well enough.

There was. An awkward moment of a pause... clearly unsure if he should offer a hand or bow over Bel's, and cast something of a desperate look to Cordelia. Who just seemed to be enjoying being on THIS side of the culture clash to relish.

Bel, at least, took some mercy, holding a hand out to shake. Aral wasn't sure if that made the juxtaposition better or worse, but took it in his own stride.

It's not disapproval, at least, but some mulling concern that he leans back, gazing at his son, and his ... companion? Companion.]

You two do know what you're up against?