video; un: eproghuefgdzptrrw

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly Vorrutyer is sitting in front of a piano, fingers on the keys. Byerly Vorrutyer is also, apparently, drunk. There's a bottle of brandy in front of him balanced beside the music rack that's two-thirds drained, and there's a tiny sway in his posture, and he looks sloppy - suit coat opened, shirt-collar loosened. When he speaks, his voice slurs. But as he talks, he plays Chopin beautifully, expressively. He only misses the very occasional note. ]

God help me, but this place is dull. And I know from dull. I spent an entire season - an entire season! - on the Vorinnis estate on the South Continent. If Lady Vorinnis hadn't been there to distract me with all her deliciousness, I'd have actually, literally, died of boredom. I nearly set fire to the whole taiga. Roasted all the little birdies and rabbits and peasants. Pheasants. Peasants. Whichever.

[ He sighs mournfully, casting a sorrowful glance at the camera. ]

Say, fellows, how does a man have fun around here? It's clear no one knows how to play whist, so that's out, and dueling for laughs seems tacky. I've already watched a few of you brutes bash one another's faces in, which had its charms and no doubt, but the time for that is over. I can't play bed, wed, behead with you, because you're all proles of no account and no education who wouldn't know the high-society names I mention to you. Oh!

[ He sits up a bit, stopping his playing mid-note, right before the end of the first section of the piece. What a musical anticlimax. ]

I've got one. I'll write limericks about you. Tell me a bit about yourself, and I'll write limericks. Go on, do. They'll be funny, I promise - this is one of my favorite games. Absolutely kills at parties.

[ And then, with a small bow - ]

Byerly Vorrutyer, Emperor of Barrayar, at your lyrical service.

Comments

[priorly]

You see? I'm easy. Liar, fire, spire. Inquire. Try finding a rhyme for Byerly. [Wait.]

Besides priorly, obviously, but that's beside the point. The piano. I think I recognise that piece.

[vorrutyer]

[ Oh? The drunken mannerisms get dialed back as he takes interest. ]

Do you really? It's one from back home.

[priorly]

Oh, I could be wrong. I haven't played properly in ten years, anything that isn't by our lady Gloria of Gaynor or Sondheim is likely lost on me. Who's yours by?

[vorrutyer]

Chopin.

[ He stretches his fingers and sets to it again, launching into the bridge of the song. His brow furrows a bit with concentration, but he gets through it - and gets through it while chatting. ]

It's a song used for learning. An etude. I suppose Chopin was...before your time, no? One loses track of history at times.

[priorly]

Chopin. [Prior's still set to mere audio, not to distract overmuch from the music, but he closes his eyes.] Before my grandmother's time. He was supposed to have had extraordinarily beautiful hands, I think, and a reach that made his playing hard to match.

[Though this must be at least a fair approximation.]

[vorrutyer]

[ With a laugh - ]

That'd explain why so much of his music has bloody difficult note-spans. Fortunately, years of stretching have made me flexible enough. [ And please, feel free to take that as innuendo. ]

[priorly]

[As you wish.]

Really. In both hands or just the one?

[vorrutyer]

Are you asking about the difficulty, or my flexibility?

[priorly]

About the nature of the exercise you employ.

[vorrutyer]

[ A laugh. ]

Oh, dear. I don't mean to disappoint, but I don't have to stretch that much to - well. You know.

[priorly]

Oh quel dommage. Although, where flexibility is concerned one might assume it's not so much the size of the operation as the frequency.

Is it a favorite? The Chopin? Anything I used for study was by it's very nature despised.

[vorrutyer]

[ His smile twists just a little. ]

No. I simply wished to play this one. It felt right for the moment.

[priorly]

Drunk and nostalgic?

[Or one more or less than the other, who knows. He's swayed on his stool less since the feed switched to Prior.]

If you've a favorite, I'll turn you up.

[vorrutyer]

Mm. Do you have any requests, dear Prior?

[priorly]

I'd hoped for yours. I do like the Chopin, though. Just knowing that it survived through all those ages has left me quite endeared to it. I find myself drawn to things that do. Hence the lady Gloria.

[Of Gaynor, aforementioned.]

What would make a pretty backdrop for the click of scissors?

[vorrutyer]

Hm. Ah - perhaps something my nanny was fond of.

[ And so he takes a breath and starts laying into Kalinka like the space Russian he is. ]

[priorly]

[He is good, and Prior's quiet to appreciate it, until the end when the feed changes to video to afford him the chance to clap. He looks brighter today, and not just because there's a luridly yellow cloth tied around his neck.]

Wonderful. If I close my eyes it's nothing but snow and dancers in red skirts spinning like tops.

[vorrutyer]

Ah!

[ Byerly smiles at the sight of him. ]

There's your pretty face. I'd missed it.

[priorly]

Oh never mind that - the framing, how's the framing. [His hair. Prior tips and turns his head to the side until it's (possibly) evident that he's done more to it than wash out the sweat of a couple of feverish nights. Just a small trim.]

[vorrutyer]

Oh - did you get a haircut?

[priorly]

You noticed.

[He's nothing if not willing to lead the horse to water so long as it drinks.]

A little touch up. I've wanted to feel more like myself so - this, and shopping. [A minor tour of the city's various quack shacks, all of which were abandoned with no real information gleaned.] One should get to know ones locale.

[vorrutyer]

[ Yes, he noticed. Definitely using those special ImpSec skills and training, definitely not because Prior was preening. ]

And who was your hairdresser? I've been looking for a good one myself.

[priorly]

A sweet lady in a salon off the western square, I'll show you sometime. There are barbers, of course, but find me one of those who knows how to feather ends. Besides which, no one talks when it's all men, and try and I might I have never mastered the art of grunting as communication.

[vorrutyer]

Oh, I'll have to teach you sometime. It's quite a sophisticated system - that's the problem.

[priorly]

If we live in the same house I'm sure I'll come to be able to translate them all, in time. At any rate, I feel cleaner, and I now know whose flour is ground with sawdust, the state of at least three sadly collapsing marriages, and that the little girls from three streets over have been hired to work at the palace.

[Casual as you please. He's paying most attention to unwinding his scarf and shaking it out to remove any prickles.]