shipmaster | (no subject)

[ 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.]

[ He goes slowly and carefully, and not just to allow Bel enough time to keep up. He's portioning out his own stamina carefully. It's never quite been the same after his revival. ]

Well ... Admittedly, this is the only one I bother going to. Unless there's a wedding. Perhaps Gregor will surprise us yet.

[If nothing else, the life they've lived has left them athletic, reactive and quick to catch on. It's not long until they take a few moves here and there, leading Miles to mirror them.]

I wonder... still stuck on the distempered ferret from the Rangers?

[ Miles blinks up at Bel at that, still dancing smoothly enough.. ]

Er - who was that again?

Cavilo? Should I have used rabid? That might have worked better.

Ah. Rabid is definitely the better word.

[ He turns a bit on the next step, contemplative. ]

No, I think he's recovered. But Gregor has always been very reserved. And determined not to marry another Vor.

[They follow, ducking a bit as another couple swerves a bit too close, attention tied to each other.]

Does he get to even meet a lot of those?

[ Miles makes an apologetic face at them and continues on. ]

More than he'd like. What's the phrasing he used ... something like being paraded before them like a prize stallion.

[They pause, and snicker.]

Well, it speaks well for his endowments.

[ Goddammit. He gives Bel a light shove, trying not to make a face himself. And failing. ]

Rude, Bel. At his party, no less.

Edited 2016-12-11 04:12 (UTC)

[It was a mirror dance, they had no CHOICE but to shove back. Honestly.

They turn it into pass, shoulders leading the movement as they cut across.]

I'm certain there was only compliments here.