shipmaster | (no subject)

[ 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?

[ He's sorry Aral, he really is. He smiles at his father with a blend of fondness and sheepishness from his position at Bel's side. It's truly not his intention to cause his father stress or harm, but ... This is how things are right now. And if this ends, then hey - his next companion won't seem strange in comparison. ]

What are they going to do? Kill me again?

[That gets a snort and a black smile from Aral.]

Don't send fortune those kinds of dares, boy.

[He cuts Bel a glance.] Remind him that you're back on duty if his mouth gets too far ahead of him.

[As Bel smirks in reply, Aral merely looks over his odd group. Easily the strangest family that will be there.

And his, entirely. Brilliant, insane, powerful, his. He gives a satisfied smile.]

Well then, lets take it by storm.

Yes sir.

[ But they're a family of black humor, or he'd never have cracked the joke.

He relaxes instantly at Aral's reminder even before that last comment comes. That makes him flush with relief and gratitude both. Should he have doubted his father? Probably not. But ... oh god, he's so glad. ]

We'll be careful. As much as we can be while actively stirring this particular pot.

You shouldn't see too much trouble. Gregor doesn't have me shipped off yet. [Beside him, Cordelia rolls her eyes a little. She waves for Pym to get the groundcar started and warmed, and settles a fond hand on Mark's shoulder.

"No, no, keep your good plan, ignore the bluster." Cordelia answers above it.]

[ Gregor. Shit. He knew he was forgetting something. ]

I - er - that's because I haven't him. About Bel coming tonight, I mean. I wasn't sure, so I didn't want --

-- Give me a minute to call him first.

Good idea.

What about?

About you coming.

[ He's already hurrying to find a secure comm. ]

He won't disapprove, but - Gregor hates surprises.

[Bel is, in particular, a punctilious, incredibly loyal herm.

But some things you just need to listen in on. Discretely.]

[ He pulls up the screen as a basic precaution, but otherwise there's no real barrier to Bel listening in. Gregor is faintly (but fondly) exasperated by this last minute call. Not surprised by Miles' news - clearly he knew about Bel already - but pleased to have been told.

Miles lingers for a moment after that critical piece of info has been passed. After a moment's pause, Gregor gently provides Miles with an opening to talk about Bel. Miles' tones drop to something nearly inaudible. Hushed, fond, and nervous. ]

[They can't hear. To even try would risk discovery. But the tone.. it. Was weirdly pleasing to hear those sorts of tones applied to oneself. Giddy in a way they didn't know even existed outside of stupid damn dramas. In a way they were certainly too old for, but it didn't stop the emotion one bit.

They settled back, smiling to themself as they slipped back into the foyer.]

[ It's the same tone one uses describing a new lover to a good friend. Gently, unsubtly seeking approval, and simultaneously wanting to show them off. No words needed to communicate that ...

He goes on for a few minutes. Then, soon enough, he reappears in the foyer himself as if nothing had happened. ]

All done. Shall we go, then?

[It really doesn't. It certainly cuts some of the nervousness with a little bubble of their own euphoria. Years of loneliness settled up with "ah, this is what it's like."

The Winterfair Ball was, as it usually is, the small security nightmare that ImpSec had fevered dreams and a many, many, many strategical meetings over. Simon nodded to all of them coming in, flicking a longer glance to Bel, then the Count for confirmation. Vorkosigan merely waved a hand through the air, and the Security Chief melted back into bland unremarkability.

Reds and blues marked all of the Counts, nearly all of them, most clustering into small circles of comfortable influence and likeminded politics, but the stray wandering of an agenda could be tracked, here and there. While the gaudy parade colors and double swords saw the Counts, the Countesses were resplendent, the energy and resources of the various houses poured there in full. Minor Lords and Ladys, various servants and agents mingled, high ranking proles and merchants had thrown just as much into garb as the Countesses, at much dearer expense.

The night began with the address from the Emperor. In Gregor's own style, it was little more than thanking everyone for attending and wishing a good evening and prosperous new year, before he pulled back, as usual, to take his first dance, and then observe.

The orchestra started up, glasses clinked, and the evening began.]

So... where to?

[ Miles, at least, seems accustomed to all the pomp. He'd been sliding back into his identity a bit at a time as he'd taken on proxy Count duties, but here? He's a fish in the ocean. This is his native social group, the kind of thing he grew up with. Ultimately it's the social circle he belongs to. And the Dendarii have never really had the opportunity to see him like this.

He's already taken a few sips of wine, as evidenced by the glowing color in his cheeks. No gray around the edges of his expression tonight, oh no. He beams up at Bel with utter fondness. ]

I thought we might dance a bit first.

[Whereas, Bel actually looks an unusual shade of unsure.]

You should know I don't know how. [Well... what was popular in clubs of their youth wouldn't even work NOW in Beta Colony. Much less a formal ballroom such as this.]

[ Miles' smile only warms, fondly. ]

It's not so difficult. This is a mirror dance - you need only follow my steps.

[Bel follows them out to the floor. There are a few with the ill manners to stop and stare, but most merely give the longer glance, hidden by an arm or the sweep of spin. Bel isn't paying it a damn bit of attention.]

Ah, now there's a dance I'm familiar with. [They murmur, fondly. How often were missions little more than that?]

[ Miles - well, Miles still is, glancing over his shoulder with more frequency than he should. But he focuses on Bel too. ]

See? I told you it wouldn't be so bad. And I can teach you actual steps for next time.

[There is, for now, more interest than censure. Some, at the least, may take Bel for a prole woman than the offworld bodyguard they may have heard of.]

Planning on a lot of these?

[Bel glances at the other couples lining up, leads swapping between the two in the simple four step. They stand facing Miles and ... waits for his lead, for now.]