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

[vorrutyer]

[ A laugh. ]

Oh, dear fellow, that's a sad state of affairs indeed! Was she at least beautiful?

[latkje]

Still is. She hasn't aged a day.

[vorrutyer]

Bless.

[ He presses a hand to his heart and sighs fondly. ]

And I suppose she won't for the foreseeable future, eh?

[latkje]

[ He raises an eyebrow. ]

I thought you were a heathen unbeliever?

[ But then continues on breezily: ]

And no— and I'm left here, already decrepit, only to grow older.

[vorrutyer]

[ A little wave of his hand. ]

Oh, I am. Certain turns of phrase simply hold on. That's quite the revenge, though, isn't it? She wakes up to find herself married to a toothless old man.

[latkje]

That's the problem with revenge, though, isn't it? It costs twice as much as you want to repay.

[vorrutyer]

Oh, not always. I've seen revenges that were beyond elegant.

[latkje]

Now you have to share.

[vorrutyer]

Aren't you at least going to buy me a drink in return for the story?

[latkje]

There once was a man named Nash
And he never did have any cash…

[vorrutyer]

His friend asked for a rum
And Nash replied "None
For you, friend, lest you drink and dash."

[latkje]

Your Honored Imperial Highness

[ He bows, and it's a bit overdrawn. ]

Though friendship might otherwise incline us:
If the crown is cheap
We peasants can't eat
And the kingdom best get used to dryness.

[vorrutyer]

Dear Nash, you dear charming berk,
Go and near the docks lurk.
Show off your muscles,
Or get in a tussle,
And I'm sure someone will give you some work.

[latkje]

[ He's beginning to regret this now. ]

What makes you think, my lord
That fighting would win me reward?
I'm not terribly cruel
And avoid every duel
I don't even have a sword!

[vorrutyer]

Ah, you can fool me not -
I'm sure plenty of foes you have shot.
Unless guns you lack,
In which case cut me some slack,
Because in an error of assumptions I'm caught.

Not my best. Rather convoluted.

[latkje]

I've never shot a gun. [ The absolute truth— there's a shudder to these words as he says them. But it disappears quickly. ] And no one would duel me back home, either. No point in a contest of honor with a man without any.

[vorrutyer]

[ Hm? Curious. His voice is breezy as he pries: ]

Oh, dear fellow, I'm sure you've honor aplenty. Want to learn how to shoot? It's actually quite fun.

[latkje]

It's against my religion.

[vorrutyer]

Guns are against your religion.

[latkje]

I'm simplifying the doctrine for someone who hasn't been initiated.

[ Though it's less a Temple doctrine than the rules of a terrifying assassin's guild. ]

[vorrutyer]

Oh, dear fellow, I can take a bit more detail than that.

[latkje]

In Harmonia, there's a strict caste system. Only a certain caste is allowed a to use a gun, and then only after the gun has chosen them.

[ Eh, mostly true. He looks at his (gloved) hand, as if he were inspecting a manicure. ]

Of course, there's another reason I don't fight duels.

[vorrutyer]

That reason being...?

[latkje]

I think they're stupid.

[vorrutyer]

Oh, you'll hear no disagreement here. But they're so romantic, don't you think?